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VISITS 
 
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 SCENES ILLUSTRATIVE OF STRIKING PASSAGES IN 
 ENGLISH HISTORY AND POETRY. 
 
 BY WILLIAM HOWITT, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE RURAL LIFE OF ENGLAND," " STUDENT LIFE OF GERMANY,' 
 " BOOK OF THE SEASONS," ETC. 
 
 jFirst Serfcs. 
 
 SECOND AMERICAN EDITION. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 CAREY AND HART. 
 
 1842. 
 

 S£^ 
 
 it I 
 
 philadelphia : 
 bahhingtom - and h a s w e l l, 
 phintebs. 
 
 V iu ? 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 There is a passage in De Lamartine's Pilgrimage to the 
 Holy Land, which expresses very clearly the nature and 
 object of this work. " I have always loved to wander over 
 the physical scenes inhabited by men I have known, ad- 
 mired, loved, or revered, as well amongst the living as the 
 dead. The country which a great man has inhabited and 
 preferred, during his passage on the earth, has always ap- 
 peared to me the surest and most speaking relic of himself: 
 a kind of material manifestation of his genius — a mute 
 revelation of a portion of his soul — a living and sensible 
 commentary on his life, actions, and thoughts. When 
 young, I passed many solitary and contemplative hours, 
 reclined under olive trees which shade the gardens of Ho- 
 race, in sight of the delightful cascades of the Tiber ; and 
 often have I dropped to sleep in the evening, lulled by the 
 noise of the beautiful sea of Naples, under the hanging 
 branches of the vines, near the spot where Virgil wished 
 his ashes to repose, because it was the most delicious site 
 his eyes had ever beheld. How often, at a later period, 
 have I passed mornings and evenings seated at the foot of 
 the beautiful chestnut trees in the little valley of Charmettes, 
 to which the remembrance of Jean Jaques Rousseau at- 
 tracted me, and where I was retained by sympathy with 
 his impressions, his reveries, his misfortunes, and his genius. 
 And I have been thus attracted with respect to several 
 other authors and great men, whose names and writings 
 were deeply engraven on my memory. I wished to study 
 them ; to become acquainted with them on the spot that 
 had given them birth, or that had inspired them; and 
 
i v ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 almost always a scrutinizing glance might discover a se- 
 cret and profound analogy between the country and the 
 individual who had graced it ; between the scene and the 
 actor ; between nature and the genius which derived its 
 inspirations therefrom." 
 
 These were exactly my feelings and ideas long before 
 De Lamartine had thus penned them down ; and who, in- 
 deed, has not experienced, more or less, the same impres- 
 sions ? We need not visit the distant East to make the 
 discovery; there is no country where the soil is more 
 thickly sown with noble memories than our own, and those 
 of the deeds, the sufferings, and the triumphs of our own 
 progenitors. It has long been my opinion that to visit the 
 most remarkable scenes of old English history and manners, 
 and to record the impressions thence derived in their imme- 
 diate vividness ; to restore, as it were, each place and its 
 inhabitants to freshness, and to present them freed from the 
 dust of ages and heaviness of antiquarian rubbish piled 
 upon them, would be a labour responded to with emphasis 
 by readers of the present day. The general approval of the 
 experiment made in " The Rural Life," by introducing 
 visits to Newstead, Annesley, and Hardwicke, and the inti- 
 mations of great interest in the announcement of this work, 
 received from all quarters, convinced me that I was not 
 mistaken. The field is a wide and a rich one. The pre- 
 sent volume may be considered but as a precursor of others 
 on this subject, in which I have long been engaged. 
 
 I have to present my warmest acknowledgments, not 
 only to many private individuals for valuable hints and 
 information, but also to the possessors of places visited, for 
 the very cordial and liberal manner in which they en- 
 deavoured to promote my object. 
 
 W. H. 
 Esheb, Dec. 18th, 1839. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Visit to Penshurst in Kent ; the Ancient Seat op the Sidneys 
 
 — Character of the Sidney Family — of Sir Philip — of his Father 
 Sir Henry — of Algernon — Shelley the Poet, a Sidney — present 
 aspect of Penshurst — Sir Philip's Oak — Saccharissa's Walk — Ga- 
 mage's Bower — Ben Jonson's Description of Penshurst — the Old 
 Banqueting Hall — a Suite of Ancient Rooms, with all their An- 
 tique Furniture and Paintings — Portraits of Sir Philip, Algernon, 
 and the Countess of Pembroke, Saccharissa, Countesses of Leices- 
 ter and Carlisle — the Gallery full of Historical Portraits — Sir 
 Philip and his brother Robert — Family MSS. — Household Book — 
 Locks of Hair of Sir Philip and Algernon — Church and Parsonage 13 
 
 Visit to the Field of Culloden — Peculiar Interest of Battle- 
 Fields — Review of Events leading to the Battle of Culloden — In- 
 verness, and walk to Culloden — present aspect of the Field — 
 Tradition of the valiant Blacksmith — the Graves of the Slain — 
 Burns's Visit to them, and his Feelings — Traditions of the Field 
 — strange Adventures of the Chevalier Johnstone — his Account 
 of the Atrocities of the Duke of Cumberland — Visit to a Cottage 
 on the Field — Belief of the Cottagers that another Battle will be 
 fought, founded on Visions of Second-sight — Wully Mackenzie 
 entertains us with his Bagpipes 51 
 
 Visit to Stratford-on-Avon, and the Haunts of Shakspeare 
 —Aspect of the Country — visible signs of Shakspeare's Fame in 
 Stratford — Vindication of his domestic character — Ann Hathaway's 
 Cottage — its Garden and Plants — Dewberries — Danger of the Cot- 
 tage being pulled down — Present Condition of the Shakspeare 
 Family — William Shakspeare Smith, a Schoolboy, descendant of 
 Shakspeare's Sister Joan — Relics of Shakspeare in Stratford 
 — Mr. Reason's Collection — Mary Hornby's attempt to obliterate 
 all the names of Visiters to the Room of his Birth — the Shaks- 
 peare Albums — a sample of Inscriptions from them — Shakspeare's 
 
VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Tomb — Charlecote Park — odd local notion of Shakspeare, de- 
 rived from a Statue of Diana — present State and Appearance of 
 the Park and House — Bust of Sir Thomas Lucy — local estimation 
 of the present Family of the Lucys — Paintings — Monuments in 
 the Church — Sir Thomas the Patron of Fox the Martyrologist — 
 Character of Lady Lucy— misrepresented by Shakspeare — Clop- 
 ton Hall — the Cloptons of Clopton, the great Family of Stratford 
 — Sir Hugh Clopton an admirer of Shakspeare — Lord Carew of 
 Elizabeth's reign, married the Heiress of the Clopton's — splendid 
 Tomb of himself and Countess — state of Clopton Hall some years 
 ago — Traditions of the Tragic ends of Charlotte and Margaret 
 Clopton — decay of the Family and sale of the Estate — Margaret's 
 Well — Ireland's account of his visit there in quest of Shakspeare 
 Papers . . . . . 75 
 
 Visit to Combe Abbey, Warwickshire — Attempt to carry off from 
 Combe Abbey Elizabeth of Bohemia, by the Gunpowder Plot Con- 
 spirators — singular fate of some of these Conspirators — tragic His- 
 tory of Sir Walter Smith — his Son juggled out of his Estate by 
 Sir John Lyttleton — Fate of Sir John Lyttleton's Descendants — 
 singular Search of Hendlip Hall — Elizabeth of Bohemia's subse- 
 quent Connexion with Combe Abbey — the Portraits of the Stuart 
 Family, and other Paintings brought hither by her from Germany 
 — Fatality of her Ambition ..... 128 
 
 Visit to Linoisfarne, Flodden Field, and other Scenery of 
 Marmion — Tact of the Poets in fixing the locality of their Poems 
 in fine Scenery illustrated in Marmion — wild appearance of Holy 
 Isle, as seen by us at twilight — beauty and strength of the Ruins 
 of Lindisfarne — affecting Character of Maritime Burying-grounds 
 — approach to Flodden Field — its present appearance — singular 
 fate of King James's Remains ..... 146 
 
 Visrr to Bolton Priory — Men of Genius shown to be the Prac- 
 tical Men — united effect of Poetry and Steam — Scenery of the 
 White Doe of Rylston — Paradisiacal Beauty of Wharfdale — 
 and Scenery round Bolton Priory — the Ruins — the Duke of Devon- 
 shire's Hunting Seat — the Strid — Barden Tower— Remarkable 
 Persons who have lived there — the celebrated Anne Clifford, 
 Countess of Pembroke — her singular Inscription — the Shepherd 
 Lord — Walk over the Fells to Rylston — Norton Tower — Remarks 
 on Wordsworth's Poem of the White Doe 170 
 
CONTENTS. Vii 
 
 Visit to Hampton Court — The Palace and Gardens now thrown 
 open to the Public — great resort there, and delight of the People 
 — Sketch of the Character, Progress, and Fall of Wolsey — Wol- 
 sey's Tower at Esher — his Establishment and State at Hampton 
 — Royal Festivities there — Remarkable Events occurring there 
 from Henry VIII. to the present time — Peep into Bushy Park — 
 — Gardens and Wilderness of Hampton Court — Description of 
 the Palace both in its ancient and present state — the Suite of 
 State Rooms, with all their Paintings, particularly the Beauties 
 of the Courts of Charles II. and William III. — the Cartoons of 
 RafFaelle — the Portrait Gallery — its numerous Historic Portraits — 
 singular Portrait of Queen Elizabeth 200 
 
 Visit to Compton-Winyates, Warwickshire — Solitary and se- 
 cluded situation of this old house, the property of the Marquis of 
 Northampton — impressions on approaching it — its general appear- 
 ance — curious Carving on the Screen in the Hall — Royal Embla- 
 zonings on Windows, Walls, and Ceilings — quaint and curious 
 Carvings in the Chapel — account of the Compton Family — unique 
 Letter of the first Countess of Northampton — Popish chapel in the 
 roof— Hiding-places of the Soldiers of the Civil Wars in the roof 
 — profound Solitude of the place 257 
 
 A Day-Dream at Tintagel — Wild situation of Tintagel Castle — 
 Scene as it may be imagined in King Arthur's days— Charms of 
 old Romance, and influence of Poetry on the National Character 
 and Fortunes 277 
 
 Visit to Staffa and Iona — A Voyage to the Western Isles, a 
 great event a few years ago— now a matter of every day — wild 
 beauty of the Scenery on the Voyage — Scene in the Cave of Staffa 
 — general aspect of Iona — Children on the Shore offering Shells 
 and Green Pebbles — Ruins, Tombs of the Norwegian Kings, 
 Crosses, and other Remains — curious Sculptures — Procession of 
 Modern Pilgrims 295 
 
 Visit to Edge-Hill — Scenery of Edge-Hill — solitary Inn of the 
 Sun-rising — Round-Tower — Scene of the Battle — Battle Farm — 
 the Grave Fields — account of the Battle — Bullet-Hill — Anecdote 
 of Cromwell — Traditions — Anecdote of King Charles on his way 
 to the Battle meeting Richard Shuckburgh hunting — the circum- 
 
Viii CONTENTS. 
 
 stance fatal to Richard Shuckburgh — tragic Love Affair in the 
 family of his descendants . 308 
 
 Visit to the Great Jesuits' College at Stonyhurst, in Lan- 
 cashire — Fine situation and picturesque neighbourhood of Stony- 
 hurst College — Whalley Abbey — Mitton Church— the Old Sex- 
 ton, his attention to the last Rector's Tomb — the splendid Monu- 
 ments of the Sherburnes — curious Monumental Records of the 
 Sherburnes — Anecdote of the Village Sculptor — description of 
 the College, its Paintings, Relics, and mode of Education — Gar- 
 dens — Conversation of the peculiar position of the Jesuits there . 320 
 
 Visit To the Ancient City of Winchester — Historical Reminis- 
 cences — the Capital of the British and Saxon Kings — favourite 
 City and Burial-place of Alfred — resort of many subsequent Mo- 
 narchs — Remarkable Events there — General Aspect of the City 
 — Fair of St. Giles's Hill — The Cathedral — its Venerable Beauty 
 —the Beauty of Gothic Architecture — Monuments of Joseph War- 
 ton and Bishop Hoadley — splendid Chantries of Wykeham, Beau- 
 fort, Fox, and Waynflete — Tomb of William Rufus — Noble Choir 
 — Chests containing the bones of the Saxon Monarchs — Sonnet 
 by Richard Howitt,on the Matin Service — Grave of Izaak Walton 
 — Wykeham's College— William of Wykeham's Origin and 
 Career — Account of the School — The Hospital of St, Cross— 
 History and present State of it — its noble Norman Church — Con- 
 cluding Remarks . . . . '. . . . 346 
 
 Visit to Wotton Hall, Staffordshire — Alfieri and Rousseau 
 in England — Alfieri's Early Character and Conduct in England 
 — the Arrival of Rousseau at Wotton — his temporary Content- 
 ment there — his Acquaintance — his Flight — present Traditions of 
 him at Wotton j . . .405 
 
 Sacrament Sunday at Kilmorac — Peculiar mode of administer- 
 ing the Sacrament in Scotland — administered in the Highlands 
 every summer in the Open Air — Description of such a Scene as 
 witnessed by the Author at the Falls of Kilmorac . . . 428 
 
• 
 
 VISIT TO PENSHURST IN KENT, 
 
 THE ANCIENT SEAT OF THE SIDNEYS. 
 
 * * * * Tread, 
 
 As with a pilgrim's reverential thoughts, 
 The groves of Penshurst. Sidney here was born, — 
 Sidney, than whom no gentler, braver man 
 His own delightful genius ever feigned. 
 
 SOUTHEY. 
 
 England; amongst her titled families, can point to none 
 more illustrious than that of Sidney. It is a name which 
 carries with it the attestation of its genuine nobility. Others 
 are of older standing in the realm. It is not one of those to 
 be found on the roll of Battle Abbey. The first who bore 
 it in England is said to have come hither in the reign of 
 Henry III. There are others, too, which have mounted 
 much higher in the scale of mere rank ; but it* may be 
 safely said that there is none of a truer dignity, nor more 
 endeared to the spirits of Englishmen. In point of standing 
 and alliance, there is hardly one of our old and most cele- 
 brated families with which it will not be found to be con- 
 nected. Warwick, Leicester, Essex, Northumberland, Pem- 
 broke, Carlisle, Burleigh, Sutherland, Rutland, Strangford, 
 Sunderland, are some of the families united by blood or 
 marriage with the house and fortunes of the Sidneys. 
 The royal blood of England runs in the veins of their 
 children. But it is by a far higher nobility than that of 
 ancient descent, or martial or political power, that the name 
 of Sidney arrests the admiration of Englishmen. It is one 
 
 2 
 
14 VISIT TO PENSHURST. 
 
 of our great watch-words of liberty. It is one of the house- 
 hold words of English veneration. It is a name hallowed 
 by some of our proudest historical and literary associations ; 
 identified in the very staple of our minds with a sense of 
 high principle, magnanimity of sentiment, and generous and 
 heroic devotion to the cause of our country and of man. 
 When we would express in a few magical syllables all that 
 we feel and comprehend of patriotism and genius, the names 
 that rush involuntarily to our lips are those of Milton, 
 Hampden, Sidney, and such men. It is a glorious distinc- 
 tion for one family to have given one such name to its 
 country : but it is the happiness of the house of Sidney to 
 number more than one such in its line, and to have enriched 
 our literature with a brilliant constellation of names, both 
 male and female, that have been themselves poets, or the 
 admired theme of poets ; literary, or the friends of all the 
 literary and learned of their times. They were not merely 
 of the aristocracy of rank, but of the aristocracy of mind ; 
 and it is from that cause, and that alone, that their name is 
 embedded like a jewel in the golden frame-work of the 
 language. 
 
 Of this distinguished line, the most illustrious and popular 
 was unquestionably Sir Philip. The universal admiration 
 that he won from his contemporaries is one of the most 
 curious circumstances of the history of those times. The 
 generous and affectionate enthusiasm with which he inspired 
 both his own countrymen and foreigners, has, perhaps, no 
 parallel. The "admirable Crichton" is the only person 
 who occurs to our minds as presenting anything like the 
 same universality of knowledge and accomplishments ; but 
 Crichton was a meteor which blazed for a moment, and left 
 only a name of wonder. Sir Philip still continues to be 
 spoken of by all genuine poets and minds of high intellect 
 with much of the same affectionate honour that he received 
 from his own age. " He approaches," says Dr. Aikin, 
 
VISIT TO PENSHURST. 15 
 
 " more nearly to the idea of a perfect man, as well as of a 
 perfect knight, than any character of any age or nation."* 
 
 This perfection of character is shown by these particulars : 
 that from his boyhood he was eager for the acquisition of 
 all possible knowledge, — language, philosophy, poetry, 
 every species of art and science, were devoured by him ; 
 yet he did not give himself up merely to the pursuit of 
 knowledge : he never became a mere book-worm. He was 
 equally fond of field sports and manly exercises. He was 
 looked up to as the perfect model of a courtier, without the 
 courtier's baseness of adulation. Elizabeth pronounced 
 him the brightest jewel of her crown. He was deemed the 
 very mirror of knighthood. In the camp he was the ardent 
 warrior : he was sent on foreign embassage of high im- 
 portance, and proved himself a dexterous politician. There 
 was a universality of talent and of taste about him that 
 marked him as a most extraordinary man. His facility of 
 amassing information and putting on accomplishment was 
 marvellous. Yet he never seemed to h ave any mere worldly 
 ambition. It was the pure love of glory that animated 
 him ; and in striving for it, he never for a moment appeared 
 capable of the common jealousies of emulation ; on the 
 contrary? he was the friend, and the warm and beloved 
 friend of every one who was himself most distinguished. 
 Sir Fulke Greville, afterwards Lord Brooke, had it inscribed 
 on his monument, as his peculiar glory, that he was the 
 friend of Sir Philip Sidney. He was the friend of 
 Spenser, Dyer, Raleigh, Ben Jonson, Sir Henry and Sir 
 Edward Wotton, the learned Hurbert Languet, and indeed 
 of all the finest spirits of his age ; yet it was, after all, less 
 by the brilliancy of his intellect than by the warmth of his 
 heart, that he won so singularly on the admiration of all 
 men. The grand secret of his unprecedented popularity lay 
 
 * Annual Review, p. 919. 
 
1 q VISIT TO PENSHURST. 
 
 in the nobility of his nature. Nothing could be more de- 
 lightful than the high, unworldly, and incorruptible character 
 of his mind. It was this ardent, sunny, unselfish disposition 
 which was so beautiful in all his family relations. His 
 father, Sir Henry Sidney, himself one of the noblest cha- 
 racters in history, says of him, in a letter to his second son, 
 Robert Sidney : " Follow the advice of your most loving 
 brother, who in loving you is comparable with me, or 
 exceedeth me. Imitate his virtues, exercises, studies, and 
 actions. He is a rare ornament of his age ; the very for- 
 mula that all well-disposed young gentlemen of our court 
 do form also their manners and life by. In truth, I speak 
 it without flattery of him, or myself, he hath the most vir- 
 tues that I ever found in any man" 
 
 What a proud testimony from a father to a son ! But the 
 same admirable affection constantly displayed itself towards 
 his brother and sister. His letters to his brother Robert are 
 full of the most delightfully gay, yet loving and wise spirit. 
 Writing to him while on his travels, he declared, — what he 
 invariably proved by his conduct, — "There is nothing I 
 spend so pleaseth me as that which is for you. If ever I 
 have ability, you will find it; if not, yet shall not any 
 brother living be better beloved than you of me." 
 
 His tender attachment to his sister, the celebrated 
 Countess of Pembroke, is known to all the world. It was 
 to Wilton that he betook himself during his temporary 
 absence from court, on account of his difference with the 
 insolent Earl of Oxford, to write his Arcadia. It was to her 
 that he dedicated it, and more than dedicated it, calling it 
 " Pembroke's Arcadia." It was to her that he sent it, sheet 
 by sheet, when he was not present with her to read it to 
 her ; living in her approbation of it, and seeking no other 
 fame from it, for it was not published till after his death. 
 
 Such were the noble and endearing qualities that made Sir 
 Philip Sidney the idol of his times in foreign countries as 
 
VISIT TO PENSHUEST. 17 
 
 much as in his own ; that induced Poland to offer him its 
 crown ; that covered his hearse with the laments of all the 
 learned and poetical amongst his cotemporaries — three 
 volumes of such funereal tributes in various languages being 
 published on the occasion of his death : the two great 
 English universities striving which should outdo the other 
 in number and intensity of its " melodious tears." 
 
 The evidences of Sir Philip Sidney's genius which have 
 come down to us are to be found in his Arcadia ; his Astro- 
 phel and Stella ; his Defence of Poesy ; his Sonnets and 
 Songs ; and there have not been wanting those who assert 
 that they do not bear out by their merit the enthusiastic 
 encomiums of his cotemporaries. Lord Orford has pro- 
 nounced the Arcadia " a tedious, lamentable, pedantic, 
 pastoral romance ;" and Hume, Tytler, and others, have 
 echoed the opinion. 
 
 How many are there of our own age who are prepared 
 by actual perusal to sanction or disallow of this dictum 1 
 How many have read that poem of which every one speaks 
 as a matter of knowledge — Spenser's Faery Queen ? How 
 many, even, have waded through Paradise Lost ? Every 
 poetical spirit which has qualified itself to give an answer, 
 must declare that the literary relics of Sir Philip Sidney, — 
 writings thrown off rapidly m the midst of many pursuits 
 and many distracting attentions, and before death at the 
 early age of thirty -two, — must pronounce them well 
 worthy of his fame. 
 
 His poetry and prose too. have all the marks of stiffness, 
 and affected point of that period ; but every page of his 
 composition abounds with sober and with brilliant thoughts. 
 His sonnets are delightful testimonies to the inward beauty 
 and tenderness of the man. Many readers have been made 
 familiar with the fine opening of one of his sonnets, by 
 Wordsworth introducing it as the opening of one of his :. — * 
 
18 VISIT TO PENSHUEST. 
 
 With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climh'st the sky, 
 How silently, and with how sad a face ! 
 
 and every real lover of poetry, if he opens the volume of Sir 
 Philip Sidney, will find much that will equally delight him, 
 and generate within him trains of high and sober thought. 
 
 But, in my opinion, it is the Arcadia which must stand as 
 the best image of his " inner man." Whoever reads it, 
 should read it with reference to the spirit of the age, and 
 turn relentlessly over all the pastoral episodes, and he will 
 then find a volume full of stirring interest, striking invention, 
 and that living tone of high, pure, heroic spirit, which 
 scorned everything base ; which is, in truth, the grand 
 characteristic of Sidney ; — a spirit which stands up by the 
 low and cunning knowingness of our own day, like one of 
 the statues of Greece by the wigged and sworded objects of 
 modern sculpture. 
 
 Such passages as the Prayer of Pamela are amongst the 
 noblest specimens of impassioned eloquence in the lan- 
 guage. Charles I. showed how deeply that passage had 
 touched him by adopting it as his own petition to the Su- 
 preme Being as he went to the scaffold ; and the closing 
 portion of it shall close these passing remarks on Sir Philip 
 Sidney's writings, as very expressive of his nature. — " Let 
 calamity bee the exercise, but not the overthrow of my 
 virtue. Let the power of my enemies prevail, but prevail 
 not to my destruction. Let my greatness bee their prey, 
 let my pain bee the sweetness of their revenge ; let them, if so 
 it seems good unto thee, vex me with more and more pun- 
 ishment : but, Lord, let never their wickedness have such 
 a hand, but that I may carry a pure mind in a pure body l" 
 
 The death of Sir Philip Sidney, from a wound received 
 on the field of Zutphen, has become celebrated by the cir- 
 cumstance continually referred to as an example of the 
 most heroic magnanimity — giving up the water for which 
 he had earnestly implored to a dying soldier near — saying 
 
VISIT TO PENSHURST. jg 
 
 "he has more need of it than I." But the whole of his 
 behaviour from that time to the hour of his death, twenty- 
 five days afterwards, was equally characteristic, — being 
 spent amongst his friends in the exercise of the most ex- 
 emplary patience and sweetness of temper, and in the dis- 
 cussion of such solemn topics as the near view of eternity 
 naturally brings before the spirit of the dying Christian. 
 
 Algernon Sidney is as fine a character, though seen under 
 another and a sterner aspect. He was bora to more 
 troublous times and a less courtly scene. He had evidently 
 formed himself upon a model of Roman virtue. He was a 
 pure republican, placing public virtue before him as his 
 guide, from which neither interest nor ambition were ever 
 able to make him swerve ; and that such was his life as 
 well as his creed, has been nobly avowed by a great writer 
 of very opposite political profession. 
 
 Great men have been amongst us ; hands that penned 
 
 And tongues that uttered wisdom, better none; 
 
 The later Sidney, Marvel, Harrington, 
 
 Young Vane, and others who called Milton friend. 
 
 These moralists could act and comprehend ; 
 
 They knew how genuine glory is put on ; 
 
 Taught us bow rightfully a nation shone 
 
 In splendour ; what strength was that would not bend 
 
 But in magnanimous weakness. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 We see in his portraits the firm and melancholy look of 
 a man who had grown up for political martyrdom, and the 
 times afforded him but too much opportunity to arrive at 
 it. The words of one of his letters to his father, Lord Lei- 
 cester,* are more demonstrative of his character than the 
 most laboured exposition of it by any other man can be, — 
 " I walk in the light God hath given me ; if it be dimme or 
 
 * Blencowe's Sidney Papers. 
 
20 
 
 VISIT TO PENSHURST. 
 
 uncertaine I must beare the penalty of my errors. I hope 
 to do it with patience, and that noe burthen should be very 
 grievous to me except sinne and shame ! God keepe me 
 from these evils, and in all things else dispose of me accord- 
 ing to his pleasure." They were singular coincidences, 
 that these two great men of one family died young — one 
 in the field and the other on the scaffold ; and that each had 
 a sister celebrated for their charms by the poets, and one 
 herself a poet — the Countess of Pembroke, ' c Sidney's sister, 
 Pembroke's mother •" and Waller's Saccharissa. 
 
 In thus noticing the exalted principles and splendid cha- 
 racters of these Sidneys, it is a very natural and important 
 question, what were the influences under which such men 
 and women sprung up from one stock ? Ben Johnson, in 
 his visit to Robert Sidney, Sir Philip's brother, when Earl 
 of Leicester, can partly let us into the secret : 
 
 They are and have been taught religion. Thenee 
 Their gentle spirits have sucked innocence. 
 Each morne and even they are taught to pray 
 With the whole household, and may every day 
 Reade in their virtuous parents' noble parts, 
 The mysteries of manners, arms, and arts. 
 
 The Forest, ii. 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney grew under the most favourable aus- 
 pices. His mother was Mary Dudley, the daughter of the 
 Duke of Northumberland, and sister of Lord Guildford Dud- 
 ley, the husband of Lady Jane Grey. The tragedies which 
 the enthronement of Lady Jane brought into her family, 
 made her retire from the world, and devote herself to the 
 careful education of her children. His father, Sir Henry 
 Sidney, was, as I have already observed, one of the noblest 
 and best of men, and one who, had he not been eclipsed by 
 the glory of his descendants, must have occupied more of 
 the attention of the English historian than he has done. In 
 
VISIT TO PENSHUEST. 21 
 
 his arms expired the pious young prince, Edward VI., who 
 entertained the warmest friendship for him ; and his con- 
 duct in the government of Ireland, of which he was thrice 
 Lord Deputy, and all his recorded sentiments, exhibit him 
 a rare example of integrity and wisdom. 
 
 Such were some of the Sidneys of other days ; and, as if 
 poetry were destined to break forth with periodical lustre 
 in this family, it has now to add Percy Bysshe Shelley to 
 its enduring names : for Shelley was a lineal Sidney. The 
 present Sir John Shelley Sidney being his paternal uncle, 
 and his cousin Philip Sidney, Lord de L'Isle, being the 
 present possessor of Penshurst. 
 
 In these preliminary pages I have traced some of the 
 causes which must throw a lasting and peculiar interest 
 around Penshurst ; let us now hasten thither at once. 
 
 Having received from Lord de L'Isle an order to see 
 everything of public interest at Penshurst, accompanied by 
 an expectation that he would himself be there, and ready to 
 give me all the information in his power, I went there on 
 Tuesday, September 25th, 1838. 
 
 I took coach to Tunbridge on Monday, and after break- 
 fast on Tuesday morning walked on to Penshurst through a 
 delightful country ; now winding along quiet green lanes, 
 now looking out on the great beautiful dale in which Tun- 
 bridge stands, and over others valleys to my left. Green fields 
 and rustic cottages interspersed amongst woods ; and the 
 picturesque hop-grounds on the steep slopes and in the hol- 
 lows of the hills, now in their full glory : and all the rural 
 population out and busy in gathering the hops, completed 
 such scenery as I expected to find in the lovely county 
 of Kent. 
 
22 VISIT TO PENSHURST. 
 
 The whole road as I came from town was thronged with 
 huge wagons of pockets of new hops, piled nearly as high 
 as the houses they passed, a great quantity of these going 
 up out of Sussex ; and here, at almost every farm-house 
 and group of cottages, you perceived the rich aromatic 
 odour of hops, and saw the smoke issuing from the cowls 
 of the drying kilns. The whole county was odoriferous 
 of hop. 
 
 The first view which I got of the old house of Penshurst, 
 called formerly both Penshurst Place and Penshurst Castle,* 
 was as I descended the hill opposite to it. Its gray walls 
 and turrets, and high-peaked and red roofs rising in the 
 midst of them ; and the new buildings of fresh stone, mingled 
 with the ancient fabric, presented a very striking and vener- 
 able aspect. 
 
 It stands in the midst of a wide valley, on a pleasant ele- 
 vation ; its woods and park stretching away beyond, north- 
 wards ; and the picturesque church, parsonage, and other 
 houses of the village, grouping in front. 
 
 From whichever side you view the house, it strikes you 
 as a fitting abode of the noble Sidneys. Valleys run out on 
 every side from the main one in which it stands ; and the 
 hills, which are everywhere at some distance, wind about 
 in a very pleasant and picturesque manner, covered with 
 mingled woods and fields, and hop-grounds. The park 
 ranges northward from the house in a gently-ascending 
 slope, and presents you with many objects of interest, not 
 merely in trees of enormous growth, but in trees to which 
 past events and characters have given an everlasting at- 
 traction ; especially Sir Philip Sidney's Oak, Saccharissa's 
 Walk, and Gamage's Bower. Southey and Waller have 
 both celebrated the Sidney oak. Southey says, — 
 
 That stately oak, 
 Itself hath mouldered now : 
 
 * Originally Pencester. 
 
VISIT TO PENSHURST. 23 
 
 Zouch, in his life of Sir Philip, on the contrary, says it 
 was cut down in 1768. It is probable that both statements 
 are erroneous ; for the oak which tradition has called " the 
 Sidney Oak," and " the Bear's Oak," no doubt in allusion to 
 the Bear-and-ragged staff in the Leicester arms, is still stand- 
 ing. Probably the one cut down was what Ben Jonson calls 
 " the Ladies' Oak." 
 
 Amongst the many tributes of respect to Penshurst, none 
 are so graphic and complete as that of Ben Jonson. This 
 is to the life. You see in every line that the stout old dra- 
 matist had walked over the ground, and beheld the house 
 and the people he describes. We shall have speedy reason 
 to recur to this description to show how true to the fact 
 it is. 
 
 Thou art not, Penshurst, built to envious show 
 
 Of touch, or marble ; nor canst boast a row 
 
 Of polished pillars, or a roofe of gold: 
 
 Thou hast no lantherne whereof tales are told ; 
 
 Or stayre, or courts ; but standst an ancient pile, 
 
 And these grudged at, art reverenced the while. 
 
 Thou joyst in better markes, of soyle, of ayre, 
 
 Of wood, of water : wherein thou are faire. 
 
 Thou hast thy walks for health as well as sport ; 
 
 Thy Mount to which the Dryads do resort, 
 
 Where Pan and Bacchus their high feasts have made, 
 
 Beneath the broad beech and the chestnut shade. 
 
 That taller tree, which of a nut was set 
 
 At his great birth where all the Muses met. 
 
 There, in the writhed bark are cut the names 
 
 Of many a sylvane token with his flames. 
 
 And thence the ruddy Satyres oft provoke. 
 
 The lighter Fawnes to reach thy Ladies's Oake. 
 
 Thy copps, too, named of Gamage,'thou hast there, 
 That never fails to serve thee seasoned deere, 
 When thou wouldst feast, or exercise thy friends. 
 The lower land, that to the river bends, 
 Thy sheepe, thy bullocks, kine and calves do feed ; 
 
24 VISIT TO PENSHUKST. 
 
 The middle ground thy mares and horses breed. 
 
 Each banke doth yield thee coneys ; and the topps, 
 
 Fertile of wood, Ashore and Sidney's copps, 
 
 To crowne thy open table doth provide 
 
 The purpled pheasant with the speckled side ; 
 
 Thy painted partrich lyes in every field, 
 
 And for thy messe is willing to be killed ; 
 
 And if the high-swoln Medway faile thy dish, 
 
 Thou hast thy ponds that pay thee tribute fish ; 
 
 Fat, aged carps, that runne into thy net, 
 
 And pikes, now weary their owne kinde to eat, 
 
 As loth the second draught, or cast to stay, 
 
 Officiously, at first, themselves betray. 
 
 Bright eels that emulate them, leape on land 
 
 Before the fisher, or into his hand. 
 
 Thou hast thy orchard fruit, thy garden flowers, 
 Fresh as the ayre, and new as are the hours. 
 The early cherry with the later plum, 
 Fig, grape, and quince, each in his time doth come. 
 The blushing apricot and woolly peach 
 Hang on thy walls that every child may reach. 
 And though thy walls be of the country stone, 
 They're reared with no man's ruin, no man's grone. 
 There's none that dwell about them wish them downe ; 
 But all come in, the farmer and the clowne, 
 And no one empty-handed, to salute 
 Thy lord and lady though they have no suite. 
 Some bring a capon, some a rural cake, 
 Some nuts, some apples ; some that think they make 
 The better cheeses, bring 'hem ; or else send 
 By their ripe daughters, whom they would commend 
 This way to husbands ; and whose baskets beare 
 An emblem of themselves in plum or peare. 
 
 But what can this (more than express their love) 
 Adde to thy free provisions, far above 
 The need of such"? whose liberal boord doth flow 
 With all that hospitalitie doth know ! 
 Where comes no guest but is allowed to eate 
 Without his feare, and of thy lord's owne meate ; 
 Where the same beere, and breade, and self-same wine 
 That is his lordship's shall be also mine. 
 
VISIT TO PENSHURST. 25 
 
 And I not faine to sit (as some this day 
 
 At great men's tables) and yet dine away* 
 
 Here no man tells my cups ; nor standing by, 
 
 A waiter doth my gluttony envy : 
 
 But gives me what I call, and lets me eate ; 
 
 He knows below, he shall find plentie of meate. 
 
 Thy tables hoard not up for the nexte day, 
 
 Nor when I take my lodging need I pray 
 
 For fire, or lights, or livorie ; all is there, 
 
 And if thou, then, wert mine, or I reigned here. 
 
 There's nothing I can wish, for which I stay. 
 
 This found King James when hunting late this way, 
 
 With his brave sonne the prince ; they saw thy fires 
 
 Shine bright on every hearth, as the desires 
 
 Of thy Penates had been set on flame 
 
 To entertaine them, or the country came 
 
 With all their zeale to warme their welcome here. 
 
 What great (I will not saye but) sodayne cheare 
 
 Didst thou then make 'hem ! and what praise was heaped 
 
 On thy good lady then ! who, therein, reaped 
 
 The just reward of her high houswifry ; 
 
 To have her linen, plate, and all things nigh 
 
 When she was farre ; and not a room but drest 
 
 As if it had expected such a guest ! 
 
 These, Penshurst, are thy praise ; and yet not all. 
 Thy lady's noble, fruitfull, chaste withall. 
 His children, thy great lord may call his owne; 
 A fortune in this age but rarely knowne. 
 They are and have been taught religion ; thence 
 Their gentler spirits have sucked innocence. 
 Each morn and even they are taught to pray, 
 With the whole household, and may, every day, 
 Reade, in their vertuous parents' noble parts 
 The mysteries of manners, arms, and arts. 
 
 Now, Penshurst, they that will proportion thee 
 With other edifices, when they see 
 Those proud, ambitious heaps, and nothing else, 
 May say, their lords have built, but thy lord dwells. 
 
 Ben Jonson. — The Forest, ii. 
 
 The house now presents two principal fronts. The one 
 
 3 
 
26 VISIT TO PENSHURST, 
 
 facing westward, formerly looked into a court, called the 
 President's Court, because the greater part of it was built 
 by Henry Sidney, the father of Sir Philip, and Lord Presi- 
 dent of the Council established in the Marches of Wales.- 
 The court is now thrown open, and converted into a lawn 
 surrounded by a sunk fence, and overlooking a quiet valley 
 of perhaps a mile in length, terminated by woody hills of 
 great rural beauty. This court will eventually be laid out 
 in a flower garden ; Lord de L'Isle having fitted up the suite 
 of rooms in this, and the north front, for the family use, in- 
 cluding dining and drawing rooms, library, and other rooms, 
 which have been done under the superintendence of Mr. 
 Rebecca, of Piccadilly, in the very best taste : exhibiting, at 
 once, a striking unity with the general character of the old 
 pile, and yet possessing all the elegance and convenience 
 required by modern habits. Oak wainscoting has been in- 
 troduced, yet not in such heaviness and profusion as to take 
 away from that sense of finish and of comfort that we now, 
 look for in a place of family abode : and the ceilings, with 
 their cornices and compartments, partake of the same cha- 
 racter. They display true keeping and good sense. You 
 meet with none of that extravagance and broken-up-ness 
 of design which offend you in many attempts to restore the 
 ancient mansion, and to adapt it to present uses. You do 
 not, as you advance, find yourself at this moment in a 
 Chinese room, in the next in an Egyptian, and then in an 
 Italian or a French one. All is English, and English of the 
 right date, which is rarer still. The ornaments are taken 
 from the family arms ; and while they continually remind you 
 that you are in the abode of the Sidneys and the Leicesters, 
 you are also reminded by the freshness of all the finishings, 
 that you are there too in the days of their polished descend- 
 ants. 
 
 This front, as well as the northern one, is of great length. 
 It is of several dates and styles of architectum The fa§ade 
 
VISIT TO PENSHURST. 27 
 
 is of two stories, and battlemented. The centre division, 
 which is of recent erection, has large windows of triple 
 arches, with armonial shields between the upper and lower 
 stories. The south end of the fagade is of an ancient date, 
 with smaller mullioned windows; the northern portion 
 with windows of a similar character to those in the centre, 
 but less and plainer. Over this fagade shows itself the 
 tall gable of the ancient banqueting hall which stands in the 
 inner court. At each end of the fagade projects a wing, 
 with its various towers of various bulk and height ; some 
 square, of stone, others octagon, of brick, with a great di- 
 versity of tall, worked chimneys, which, with steep roofs, 
 and the mixture of brick-work and stone-work all through 
 the front, give a mottled, but yet very venerable aspect 
 to it. 
 
 The north and principal front, facing up the park, has 
 been restored by its noble possessor, and presents a battle- 
 mented range of stone buildings of various projections, 
 towers, turrets, and turreted chimneys, which, when the 
 windows are put in, which is not yet fully done, will 
 have few superiors amongst the castellated mansions of 
 England. 
 
 The old gateway tower remains, and still forms the car- 
 riage entrance. On its front was fixed aloft, a hatchment 
 quartering the royal arms with those of the Sidneys, denot- 
 ing the death of Lady de L'Isle, the daughter of the late 
 king. Over the door is a stone tablet with this inscrip- 
 tion : — 
 
 The most religious and renowned Prince Edward 
 the Sixth Kinge of England France and Ireland 
 gave this house op pencester with the mannors 
 landes and appurtenances ther unto belonging 
 unto his trustye and wel-beloved servant syr 
 William Sydny knight bannaret servinge him prom 
 
23 VISIT TO PENSHUBST. 
 
 THE TYME OP HIS BIRTH UNTO HIS CORONATION IN THE 
 OFFICES OF CHAMBERLAYNE AND STUARDE OF HIS HOUSE- 
 HOLD IN COMMEMORATION OF WHICH MOST WORTHIE AND 
 FAMOUS KlNGE SlR HENRIE SYDNEY KNIGHT OF THE MOST 
 NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER LORD PRESIDENT OF THE 
 COUNCIL ESTABLISHED IN THE MARCHES OF WALES SONNE 
 AND HEYRE OF THE AFORE NAMED SyR WlLLIAM CAUSED 
 THIS TOWER TO BE BUYLDED AND THAT MOST EXCELLENT 
 PRINCES ARMS TO BE ERECTED ANNO DOMINO 15S5. 
 
 The royal arms are accordingly emblazoned in stone on 
 another tablet beneath. 
 
 Immediately on the right hand of this gateway, as you 
 front it, remains a piece of ancient brick front with its ar- 
 morial escutcheons, tall octagon brick tower, and cross- 
 banded chimneys. The rest, with the exception of the 
 stone tower terminating the western end, is all new ; con- 
 taining another entrance arch, with the family arms em- 
 blazoned above it, and which, with its Elizabethan win- 
 dows, corbels, and shields, is in excellent keeping with the 
 old portion. 
 
 From the eastern end of this front runs a fine avenue of 
 limes, and at a short distance in the park is Gamage's 
 Bower, now a mere woody copse, as represented by Ben 
 Jonson. 
 
 In the centre of the inner court stands the old Banquet- 
 ing Hall, a tall gabled building with high red roof, sur- 
 mounted with the ruins of a cupola, erected upon it by 
 Mr. Perry, who married the heiress of the family, but who 
 does not seem to have brought much taste into it. On the 
 point of each gable is an old stone figure — the one a tor- 
 toise, the other a lion couchant ; — and upon the back of 
 each of these old figures, so completely accordant with the 
 building itself, which exhibits under its eaves and at the 
 corners of its windows numbers of these grotesque corbels 
 
VISIT TO PENSHURST. 2 9 
 
 which distinguish our buildings of an early date, both do- 
 mestic and ecclesiastical, good Mr. Perry clapped a huge 
 leaden vase which had probably crowned aforetime the 
 pillars of a gateway, or the roof of a garden-house. It 
 is to be hoped that Lord de L'Isle will not long delay his 
 intention of having these monstrosities pitched from their 
 undeserved elevation.* 
 
 With these exceptions, this hall, of which I shall have 
 more to say anon, bears externally every mark of a very 
 ancient building. 
 
 The south side of the house has all the irregularity of an 
 old castle, consisting of various towers, projections, but- 
 tresses, and gables. Some of the windows show tracery of 
 a superior order, and others have huge common sashes, in- 
 troduced by the tasteful Mr. Perry aforesaid. The court 
 on this side is surrounded by battlemented walls, and has a 
 massy square gatehouse, leading into the old garden, or 
 pleasaunce, which sloped away down towards the Medway, 
 but is now merely a grassy lawn, with the remains of one 
 fine terrace running along its western side. 
 
 In this court, opposite the door of the Banqueting Hall, 
 hangs a large bell, on a very simple frame of wood. The 
 whole has a genuine look of the ancient time when hunters 
 came hungry from the forest, and needed no gilded belfry 
 to summon them to dinner. On the bell is inscribed in 
 raised letters : 
 
 Robert Earl of Leicester, at Penshurst, 1649. 
 
 The old banqueting hall is a noble specimen of the baronial 
 hall of the reign of Edward III., when both house and table 
 exhibited the rudeness of a martial age, and both gentle and 
 
 * Since the above was written the cupola and vases have been re- 
 moved. 
 
 3* 
 
30 VISIT TO PENSHURST. 
 
 simple revelled together, parted only by the salt. The floor 
 is of brick. The raised platform, or dais, at the west-end, 
 advances sixteen feet into the room. The width of the hall 
 is about forty feet, and the length of it about fifty-four feet. 
 On each side are tall gothic windows, much of the tracery 
 of which has been some time knocked out, and the openings 
 plastered up. At the east-end is a fine large window, with 
 two smaller ones above it j but the large window is, for the 
 most part, hidden by the front of the music gallery. In the 
 centre of the floor an octagon space is marked out with a 
 rim of stone, and within this space stands a massy old dog, 
 or brand-iron, about a yard and half wide, and the two up- 
 right ends three feet six inches high, having on their outer 
 sides, near the top, the double broad arrow of the Sydney 
 arms. The smoke from the ftre, which was laid on this 
 jolly dog, ascended and passed out through the centre of 
 the roof, which is high, and of framed oak, and was adorned 
 at the spring of the huge groined spars with grotesque pro- 
 jecting carved figures, or corbels, which are now taken 
 down, being considered in danger of falling, and are laid in 
 the music gallery . 
 
 The whole of this fine old roof is, indeed, in a very de- 
 cayed state, and unless repaired and made proof against the 
 weather, must, ere many winters be over, come down ; a 
 circumstance extremely to be regretted, being said to be the 
 oldest specimen of our ancient banqueting hall remaining. 
 
 The massy oak tables remain. That on the dais, or the 
 lord's table, is six yards long, and about one wide ; and at 
 this simple board no doubt Sir Philip and Algernon Sidney, 
 the Countess of Pembroke, Saccharissa, Waller, Ben Jonson, 
 and though last mentioned, many a noble, and some crowned 
 heads, have many a time dined. What a splendid group, 
 indeed, may imagination summon up and set down at this 
 rude table, where unquestionable history will warrant us 
 in placing them. At one time the gentle and pious Edward 
 
VISIT TQ PENSHUEST. 31 
 
 VI. ; at another his mare domineering and shrewd sister 
 Elizabeth, with her proud favourite, Leicester or Essex, 
 Cecil or Warwick, all allied to, or in habits of intimacy with, 
 the lord of the house. James the First, and Charles, then 
 prince, no doubt took their seats here, at that unlooked-for 
 visit of which Ben Jonson speaks ; and the paintings in the 
 gallery, and rooms above, will show us many a high-born 
 beauty, and celebrated noble and gentleman who have 
 graced this old hall with their presence, and made its rafters 
 echo to their wit and merriment. 
 
 The tables down the sides of the hall, at which the yeo- 
 men retainers and servants sate, are seven yards long, and 
 of a construction several degrees less in remove from the 
 common trestle. 
 
 At the lower end of the hall is a tall wainscot screen sup- 
 porting the music gallery, the plainness and even rudeness 
 of its fashion marking the earliness of its date. The space 
 betwixt it and the end of the hall, forms a passage from one 
 court to the other, and serves also to conceal the entrances 
 to the kitchen, larder, and other similar offices. 
 
 Most of the wainscot and doors of this part of the house 
 are of split oak, never touched with a plane, but reduced 
 to their proper dimensions only by the chisel and the hatchet; 
 sufficient proof of their antiquity. The arched passages 
 and doorways from the courts to the hail are nevertheless 
 of excellent style and workmanship. 
 
 At the back of the music-gallery, and up to the very top 
 of the hall, hang shields, matchlocks with their rests, steel 
 caps, banners, and different pieces of armour ; but much the 
 greater portion of those trophies has fallen down, and they 
 lie in the music-gallery, or some of the disused rooms. 
 
 On each side of the dais, as in our old colleges, ascends a 
 flight of loo stairs ; one leading to the old apartments of the 
 house, the other into a sort of little gallery, out of which the 
 lord could look into the hall, and call his wassailers to order 
 
32 VISIT TO PENSHUKST. 
 
 if any unusual clamour or riot was going on, or to call any 
 of his retainers, bells not then being introduced. 
 
 On the right hand of the dais, is the entrance into the 
 cellar ; an odd situation to our present fancy, but then, no 
 doubt, thought very convenient for the butler to bring up 
 the wine to the lord's table. Passing this cellar door to the 
 right of the dais, and ascending the loo stairs, you find your- 
 self in the ball-room : a large room, with two ancient lustre 
 chandeliers surmounted with the crown-royal, and said to 
 have been the first made in England, and presented by 
 Elizabeth to the Earl of Leicester. In this room are several 
 columns of verde-antique, giallo, and porphyry from Italy ; 
 antique burial-urns, and old tables of mosaic marble. There 
 are four large frescoes by Vanderbrecht : — The Triumph 
 of Cupid ; Venus rising from the Sea ; Europa on the Bull ; 
 and Cupid trying his Bow. Amongst some indifferent portraits 
 is one of Lady E. Sidney, and another of Lady Egerton. 
 
 In the pages' room are numerous paintings. Amongst 
 them are the Duke of St. Albans, Nell Gwynn's son, a boy 
 of about eight or ten years of age, in a rich murrey-coloured 
 doublet and breeches, with roses at his knees and on his 
 shoes ; an excellent painting. Head of John Dudley Duke 
 of Northumberland, 1545 : the father of Lord Guildford 
 Dudley ; of the Earls of Warwick and Leicester ; and of 
 Mary Dudley, the mother of Sir Philip Sidney. Head of 
 the Duchess of Portsmouth : small full-length of Algernon 
 Percy Earl of Northumberland : the Egerton family, three 
 children : head of old Parr, who died at the age of one hun- 
 dred and fifty-two : Catherine Cecil, Countess of Leicester, 
 of whom there are several other portraits in the house : head 
 of Algernon Sidney, in a defective state : Duns Scotus : sup- 
 posed portrait of General Leslie. 
 
 There is a small recumbent statue of Cleopatra from 
 Herculaneum, here ; and the bridle of the Duke of Buck- 
 ingham, the favourite of James I., hangs by one of the win- 
 
VISIT TO PENSHURST. 33 
 
 dows. The front, martingal, and the bosses of the bits, 
 gilt and much ornamented. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth's room. — It is said that Elizabeth, 
 when visiting Sir Henry Sidney, the father of Sir Philip, 
 furnished this room. The chairs are fine, tall, and capa- 
 cious ones, the frames gilded, and the drapery yellow and 
 crimson satin, richly embroidered. They must have been 
 very splendid when in their full glory. The walls of each 
 end of the room are covered with similar embroidered satin, 
 said, as in all such cases, to have been worked by the queen 
 and her attendants. 
 
 Here stand the three most interesting portraits in the 
 house. Those of Sir Philip, Algernon, and Mary Sidney, 
 the Countess of Pembroke. 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney is here apparently not more than two 
 or three and twenty years of age. His dress is a rich laced 
 doublet of pale crimson ; ruff, and scarlet mantle hanging 
 loosely from his shoulder. He is standing reading, with a 
 staff of office in his hand, and with his armour about him. 
 It is a lively portrait, very much resembling that belonging 
 to the Duke of Bedford, from which Lodge's engraving is 
 taken ; and also that in Warwick Castle ; but of a younger 
 aspect than either. It perhaps does not come up to your 
 idea of the knightly beauty and grace of Sir Philip Sidney ; 
 for few indeed of the portraits of the great men of that won- 
 derful era do realize your conceptions of them ; but it has 
 all the truth and light-heartedness of youth about it, and 
 breathes of that high-minded nobility and generous enthu- 
 siasm for whatever was heroic and just, which distinguished 
 him. You cannot look long on the high forehead, clear 
 earnest eyes, and smooth features, without feeling that they 
 belonged to the youthful poet, and gallant and unselfish 
 hero. His hair is cut short behind, and turned aside from 
 his forehead, and what is perhaps most unlooked for, its 
 colour is of a ruddy brown. It is not red hair of the com- 
 
34 VISIT TO PENSHURST. 
 
 mon hue, nor chestnut, but a dusky red, or ruddy brown, 
 and which is proved by a circumstance to which I shall 
 soon advert, to have really been the colour of Sir Philip's 
 hair. His complexion is also that of a person who has a 
 tinge of the red in his hair. The same tinge is visible in 
 the hair of many of the Sidneys, both as seen in their por- 
 traits and in locks which are preserved. 
 
 Lodge's portrait of the Countess of Pembroke is a very 
 good transcript. 
 
 Algernon Sidney is also here represented as we see him in 
 the engravings ; — standing by a column, leaning on a folio 
 book labelled. libertas. He is in a buff coat embroidered, 
 a scarlet sash, and steel cuirass. The tower where he was 
 beheaded is in view, and the axe of the executioner behind. 
 His long dark-brown hair is combed over his shoulders ; 
 his nose is Roman ; and the expression of the whole coun- 
 tenance stern and melancholy. From the emblems of his 
 fate about him, it is evident that this painting was done 
 after his death. The original likeness is in the gallery. 
 
 Near these is Lord Lisle, the son of Lady Egerton, by 
 Lely : Robert Spencer, Earl of Sunderland, the husband of 
 Saccharissa : Col. Thomas Sidney, his wife and child, the 
 father and mother of Mrs. Perry, the grandmother of Sir 
 John Shelley Sidney. The Earl of Leicester, 1618 ; Robert, 
 Earl of Leicester, 1632, by Vandyke : Philip, Lord Lisle, 
 Earl of Leicester, 1678 : his mother, again, Lady Elizabeth 
 Sidney (a Bridgewater Egerton) : and the present -Lord de 
 L'Isle. Robert Dudley, Queen Elizabeth's Earl of Lei- 
 cester, by Gerard : Ambrose Dudley, his brother, Earl of 
 Warwick; Henry Rich, Earl of Holland, by Vandyke. A 
 large family-piece — Barbara Gamage, Countess of Leices- 
 ter, 1596, and her six children, all in the formal dress of the 
 time. In this room are various other family portraits, and 
 George III. and Queen Charlotte, by Gainsborough. There 
 is a sleeping Venus, by Titian j a Charity, by Guido ; and 
 
VISIT TO PENSHURST. 35 
 
 perhaps, as a painting, the most attractive piece of all is 
 a Vandyke, Philip Lord Lisle — a boy with his dog, and 
 his hunting-pole upon his shoulder. He has on an em- 
 broidered scarf and buskins, richly worked with gold. He 
 appears to be advancing through a wood, and his attention 
 is arrested by something in the trees before him. The 
 whole figure is full of youthful buoyancy, and the counte- 
 nance of grace and nature. 
 
 Tapestry Room. — Full lengths of William and Mary ; 
 William IV., by Sir Thomas Lawrence 5 Edward VI., by 
 Holbein, an excellent portrait : Sir Henry Sidney, the pre- 
 sident, in a black velvet cap and robe ; a portrait in keeping 
 with his character as a high-minded gentleman. 
 
 The most curious painting in this room is however, per- 
 haps, one containing the portraits of the two celebrated sis- 
 ters, Lady Dorothy Percy, Countess of Leicester, and Lady 
 Lucy Percy, Countess of Carlisle. These ladies, daughters 
 of the Duke of Northumberland, so well known in their 
 own day, are well known too by their portraits in Lodge. 
 Here they are given together, and the variation of their 
 characters is obvious in their persons. The Countess of 
 Leicester is a woman of that bold beauty which answers 
 to what we know of her ; a woman who seemed born to 
 command and to be admired. She had quick passions and 
 a strong will, but she knew both her own nature, and was 
 quick to see that of all who came about her. She had great 
 self-command, and could fascinate, or repel by a cool air of 
 dignity, at her pleasure. Her husband has left us, in his 
 letters, a very touching account of her death-bed farewell of 
 him. She was the mother of Algernon Sidney, and looking 
 on her fine, but firm, and high-spirited face, we recognise 
 at once the source of his lofty and unbending qualities. 
 
 The Countess of Carlisle was a woman of similar charac- 
 ter in many points, but more devoted to political intrigue. 
 " Lady Carlisle," says Miss Aikin in her Memoirs of the 
 
36 VISIT TO PENSHURST. 
 
 Reign of Charles I., " was a distinguished beauty, wit, and 
 political intriguer, nor is her memory free from the suspicion, 
 at least, of gallantry ; no court lady of her time was equally 
 celebrated or conspicuous. She was flattered in French by 
 Voiture, and in her native tongue by almost all the contem- 
 porary wits and poets, and more especially by Waller in 
 verse, and in prose by that singular and mysterious person 
 Sir Toby Matthew ; who composed an elaborate character 
 of her, which is sufficiently hyperbolical to wear some ap- 
 pearance of irony, especially in the eulogium which he 
 seems to bestow upon that arrogant scorn with which it 
 was her practice to treat persons of every rank. . . . She 
 was early appointed to a high office in the household of the 
 queen; and notwithstanding occasional quarrels, such as 
 could scarcely fail to arise between two ladies so distin- 
 guished for high spirit, she long enjoyed and singularly 
 abused the favour and confidence of Henrietta." Went- 
 worth is supposed at one period to have stood high in her 
 good graces, and even Laud paid homage at her shrine. 
 
 Here are besides, heads of William and Mary: Nell 
 Gwynn, by Lely, as a Venus lying on a couch with a child 
 standing by her ; a strange picture, but beautifully executed. 
 Some family pictures ; a sea-piece, by John Tennant, a 
 fisherman looking out with a spying-glass : a curious old 
 piece a music party : a head of a female, by Giorgione, 
 full of strong character ; and St. Peter delivered out of 
 Prison, by Steenwick. There are on the walls two large 
 pieces of Gobelin tapestry ; Eolus unbarring the winds ; 
 and the triumph of Ceres. A card table stands here, given 
 by Queen Elizabeth, the middle of which is covered with 
 needlework, embroidery of the very kind now so much 
 worked by our young ladies. 
 
 Picture Closet. — Algernon Percy as high-admiral of 
 England : Titian's mistress, by himself; a soft, fattish wo- 
 man with yellow hair, but beautifully painted : Madonna 
 
VISIT TO PENSHURST. 37 
 
 and sleeping Christ, by Guido ; the face of the Madonna 
 full of expression, and the light thrown upon it with fine 
 effect : head of a saint, by Giorgione, in a praying attitude 
 with clasped hands, the colour of the flesh is of a rich deep 
 yellow, as if the saint were the inhabitant of a sultry country: 
 a Crucifixion : Bandits, by Spagnoletto ; and various small 
 pieces by good masters. 
 
 The Gallery. — AFlemish Woman, by Peter Thoue, 1560, 
 with fruit, very good : a curious old piece, a Madonna and 
 Child, probably brought from some ancient shrine : full- 
 length of Lady Mary Dudley, wife of Sir Henry, and mo- 
 ther of Sir Philip Sidney, with a guitar, and in a rich em- 
 broidered gown of Elizabethan ruff, her hair frizzled close 
 to her head : the original portrait of Algernon Sidney, by 
 Verres : Languet, Sir Philip Sidney's friend : Bacchanals, 
 by N. Poussin : piece on marble, a Woman with her Distaff, 
 and a Shepherd playing on his pipe, with sheep and cattle 
 about : James Stuart, Duke of Richmond, by Vandyke : 
 Dying Mother, probably copied from Murillo : Abraham 
 offering up Isaac, a large piece, by Guercino da Cento : a 
 Procession, by Rubens, evidently a piece full of life and 
 grace from what little can be seen of the figures, but nearly 
 invisible from want of cleaning : Telemachus in the island 
 of Calypso. 
 
 Dorothea, Countess of Sunderland, by Hoskins, that is, 
 Saccharissa after her marriage : on the other side of the 
 gallery is Saccharissa before her marriage — Dorothea 
 Sidney, by Vandyke. She is represented as a shepherdess 
 in a straw hat, the brim of which is lined with blue satin, 
 her hair is disposed in ringlets on each side of the face, 
 leaving the crown of the head smooth and round in the 
 favourite fashion of the time. Like that of the Sidneys in 
 general, it has a ruddy, or, in her case, rather golden tinge. 
 For beauty, the portrait of Hoskins, done after her marriage, 
 has the highest claim : but though there is great softness of 
 
 4 
 
38 VISIT TO PENSHURST. 
 
 figure and complexion about this lady, we are led by the 
 praises of Waller, to look for more striking charms than we 
 immediately perceive in Saccharissa. As in Sir Philip 
 Sidney, so in this celebrated female of his race, there were 
 undoubtedly those fascinations of manner and spirit, which, 
 though visible to all beholders, have escaped the hand of 
 the painter. 
 
 Virgin, Child, and St. John, said to be a copy from 
 Rafaelle, but admirably painted. Joseph's wrinkled face, 
 full of admiring devotion, and the brunette beauty of Mary, 
 are equally excellent ; the dark eye and rich lips of the 
 Madonna, are full of maternal satisfaction, and deep holy 
 joy : Maleager and Atalanta, a large piece, indistinct from 
 want of cleaning : the scourging of Christ, by Spagnoletto, 
 the same : Holy Family, by Bassano, the same : a boy's 
 head, by Caracci : Christ crowned with thorns, a large 
 piece, of great merit, but artist not named : a very large 
 family-piece of the Perrys, including the wife of Bysshe 
 Shelley, and mother of Sir John Shelley Sidney : head of 
 Thomas, Earl of Surrey : Ann Percy, Lady Stanhope, by 
 Netscher : Bacchanals, by N. Poussin : Endymion, by 
 Bartolomeo : a modern country coquette, by Wyatt : Abbot, 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, a curious old piece : Thomas 
 Wentworth, constable of Queenborough Castle in the first 
 of Richard III. : a drunken gondolier, by Rubens : Apollo 
 and the Muses, after Vandyke. In this part of the gallery 
 stands an ebony cabinet, with small brass figures in little 
 niches and paintings on the panels, which was given by 
 James I. to the first Earl of Leicester. 
 
 Head of William Paulet, Marquis of Winchester, a very 
 old man : Sir William Sidney, to whom Penshurst was 
 given by Edward VI., by Lucas de Heer : Madonna and 
 Christ, by Andrea del Sarto. The most curious piece in the 
 gallery, and indeed in the house, is one of Sir Philip 
 Sidney, and his brother Robert, afterwards first Earl of 
 
VISIT TO PENSHURST. 39 
 
 Leicester of this line. Sir Philip, a youth of perhaps sixteen, 
 is standing arm in arm with Robert, a boy of about thirteen 
 or fourteen. They are in a court dress, both exactly alike, 
 a sort of doublet and collar. The collar is just the boy's 
 collar of the present day, except that it is fringed with lace. 
 The doublet is buttoned down the front with close set 
 buttons, it is fitted exactly to the body with very close 
 sleeves, and turned up with lace cuffs. The colour of the 
 doublet is French grey. They have trunk-hose, very full 
 indeed, of crimson figured satin, stockings and garters of the 
 same colour as the doublet, with roses at the knees, and on 
 the shoes. Their shoes are of leather, with tan-coloured 
 soles, and are cut high in the instep ; having much the look 
 of listing shoes of the present day : their swords complete 
 their costume. Their hair is cut short behind and turned 
 aside on the forehead. There is a hat of white beaver 
 lying on a table close to the elbow of Sir Philip, with a stiff 
 upright plume of ostrich feathers with edges dyed crimson. 
 
 The lads have a strong likeness as brothers, and bear the 
 same likeness to the portrait of Sir Philip in Queen Eliza- 
 beth's room. Philip has something of an elder-brother, 
 patronizing air, and is full of a frank, ardent spirit, such as 
 we may imagine marked the boyhood of such a man. 
 When we recollect, too, the strong affection he always 
 showed to this brother, we see plainly that the union of the 
 two in one picture was rather the result of that known 
 affection, than the act of the painter. This curious family 
 and national picture bears about it every mark of its 
 authenticity, and has never yet been engraved. 
 
 Amongst the remaining pictures, are — Philip, the fifth 
 Earl of Leicester, by Kneller : Elizabeth, daughter of Col. 
 Sidney, and wife of W. Perry, Esq., the same lady who 
 figures in the large Perry family-piece just mentioned : 
 Robert, Earl of Leicester, 1702, by Sir P. Lely : Elizabeth 
 Egerton, Lady Leicester again, with a child, afterwards 
 Lord Lisle, both by Lely: another Lady Leicester, a very 
 
40 VISIT TO PENSHURST. 
 
 fine, fair woman, with a profusion of brown hair : Christ at 
 Emmaus, a large and good piece, by Jan Steen : Jane 
 Wroth, Countess of Rochford, said to be by Netscher, quere 
 by Lely ? a fine woman, in Lely's style, with dark hair, 
 hazel eyes, and large oval face, with an air of aristocratic 
 dignity : Madonna and Child, by Leonardo da Vinci : 
 portrait of a pian, by Holbein, most capital and life-like : 
 heads of Christ and Madonna, from the collection of Charles 
 I., by Simon Mercati : rich man and Lazarus, by Bassan : 
 several small family-pieces on copper, by Verelst : Flemish 
 women, by Terburgh, excellent : Sir Thomas More, by 
 Holbein : St. Lucia holding her eyes in a vase : the Flood, 
 by Bassan : Holy Family, by Annibal Carracci : Barbara 
 Gamage, first Countess of Leicester : Venus reclining, by 
 Titian : head of a monk, by Perino del Vaga, with strong 
 black hair, and features that would suit the Clerk of 
 Copmanhurst : carving on wood, a saint at prayer, very 
 excellent : Venus attired by the Graces, copied from Gui- 
 do, by Lely : portrait of a lady, a lovely fair woman : 
 martyrdom of St. Sabastian, a large piece, that wants 
 cleaning : a small head of Martin Luther. 
 
 Such are the names of the greater number of the paintings 
 at Penshurst. There are a good many, both family por- 
 traits and other paintings, by good masters, which are not, 
 however, here mentioned ; some few, too, were gone to be 
 cleaned. I have desired to enumerate the majority, that 
 persons of taste may be more aware, than has been the 
 case, of the treasures of art hoarded in this venerable old 
 house of the Sidneys : to attempt to discuss their respective 
 merits is beyond the limits of this article ; but it may be an 
 additional inducement to those who would wish to visit 
 Penshurst, from their reverence for those of its former in- 
 habitants, who have done and suffered so much for the 
 literature and the liberties of England, to know that they 
 will not merely tread the same ground, and gaze on the 
 same scenes as these patriots and heroes, but that these 
 
VISIT TO PENSHURST. 41 
 
 noble spirits have themselves collected for their recreation, 
 works of art which would make the spot one of strong at- 
 traction, even if it were not hallowed by their memories, 
 and embellished by all that remains of their presence — their 
 pictured forms. 
 
 Few, I suspect, are aware how easy of access this in- 
 teresting place is from the metropolis. In about three hours, 
 and for a few shillings, a coach three times a week will set 
 you down at an excellent inn on the very spot. From Tun- 
 bridge Wells, a few miles distant, this is now a favourite 
 excursion, and the Dover Railway will, ere long, run through 
 the vale of Tunbridge, so that we feel assured that Pens- 
 hurst, standing as it does, in one of the most lovely districts 
 of England, will be resorted to by a great multitude of our 
 countrymen. 
 
 At present, it is true, this interesting collection of paint- 
 ings is in a state of much confusion. Both they and the 
 building have evidently suffered seriously, not merely from 
 time, but from neglect. In the great national changes, 
 which since the days of the First Charles have passed over 
 England, the great families and their houses have neces- 
 sarily undergone ruinous changes too. Many such houses, 
 at this moment, stand roofless and ivy-grown, never again 
 to be restored. Others have only been recovered by the 
 outlay of princely fortunes; and others still, though inhabited 
 by the descendants of their ancient lords, bear about them, 
 and will to the last, the marks of the scath and ravages 
 which they have suffered. Penshurst is one of these ; and 
 no one who treads its silent park, and beholds its huge trees 
 shattered by the tempests, — its grass-grown pleasaunce and 
 its gray walls, — but will feel that it derives a stronger in- 
 terest from these circumstances. It is not in a scene of 
 entire modern gaiety and splendour that we would wish to 
 come upon the domestic haunts of the Sidneys. Such a 
 scene would violate all our ideas of the past, and disturb 
 
 4* 
 
42 VISIT TO PENSHURST. 
 
 those feelings which drew us to the spot. We know that 
 the days of the Arcadia are gone by ; we know that Sir 
 Philip Sidney died young on the field of Zutphen, and 
 Algernon's blood flowed on the scaffold for the love of civil 
 liberty ; and a place which bears on its face evidence of a 
 kindred fate, is just that which accords with our humour at 
 the moment, and deepens our impressions of the past. We 
 do not expect to meet Ben Jonson strolling through the 
 park; or Waller and Saccharissa bandying compliments 
 beneath the noble beeches, now called Saccharissa's Walk ; 
 much less do we expect to find Sir Philip pacing the broad 
 terrace of the garden, with his admired sister Pembroke, 
 and Edmund Spenser, deep in dreams of chivalry and poe- 
 try, which no sound of steam-engines, nor bruit of reform 
 and registrations, nor arrival of morning paper, in those 
 days disturbed. All these things are of the past, and of the 
 fashion of the past which can never be revived, and we love 
 the spot which makes us feel it. 
 
 Nothing, therefore, is more delightful than to see the care 
 which, in restoring this fine old fabric, has been taken by 
 its noble possessor, to preserve as much of its anquity as 
 possible, and to build in the spirit of it. Lord de L'Isle is 
 a worthy descendant of the House of Sidney, and seems 
 fully conscious of the honour of such ancestry ; it is there- 
 fore to be hoped, that in the course of improvement and 
 restoration, a great deal will be done which yet needs it. 
 I have already expressed the hope that the roof of the old 
 banqueting hall will be repaired, and the hall thus be pre- 
 served to future generations, which, without speedy atten- 
 tion, will not outlast this. 
 
 It will be a worthy labour too, both as it regards the 
 public and the works themselves, to have the paintings 
 thoroughly cleaned, and disposed to best advantage. The 
 family portraits should be arranged in chronological order ; 
 and when it is considered that the whole family is, with 
 scarcely an exception, complete, it may be imagined how 
 
VISIT TO PENSHUKST. 43 
 
 much the interest of the whole will be increased. When 
 this is done, it will be difficult to call to mind a suite of 
 ancient apartments, commencing with the old hall and ter- 
 minating with the gallery, that will more completely trans- 
 port the spectator into the stirring times of Elizabeth and 
 the Commonwealth. 
 
 But there are other relics of the family at Penshurst. 
 There are the MSS. In a cabinet, in one of the front 
 rooms, is preserved a considerable collection of these. 
 Some of their contents have been published, particularly 
 those of a more political nature, in Collins's two volumes of 
 the Sidney Papers. Mr. Blencowe has also published, in 
 another volume, under the same name, the Journal of 
 Robert, Earl of Leicester, father of Algernon, who spent 
 the troublous times of the civil wars and commonwealth 
 here, and regularly entered down the passing events. We 
 have also, in the same volume, some letters of Algernon to 
 his father and others, all bearing the impress of the same 
 high and unbending spirit, perhaps the most perfect image 
 of Roman virtue that any modern state has produced. Yet 
 I have no doubt that a steady inquest through those papers 
 would discover much matter that would interest the general 
 reader. It is not within the scope of such a work as this 
 that such materials could be comprehended. I can only in- 
 dicate their existence. It may, however, give some idea of 
 what might be found, to mention one or two things that 
 my eye casually fell upon. One was a MS. with this title — 
 
 An. Dom. 1583. 
 
 Inventory of Household Furniture, etc. at Kenil- 
 
 worth Castle, belonging to Robert Dudley, 
 
 Earl of Leycester. 
 
 An. Dom. 1583. 
 
44 VISIT TO PENSHUEST. 
 
 What a volume this would have been for Sir Walter 
 Scott when writing his romance of Kenilworth ! Here we 
 have a thorough and particular account of the whole fur- 
 nishing and household array of Kenilworth, at the very time 
 at which Leicester gave his entertainment to the Queen. 
 There is every article in the house from roof to cellar, and 
 from the lady's bower to the stable. With this MS. before 
 him, Sir Walter might have given us a portraiture of Kenil- 
 worth, not only as graphic as was his wont, but as true as 
 if he had been at the entertainment himself. As it is, it is 
 a most valuable exposition of the real state and fashion of 
 a princely house in the reign of Elizabeth. 
 
 There are also two volumes of the Household Book of 
 the Sidneys remaining. They are those of Algernon Sid- 
 ney's father, and are thus entitled — 
 
 1624. 
 Household Expenses of the Right Honourable Lo. vicont 
 Lisle, at London and Pencehurst,* from the xiii of 
 Aprill unto xxi of March. 
 
 Expenses 
 In Kitchens, Larders, Buttrie, Sellers, Brewhouse, Laun- 
 dreys, Stables, fewell, and in other places, as here- 
 after may appeare. 
 
 In this book, as in the Household Book of the Percys, 
 which has been published, there is a most exact and well- 
 kept account of all expenses throughout the entire establish- 
 ment. Of the methodical and business habits of our great 
 families in the days of tilting and court revelry, nothing can 
 
 * Still pronounced thus by the people thereabouts, evidently from the 
 original name, Pencester. 
 
VISIT TO PENSHURST. 45 
 
 give more ample proof. Everything is entered, and every- 
 thing is valued. The accounts are not only clear and 
 minute, but they are set down in the most leisurely and 
 precise hand. Such accounts were, no doubt, of the greatest 
 value in their own day, and to us they are not a whit the 
 less so. They are standing evidences, not only of what was 
 the consumption of a great house, and what were the kind 
 of articles used, but they give us the value of every article 
 of life at this period, and become data for any calculation 
 of the change of value in money and goods between that 
 day and this. We have meat, flour, eggs, fish, fowls, 
 turkeys, pigs, wheat, oats, hay, brushes, mops, cloths, etc., 
 etc., all in their separate identity. There is no lumping 
 them in sundries. You see too what was the peculiar style 
 of serving the several tables kept in the house, for the old 
 days of all dining in hall were over ; there were, therefore, 
 separate entries for every day and every room where a 
 table was set. There was the lord's table ; the table in the 
 hall, probably for the steward, yeomen, and retainers ; the 
 kitchen for the kitchen servants; the nursery; and Alger- 
 non's room. 
 
 We find continual entries in 1625, " for Algernone," of 
 puddings, birds, mutton, etc. If Algernon was born in 1622, 
 as it has been asserted, he would now only be three years 
 old, and would be in the nursery; but if in 1617, as is 
 more probable, he would be eight, and thus at a more suit- 
 able age to be advanced to the dignity of a separate table. 
 Whatever be the fact, these, however, and such, are the 
 entries. 
 
 We find also that one day there is veal in the kitchen, 
 mutton in the hall, and a capon in the nursery ; the same 
 general dishes seldom appearing at the different tables on 
 the same day. Lord de L'Isle's eldest daughter, a fine 
 lively girl of eleven, hearing us mention the nursery, was 
 curious to know what the children of the family had two 
 
46 VISIT TO PENSHURST. 
 
 hundred years ago, and was amused to find that it was just 
 what they themselves had had that day — a fowl. 
 
 In these books are duly entered the names of all the 
 guests, so that by looking through them we can tell who 
 were the visitants and associates of the family for those 
 years. Many of these entries are very curious, as they re- 
 gularly note how many attendants the guests brought, and 
 how long they stayed. We may give a few samples, which 
 are sufficiently indicative of the whole. Thus — - 
 
 1624 — Monday, 14th March. — At dinner, Lo. Percie and 
 
 La. Percie ; La. Carlisle ; La. Maners ; Sir Henry 
 Lea ; Mrs. Coulston. 
 
 At supper, Lord Percie, Ladie Delawar, and remain- 
 ing a week. 
 
 Wednesday 16th, Lo. and La. went to Syon. 
 
 1625 — 12th of November. — Breakfast for La. Percie and 
 
 La. Carlisle, and people going away. 
 Soon after occurs — Ladie Carlisle, with ten attend- 
 ants, who staid fourteen days. 
 
 — Lord Wallingford ; Lord Vauze ; Sir Thos. Ne- 
 ville ; Sir Antho. Forester ; Lord Arundell ; Sir 
 Francis Smith ; and their attendants after dinner. 
 
 — Thirty neighbours at dinner. 
 
 1625 — 30th December. — Sir Geo. and John Ryvers, and 
 their La. ; Mr. Geo. Ryvers ; Justice Dixon ; Jus- 
 tice Selliard and his brethren ; and Lord Crucken- 
 don ; Anthony Cambridge ; and about thirty others 
 at dinner. 
 Prices of expenses for this weeke. — Kitchen, for 
 flesh, fish, poultrie, butter, eggs, groceries, 291. 17s. 
 lOd. ; Pantry and eller, in bread, beere, sack, cla- 
 ret, etc. 14/. 13s. lOd. ; Brewhouse Laundrie, 
 
 soape and starge, Is. lid.; Stables, for hay and 
 oats, 1/. 145. 8d. ; Fewell, in charcoal and billets, 
 31. 9s. 
 
VISIT TO PENSHURST. 47 
 
 This, it must be confessed, was jovial house-keeping, 
 amounting to about 50/. for the week, or 2500/. the year, 
 for mere eating and drinking, when a good pig was worth 
 Is. 8d. ; and everything in proportion. 
 
 These are striking testimonials to the truth of Ben Jon- 
 son's description in the poem already quoted, of the liberal 
 and ungrudging hospitality of the Sidneys. Towards the 
 alleviation of this cost we find continual entries of gifts from 
 friends and tenants, — another fact also mentioned by Ben 
 Jonson : 
 
 All come in, the farmer and the clowne, 
 And no one empty handed. 
 
 The singularity of the entry is, that even these gifts have a 
 value attached to them, as thus, in 1625 : — Gifts to the Lo. 
 of Leycester : from the Earl of Dorset, 1 stag, 2/. — from 
 Goodman Edmunds, 1 pig, Is. 8d. 
 
 There were also " Provision Rents," or rents which pro- 
 bably small tenants paid in kind, which came pouring in 
 weekly, and must have proved very comfortable apparitions 
 to the cook, when lords and ladies, with their troops of at- 
 tendants, rode clattering into court. These provision rents 
 are also regularly entered, and consisted of all kinds of 
 country produce, — bacon, fowls, turkeys, geese, mutton, 
 pigs — fat and sucking, fruits, corn, cheese, butter, and such 
 good things. 
 
 Besides these household books, and the volumes of his- 
 torical journals, political and literary, already mentioned, 
 there are some relating entirely to family affairs, which 
 must be very curious. I observed a sort of summary of 
 the historical reading of one of the earls, and a " Catalogue 
 of the Officers in the army of the Netherlands." This was 
 probably made by Robert Sidney, Sir Philip's brother, who 
 served in that army for some time. I opened, too, " An 
 
48 VISIT TO PENSHURST. 
 
 account of the Ceremonials at the Courts of Princes/' 
 evidently being a sort of guide-book of one of the family 
 while on foreign embassage ; probably that of the second 
 earl, whose journal is published, and who was ambassador 
 to France in the early part of Charles I.'s reign ; with others 
 which in the same manner indicate the countries and em- 
 ployments in which the writers or transcribers were engaged. 
 There is one entitled, " The Meditations of the Countess of 
 Bridgewater on eight chapters of Scripture." This was, 
 no doubt, brought here by her daughter, Lady Elizabeth 
 Egerton, the fourth Countess of Leicester. 
 
 These are all interesting peeps into the lives and charac- 
 ters of the various members of an ancient line, of some of 
 whom no other memorial remains except the portrait on the 
 wall. What can be more delightful than for the descendant 
 of an old house to be able thus to unveil and make acquaint- 
 ance with the thoughts and domestic feelings of his buried 
 ancestors? We must not, however, leave this cabinet 
 without noticing another article of its contents. 
 
 Of most of the distinguished personages of this family, a 
 lock of hair has been carefully preserved, and they are here 
 kept in little boxes. They have been severed from the head 
 at various ages of the individual. Some have the infantine 
 lightness of hue and silkiness of texture, and some are 
 blanched with age. It was, however, a great pleasure to me 
 to see locks of the hair of Sir Philip and Algernon, cut in 
 the strength of their manhood, for they so exactly agreed, 
 both in character and colour with that of their portraits in 
 the house, as to give one the most satisfactory idea of the 
 scrupulous fidelity of the painters. 
 
 We must here close our visit to Penshurst ; only adding, 
 that in the church which stands near the house, are to be 
 found monuments of the Sidneys. The remains of Sir 
 Philip lie in St. Paul's Cathedral. It may be interesting 
 too, to lovers of our history, to know that in the present 
 
VISIT TO PENSHURST. 49 
 
 parsonage, now inhabited by the Rev. Philip Dodd and his 
 daughter, once dwelt Dr. Hammond, one of the chaplains 
 of Charles I., and author of various works of a polemic or 
 religious nature. In fact, the church, the parsonage, the 
 rustic churchyard — which is entered by an old-fashioned 
 gateway through the very middle of a house, and has some 
 of its graves planted with shrubs and flowers in the manner 
 which John Evelyn says was common in his time in Surrey, 
 the village, and the old mansion itself, are all so pleasantly 
 grouped on their gentle eminence, and surrounded by so 
 delightful a country, that were there no other cause of at- 
 traction, it would be difficult to point out a spot where the 
 lovers of a rural excursion, and a social party, could spend 
 a day more to their heart's desire. Who then would not 
 the more love to visit this spot for the recollections that cling 
 to it? 
 
 Are days of old familiar to thy mind, 
 
 O reader 1 Hast thou let the midnight hour 
 
 Pass unperceived, whilst thou in fancy lived 
 
 With high-born beauties and enamoured chiefs, 
 
 Sharing their hopes, and with a breathless joy 
 
 Whose expectation touched the verge of pain, 
 
 Following their dangerous fortunes 1 If such love 
 
 Hath ever thrilled thy bosom, thou wilt tread, 
 
 As with a pilgrim's reverential thoughts, 
 
 The groves of Penshurst. Sidney here was born. 
 
 Southey. 
 
 Yes, in these scenes you seem to make human acquaintance, 
 even though ages and death and decay are between you, 
 with spirits that were before unto you merely after the 
 fashion of Ariel, — coming, indeed, at your call, from the 
 fairy -land of books, and singing to you unearthly melodies, 
 but having no local habitation. Here you have before you 
 the traces and evidences of their humanity. Here you see 
 
 5 
 
50 VISIT TO PENSHURST. 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney, as the boy and the man ; you walk under 
 his oak ; you tread with Ben Jonson beneath the mighty 
 chestnuts still crowning the hills of the park ; you pace 
 under the stupendous beeches of Saccharissa's Walk, now 
 battered with time and tempests ; you see Algernon Sidney, 
 not merely as the stern patriot, planning the overthrow of 
 monarchy, but as the delicate child of a stately line daintily 
 fed in his separate chamber ; you recognise the Fair Pem- 
 broke as a daughter of this house ; and everywhere tokens 
 of the visits and favour of Edward VI., of Elizabeth, and 
 James, bring us back in spirit to those remarkable reigns. 
 Numbers of portraits of those who figured most eminently 
 on the political stage then, complete the impression ; and 
 we cannot bid adieu to the venerable pile of Penshurst with- 
 out feeling that it has not merely afforded us a deep satis- 
 faction, but has stimulated us to a closer acquaintance with 
 some of the proudest characters and most eventful times 
 of English history. 
 
VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 
 
 There are few things more interesting than a visit to an 
 old battle-field. The very circumstance impresses indelibly 
 on your mind the history connected with it. It awakes a 
 more lively interest about the deeds done there, than the 
 mere meeting with them in a book can. It kindles a curi- 
 osity about all the persons and the events that once passed 
 over it ; and when you have inquired, the living knowledge 
 which you have gained of the place and its localities, fixes 
 the facts for ever in your memories. 
 
 Besides that, old traditions linger about the field and its 
 vicinity, which in the excitement of the main transaction 
 never found their way into the record. There are passages, 
 and glimpses of personages, that the historian did not learn, 
 or did not deign to place on his page, which have neverthe- 
 less a vivid effect on the heart and the imagination of him 
 who wanders and muses there in after time. You see, even 
 long ages afterwards, evidences of the wrath and ravages of 
 the moment of contention, and touching traces of those human 
 sufferings, which, though they make the mass of instant 
 misery and the most fruitful subject of subsequent reflec- 
 tion, are lost in the glare of worldly glory, and the din of 
 drums and trumpets. You see where the fierce agency of 
 fire and artillery have left marks of their rage — where they 
 have shivered rocks and shattered towers, laid waste dwel- 
 lings and blown up the massy fortresses of the feudal ages. 
 Nature, with all her healing and restoring care, does not 
 totally erase or conceal these. There are gray crumbling 
 
52 VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 
 
 walls, weed-grown heaps, grassy mounds shrouding vast 
 ruins ; and even at times, of the slaughtered hosts, still 
 
 The graves are green ; they may be seen. 
 
 Of the battle-fields in this country, I know none which 
 have more interested my imagination than those of Flodden 
 and Culloden. Both were peculiarly disastrous to Scotland : 
 in one the king was slain with nearly all his nobility, in the 
 other the regal hopes of his unfortunate descendants were 
 extinguished for ever. These circumstances have made 
 them both themes of poetry and romance of the highest 
 quality which Scotland has ever produced. No one can 
 read the pathetic ballad — 
 
 The flowers of the forest are all wede away, 
 
 without feeling a strong interest in Flodden ; and the vast 
 influence which the battle of Culloden has had on the 
 fortunes of this country, render the spot on which it was 
 fought one of peculiar note to Englishmen. It was there 
 that the fate of the Stuart dynasty was sealed. It was there 
 that it was demonstrated beyond dispute, that any chance 
 of that family — so unfortunately attached to principles of 
 government and religion which the bulk of the empire 
 rejected and abjured, — to regain the throne of these king- 
 doms, was gone for ever. It was there that popery and 
 regal despotism, as regnant powers in Great Britain, were 
 destroyed. It was there that not only was Protestantism 
 made triumphant, but that the empire was consolidated far 
 more than by the formal Act of Union itself. While the 
 Highlands continued the stronghold of Jacobitism, there 
 was a weak place in the kingdom which France and Spain 
 were only too well acquainted with ; and on any recurrence 
 of hostility with them, we were threatened with invasion 
 
VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 53 
 
 and insurrection at once. The course of the rebellion of 
 1745, which was terminated at Culloden, by showing the 
 hoplessness of such attempts, put an end to them. It was 
 found that the Highlanders alone, out of the immense popu- 
 lation of the realm, could be roused to assert the claims of 
 the old dynasty, and the battle of Culloden laid the High- 
 lands at the feet of the conquerors, and they were crushed 
 into passive obedience. Henceforward all parties, English 
 and Scotch, highlanders and lowlanders, have felt so vitally 
 the advantages of union ; of one common empire, and one 
 common interest ; and such has been the manifest progress 
 in wealth, and power, and knowledge, of Britain — sound, 
 and whole, and healthy in all its members, and with the 
 same political and commercial advantages accessible to 
 all its children, that every one must rejoice in the course 
 which events have taken. Instead of internal divisions and 
 squabbles about the crown, laying her open to attacks from 
 without, Britain by her union has advanced to an eminence 
 amongst the nations, most glorious in itself, and to a prospect 
 of political dominion and moral influence that have no 
 parallel, and that are too vast even for the strongest imagi- 
 nation to embrace. 
 
 On the other hand, putting out of view these considera- 
 tions and consequences, history has few things so striking 
 as the transactions that terminated at Culloden. We see 
 an ancient dynasty driven from the throne of a splendid 
 empire, striving to regain it, and that particular race from 
 which it sprang, adhering with inviolable devotion to its 
 fortunes ; and ready, in the face of millions, and the vast 
 resources of England, to stand to the death for its claims. 
 Nothing can be more picturesque and heroic than the 
 Highlanders, as seen in this history. Their magnificent 
 mountain-land, their peculiar costume, their clanship, their 
 whole life and character, so different to those of the rest of 
 the empire, all add their effect to that romantic valour which, 
 
 5* 
 
54 VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 
 
 on the appearance of Prince Charles, burst forth over the 
 vales of England, struck terror into the heart of the metro- 
 polis, and then, as suddenly retreating, expired in one 
 melancholy blaze on the Field of Culloden. 
 
 It is no wonder that the struggles of the exiled Stuarts, 
 and the exploits of the Highlanders, have produced such a 
 multitude of Jacobite songs, and such romances as those of 
 Scott ; and, as thousands of our countrymen and country- 
 women now traverse every summer the very scenes inha- 
 bited by these heroic clans, and where the principal events 
 of the last rebellion took place, it may be as well, before 
 describing the visit to Culloden, to take a hasty glance at 
 the events that so fatally terminated there. 
 
 The moment that our summer tourists enter the great 
 Caledonian Canal, one of the most magnificent, and now 
 one of the most accessible routes which they can take, they 
 are in the very cradle of the rebellion of forty-five. Right 
 and left of those beautiful loehs over which they sail, in the 
 glens and recesses of the wild hills around them, dwell the 
 elans that carried such alarm into England. The fastnesses 
 of Lochahar, Moidart, and Badenoch, sent forth their moun- 
 taineers at the first summons of their Prince. Not a splin- 
 tered mountain towers in view, nor a glen pours its waters 
 into the Glen More nan Albin, or Great Glen of Scotland, 
 but bears on it some trace or tradition of those times. Fort 
 William, Fort Augustus, the shattered holds of Inverlochy, 
 Invergary, Glen Moriston, all call them to your remem- 
 brances. It was here that Lochiel called them around the 
 standard of Charles ; it was here they gathered in their 
 strength, and drove out every Saxon, except the garrison of 
 Fort William ; and it was here that the troops of the bloody 
 Duke of Cumberland came at his command, and blasted the 
 whole region with fire and sword. It is wonderful how 
 nature, in ninety years, can so completely have reclothed 
 the valleys with wood, and turned once more that black 
 
VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 55 
 
 region of the shadow of death into so smiling a paradise. 
 When you ascend to the justly celebrated Fall of Foyers, 
 you are again reminded of forty-five, by passing the house 
 of Frazer of Foyers ; and as you approach Inverness, you 
 only get nearer to the startling catastrophe of the drama. 
 Your whole course has been through the haunts of the Ca- 
 merons, the Macdonalds, the Grants, the Macphersons, and 
 Frazers, the rebel clans of forty-five, — and it leads you, as 
 it did them, to the Muir of Culloden. 
 
 From the first commencement of the troubles of the house 
 of Stuart to the last effort in their behalf, the Highlanders 
 were their firm, and it may be said almost their only friends. 
 The Lowland Scots, incensed at the attempt of Charles I. 
 to impose the English liturgy upon them, were amongst the 
 earliest to proclaim the solemn league and covenant, and to 
 join the English Parliament against him ; but the High- 
 landers, under Montrose, rose in his cause, and created a 
 powerful diversion in his favour. Again, when Charles the 
 II. attempted a similar measure and aroused a similar spirit 
 in the lowlands, the Highlanders, under the celebrated Cla- 
 verhouse, maintained the royal ordinance ; and again, under 
 the same commander, fought for James II. against his suc- 
 cessful rival William III. In George II. 's reign, in 1715, 
 they once more, under the Earl of Mar, set up the standard 
 of the Pretender, part of them marching as far as Preston 
 in Lancashire, where they were compelled to lay down their 
 arms, while the remainder were defeated by the Duke of 
 Argyle. Finally, they made their most brilliant, but ulti- 
 mately fatal attempt, in 1745, under Prince Charles Edward. 
 Thus, for upwards of a hundred years they maintained their 
 attachment, and were ready to shed their blood, for the 
 fallen race of their ancient kings. So desperate, as it re- 
 garded all other aid, was become the Stuart cause, that 
 Charles, when he landed on the west coast of Scotland in 
 1745, was attended only by seven men. If the hand of 
 Providence was ever revealed against the success of any 
 
56 VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEtf. 
 
 cause, through the agency of the elements, it was most sig- 
 nally against that of the Stuarts. Great was the admiration 
 at the destruction of the Spanish armada in the reign of 
 Elizabeth, chiefly by a tempest ; but scarcely, for more than 
 a century, did a ship or a fleet issue from the ports of Spain 
 or France, to further the design of the Stuarts on England, 
 but it was struck upon the rocks, or blown adrift and scat- 
 tered by a storm, or instantly encountered by a hostile force. 
 In 1715, a vessel, with arms and money, sent by the French 
 king to the aid of the Highlanders under Mar, was wrecked 
 and totally lost on the coast of Scotland. In 1719, a fleet 
 of ten ships of the line, with several frigates, having on 
 board 6000 troops, and 12,000 stand of arms, was sent out 
 from Cadiz by the court of Spain, to assert the claim of the 
 Pretender in England — it was completely dispersed by a 
 violent storm off Cape Finisterre ! In the beginning of the 
 year 1 744, Charles was summoned from Rome to accompany 
 Marshal Saxe, with a French army of 13,000 men, to Eng- 
 land. The court and people of England were greatly 
 alarmed,* and not without cause, for most of the British 
 troops were in Flanders ; the grand fleet of England was 
 in the Mediterranean ; and there were only six ships of the 
 line ready for sea, lying at Spithead. But the elements 
 once more rose against the Stuarts. As Marshal Saxe and 
 the young Pretender were busy embarking their troops, the 
 wind changed to the east, and blew a storm : several trans- 
 ports were wrecked; a good many troops and seamen 
 perished ; a great quantity of warlike stores were lost ; an 
 English fleet was mustered from the different ports of the 
 Channel, and the enterprise was abandoned. 
 
 Spite of this warring of the elements against his family, 
 in the following spring he embarked in a frigate of sixteen 
 guns, called the Doutelle, accompanied by an old man-of- 
 war, the Elizabeth, of sixty guns. They had not sailed far 
 
 * Home's History of the Rebellion, vol. i., p. 32. 
 
VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 57 
 
 when they met an English man-of-war, the Lyon, which 
 engaged the Elizabeth, and so disabled her as to compel her 
 to put back to port, and Charles proceeded in his little frigate, 
 with seven adventurers and a sum of money somewhat less 
 than 4000/. He reached the Western Isles, but was refused 
 aid by the chiefs. He landed at Moidart ; erected his stand- 
 ard in Glen-Finnan ; the Highlanders rose around him, and 
 soon set forward with him on the most daring and adven- 
 turous enterprise that ever was undertaken, — no other than 
 to hurl his Hanoverian rival from the British throne, and 
 set his own father upon it. Their success speedily asto- 
 nished all Europe. They marched to Edinburgh, and took 
 possession of it. The Prince took up his quarters in Holy- 
 rood, the ancient palace of his ancestors, and proclaimed his 
 father king. He marched out, and defeated the English 
 forces at Preston-Pans, with a facility and a total rout that 
 appeared miraculous. His victorious army, amounting to 
 less than 6000 men, marched forward to invade England. 
 The people of London soon heard with consternation and 
 amazement that they had taken Carlisle, occupied Penrith, 
 Kendal, Lancaster, Manchester ; and finally, in only thir- 
 teen days from their leaving Edinburgh, were quartered in 
 Derby. Nothing could exceed the terror of the metropolis. 
 The moneyed men were struck with a deadly panic ; num- 
 bers got together what property they could and fled into the 
 country ; several vessels lay at the Tower quay, ready to 
 convey the king and his treasures to Hanover ; the Duke 
 of Newcastle, the prime minister, shut himself up alone for 
 two days, deliberating whether he should avow himself for 
 the Stuart line, or not. It is true that an army of 30,000 
 men, chiefly of militia, lay at Finchley, and the Duke of 
 Cumberland, with another army, was hovering near the 
 Highlanders on the edge of Staffordshire ; but such was the 
 opinion of the desperate valour of the Scots, and such were 
 the spirits of the Scots themselves, that the Chevalier John- 
 
58 VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEST. 
 
 stone, who was in the Prince's army, and commonly blames 
 him for rashness, expresses his persuasion that had he then 
 pushed on to London, the Finchley army would have melted 
 away, and the crown might now have been on a Stuart's 
 head. 
 
 But such was not the fortune of that line. The chiefs, 
 struck with a sense of their own temerity, and with the fact 
 that none of the English joined them, resolved to retreat 
 northward, to the cruel chagrin of both Prince and soldiers. 
 They made a retreat as extraordinary as their march had 
 been. With the Duke of Cumberland now hotly pursuing, 
 they yet pushed on without loss or molestation, except at 
 Clifton in Cumberland, where they speedily repulsed the 
 Duke's troops. They reacked Falkirk, and there mustering 
 8000 men, they attacked and completely routed the English 
 army under General Hawley, 13,000 in number. The 
 chiefs, still deeming it prudent to retreat, contrary to the 
 Prince's judgment, they now reached Inverness, doomed to 
 be the scene of the termination of this most extraordinary 
 and meteorlike adventure. Prince Charles has been charged 
 both by friend and foes with rashness and cowardice. The 
 history of Home, who served in the army opposed to him, 
 certainly does not warrant any charge of cowardice ; and if 
 that of rashness be better founded, it should be recollected 
 that Charles Edward had been for years amused with pro- 
 mises of assistance from France to regain the crown — pro- 
 mises that ended in nothing ; that the prize aimed at was a 
 noble one ; that he had seen nothing but victory attend him, 
 and the throne at one moment apparently all but achieved. 
 That he had been irritated — being forced on retreat after 
 retreat by his own officers, over four successive fields of 
 victory — and that now they proposed a further retreat into 
 the mountains. These must be taken as palliatives ; yet 
 his conduct now was rash to madness, and cost him the 
 destruction of his cause. The troops were worn out with 
 
iVISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 59 
 
 their long and wonderful march. They were famished for 
 want of provisions. They had had no pay for six weeks ; 
 and the bulkof them were dispersed, seeking rest and refresh- 
 ment amongst their friends and families. These circum- 
 stances all pointed to the course which his chiefs counselled, 
 to avoid a general engagement, and assume a strong posi- 
 tion in the mountains. The evil angel of the Stuart race 
 prevailed. Charles harassed his men by a miserable night 
 march in a vain attempt to surprise Cumberland's camp ; 
 and when the worn-out and starving soldiers had just 
 thrown themselves down in the neighbouring woods, and 
 under the walls on Culloden Moor to sleep, the Duke was 
 upon them. It is melancholy to imagine those brave men, who 
 had shown such unparalleled devotion, and had performed 
 such wonders, thus forced to go into battle, faint with want 
 of food, of rest, and sleep, with scarcely half of their num- 
 bers assembled.* The English artillery swept them down 
 by whole ranks, and they were speedily seen flying in all 
 directions. The fate of the Stuart dynasty was sealed for 
 ever, and the bloody butcheries of the monster Cumberland 
 were then to begin. 
 
 Thinking and talking over " this strange eventful history,'' 
 we set out from the interesting town of Inverness,* to walk 
 
 * The number of Highlanders in the battle of Culloden was about 
 5000; of the king's troops nearly double that amount. 
 
 f Inverness is one of the most delightful and interesting places in the 
 kingdom. Delightful from its fine situation, on the margin of the Murray 
 Frith, and surrounded by mountain regions of the greatest beauty. It is 
 interesting by its numerous poetical and historical associations. Being 
 the capital of the highlands, it is full of clan history. Almost every ob- 
 ject on which your eye falls has its peculiar recommendation — such as 
 the old castle of Macbeth, where he murdered the king ; Craig Phadric, 
 a wild hill crowned with one of those vitrified forts that have so much 
 puzzled the antiquaries ; Tomnaheurich, or the Hill of the Fairies, a very 
 singular hill, said to be the burial-place of Thomas the Rhymer, etc., etc. 
 
60 VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 
 
 to Culloden Moor, on Thursday the 11 th of August, 1836 
 — just ninety years and about three months after the occur- 
 rence of that memorable battle, it being fought on the 1 6th of 
 April, 1746. 
 
 We found it a pleasant ramble of about four miles ; partly 
 amid pleasant cultivated fields, with their corn ripe for the 
 harvest ; partly along the shore of the Murray Frith ; and 
 partly through woods of Scotch fir. As we approached 
 Culloden, we asked many of the peasantry living near the 
 wood whether we were in the right direction, but not one 
 could, speak English. The ground gradually ascended as 
 we advanced, and when we came in sight of the Moor, we 
 found a sort of observatory tower built by the gentleman 
 who now lives in Culloden House, and a number of old can- 
 nons lying about, evidently intended to give the place a for- 
 tified air 5 one of those whims which so frequently seize 
 people in picturesque situations, but of which the interest 
 dies before the object is finished. We were now speedily 
 on the Moor, and were at a loss whether to admire more 
 the black and blasted aspect of this fatal spot, or the mag- 
 nificent scenery of which it is the melancholy centre. To 
 the south, beyond the river Nairn, rose wild ranges of hills 
 which run into the mountains of Badenoch ; to the north lay 
 at our feet, the Murray Frith, to the right showing Fort 
 George, built on a narrow promontory pushing into it from 
 the southern shore, and on the opposite shore Fort Rose ; to 
 our left lay the dark woods and green hills between us and 
 Inverness, and all before us one wide and splendid prospect, 
 — the mountain regions of Rosshire, with Ben Wyvers 
 lifting his cloudy bulk far above the rest. 
 
 Between us and the Murray Frith ran a narrow strip of 
 cultivated country, and just below us appeared, shrouded 
 in its solemn woods, Culloden House, at the time of the Re- 
 bellion the residence of the celebrated Lord Forbes of Cullo- 
 den, President of the Court of Session ; a man whose advice, 
 
VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 61 
 
 had it been taken, would, in all probabilityj have prevented 
 the Rebellion, and whose exertions actually broke it of so 
 much of its force that its defeat may be attributed to him 
 more than to any other cause.* The Moor itself, on which we 
 stood, we found as Robert Chambers in his Picture of Scot- 
 land has correctly stated, " a vast table-land covered with 
 heath, over which are scattered a few wretched cottages." 
 These cottages, however, are chiefly sprinkled over that side 
 of the Moor nearest to Inverness, with their little patches of 
 corn and potatoes, and give some aspect of life and cultiva- 
 tion to the scene ; but the site of the battle itself, and the 
 heath far beyond, are as free from the marks of culture as 
 they could be in the days of Adam. In the words of the 
 same worthy and indefatigable authority, " the whole plain 
 is as desolate and blasted in appearance as if it suffered 
 under a curse, or were conscious of the blood which it had 
 drank." It is, in fact, in strict poetical keeping with our 
 feelings on visiting such a place. Culloden Moor ought to be 
 Culloden Moor ; not a mere common-place tract of pasturage 
 or corn-field. Old battle fields are the property of the na- 
 tion ; they are spots bearing evidence to the changes of our 
 dynasties, and the conflicts, good or evil, through which 
 
 * The heavy Dutch and Hanoverian kings whom it was the fortune 
 of this kingdom to have subsequently to the expulsion of the Stuarts, 
 never seemed to have the slightest conception that their rule might be 
 made popular by conciliation and kindness. The Highlanders, who were 
 the most to be feared in case of any attempt of the Stuarts to regain the 
 crown, were treated uniformly with contempt or asperity. In 1738, 
 Lord Forbes, when a war with Spain was expected, represented to Sir 
 Robert Walpole, through Lord Milton and the Earl of Hay, that the first 
 thing which Spain would do would be to excite the Highlanders ; but that 
 all that danger might be most easily prevented by raising four or five High- 
 land regiments, and giving commissions in them to their chiefs. Sir 
 Robert expressed his admiration of the plan, wondered that it bad never 
 before occurred to any one, and warmly recommended it in council. The 
 scheme was rejected, and in seven years after came the Rebellion. 
 
 6 
 
Q2 VISIT TO THE FIELD OP CULLODEN. 
 
 England has passed to what she now is. However, there- 
 fore, farmers and country squires, and political economists 
 may rave at our folly, we cannot help being jealous of the 
 rooting out with the plough and the spade, the identifying 
 marks of our national battle-fields. The greater part of the 
 scenes of these great conflicts, of which we read in English 
 history, we find, on visiting, so exactly like the other fields 
 of hay and corn around them, that we have a difficulty in 
 realizing to ourselves that these are actually the sites of those 
 great actions that stand so prominently in our annals. Even 
 Flodden is a corn-field ; and the hill on which James V. 
 posted himself, is at present fast disappearing to mend the 
 roads. But Culloden is everything that the poet or the an- 
 tiquary would wish it to be. It is solemn and melancholy 
 as the imagination of the most sympathetic visiter can desire : 
 and who does not sympathize with the fate of so many brave 
 men, who had burst forth in so romantic an enterprise for 
 the restoration of their fallen kings, and had done such ex- 
 traordinary deeds in it ? Who can avoid sympathizing in 
 the last vain efforts of a high-spirited people to maintain 
 their independence against a nation of such overwhelming 
 power as England, notwithstanding the misgovernment of 
 the Stuarts, and the clear demonstration, from that day to 
 this, that their removal from the throne was one of the most 
 auspicious events that ever happened to this kingdom. 
 
 Though ninety years have passed since the battle of Cul- 
 loden, the field is covered with the marks of that day. 
 The moment you set foot on the scene of action, you recog- 
 nize every position of the contending armies, and the objects 
 which surrounded them. The night before the battle, Prince 
 Charles and his officers lodged in Culloden House. There 
 stands Culloden, restored and beautiful since then, but occu- 
 pying the same site and surrounded by the same wood. 
 The battle took place between this house and an extensive 
 inclosure on the Moor, the north wall of which screened the 
 
VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 53 
 
 right flank of the Highland army. This wall the English 
 troops partly pulled down, and raked the flank of the rebels 
 with such a murderous fire of artillery as cut down almost 
 every man, and caused the almost instantaneous rout of the 
 right wing. The mouldering remains of that old and shat- 
 tered wall still stretch across the Moor in the very course 
 laid down in the original plans of the battle. In the centre 
 of the place of action the ground was hollow and boggy. 
 The ground is now sound, but you see plainly the hollow 
 extent of the morass. 
 
 To the south-west stood, at that day, a large farm-house, 
 called Balvraid ; to this house the right wing of the rebels 
 retreated ; here great numbers of their comrades gathered 
 to them, and in a body made good, and indeed without 
 pursuit, their way into Badenoch. The house stands there 
 yet. On the northern edge of the battle-field, near the ex- 
 tremity of the left wing, is marked the site of a hut : this 
 was unquestionably the hut of a blacksmith, the only house 
 then standing precisely on the battle-field. This smith, so 
 says the current tradition of the place, was a stalwart fellow, 
 but not at all desirous to take part in the fray, but the High- 
 landers compelled every man that they found in the vicinity 
 to come forth to their help. Their numbers were diminished 
 by absence, and their strength by starvation and excessive 
 fatigue ; they needed all aid that they could command, and 
 they insisted on the jolly smith taking arms. The smith 
 was very loath and very dogged, but, snatching up the 
 shaft of a cart that was reared against the wall of his 
 smithy, he took his post beside them. When, however, he 
 saw the havoc made by the English cavalry amongst his 
 countrymen, his blood was up, and rushing into the thickest 
 of the fray, he laid about him with his tremendous weapon, 
 knocking down the troopers from their horses, and levelling 
 all that he came near. The exploits of this son of Vulcan 
 turning the attention of the cavalry on him, he was beset 
 
64 VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 
 
 by overwhelming numbers, and after performing prodigies 
 of valour, and laying low many with his cart shaft, he was 
 at length compelled to fly. He took the road towards In- 
 verness, the direction which the greater number of the fugi- 
 tives were taking, and after turning repeatedly on his pur- 
 suers, and bringing down several of them, he was at length 
 killed, not far from the mill, about a mile from Inverness, 
 where the last bodies were found. The country people yet 
 tell the spot where the sturdy blacksmith dropped. His 
 smithy stood from year to year on the fatal field, deserted 
 and gradually falling to decay. It remained a heap of 
 smouldering ruin till within these few years, when several 
 fresh huts springing up on the Moor not far off, the people 
 gradually conveyed away the stones of the walls to con- 
 struct their own habitations. It is said that the forge, the 
 tools, and heaps of rusty iron, were found beneath the ruins 
 of the roof which had fallen in. Such had been the horror 
 connected with that fatal field, that none had cared to carry 
 them away. When we saw the place every stone was 
 grubbed up to the bottom of the foundation, and a pool of 
 water nearly filled the hollow ; but you had only to turn 
 up any part of the floor which was bare, and you found it 
 to consist of the cinders and smithy-slack of the brave old 
 blacksmith's forge. 
 
 A road has been cut across the Moor since the battle, 
 which passes right through the centre of the scene of action, 
 and runs close past the site of the smith's forge ; and it 
 passes, too, amid what are the most striking and con- 
 spicuous objects on the field — the graves of the slaugh- 
 tered soldiers. Nothing can be more impressive than these 
 graves. The whole Moor besides is one black waste of 
 heath ; but these graves are grassy mounds of clear green, 
 the only green spot within the whole compass of the melan- 
 choly Moor. They lie right and left of the road, but prin- 
 cipally on the south side. The road, as we observed, 
 
VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. g5 
 
 having been cut across the heath since the battle, and 
 passing directly across the place of graves, has no doubt 
 covered some of them for ever from our view, but has 
 brought the remainder under the very eye of all that travel 
 through Culloden. Burns once looked on these green hil- 
 locks in his northern ramble, and described his own and the 
 popular feeling in 
 
 THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS. 
 
 The lovely lass o' Inverness, 
 Na joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
 For e'en and morn she cries alas ! 
 And ay the saut tear blins her e'e : — 
 
 " Drumossie Moor,* Drumossie day, 
 A waefu' day it was to me ! 
 For there I lost my father dear, 
 My father dear and brethren three. 
 
 " Their winding-sheet the bloody clay, 
 Their graves are growing green to see ; 
 And by them lies the dearest lad 
 That ever blest a woman's e'e ! 
 
 "Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 
 A bloody man I trow thou be ; 
 For many a heart thou hast made sair, 
 That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee." 
 
 That we might not miss any information connected with 
 the spot, we entered a hut not very far from the old smith's 
 forge, and to our great satisfaction found a family that could 
 
 * Drumossie was the old name of Culloden. 
 6* 
 
66 VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODElSr. 
 
 speak English. They were, a widow of the name of Mac- 
 kenzie, and her son and daughter, both grown up. They 
 appeared very intelligent, and took a warm interest in every- 
 thing relating to the field of battle. They told us that some 
 of their family had lived on this spot from the day of the 
 contest. That, besides the smith's hut, this was the only 
 one in the immediate vicinity of the field. That it had 
 been called Stable Hollow ever since, from a number of the 
 English troopers after the fight putting up their horses in 
 the shed belonging to it, while they went to strip the slain. 
 That their ancestors, the occupiers of the cottage, all made 
 their escape, with the exception of one young man who 
 was compelled by the Highlanders to go into the battle. 
 That such was his horror and frenzy, when he saw the 
 flight and bloody havoc that took place, that he flew across 
 the field without knowing whither he was going, and was 
 not heard of for more than two months, when he most un- 
 expectedly again made his appearance, wasted almost to a 
 skeleton. They had supposed him killed in the battle. 
 They afterwards learned that he had been roving amongst 
 the hills of JBadenoch, in a state of apparent idiocy ; and 
 only saved from starvation by the pity of the inhabitants. 
 Of this, however, he himself could give no account, nor did 
 he ever afterwards regain his former tone of mind. 
 
 William, or, as they called him, Wully Mackenzie, the 
 widow's son, was a short, strong-built youth of about 
 twenty years of age ; he was a gardener by trade, and as 
 well informed as Scotch gardeners generally are. We were 
 particularly pleased with the openness and intelligence of 
 his countenance, and on his part he offered with great evi- 
 dence of pleasure to conduct us over the field. He pointed 
 out to us a large stone, not far from their cottage ; i. e., on 
 the north side of the scene of action, and on the left wing 
 of the Highland army, where tradition said that a French 
 engineer had posted his artillery, and committed considera- 
 
"VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 67 
 
 ble havoc on the English line. When he reached the 
 graves, he directed our attention to a little stream that wan- 
 dered through the heath near them, and a spring which 
 was before the battle particularly admired for its delicious 
 water. During the contest a number of the wounded 
 crawled to it to assuage their thirst ; and amongst them an 
 officer who, as he was just raising his head, again was 
 struck with a ball, and fell with his head into the spring. 
 There, after the battle, he was found ; the fountain itself 
 perfectly choked up with the stiffened corses of himself and 
 the heaps of combatants that had fallen there. From that 
 day to the present, he said, nobody would ever drink from 
 that spring; and in truth it was nearly overgrown with long 
 grass and weeds, that testified to its not being disturbed by 
 visitants. 
 
 As we sate on the greensward of one of these battle-graves, 
 we observed that in many places the turf had been broken 
 up by digging ; and our young guide told us that scarcely 
 a party came there but was desirous to carry away the 
 fragment of a bone as a relic. " What," said we, " are the 
 bones soon come at ?" " Yes," he replied, " in some places 
 they lie within a foot of the surface." These graves have 
 been dug into in hundred of places, yet you can scarcely 
 turn a turf but you come upon them. He dug out a sod 
 with his knife, and throwing out a little earth, presently 
 came to fragments of the crumbling bones of the skeletons 
 of 1746. He told us that in one instance, a quantity of 
 bones which had been carried off by a traveller, had been 
 sent back at a great expense, and buried again ; the person 
 who conveyed them away being continually tormented by 
 his conscience and his dreams, till this was done ; " and the 
 next visiter," added Wully Mackenzie, " would most 
 probably carry them off once more." ' Balls and portions of 
 military accoutrements are still not unfrequently found about 
 the heath. We picked up as we walked across it, a leaden 
 
68 VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 
 
 bullet, flattened by having struck against some hard body 
 and rendered quite white with age. 
 
 " Many a clever fellow lies here !" said young Macken- 
 zie, as he was busy turning up the sod in quest of some 
 appearance of bones ; and indeed what a contrast was that 
 quiet scene, with the sun and breeze of August playing over 
 it, to what it was ninety years before, when these dry bones 
 lived! In such situations we often, and very naturally, 
 wish that we could call up some of the dead to tell us what 
 were their thoughts and feelings in that moment of wrath 
 and confusion ; but we had no need of that here. All those 
 who were now reduced beneath our feet to dust and 
 mouldering bones, had left their representatives behind 
 them, to tell us not only what they had suffered, but what 
 the surviving Highlanders suffered. Many who fought in 
 that battle, have left more or less some written account of 
 it ; but remarkably enough, an officer of each contending 
 army has been the historian of the whole war. Home in 
 the king's army, and the Chevalier Johnstone in that of the 
 prince, have left us vivid records of the field of Culloden, 
 and all that led to it, and all that followed it. The escape, 
 and wanderings of Prince Charles for more than five months 
 through the Highlands, with the king's soldiers after him, 
 with the price of 30,000/. set upon his head, and the per- 
 emptory orders of the Duke of Cumberland to put him to 
 death the instant he was found -r- his living in the cave in 
 the wild mountain Coramhian, with the seven Macdonalds — 
 his escape by Captain Mackenzie personating him, and 
 sacrificing his life for him : the adventure of Flora Mac- 
 donald, the prototype of Scott's Flora Mac Ivor, who 
 rescued him from his pursuers in one of the Western Isles, 
 by conveying him away disguised as her Irish maid Betty 
 Burke, — all these things, from their own romantic nature, 
 and the rank of the person concerned, have been made 
 familiar to all readers. The narrative of the escape of the 
 
VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 69 
 
 Chevalier Johnstone, however, as written by himself, is to 
 the full, in my opinion, as interesting, because it may be 
 considered as the recital of one out of the multitude of those 
 who fled from Culloden for their lives — some to escape by 
 a hair's-breadth, but many more to perish by the sword of 
 the pursuer, or the scaffold, as Kilmarnock, Balmerino, old 
 Lovat, and their fellows, whose heads so long dried in the 
 winds on Temple Bar and London Bridge.* 
 
 * The Chevalier Johnstone's history is a romance of real life, to the full 
 as interesting, and abounding with hair-breadth escapes, as the tales of 
 the author of Waverley ; and, indeed, frequently reminds you of his cha- 
 racters and incidents. The chevalier was the only son of James John- 
 stone, merchant in Edinburgh. His family, by descent and alliance, was 
 connected with some of the first houses in Scotland. His sister Cecilia 
 was married to a son of Lord Rollo, who succeeded to the title and estate 
 in 1765. The chevalier moved in the best society of the Scottish capital, 
 and was treated by the then celebrated Lady Jane Douglas with the ten- 
 derness of a parent. Educated in Episcopalian and Jacobite principles, 
 on the first intelligence of the landing of Prince Charles Edward, he 
 made his escape from Edinburgh to the seat of Lord Rollo, near Perth, 
 where he waited the arrival of the Prince, and was one of the first low- 
 country gentlemen that joined his standard. He acted as aid-de-camp to 
 Lord George Murray, and also to the Prince ; and after the battle of Preston- 
 Pans, he received a captain's commission, and bore a part in all the move- 
 ments of the rebel army till the defeat at Culloden. From Culloden he es- 
 caped with the utmost peril to Killihuntly, where Mrs. Gordon, the lady ot 
 the house, offered to build him a hut in the mountains, and give him a few 
 sheep to look after, so that he might pass for a shepherd ; but the unea- 
 siness of his mind would not allow him to adopt such a life. He fled to 
 Rothiemurchus, where the young laird advised him to surrender himself 
 to the government, as he had advised others, particularly Lord Balmerino ; 
 advice which, had he adopted it, would have caused his destruction, as it 
 did theirs. From house to house, and place to place, he escaped by the 
 most wonderful chances and under all sorts of disguises. He passed con- 
 tinually amongst the English soldiers, busy at their work of devastation, 
 his blood boiling with fury at the sight, but instant death his fate if he 
 gave one sign of his feelings. Seventeen days he remained in the house 
 of a very poor peasant, called Samuel, in Glen-Prossen ; Samuel's daugh- 
 
70 VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 
 
 One cannot even now, nearly a century after its enact- 
 ment, traverse this last field of the Jacobite wars, without 
 a strong feeling for all the human suffering in which this 
 bloody drama closed ; but still stronger is that of indignant 
 contempt for that monster Cumberland. It was impossible 
 not to reflect what was the shocking barbarity with which 
 he treated many of those whose bones now mouldered be- 
 neath our feet. " The Duke of Cumberland," says the 
 Chevalier Johnstone, " had the cruelty to allow our wounded 
 
 ter watching at the entrance of the glen. He was determined to reach 
 Edinburgh if possible, and thence escape to England, and so to the Conti- 
 nent ; but chances were a hundred to one against him. Every part of 
 the country was overrun with soldiers, every outlet was watched, and 
 heavy penalties denounced on any boatman who conveyed a rebel across 
 the Tay and Forth. He prevailed, however, with two young ladies to 
 ferry him over the Tay ; but after a dreadful journey on foot into Fife- 
 shire, he found the utmost difficulty in getting across the Forth to Edin- 
 burgh. The account of his negotiations and disappointments at Dubbie- 
 sides, where no fisherman would carry him over ; but where he did at 
 length get carried over by a young gentleman and a drunken fisher, is 
 very much in the Waverley manner. After being concealed with an old 
 nurse at Leith, and partly with Lady Jane Douglas at Drumsheagh — he 
 set out for England as a Scotch pedlar, on a pony. On his way he en- 
 countered a Dick Turpin sort of gentleman, and again a mysterious per- 
 sonage, who entered the inn where he was near Stamford, seated himself 
 at table with him, and after playing away heartily at a piece of cold veal, 
 began to interrogate him about the rebels in Scotland. Escaping from 
 this fellow by the sacrifice of some India handkerchiefs, he got to Lon- 
 don, where he lay concealed for a long time amongst his friends — fell 
 into a very interesting love adventure — and saw many of his com- 
 rades pass his window on their way to execution. On one occasion he 
 was invited by his landlord as a relaxation, to go and see two rebels exe- 
 outed on Tower Hill, Lords Kilmarnock and Balmerino ! He finally 
 escaped to Holland, in the train of his friend Lady Jane Douglas; entered 
 into the service of France, went to Louisbourg in America, and returned 
 to France to poverty and old age ! Such is one recorded life of a Jaco- 
 bite of the expedition of forty-five, — how many such, and even more 
 wretched, passed unrecorded ! 
 
VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 7! 
 
 to remain amongst the dead on the field of battle, stript of 
 their clothes, from Wednesday, the day of our unfortunate 
 engagement, till three o'clock on Friday, when he sent de- 
 tachments to kill all those who were still in life ; and a great 
 many, who had resisted the effects of the continual rains 
 which fell all that time, were then despatched. He ordered 
 a barn, which contained many of the wounded Highlanders, 
 to be set on fire ; and having stationed soldiers round it, they 
 with fixed bayonets drove back the unfortunate men who 
 attempted to save themselves, into the flames ; burning them 
 alive in this horrid manner, as if they had not been fellow- 
 creatures."* This was a fitting commencement of those 
 dreadful atrocities which he perpetrated in the country of 
 the rebellious clans. The burnings, massacres, violations, 
 and other demoniacal outrages with which he laid waste 
 some of the most beautiful regions on the globe ; deeds 
 which will make his name infamous while there is a human 
 feeling, or the power to record it in the world. 
 
 As we left the field, we gave, with our thanks, a small 
 gratuity to our intelligent young guide, Wully Mackenzie, 
 which seemed to him so much beyond his services, that, in- 
 the height of his gratitude, he was quite uneasy that he 
 could not show us some further good office. " Was there 
 nothing more that he could do ? Would we go in and sit 
 down to rest us awhile? Would we like a tune on the bag- 
 pipes?" As it is always a pleasure to gratify a generous 
 feeling, in we went, and took our seats in their little hut, 
 a regular Highland habitation, with smoky rafters, while 
 Wully produced his pipes, and began to put them in order. 
 There is something very delightful to sit in the simple cabin 
 of these mountaineers, and see them converse with an easy 
 and unembarrassed air, and with a mixture of intelligence 
 and local superstition nowhere else to be found. We ob- 
 
 * Memoirs of the Rebellion, p. 146. 
 
72 VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 
 
 served that the beds, and various parts of the roof, were 
 canopied with birch boughs, which had dried with all their 
 leaves on. These, they assured us, were a certain protec- 
 tion from the plague of flies, for not a fly would go near the 
 birch. This, we suppose, is a fact which experience has 
 taught them, and if so, is a valuable one. We had a long 
 talk with these good people, about the battle-field and its 
 traditions. They told us that the name of Drumossie was 
 not now used for that Moor — Culloden had superseded it ; 
 but was retained on a wild track at its extremity in the di- 
 rection of Badenoch. They assured us, with the utmost 
 gravity, that a battle would some day be fought there. We 
 inquired how they knew that. They replied, that it had 
 been repeatedly seen. On a summer's evening, people 
 going across that moor had suddenly on various occasions 
 found themselves in the very midst of the smoke and noise 
 of a battle. They could see the various clans engaged, and 
 clearly recognize them by their proper tartans ; and on all 
 these occasions the Laird of Culdethel, a neighbouring gen- 
 tleman, was conspicuous on his white horse. One woman 
 was so frightened and bewildered by this strange spectacle 
 that she fainted away, and on coming to herself, found all 
 traces of the battle gone, and made the best of her way home 
 again without proceeding on her original object. We told 
 them that these must be strong impressions left on the ima- 
 ginations of the people by the memory of the old battle, but 
 they only shook their heads. They were perfectly satisfied 
 that a battle was to be fought on Drumossie, and that the 
 Laird of Culdethel would be in it — though with whom the 
 clans would fight, and for what, they could not pretend to 
 tell. 
 
 Having finished our discussion on this singular second- 
 sight sort of superstition, Wully Mackenzie struck up on his 
 pipes. The pipes are the true instrument of the Highlands, 
 as the harp is that of Wales, or the guitar of Spain. We 
 
VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 73 
 
 never felt so strongly their power as on this occasion. Our 
 musician was, as I have said, a short, stout Highlander. He 
 was clad in coarse blue cloth, every thread of which his 
 mother had spun, and which, when woven, had been made 
 up too by his mother and sister in this very cabin ; yet, as 
 he stood playing his native airs, he seemed quite inspired, 
 and we could not help being struck with the manliness of 
 his attitude, and of his whole bearing. We never heard 
 the music of the bagpipe in perfection till then. He played 
 the tune with which the Highlanders were said to have 
 marched into the battle of Culloden. We could see the gal- 
 lant bands pass over the heath on which we were gazing 
 through the open door. We could see the glimmer of their 
 weapons, and the fluttering of their tartans, and feel, peaceful 
 people as we are, the romantic spirit of heroism which had 
 led them on their expedition into England, and now brought 
 them here to destruction. 
 
 Our gallant piper never seemed weary of playing ; and 
 as it was a treat to sit in a Highland hut, and hear such a 
 musician, we got him to play all the interesting airs that we 
 could recollect. There scarcely was one that he was not 
 master of ; and on no occasion did we ever listen to music 
 that so powerfully and variously affected us. He played 
 pibrochs and marches, and, spite of our better judgments, 
 we could not help kindling into the admiration of clan war- 
 fare ; but the celebrated dirge, of which he related the ori- 
 gin, with which Highlanders march to the shore when they 
 are about to embark as emigrants to some distant clime* — 
 
 Cha till, cha till, cha till, mi tuille. 
 
 We return, we return, we return no more ! 
 
 * This is called Mackrimmon's Lament. Sir Walter Scott has written 
 words to this air, and gives the following as the origin of it : " Mackrim- 
 mon, hereditary piper to the Laird of Macleod, is said to have composed 
 this lament when the clan was about to depart on a distant and dangerous 
 
 7 
 
74 VISIT TO THE FIELD OF CULLODEN. 
 
 — it was impossible to listen to it without tears. Let no 
 one despise the droning of the bagpipe that has not heard it 
 as we heard it that day. 
 
 We took leave of this simple, intelligent, and kind-hearted 
 family, and walked back, on a delicious evening, a nearer 
 way over the fields to Inverness ; having passed one of the 
 pleasantest days of our life on the Field of Culloden. 
 
 expedition. The minstrel was impressed with a belief, which the event 
 verified, that he was to be slain in the approaching feud, and hence the 
 Gaelic words : — ' Cha till mi tuille ; ged thilles Macleod, cha till Mac- 
 hrimmon.'' I shall never return; although Macleod returns, yet Mac- 
 krimmon shall never return." 
 
 Wully Mackenzie had a different version of the tradition. That there 
 was a cave in the isle of Sky which had never been explored to any ter- 
 mination. That Mackrimmon and another bard, Macleod, dared each 
 other to explore it; and that Mackrimmon composed this lament on the 
 occasion, and went playing it into the cave, from which neither of the 
 bards reappeared. 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON, AND THE 
 HAUNTS OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 The country about Stratford is not romantic, but extremely- 
 pleasant. The town stands in a fine open valley. The 
 Avon, a considerable stream, winds past it through pleasing 
 meadows. The country is well cultivated, and the view of 
 wooded uplands and more distant ranges of hills, gives 
 spirit to the prospects. The town itself is a good, quiet, 
 country town, of perhaps four or five thousand inhabitants. 
 In Shakspeare's time it could be nothing more than a con- 
 siderable village ; for by the census of 1801 the total of its 
 inhabitants was but 2418. In that day, the houses were, 
 no doubt, built of wood or of framework, such as the dwell- 
 ing of Shakspeare's parents still remains. Fires appear, by 
 the history of the place, to have been frequent and destruc- 
 tive. In the 36th and 37th of Elizabeth two furious fires 
 occurred, and so reduced the property of the inhabitants as 
 to compel them to petition parliament for a remission of sub- 
 sidies and taxes, and for a portion of £36,000 which had 
 been granted for the relief of decayed cities and towns. The 
 residence of Shakspeare himself narrowly escaped. 
 
 Stratford appears now to live on the fame of Shakspeare. 
 You see the mementos of the great native poet wherever 
 you turn. There is the Mulberry-tree Inn ; the Imperial 
 Shakspeare Hotel ; the Sir John FalstafT; the Royal Shak- 
 speare Theatre : the statue of Shakspeare meets your eye 
 in its niche on the front of the Town-hall. Opposite to that, 
 a large sign informs you that there is kept a collection of 
 
76 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 the relics of Shakspeare, and not far off you arrive at another 
 sign, conspicuously projecting into the street, on which is 
 proclaimed, — "in this house the immortal bard was 
 born." The people seem all alive to the honour of their 
 town having produced Shakspeare. The tailor will descend 
 from his shopboard, or the cobbler start up from his stall, and 
 volunteer to guide you to the points connected with the his- 
 tory of the great poet. A poor shoemaker, on my asking 
 at his door the nearest way to the church containing Shak- 
 speare's tomb, immediately rose up and began to put on 
 his coat. I said, " No, my friend, I do not want you to put 
 yourself to that trouble ; go on with your work — I only 
 want you to say whether this way be the most direct." 
 " Bless you, sir," said the man, taking up his hat, " I don't 
 want anything for showing a gentleman the way to Shak- 
 speare's tomb ; it is a pleasure to me. I am fond on't ; and 
 a walk, now and then, does me good." The old man bustled 
 along, holding forth with enthusiasm in the praise of Shak- 
 speare, and coming up to the sexton's house, and knocking, 
 
 — " There," said he, " I have saved you ten minutes' walk : 
 
 — don't forget to look at old Johnny Combe !" and was 
 turning off highly pleased that he had done something to 
 the honour of Shakspeare, and reluctant to receive even the 
 value of a glass of ale for his services. 
 
 The Royal Shakspeare Club annually celebrate the birth 
 of Shakspeare on the 23d of April, and even Washington 
 Irving is held in great honour for having recorded in his 
 Sketch-Book his visit to his tomb. At one of the inns they 
 show you Washington Irving's room and his bed. In the 
 Red Horse, at which I stayed, my room was adorned with 
 his sole portrait, and all the keepers of Stratford albums 
 take good care to point out to you the signature of Wash- 
 ington Irving, the American who spoke so highly of Shak- 
 speare. 
 
 It is pleasing to find the prophet enjoying so much 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 77 
 
 honour in his own country ; and yet I shall have a fact or 
 two presently to mention, which will require the serious 
 attention of the people of Stratford, if they do not mean all 
 this show of zeal for the poet's memory to appear empty 
 and inconsistent. 
 
 One of the first places which I hastened to visit was the 
 birth-place of Shakspeare's wife ; the rustic cottage where 
 he wooed, and whence he married her. Millions, perhaps, 
 have visited the house where he was born ; tens of thou- 
 sands have certainly inscribed their names on the walls of 
 that simple chamber where he is said to have first seen the 
 light; but not so many have visited, or known of, or 
 inquired after the house where his modest, faithful, and 
 affectionate wife, 
 
 Ann Hathaway, she hath a way, 
 
 was born, and lived, and became the wife of Shakspeare 
 when he was nineteen, and she twenty-seven. 
 
 Shakspeare seems to have had no personal ambition. If 
 he had, we should have had more account of the incidents of 
 his existence. He seems to have thrown off his inimitable 
 dramas, rich with passion and poetry, more from the very 
 enjoyment of the act, than from the glory to be derived from 
 them. So, too, in his youth, he married the first humble 
 object of his affections ; and after having seen all the fasci- 
 nations of London life, after having conversed with the 
 most celebrated beauties and wits of Elizabeth's splendid 
 court, he retired with a competence to the quiet uneventful 
 town of Stratford, the quiet haunts of his youth, and to 
 domestic peace with his true Ann Hathaway. 
 
 There is nothing more wonderful in the character of 
 Shakspeare than the perfect indifference shown to the fate 
 of his inimitable dramas. For thirteen years after his 
 retirement from the stage, and those years the very prime 
 
 7* 
 
78 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 of his existence — for he died at the early age of fifty- 
 two — he continued to live, and that in a great degree in 
 the perfect leisure of Stratford, without apparently taking 
 the slightest means to secure a correct edition of his works. 
 He threw them off with the greatest imaginable ease and 
 rapidity, the " Merry Wives of Windsor " being said only 
 to have occupied a fortnight in the composition, and to 
 have left them to the care of the public as stoically as the 
 ostrich leaves its eggs to the sun. It could not be that he 
 was insensible to their merit, for in his sonnets he gives us 
 repeated assurances of the immortality of his muse ; but it 
 would seem as if, satisfied with the consciousness that he 
 had done enough to secure his eternal fame, he followed his 
 natural bent for the enjoyment of domestic life, and the 
 entire forgetfulness of public concerns in which he was 
 absorbed by it, testifying that there lay his entire happiness. 
 That he spent the greater portion of the last sixteen years 
 of his life at Stratford there is every reason to believe, 
 having purchased for his residence one of the best houses 
 of his native town, in 1597, which, having repaired and 
 improved, he named New Place ; nor is any other trace of 
 him discoverable, independent of his literary exertions, from 
 that year, except that in 1 602 he was at Stratford, adding a 
 new purchase of one hundred and seven acres of land to his 
 former purchase of New Place. Not all the havoc com- 
 mitted by players and publishers on the sense and diction 
 of his great dramas could rouse him from his domestic rest. 
 " He made," says Johnson, " no collection of his works, nor 
 desired to rescue those that had been already published from 
 the depravations that obscured them, or to secure to the rest 
 a better destiny by giving them to the world in their genuine 
 state. . . . They were transcribed for the players by 
 those who may be supposed to have seldom understood 
 them ; they were transmitted by copiers equally unskilful, 
 who still multiplied errors ; they were, perhaps, sometimes 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 79 
 
 mutilated by actors, for the sake of shortening the speeches, 
 and were, at best, printed without corrections of the 
 press." 
 
 All this were enough to have roused, one would have 
 thought, any author that had but sufficient ambition to write, 
 but it disturbed not Shakspeare, and it must appear that the 
 astonishing power displayed in his dramas was not the most 
 wonderful quality of his nature. He had a mind that could 
 not only achieve what was beyond the fame of other men, 
 but a calm indifference even for his own fame, that more 
 resembled the elevation of a divine nature than the nervous 
 temperament of humanity. How different is this, even to 
 the sensitiveness of his own youth, when the insult which 
 he supposed himself to have received from Sir Thomas Lucy 
 stung him to the quick, and induced him to gibbet him in 
 ballads, and run for miles to fix them on his park-gate ; an 
 irritability so lasting that it revived and issued to the light 
 again in the " Merry Wives of Windsor." 
 
 That Shakspeare valued the enjoyments of domestic life, 
 beyond both the brilliant life of successful literature in 
 London and beyond the fame of his works, his long quiet 
 retirement at Stratford sufficiently proves. There have not 
 been wanting those who have accused him of indifference 
 or infidelity towards his wife ; but, whatever might be the 
 occasional dissipations in which he might indulge during his 
 London sojourn, he has himself left the most triumphant 
 testimonies of his strong and changeless affection to his Ann 
 Hathaway,* and that it was in the depth of domestic 
 
 * The author of the beautiful and able romance of " The Youth of 
 Shakspeare" has, contrary to his usual sagacity, and without any sufficient 
 historic evidence, and contrary, moreover, to the evidence of Shakspeare 
 himself, here produced, unfortunately fallen into the former opinion, that 
 of his alienation from her whom the writer himself thus describes in 
 Shakspeare's days of courtship : — "To him everything was Ann Hatha- 
 way, but especially all wisdom, goodness, beauty, and delight, took from 
 
80 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 existence that he found his real happiness. Nothing can 
 be more beautiful than those of his sonnets which refer to 
 these subjects. 
 
 Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
 Admit impediments. Love is not love 
 That alters when it alteration finds, 
 Or bends with the remover to remove. 
 
 no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, 
 
 That looks on tempests, and is never shaken. 
 It is the star of every wandering bark, 
 Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. 
 Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
 Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 
 Love alters not with his brief hours a.nd weeks, 
 But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 
 If this be error, and upon me proved,— 
 
 1 never writ, nor no man ever loved. 
 
 There never were fourteen lines which so deeply and 
 eternally express the sentiment clearly springing from the bot- 
 tom of the poet's soul, of the unchangeableness of true af- 
 fection. That one sonnet is enough to cast to the winds 
 every malignant slander against the true heart of Shak- 
 speare. That he, like other men, had fallen into errors, he 
 was the first most earnestly and eloquently to avow ; but 
 where was the man, that after having won the fame that 
 he had, and passed through the Circean enchantments of 
 metropolitan beauty, and splendour, and wit, as he had, ever 
 gave so marvellous a proof that his heart of hearts was not 
 in them, but that his only hope and idea of true happiness 
 was in his native fields, and in the home of his wedded af- 
 fection ? What accuser could venture to stand up against 
 
 her their existence, and gave to her their qualities. She was, in brief, the 
 sun round which the rest of creation must needs take its course." — Vol. 
 ii., p. 183. 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. SI 
 
 such a man, after reading the very next sonnet, the continua- 
 tion, in fact, of the former ? 
 
 Accuse me thus, — that I have scanted all, 
 
 Wherein I should your great deserts repay ; 
 
 Forgot upon your dearest love to call, 
 
 Whereto all bonds do tie me, day by day; 
 
 That I have frequent been with unknown minds, 
 
 And given to time your own dear-purchased right ; 
 
 That I have hoisted sail to all the winds, 
 
 Which should transport me farthest from your sight. 
 
 Book both my wilfulness and errors down ; 
 
 And on joint proof surmise accumulate ; 
 
 Bring me within the level of your frown, 
 
 But shoot not at me in your wakened hate: 
 
 Since my appeal says, I did strive to prove 
 
 The constancy and virtue of your love. 
 
 That his long absence, for it does not appear that his wife 
 ever left Stratford to reside with him in town, had occa- 
 sioned some misunderstanding and estrangement between 
 her and himself, would appear from several of his sonnets, 
 which are the only records which he has left of his life and 
 internal feelings ; but the sorrow and repentance which he 
 expresses are more than enough to unbend the brow of the 
 sternest judge, much more of a tender and loving wife. 
 
 O, never say that I was false of heart, 
 Though absence seemed my flame to qualify ! 
 As easy might 1 from myself depart, 
 As from my soul which in thy heart doth lie. 
 That is my home of love : if I have ranged, 
 Like him that travels, I return again ; 
 Just to the time, not with the time exchanged ; 
 So that myself bring water for my stain. 
 Never believe, though in my nature reigned 
 All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 
 That it could so preposterously be stained, 
 To leave for nothing all thy sum of good : 
 
82 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 For nothing this wide universe I call 
 Save thou my rose, in it thou art my all. 
 
 Alas ! 'tis true I have gone here and there, 
 
 And made myself a motley to the view ; 
 
 Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, 
 
 Made old offences of affections new. 
 
 Most true it is that I have looked on truth 
 
 Askance and strangely ; but, by all above, 
 
 These blenches gave my heart another youth, 
 
 And worst essays proved thee my best of love. 
 
 Now all is done, save what shall have no end : 
 
 Mine appetite I never more will grind 
 
 On newer proof to try an older friend, 
 
 A god in love to whom I am confined. 
 
 Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, 
 
 Even to thy pure, and most, most loving breast. 
 
 O for my sake do you with fortune chide, 
 The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, 
 That did not better for my life provide, 
 Than public means, which public manners breeds. 
 Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, 
 And almost thence my nature is subdued 
 To what it works in, like the dyer's hand : 
 Pity me then, and wish I were renewed ; 
 Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink 
 Potions of eysell* 'gainst my strong infection, 
 No bitterness that I will bitter think, 
 No double penance to correct correction. 
 Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye 
 Even that your pity is enough to cure me. 
 
 In these sonnets we have not only the most touching con- 
 fession of his errors, but some clue afforded to that neglect 
 and contempt of his dramatic works which we have already 
 noticed. He clearly regarded his profession of an actor as 
 a degradation, as no doubt it was considered in the eye of 
 
 * Vinegar. 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 83 
 
 those times. He probably regarded his dramas as mere 
 compositions written to advance his fortune, and as stand- 
 ing testimonies to that mode of life which he regarded with 
 aversion. This, it is probable, was the cause why he so 
 entirely neglected them, and turned, as it were, his very 
 thoughts from them, as reminding him of many things, 
 during the period of their production, which he would fain 
 forget for ever. The very next sonnet, and the only one 
 which I shall here indulge myself in transcribing, most 
 strongly expresses this feeling, and the formation of that 
 resolution to which he so inflexibly adhered to the day of 
 his death. 
 
 Your love and pity doth the impression fill, 
 
 Which vulgar scandal stamped upon her brow : 
 
 For what care I who calls me well or ill, 
 
 So you o'ergreen my bad, my good allow 1 
 
 You are my all-the-ioorld, and I must strive 
 
 To know my shames and praises from your tongue ; 
 
 None else to me, nor I to none alive 
 
 That my steeled sense, or changes, right or wrong. 
 
 In so profound abysm I throw all care 
 
 Of others' voices, that my adder's sense 
 
 To critic, and to flatterer stopped are. 
 
 Mark how with my neglect I do dispense : — 
 
 You are so strongly in my purpose bred 
 
 That all the world besides, methinks they are dead. 
 
 Impressed with the feelings and the history conveyed in 
 these sonnets, I must confess that there was no spot con- 
 nected with Shakspeare at Stratford that so strongly inter- 
 ested me as Shottry, the little rustic village where Ann 
 Hathaway was born, and where Shakspeare wooed, and 
 whence he married her. The house in which he was born 
 is turned into a butcher's shop ; his birth there was a mere 
 accident, and the accidents of time have not added to the 
 intrinsic interest of the place : the house which he built or 
 improved for himself, and in which he spent the last years 
 
§4 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 of his life, was pulled down, and dispersed piece-meal by 
 the infamous parson Gastrell,who thus " doomed himself to 
 eternal fame" more thoroughly than the fool who fired the 
 Temple of Diana ; but the birth-place and the marriage- 
 place of Ann Hathaway, is just as it was ; and, excepting 
 the tombs of Shakspeare and herself, the only authentic and 
 unchanged traces of their existence here. I therefore has- 
 tened away to Shottry the very first moment that I could 
 get out of the inn. It is but a short walk to it across some 
 pleasant meadows, and I pleased myself with thinking, as I 
 strode along, with what delight Shakspeare in his youth 
 trod the same path on his way to see his fair Ann Hathaway ; 
 and how often, in his latter years, when he had renounced 
 public life, and she was his " all-the-world," they might, led 
 by the sweet recollections of the past, often stroll that way 
 together, and perhaps visit some of their kindred under the 
 same rustic roof. 
 
 The village is a real rustic village indeed, consisting of a 
 few farm-houses, and of half-timbered cottages of the most 
 primitive construction, standing apart, one from the other, 
 in their old gardens and orchards. Nothing can exceed the 
 simplicity and quiet of this rustic hamlet. It is the beau 
 ideal of Goldsmith's Auburn. The village public-house is 
 the " Shakspeare Tavern," a mere cottage like the rest. No 
 modern innovations, no improvements, seem to have come 
 hither to disturb the image of the past times. The cottages 
 stand apart from each other, in their gardens and orchard- 
 crofts, and are just what the poets delight to describe. The 
 country around is pleasant, though not very striking. Its 
 great charm is its perfect rurality. Ann Hathaway's cot- 
 tage stands at the farther end of this scattered and secluded 
 hamlet, at the feet of pleasant uplands, and from its rustic 
 casements you catch glimpses of the fine breezy ranges of 
 the Ilmington and Meon hills, some miles southward ; and 
 of Stratford church spire eastward peeping over its trees. 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 85 
 
 The cottage is along tenement of the most primitive cha- 
 racter ; of timber framing, filled up with brick and plaster- 
 work. Its doors are gray with age, and have the old-fash- 
 ioned wooden latches, with a bit of wood nailed on the 
 outside of the door to take hold of while you pull the string ; 
 just such a latch as, no doubt, was on the door of Little Red 
 Riding-Hood's grandmother, when the wolf said to the little 
 girl, " pull the string, and you'll get in." 
 
 The antiquity of the house is testified by the heads of the 
 wooden pins which fasten the framing, standing up some 
 inches from the walls, according to the rude fashion of the 
 age, never having been cut off. The end of the cottage 
 comes to the village road ; and the side which looks into the 
 orchard is covered with vines and roses, andTosemary. The 
 orchard is a spot all knolls and hollows, where you might 
 imagine the poet, when he came here a-wooing, or in the 
 after-days of his renown, when he came hither to see his 
 wife's friends, and to indulge in day-dreams of the past, as 
 he represents the king of Denmark 
 
 Sleeping within mine orchard, 
 
 My custom always of the afternoon — 
 
 lying on the mossy turf, and enjoying the pleasant sunshine, 
 and the flickering shadows of the old apple-trees. The 
 orchard extends up the slope a good way ; then you come 
 to the cottage garden, and then to another orchard. You 
 walk up a little narrow path between hedges of box, and 
 amongst long grass. All the homely herbs and flowers 
 which grow about the real old-English cottage, and which 
 Shakspeare delighted to introduce into his poetry — the 
 rosemary, celandine, honeysuckle, marigold, mint, thyme, 
 rue, sage, etc., meeting your eye as you proceed. 
 
 The commentators on Shakspeare have puzzled them- 
 selves wonderfully about some of the plainest matters of his 
 
 8 
 
gg VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 text, and about none more than the identity of the dew- 
 berry. In the Midsummer Night's Dream, Titania tells the 
 fairies to be kind to Bottom : 
 
 Be kind and courteous to this gentleman ; 
 Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes ; 
 Feed him with apricocks and dewberries, 
 With purple grapes, figs, and mulberries ; 
 The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees, etc. 
 
 These same dewberries have cost the expounders of his 
 text a world of trouble. As apricots, grapes, and figs are 
 very good things, they could not bring their fancies to 
 believe that the fairies would feed Bottom on aught less 
 dainty, even though he yearned hungrily after good oats 
 and a bundle of hay. All kinds of fruits were run over in 
 the scale of delicacies, and not finding any of the finer sorts 
 which ever bore the name of dewberry, they at last sagely 
 concluded that it must be a gooseberry, because the goose- 
 berry is only once mentioned as a gooseberry in all his 
 dramas. A wise conclusion ! What a pity that those 
 laborious and ingenious commentators would but step 
 occasionally out of their studies, and go into Shakspeare's 
 own neighbourhood, and hear the peasantry there talk. 
 They would not only have long ago discovered what a 
 dewberry is, but might hear many a phrase and proverb, 
 that would have thrown more light on the text of Shak- 
 speare, than will ever stream in through a library window 
 in half a century. A dewberry is a species of blackberry, 
 but of a larger grain, of a finer acid, and having upon it a 
 purple bloom like the violet plum. It is a fruit well known 
 by that name to botanists (rubus cxsius), and by that name 
 it has always been well known by the common people in 
 the midland counties. As I walked round the orchard of 
 Ann Hathaway, I was quite amused to see it growing 
 plentifully on the banks ; and taking up a sprig of it with 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 87 
 
 some berries on it, I asked almost every countryman and 
 countrywoman whom I met during the day, what they 
 called that fruit. In every instance, they at once replied, 
 " the dewberry." While I was in that neighbourhood I 
 repeatedly asked the peasantry if they knew such a thing as 
 a dewberry. In every case they replied, " To be sure, it is 
 like a blackberry, only its grains are larger, and it is more 
 like a mulberry." A very good description. " Yes," said 
 others, " it grows low on the banks ; it grows plentifully all 
 about this country." So much for all the critical nonsense 
 about the dewberry. 
 
 I could not avoid noticing many such little touches of 
 natural imagery with which Shakspeare has enriched the 
 poetical portion of his text, as I strolled about this garden 
 and orchard. In the Midsummer Night's Dream, Act iv., 
 Shakspeare says, 
 
 The female ivy so 
 Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. 
 
 Why the barky fingers of the elm ? Because the young 
 shoots of the elm and those of the maple cover themselves 
 with a singular corky bark, which rises in longitudinal 
 ridges, of frequently more than a quarter of an inch high, 
 and presenting a very singular appearance. It is a curious 
 fact that the elm is the great natural growth of the country 
 about Stratford, and must have been particularly familiar to 
 Shakspeare's eye, and in this very orchard he must have 
 seen plenty of the very images he has used. I pleased 
 myself with imagining the quiet happiness which he had 
 enjoyed with his Ann Hathaway in this very spot, while 
 these rural images and happy illustrations silently flowed 
 into his mind from the things around him. There was an 
 old arbour of box, the trees of which had grown high and 
 wild, having a whole wilderness of periwinkle at their feet ; 
 and upon the wooden end of a shed forming one side of this 
 
83 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 arbour, grew a honeysuckle, which seemed as though it 
 might have grown in the very days of Shakspeare, for it 
 had all the character of a very old tree ; little of it showing 
 any life, and its bark hanging from the stem in filaments of 
 more than a foot long, like the tatters and beard of an 
 ancient beggar. At the door looking into this orchard is 
 a sort of raised platform up three or four steps with a 
 seat upon it, so that the cottagers might sit and enjoy at 
 once the breeze and the prospect of the orchard and fields 
 beyond. There is a passage right through the house, with 
 a very old high-backed bench of oak in it, said to have been 
 there in Shakspeare's time, and old enough to have been 
 there long before. The whole of the interior is equally 
 simple and rustic. I have been more particular in speak- 
 ing of this place, because perhaps at the very moment I 
 write these remarks this interesting dwelling may be 
 destroyed, and all that I have been describing have given 
 way to the ravages of modern change. The place is sold, 
 and perhaps the cottage of Ann Hathaway is now no 
 more. A Mr. Barns, a farmer of the neighbouring hamlet 
 of Luddington, has bought the whole property for 300/., and 
 talks of pulling down the house at spring. He has already 
 pulled down some of the neighbouring cottages, and built 
 up a row of red staring ones in their places ; and already he 
 has made an ominous gap into Ann Hathaway's orchard ! 
 The Taylors, the old proprietors, who have lived in the 
 cottage for many years, were gone, the very morning I was 
 there, to Stratford, to sign the conveyance. 
 
 PRESENT CONDITION OF THE SHAKSPEARE FAMILY. 
 
 As I went to Shottry, I met with a little incident which 
 interested me greatly by its unexpectedness. As I was 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 89 
 
 about to pass over a stile at the end of Stratford into the 
 fields leading to that village, I saw the master of the na- 
 tional school mustering his scholars to their tasks. I stopped, 
 being pleased with the look of the old man, and said, " You 
 seem to have a considerable number of lads here ; shall you 
 raise another Shakspeare from amongst them, think you ?" 
 " Why," replied the master, " I have a Shakspeare now in 
 the school." I knew that Shakspeare had no descendants 
 beyond the second generation, and I was not aware that 
 there was any of his family remaining. But it seems that the 
 posterity of his sister Joan Hart, who is mentioned in his will, 
 yet exist, part under her marriage name of Hart, at Tewkes- 
 bury, and a family in Stratford of the name of Smith. 
 
 "I have a Shakspeare here," said the master with evi- 
 dent pride and pleasure. " Here, boys, here !" He quickly 
 marshalled his laddish troop in a row, and said to me, "There 
 now, sir, can you tell which is a Shakspeare ?" I glanced 
 my eye along the line, and instantly fixing it on one boy, 
 said, " That is the Shakspeare." « You are right," said the 
 master ; " that is the Shakspeare : the Shakspeare cast of 
 countenance is there. That is William Shakspeare Smith, 
 a lineal descendant of the poet's sister." 
 
 The lad was a fine lad of, perhaps, ten years of age ; and 
 certainly the resemblance to the bust of Shakspeare, in the 
 church at Stratford, is wonderful, considering he is not 
 descended from Shakspeare himself, but from his sister, and 
 that the seventh in descent. What is odd enough, whether 
 it be mere accident or not, that the colour of the lad's eyes, 
 a light hazel, is the very same as that given to those of the 
 Shakspeare bust, which it is well known was originally 
 coloured, and of which exact copies remain.. 
 
 I gave the boy sixpence, telling him I hoped he would 
 make as great a man as his ancestor (the best term I could 
 lay hold of for the relationship, though not the true one), 
 or, at all events, a good man. The boy's eyes sparkled at 
 
 8* 
 
90 
 
 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 the sight of the money, and the healthful joyous colour 
 rushed into his cheeks ; his fingers continued making ac- 
 quaintance with so large a piece of money in his pocket, 
 and the sensation created by so great an event in the school 
 was evident. It sounded oddly enough, as I was passing 
 along the street in the evening, to hear some of these same 
 schoolboys say to one another, " That is the gentleman who 
 gave Bill Shakspeare sixpence." 
 
 Which of all the host of admirers of Shakspeare, who has 
 plenty of money, and does not know what to do with it, 
 will think of giving that lad, one of the nearest living repre- 
 sentatives of the great poet, a good education, and a fair 
 chance to raise himself in the world ? The boy's father is 
 a poor man, — if I be not fanciful, partaking somewhat of 
 the Shakspeare physiognomy,* but who keeps a small shop, 
 and ekes out his profits by making his house a " Tom-and- 
 Jerry." He has other children, and complained of misfor- 
 tune. He said that some years ago Sir Richard Phillips 
 had been there, and promised to interest the public about 
 him, but that -he never heard any more of it. Of the man's 
 merits, or demerits, I know nothing; I only know that in 
 the place of Shakspeare's birth, and where the town is full 
 of "signs" of his glory, and where Garrick made that pom- 
 pous jubilee, hailing Shakspeare as a " demi-god," and 
 calling him " the god of our idolatry," and where thou- 
 sands and even millions flock to do homage to the shrine 
 of this " demi-god," and pour out deluges of verse of the 
 most extravagant and sentimental nature in the public 
 albums ; there, as is usual in such cases, the nearest of 
 blood to the object of such vast enthusiasm are poor and 
 despised : the flood of public admiration at its most tower- 
 
 * Ireland, when, in 1793, making 1 collections for his "Views on the 
 Avon," was much struck with the likeness to this bust in Thomas Hart, 
 one of this family, who then lived in Shakspeare's house. 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 91 
 
 ing height, in its most vehement current, never for a mo- 
 ment winds its course in the slightest degree to visit them 
 with its refreshment, nor, of the thousands of pounds spent 
 in the practice of this poetic devotion, does one bodle drop 
 into their pockets. 
 
 Garrick, as I have observed, once 
 
 called the world to worship on the banks 
 Of Avon, famed in song. Ah, pleasant proof 
 That piety has still, in human hearts, 
 Some place, — a spark or two not yet extinct. 
 The mulberry-tree was hung with blooming wreaths; 
 The mulberry-tree stood centre of the dance ; 
 The mulberry-tree was hymned with dulcet strains ; 
 And, from his touch-wood trunk, the mulberry-tree 
 Supplied such relics as devotion holds 
 Still sacred, and preserves with pious care. 
 So 'twas a hallowed time : decorum reigned, 
 And mirth without offence. No few returned, 
 Doubtless much edified, and all refreshed. 
 
 Cowper's Task, B. vi. 
 
 But it does not appear that Garrick and his fellow-worship- 
 pers troubled themselves at all about the descendants of the 
 poet's sister. The object, in fact, seemed, at the moment, 
 rather to worship Garrick even than Shakspeare. How 
 then could any ray of sympathy diverge from two " demi- 
 gods" to the humble relatives of one of them ? And why 
 should it ? I hear learned utilitarians asking — why ? What 
 should lead the ragged descendants of poets and philoso- 
 phers to forsake self-dependence and look to the admirers of 
 their ancestors for benefit ? What a shocking thing if they 
 should, especially in a nation which ennobles whole lines 
 for ever, and grants immense estates in perpetuity for the 
 exploit of some man, who has won a battle which better 
 never had been fought ! What ! shall such men, and shall 
 whole troops of lawyers, who have truckled to the govern- 
 
g 2 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 inent of the day, and become the tools of despotism in a 
 country dreaming that it is free — shall men who have 
 merely piled up heaps of coin, and purchased large tracks 
 of earth, by plodding in the city dens of gain, or dodging 
 on the Stock Exchange, — shall such men be ennobled, and 
 their line for ever, and shall the men who have left a legacy 
 of immortal mind to their country, leave also to their fami- 
 lies an exclusive poverty and neglect ? Will our very phi- 
 losophic utilitarians tell us why this should be ? 
 
 It might also be whispered that it would not be much 
 more irrational to extend some of that enthusiasm and 
 money, which is now wasted on empty rooms and spurious 
 musty relics, on at least trying to benefit and raise in the 
 scale of society, beings who have the national honour to be 
 relics and mementos of the person worshipped, as well as 
 old chairs, and whitewashed butchers' shops. Does it never 
 occur to the votaries of Shakspeare, that these are the only 
 sentient, conscious, and rational things connected with his 
 memory which can feel a living sense of the honour con- 
 ferred on him, and possess a grateful knowledge that the 
 mighty poet of their house has not sung for them in vain, 
 and that they only in a world overshadowed with his glory 
 are not unsoothed by its visitings ?* But the poetic vene- 
 ration of the public need not be reduced to this severe trial 
 — there are plenty of relics of Shakspeare (so called) for 
 them to wonder and exclaim over. 
 
 * It appears from the town records and inscriptions in the church, that 
 the Hathaways were very respectable people at Shottry for generations 
 after Shakspeare's time ; and that the Smiths Were amongst the principal 
 people of the town. One, contemporary with Shakspeare, was three 
 times mayor. Three of them appear in inscriptions as benefactors to the 
 town ; and others as witnesses and trustees, both in deeds executed by 
 Shakspeare, and also by his granddaughter Lady Barnard, his last de- 
 scendant; so that a family friendship was evidently maintained to the 
 last. 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 93 
 
 RELICS OF SHAKSPEARE IN STRATFORD. 
 
 In front of the Town-hall, in a niche, stands the full-length 
 figure of Shakspeare, cast for the jubilee, and presented by 
 Garrick to the corporation ; at which time this Town-hall, 
 a new erection, was dedicated also by Garrick to the memory 
 of Shakspeare. " The bard," to use the words of Wheller, 
 the historian of Stratford, " is represented in a graceful atti- 
 tude, as on his monument in Westminster Abbey, resting 
 upon some volumes placed on a pedestal, ornamented with 
 three busts, viz., Henry the Fifth, Richard the Third, and 
 Queen Elizabeth. Upon a scroll, to which he points, are 
 the following lines, judiciously selected from his own Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream : — 
 
 The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 
 
 Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, 
 
 And as imagination bodies forth 
 
 The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
 
 Turns them to shapes : and gives to airy nothing 
 
 A local habitation and a name. 
 
 Upon the pedestal beneath, are these words from Hamlet : — 
 
 Take him for all in all, 
 We shall not look upon his like again. 
 
 Within the hall is a painting of Shakspeare, by Wilson, 
 wherein he is represented sitting in an antique chair, and 
 upon the ground lie several books and MSS., as North's 
 Plutarch's Lives, Hollinshed's Chronicles, Cynthio's Novels, 
 etc., being some of the authors which Shakspeare consulted. 
 
 Opposite to this Town-hall is a house occupied by a Mr. 
 Reason, who has a sign in front of it, announcing that there 
 is kept a collection of articles which were in the house where 
 the poet was born, and remained there till Mary Hornby, 
 
94 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 the mother of the present Mrs. Reason, was obliged to leave 
 it on account of the proprietor raising the rent so much in 
 consequence of the numerous visits to it. She at first gave 
 ten, then twenty, then forty pounds a year for it ; but the 
 tide of visiters increasing, the demand of the landlord still 
 rose with it, till either the man outvalued the income, or the 
 patience of Mary Hornby gave way. She gave notice to 
 quit the house, and another person immediately took it. A 
 violent feud arose between the out-going and the in-coming 
 exhibitor. Mary Hornby, of course, stripped the house of 
 every article that had been shown as Shakspeare's. But 
 she did not stop there. She deliberately, or perhaps, as will 
 appear probable, rather hastily, took a brush and a pail of 
 whitewash, and washed over all the millions of inscribed 
 names of adoring visiters on the walls ! At one fell swoop, 
 out went the illustrious signatures of kings, queens, princes, 
 princesses, ambassadors, ambassadresses, lords, ladies, 
 knights, poets, philosophers, statesmen, tragedians, come- 
 dians, bishops, lord chancellors, lord chief justices, privy 
 counsellors, senators, and famous orators ; all the sweet 
 tribe of duchesses, countesses, baronesses, honourables, and 
 dishonourables, — out went they altogether, with as little 
 remorse as if death himself had been wielding the besom of 
 destruction, instead of Mary Hornby her whitewash brush ! 
 Mary Hornby, having executed this sublime extinction 
 of so many dignities, marched out with a lofty sense of the 
 vacuum she left behind, carrying away with her the Albums 
 into the bargain. The new tenant on entering was struck 
 with a speechless consternation ! In " the immortal bard's" 
 own words, all the precious relics had 
 
 Vanished like the baseless fabric of a vision, 
 And left not a wreck behind. 
 
 Nothing at all but four bare walls ! What was to be done ! 
 It was still Shakspeare's birth-place — but it was a very 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 95 
 
 naked one indeed, — all the imposing relics were gone, and 
 a rival shop was set up with them ! She looked upon her- 
 self as swindled. She had a higher rent to pay, with a 
 diminished stock, and a formidable rival, and she accord- 
 ingly raised a loud clamour in the ears of the landlord. 
 The landlord began to bluster with Mary Hornby, and 
 claimed the goods as heir-looms, — as part and parcel of 
 the property ; but the lawyers told him a different story. 
 He then claimed the Albums, and commenced proceedings 
 to recover them, but with no better success. Money was 
 then offered for them, but money could not buy them ; so 
 it was absolutely necessary to commence a-new with blank 
 walls and blank books. It was a melancholy coming down. 
 Where was the chair called Shakspeare's chair, which had 
 stood in a niche in the room, and the arms of which alone 
 had been sold for twenty-three guineas ? Where were 
 those two fine old high-backed chairs which were said to 
 be given to Shakspeare by the Earl of Southampton, with 
 the Earl's coronet and supporters (animals having an odd 
 look, between lions and men, with big heads) upon them ? 
 Where was the little chair of the same kind, called Hamlet's 
 chair — the son of Shakspeare, who died when twelve 
 years old ? Where was that precious old lantern made of 
 the glass of the house where Shakspeare died ? The bust 
 taken and coloured accurately from the bust in the church? 
 The portrait of a boy, with a curious high-laced cap on his 
 head and an embroidered doublet, called John Hathaway, 
 the brother of Ann Hathaway ? The painting said to be 
 done by Shakspeare's nephew, William Shakspeare Hart, 
 representing Shakspeare in the character Petruchio ? The 
 cup, and the knotted walking-stick made from the crab-tree 
 under which he slept in Bidford Fields?* Where the 
 
 * Bidford is a village about six miles from Stratford, where it is said in 
 Shakspeare's time was a set of rustic topers who were in the habit of 
 challenging the residents of neighbouring places to drinking-matches, and 
 
gg VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 various pieces of carving from his bedstead ? That old 
 basket-hilted sword which looked as though it had been 
 buried for a century or two on the field of Edge-hill or 
 Worcester, but which was, in fact, no such thing, but the 
 veritable sword with which Shakspeare performed in Ham- 
 let, and which the Prince Regent had wanted so much to 
 buy in 1S15, saying — " he knew the family very well that 
 gave it to Shakspeare ?" Where was that ? Ay, and still 
 more, where was that grand old piece of carving which 
 used to be over the mantel-piece, coloured and gilt, and 
 representing David fighting with Goliath between the ad- 
 verse armies ; and over their heads, on a flying label or 
 garter, this inscription, said, and sufficiently testified by the 
 splendour of the verse, to be written by " the immortal 
 bard" himself? — 
 
 Goliath comes with sword and spear, 
 
 And David with his sling ; 
 Although Goliath rage and swear, 
 
 Down David doth him bring. 
 
 Samuel 17th. An. Dom. 1606.* 
 
 that on one occasion Shakspeare was amongst the young men of Strat- 
 ford who accepted such a challenge. That, on returning homewards 
 defeated, the Stratfordians lay down under a crab-tree still standing by 
 the road-side, about half a mile from Bid ford, where they slept from 
 Saturday night till Monday morning, when they were roused by work- 
 men going to their labour. Shakspeare was the last to wake ; and when 
 his companions urged him to return and renew the contest, he exclaimed 
 — " No ! I have enough. I have drank with 
 
 Piping Pebworth, dancing Marston, 
 Haunted Hilbro\ Hungry Grafton, 
 Dudging Exhatt, Papist Wicksford, 
 Beggarly Broom, and Drunken Bidford" 
 
 * This was there at the time of Ireland's visit. 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 97 
 
 The iron box that held the poet's will ; Shakspeare's bench ; 
 pieces of his mulberry -tree ; the box given to him by the 
 Prince of Castile ; a piece of the very matchlock with which 
 he shot the deer ; the portraits of Sir John Bernard and his 
 lady Elizabeth, the granddaughter of Shakspeare ; the por- 
 trait of Charlotte Clopton in her trance ; the pedigree, and 
 the will — where were they all ? Carried off by the indig- 
 nant and vindictive Mary Hornby, who was too selfish to 
 pay more than £40 a-year for the house in which so great 
 a genius was born ; for all the great names of all the illus- 
 trious people, from all quarters of the world, written by the 
 blacklead pencils of every known manufactory, and all 
 these precious relics to boot, — such a collection as was 
 never yet seen on this side of Loretto. 
 
 But the ravages of this modern Goth and Vandal, Mary 
 Hornby, could not be entirely repaired — they might, how- 
 ever, be in some degree mitigated ; and as the disconsolate 
 successor ruminated on the means — lo ! a most happy and 
 inspired idea occurred to her. Mary Hornby had been in 
 a passion, and perhaps she had forgotten to put any size 
 into her whitewash. A brush was instantly applied to the 
 walls, — the hope became at once a certainty ! — Mary 
 Hornby had omitted the size, and by gentle and continued 
 friction of the brush, the millions of pencilled names once 
 more appeared in all their original clearness ! The relics 
 were at once pronounced — humbug ; — new Albums were 
 opened, and the Shakspeare show-room was restored to its 
 ancient value. In fact, this house, which was some years 
 ago purchased of Joan Shakspeare's descendants, the 
 Harts, with other property, for £250, is now said to be 
 worth £2000. 
 
98 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 THE SHAKSPEARE ALBUMS. 
 
 Amongst the innumerable signatures on the walls, the 
 woman points you out that of Schiller as that of the Schiller, 
 but it is written in Roman and not German hand. She also 
 points out about a yard from the floor that of Edmund 
 Kean, in a large hand, and tells you that he kneeled down 
 to write it, saying, — " that as most people were ambitious 
 to place their names as high as possible, he would place his 
 low, and thus it would be the longer unencroached upon." 
 It is now covered all over with a mob of names, and even 
 written over and over. Indeed, the whole surface of the 
 walls, from top to bottom, all round the room, nay, even 
 the ceiling is covered thick with names upon names, which, 
 if transcribed, would fill many large volumes. 
 
 There is nothing more curious than the signatures and 
 the characteristic combinations of signatures which albums 
 kept at such places present. I generally copy a few of the 
 most striking as I turn them over ; and here is a sample, 
 from those in the albums both at the house where Shaks- 
 peare was born, and those formerly carried off thence by 
 Mary Hornby, and now at the house of her daughter, Mrs. 
 Reason. 
 
 1813. March 5th. — John Howard Payne, New York. 
 Aug. 13th. — Dr. Rees. 
 
 Sep. 3d. — Henry, Bishop of London. 
 Lord Cowper. 
 Mrs. Opie. 
 Oct. 1st. — William Rathhone, Liverpool. 
 1815. July 27th. — Washington Irving. 
 Aug. 17th. — George P. R. and 
 Col. M'Mahon. 
 26th. — William, Duke of Clarence. 
 Arthur, Duke of Wellington. 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 99 
 
 1 816. Aug. 22d. — Duke and Duchess of St. Albans, etc. 
 
 28th. — Byron. 
 1821. Aug. Mr. W. Stewart Rose. 
 
 Mr. W. Lockhart. 
 Sir Walter Scott, etc. 
 
 1821. Oct. 14th William Jerdan, Brompton, London. 
 
 To Nature, sages in the earlier time — 
 
 To Nature, men, even in each savage clime, 
 
 Before revealed a God, all bowed the knee ; 
 
 Here where the High-Priest lived, oh be it mine 
 
 To breathe one prayer, that fervent one be thine, 
 
 And Shakspeare, next to Nature, given to thee. — W. J. 
 
 1827. Prince Plickler Muskaw. 
 
 1829. Due de Chartres. 
 
 1831. April 22d. — Helena, Grand Duchess of Russia. 
 
 Countess of Nesselrode. 
 
 Prince Gagarin, and suite. 
 
 1831. July 19th. — James Montgomery. 
 
 1832. June 25th.— A. Sedgwick. 
 
 W. Whewell. 
 
 1835. Sep. 18th. — Jane Porter. 
 
 N. P. Willis. 
 Oct. 1st. — Countess Guiccioli. 
 
 Dr. Dionysius Lardner. 
 
 1836. June 26th. — Prince of Orange. 
 
 Alexander, Prince of the Netherlands. 
 
 1837. July 1st. — Edwin Forrest. 
 
 Catherine Norton Forrest. 
 
 1838. Aug. 28th Countess of Blessington. 
 
 Comte d'Orsay. 
 30th .. — Charles Matthews. 
 E. Vestris. 
 
 After all, the church is the most interesting place in Strat- 
 ford connected with Shakspeare, because you have here 
 proofs of him and his family connexions beyond all question. 
 There is the well-known bust of him in a niche close to the 
 communion rail, on the north wall of the chancel, placed 
 on a cushion, holding a pen in his right hand, and his left 
 
100 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON". 
 
 upon a scroll. Above his head are his arms, and on each 
 side of them a small sitting figure ; one holding in his right 
 hand a spade, the other, whose eyes are closed, to indicate 
 mourning, has one hand upon a skull, and in the other an 
 inverted torch. Beneath the cushion is engraved this dis- 
 tich : 
 
 JUDICIO PYLIUM, GENIO SOCRATUM, ARTE MARONEM, 
 TERRA TEGIT, POPULUS MffiRIT, OLYMPUS HABET. 
 
 And on a tablet underneath, these lines — 
 
 Stay, passenger, why goest thou by so fast ! 
 Read if thou canst, whom envious death hath plast 
 Within this monument, Shakspeare, with whome 
 Quicke Nature dide ; whose name doth deck ye tombe 
 Far more than coste ; sicth all ytt he hath writt 
 Leaves living art but page to serve his witt. 
 
 Obiit Ano. Doi. 1616, ^Etatis 53. Die 23. Ap. 
 
 This monument is said to have been raised very soon 
 after Shakspeare's death. Wheeler thinks it probable that 
 it was erected by Dr. John Hall, his son-in-law and exe- 
 cutor, or relations, at a time when his features were per- 
 fectly fresh in every one's memory, or, perhaps, with the 
 assistance of an original picture, if any such ever existed. 
 He adds, that some verses by Leonard Digges, a cotem- 
 porary of the poet, prove that it was here before 1623; that 
 is, within seven years of his death. Sir William Dugdale, 
 in his Diary, states the artist to have been Gerard Johnson, 
 " a Hollander, a tombe-maker, who lived in St. Thomas's 
 Apostells." It is undoubtedly the most authentic repre- 
 sentation of him that we possess, and we have some addi- 
 tional argument for its resemblance to the original in its 
 likeness to the print in the folio edition of his works printed 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 101 
 
 in 1623, which Ben Jonson, in his verses under it, plainly 
 asserts to be a great likeness. Yet, when we call to mind 
 how little notice was attracted to this spot for years after 
 Shakspeare's decease, and how easily satisfied are country 
 people in a piece of monumental art, we cannot entertain 
 too sanguine notions that we have a very characteristic 
 representation of Shakspeare before us. 
 
 The head must fulfil and confirm all the faith of the phre- 
 nologists ; it is a noble structure, but the remarkable gravity 
 and massiness of the features do not answer to our notions, 
 of that soul of mirth, and whim, and passion, which must 
 have shone through the outer veil of Shakspeare. The 
 character is that of a sensible, grave, and benevolent man. 
 
 It is well known that the bust was originally painted to 
 resemble life ; that the eyes were light hazel ; the hair and 
 beard auburn. The dress consisted of a scarlet doublet, 
 over which was a loose black gown, without sleeves ; the 
 lower part of the cushion before him was crimson, and the 
 upper green, with gilt tassels. In 174S this monument 
 was carefully repaired, and the original colours of the bust 
 restored, the expense being defrayed by the receipts of the 
 acting of Othello at the old Town-hall, which were given 
 by Mr. Ward, the manager, grandfather of Mrs. Siddons. 
 In 1793 the bust and figures above it, together with the 
 tomb of John a Combe, were, to correct the false taste of 
 the erectors, by the perpetration of the worse taste of alter- 
 ing an original monument of so much consequence, painted 
 white, at the request of Mr. Malone. 
 
 Below, and in front of the monument, we have, facing 
 the communion-rail, a row of inscribed flags, covering the 
 remains of himself, his wife Ann Hathaway, his daughter 
 Susanna, and her husband, Dr. John Hall. We see the 
 rude sculpture of that characteristic and awful warning 
 which he left to be placed over his remains. 
 
 9* 
 
102 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 Good Frend for Jesus SAKE forbeare 
 To diGG T— E dust encloased HERE 
 
 T 
 
 Blese be T — E Man -spares T — E S stones 
 
 y 
 t 
 
 And curst be He - moves my Bones. 
 
 y 
 
 That this hearty malediction was not unnecessary ; that 
 Shakspeare knew the freedoms that the worthy church- 
 wardens, in their ignorant authority, were accustomed to 
 use with the dead in his native place, is strikingly proved 
 by the disgraceful liberty taken with the tomb of his daughter 
 Susanna. Besides her arms, Hall impaling Shakspeare, 
 and the following inscription still remaining : — Here lyeth 
 ye body of Susanna, wife to John Hall, gent., the daughter 
 of William Shakspeare, gent. She deceased ye 11th of 
 July a. d. 1649, aged 66, — there was originally this 
 epitaph : 
 
 Witty above her sexe ; but that's not all ; 
 Wise to salvation was good Mistris Hall ; 
 Something of Shakespere was in that, but this 
 Wholly of him with whom she's now in bliss. 
 Then passenger, ha'st ne're a teare, 
 
 To weepe with her that wept with all 1 
 That wept, yet set herselfe to chere 
 
 Them up with comforts cordiall. 
 Her love shall live, her mercy spread, 
 When thou hast ne're a teare to shed. 
 
 These verses were long ago obliterated to make way for 
 another inscription, carved on the same stone, for Richard 
 Watts of Ryhm Clifford, a person in no way related to the 
 Shakspeare family, and who, no doubt, was buried in the 
 grave of Mrs. Hall. Thus it is probable that had not 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 103 
 
 Shakspeare taken care of his bones in his lifetime, they 
 would long ago have been dug up, and added to the enor- 
 mous pile which used to lie in the charnel-house, and which 
 was seen, so late as the year 1793, by Mr. Ireland. 
 
 After reading the Latin verses on the tomb of Ann Hath- 
 away, we glance into the eastern corner, just by, and lo ! 
 the tomb of John a Combe, with his effigy stretched upon 
 it. It is said that this man was a thorough-paced usurer. 
 He resided at Welcome Lodge, and afterwards at the Col- 
 lege ; that is, a mansion so called, which, at the time that 
 Stratford church was a collegiate church, was the residence 
 of the chanting priests and choristers. This, after the dis- 
 solution by Henry VIIL, was granted to the Earl of War- 
 wick, afterwards Duke of Northumberland, and at his 
 attainder by Queen Mary, was resumed by the crown ; 
 then let to Richard Coningsby, Esq., and finally sold to 
 John Combe, Esq., who died there without family in 1614, 
 two years before Shakspeare. It is said that, during Shak- 
 speare 's residence in the later years of his life at Stratford, 
 John Combe and he were on very sociable terms, and 
 Combe, presuming on Shakspeare's good nature and his 
 own moneyed importance, frequently importuned the poet 
 to write him an epitaph, which, to the old gentleman's vast 
 indignation, he did thus : — 
 
 Ten in the hundred lies here engraved, 
 
 'Tis a hundred to ten if his soul be saved. 
 
 If any one asks who lies in this tomb — 
 
 " Oho !" quoth the devil, " 'tis my John a Combe !" 
 
 As if to obviate the effect of the witty sarcasm of the in- 
 exorable poet, who would not give him any other passport 
 to posterity than what he justly deserved, we find embla- 
 zoned not only on John a Combe's tomb, but on the gold- 
 lettered tablets of the church, that he left by will, annually 
 
104 YlslT T0 STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 to be paid for ever : 1 1, for two sermons to be preached in 
 this church ; 6/. 13.9. 4d. "to buy ten gowndes for ten poore 
 people ;" and 100/. to be let out to fifteen poor tradesmen 
 of the borough, from three years to three years, at the rate 
 of 50s. per annum, which increase was to be distributed to 
 the inmates of the almshouse, — adding upon his tomb in 
 large letters, virtus post funeka vivit. But spite of all 
 this; spite of thus charging on his tomb only two and a 
 half instead often per cent. ; spite of this emblazonment in 
 marble and gold before the eyes of all churchgoers, the 
 witty words of the poet, scattered only on the winds, not 
 merely survive, but are in everybody's heart and mouth all 
 round Stratford, and will be till the day of doom. 
 
 This church stands pleasantly, between Stratford and the 
 Avon, surrounded by trees, with a pleached avenue up to 
 the porch door. The chancel is of beautiful architecture, 
 which has lately been restored with great care. It also 
 contains some grotesque and curious carving on the seats, 
 which used to be occupied by the chanting priests, and now 
 serve the clergy at visitations. 
 
 CHARLECOTE HOUSE. 
 
 No person who feels a lively interest in the history and 
 haunts of Shakspeare, will think he has seen all that has 
 drawn him to his native neighbourhood till he has seen 
 Charlecote, the abode of that Sir Thomas Lucy who drove 
 Shakspeare, for his deer stealing and his satirical sallies, 
 from the obscurity of his original condition and calling, to 
 London and universal fame. Charlecote lies on the banks 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 105 
 
 of the Avon, about four miles from Stratford. It is a plea- 
 sant walk along a pleasant level road, through a country 
 well shaded with large elms, and presenting on one hand 
 rich meadows, and on the other as rich corn-lands. It was 
 a fine autumn morning when I set off to walk there, and I 
 pleased myself, as in going to Shottry, that I was treading 
 the ground Shakspeare had trod many a time, and gazed 
 on the same scenery, if not on the very identical objects. 
 As I passed over the bridge, going out of the town, I said, 
 " It was here that Shakspeare passed in his way to Charle- 
 eote, to affix those merry verses to Sir Thomas's park-gate, 
 which so nettled the old knight ; and on many another 
 occasion paused to gaze up and down the quiet-flowing 
 Avon, as I do now." The woods of Charlecote began to 
 rise in view before me, and presently the house itself, in 
 front of them, stood full in view, and made me exclaim, 
 "Ay, there is the very place still where Shakspeare en- 
 countered the angry old knight in his hall." A foot-path 
 led me across a field into the park, and I found myself at 
 the entrance of a long avenue of limes, which led towards 
 the house, but not to it. It was terminated by a figure, 
 which appeared to beckon to you. As I advanced, I met a 
 country lad ; " So," I said, " this, I suppose, is where Shak- 
 speare came for some of Sir Thomas Lucy's deer 1 You 
 have heard of Shakspeare, I warrant you." " Yes," said 
 the lad, " often and often, and yonder he is upon a deer 
 that he took." « What, Shakspeare ?" " Yes, sir, Shak- 
 speare." I went on towards the image, wondering at the 
 oddity of taste which could induce the Lucys to place an 
 image of Shakspeare there, and with the deer too ! When 
 I came near, behold it was a leaden statue of poor innocent 
 Diana. She was in the attitude of the Apollo Belvidere, 
 having apparently just discharged an arrow and watching 
 its career, still holding aloft the bowhand, and grasping the 
 centre of the bow. Close to her side was the figure of a 
 
106 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 fallow deer ; and the simple country people had converted 
 her into Shakspeare. That this odd mistake did not rest 
 with the boy, I satisfied myself by asking every country 
 man and woman that I met in the neighbourhood what 
 that image was, and all answered, " Shakspeare on a deer." 
 I suppose that, as the knees of the goddess are a little bent 
 and the deer placed close to her left side, they had got the 
 notion that it meant to represent Shakspeare riding away 
 on the deer that he had caught. Even a Scotch travelling 
 tea-merchant that I fell in with, told me the same story. I 
 asked him whether he had ever been at the statue and ex- 
 amined it. He replied he had. " And did you not observe," 
 I asked, " that it was a woman, with a woman's bosom, in 
 a woman's dress, and with a crescent on her brow ?" " In 
 troth," said the man, " I didna' just notice that noo." So 
 completely has the notion of its being meant for Shakspeare 
 taken hold of the people's fancies, that they see nothing in 
 it but Shakspeare, spite of sex and dress ; and the Scotch- 
 man thought the crescent on the brow of the image merely 
 meant that Shakspeare stole the deer by moonlight ! 
 
 Charlecote-House stands pleasantly on the banks of the 
 Avon, where it makes a bend. One side looks down upon 
 the river and towards Stratford ; the opposite front looks 
 into the old court, now a garden, and in part of which stands 
 a fine old gate-house, which the present proprietor, George 
 Lucy, Esq., intends to restore, and fit up in accordant style. 
 This front is entered by a porch, built to admit Queen Eliza- 
 beth when she paid a visit to Sir Thomas. The house was 
 built by the Sir Thomas of Shakspeare notoriety, but has 
 been much enlarged and embellished by the present Mr. 
 Lucy, who has built two noble rooms facing the river, — a 
 dining and drawing-room, — and furnished the whole with 
 great taste. 
 
 The park is finely wooded with the natural growth of this 
 part of the country, elms of a large size, and is nobly stocked 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON AVON. 107 
 
 with fallow deer. Mrs. Lucy told me that it was a very- 
 common and perpetually repeated mistake that it was from 
 this park that Shakspeare stole the deer, but that it was ac- 
 tually from the old park of Ful brook on the Warwick-road, 
 where Fulbrook Castle formerly stood, which ground is now 
 disparked. This accords with Mr. Ireland's statements. It 
 was, however, in this hall that he was tried. 
 
 The entrance hall, the scene of Shakspeare's examination, 
 is a fine room, with a grained oaken roof, having been re- 
 stored with admirable taste ; and contains objects which can- 
 not be looked on without great interest. The family paint- 
 ings are collected, and well disposed around it, with others 
 connected with the history of the family. 
 
 On the ample mantel-piece are the large, old-fashioned 
 initials of Sir Thomas Lucy, ^ a ]£,, raised and gilt ; and 
 the date of the building of the hall, 1558. Upon this mantel- 
 piece also stands a cast of the bust of Sir Thomas, taken 
 from his monument in the church. There is also a painting 
 of him, sitting at a table with his lady ; in a black velvet 
 dress with slashed sleeves, large bunches at the knees, of a 
 zigzag pattern, in black-and-white stripes ; light-coloured 
 roses in his shoes, and with a ruff and cuffs of point lace. 
 The portrait and bust bear a striking resemblance to each 
 other ; and though they do not give us any reason to sup- 
 pose him such an imbecile as Shakspeare in his witty re- 
 venge has represented Justice Shallow, they have an air of 
 formal conceit and self-sufficiency that accord wonderfully 
 with our idea of the country knight who would look on the 
 assault of his deer as a most heinous offence, and would be 
 very likely to hold his dignity sorely insulted by the saucy 
 son of a Stratford woolcomber, who had dared to affix a 
 scandalous satire on his park-gate, and to make him ridicu- 
 lous to all the country. 
 
 After all, what Sir Thomas did was just what nine-tenths 
 of the country gentlemen of that or this day would have 
 
10 8 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 done in like case. He appears to have dealt gently with 
 the young man in the first instance ; and it was not until 
 the ugly verses, of — 
 
 A parliament member, a justice of peace, 
 
 At home a poor scarecrow, at London an asse, etc. 
 
 were fixed on his gate by the vindictive pride of the embryo 
 poet, that he began to threaten him with the serious visita- 
 tion of the law. The only singularity of the case is, that Sir 
 Thomas had stumbled on a great poet by the merest chance, 
 and that before either he or anybody, even the poet himself, 
 knew that he were one, and thereby roused him, as the 
 Edinburgh Review roused Byron, to a full consciousness 
 and demonstration of his hidden strength. Who can tell 
 whether, had it not been for the agency of Sir Thomas and 
 the Edinburgh Review, we might at this moment have been 
 possessed of the noble poems of Shakspeare and of Byron ? 
 But, as the Scriptures say, " Offences must needs come, but 
 wo unto those by whom they do come." So the Review 
 and Sir Thomas have alike won a notoriety that they never 
 dreamed of, by starting a lion where they supposed them- 
 selves pursuing a very different beast. 
 
 I have frequently heard it said that all which Shakspeare 
 asserted of Sir Thomas Lucy was true, and that his 
 descendants continued to this day pretty much the same, 
 and always went by the name of Shallow. It is a luckless 
 doom to fall under the bann of an irritated poet, and such a 
 poet as Shakspeare. " The daggers which he spoke, though 
 he used none," were sure to stick fast in the wounded name, 
 and the vengeance which he took on the original offender, 
 must descend, in some degree, to his posterity. There will 
 never want that spice of malice in the popular mind which 
 delights to believe all that common prejudice delights to 
 promulgate in such cases, and I can conceive few greater 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 109 
 
 curses falling on an innocent family, than the brand of folly 
 thus fixed upon it by the withering sarcasm of indignant 
 genius. Who does not shrink from the very idea of being 
 born under such a stigma ? Who could hope to bear up 
 against it unscathed in the great race of life ? Who can 
 tell the blasting and deadening, and dwarfing influence of 
 such an actual finger of bitter and burning scorn, held up 
 against you and your children ? When, therefore, I beheld 
 the pleasant abode of the Lucys, and saw the evidences of 
 taste and refinement about it, and heard what I did of the 
 present family, I could not help feeling how awful is the 
 clinging curse of an incensed poet, and how fearfully unjust 
 he may become to whole generations of guiltless spirits, in 
 the unrestrained indulgence of his revenge on its immediate 
 object. 
 
 It was a high and sincere pleasure to me to find the 
 present descendants of Sir Thomas Lucy the very reverse 
 of all that Shakspeare would persuade us that he was. On 
 all sides, and from all classes of people, I heard the most 
 excellent character of them. They were described as amia- 
 ble, intelligent ; as of the most domestic habits, and as 
 spending the chief portion of their time on their estate here. 
 The poor spoke of them with affection for their kindness. I 
 had not the pleasure to find Mr. Lucy at home ; but the 
 house itself bore everywhere the most unequivocal testimo- 
 nies of his taste : and I have rarely met with a lady that 
 interested me more by her agreeable manners, intelligence, 
 and tone of mind, than Mrs. Lucy, a sister of Lady Wil- 
 loughby de Broke, of Compton-Verney, in the same neigh- 
 bourhood. 
 
 Mr. Lucy has enriched Charlecote-House with a select 
 collection of paintings ; and as the house, owing to the 
 domestic habits of the family, is not commonly shown, it 
 may be acceptable to some of my readers to have a passing 
 mention of them. 
 
 10 
 
HO VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 In the hall, however, which we will mention first, the 
 pictures are, as I have said, chiefly family ones. Over the 
 fire-place is a large family-piece — Sir Thomas, the grandson 
 of old Sir Thomas, his lady, and six children, by Cornelius 
 Janson, done while on a visit here. Sir Thomas has a mild 
 contemplative look. His hair is of a sandy hue ; his beard 
 of the same colour, and peaked. The two youngest boys 
 have also portraits as grown men in the hall, — Sir Fulke 
 and Sir Richard Lucy. 
 
 There is a curious old view of the house and gardens in 
 their original state ; that is, in the state in which Shaks- 
 peare would see them. Captain Thomas Lucy and his 
 lady, by Lely. This lady he left a widow, and she after- 
 wards married the Duke of Northumberland. 
 
 In the library — portraits of Charles I. and II., Arch- 
 bishop Laud, and Lord Strafford, by Henry Stone. Lord 
 Herbert of Cherbury, by Isaac Oliver. A small, swarthy 
 countenance, small dark and quick eyes, extremely black 
 hair, and black mustachios, indicate in a lively manner the 
 brisk and fiery spirit of this celebrated man. Here are also 
 portraits of Henry VIII. ; Rich, Earl of Holland ; Mar- 
 quess of Mantua, by Raffaelle ; Sir Thomas Lucy again, in 
 his youth ; Isabelle, wife of the Emperor Charles V. ; and 
 the Lord Keeper Coventry. There are also in this room 
 eight fine ebony chairs inlaid with ivory, two cabinets and 
 a couch of the same, said to have been brought from Kenil- 
 worth, and to have been a present of Queen Elizabeth to 
 Leicester. 
 
 In the drawing-room — Tenier's Wedding, painted by 
 himself, purchased by the present Mr. Lucy for 1100/., and 
 for which he has refused 1300/. Cassandra delivered 
 from captivity, by Guercino. Tempest, by Mole. Henry II. 
 of France. Samson pulling down the temple, and Samson 
 and the lion. Marketing parties going and returning, by 
 Wouverman. Landscape by Cuyp. St. Cecilia, by Do- 
 menichino. Landscape, by Hobbima. Ditto, by Berghem, 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. HI 
 
 1619. Interior of a room, by Peter de Hogh. Madonna 
 and child, by Vandyke. Watermill and cattle, by Paul 
 Potter. Here are also busts, by Behnes, of the present Mr. 
 and Mrs. Lucy ; and a splendid gold cup made for George 
 IV., richly studded with jewels. 
 
 In the dining-room — Battle of a cock and turkey, by 
 Ulnoebocker. Still-life, — cock and gardener, by Jacob 
 Jordans. An arrest, by Peter Valentine. Woman spin- 
 ning, said to be by Raffaelle in his early style. Horses, by 
 Wouverman. 
 
 In Mrs. Lucy's morning-room there are a few good paint- 
 ings. St. Catherine and a Magdalene. Christ's head, by 
 Carradocio. But the most beautiful thing, and one of the 
 most beautiful in the whole house, is the portrait of a female 
 holding a cup in one hand, with the other placed upon it — 
 her beautiful face full of a melancholy sentiment, with rich 
 golden locks hanging on her shoulders. The subject and 
 the artist are alike unknown. Mrs. Lucy found it in the 
 house, and had it cleaned ; and it certainly is one of the 
 most divine things ever seen. The beauty of the whole 
 countenance — the fine large eyes full of thought and sor- 
 row — the high rich forehead — the glorious head, and the 
 pure and deep sentiment of the whole, mark the hand of 
 the master, and are worthy of Raffaelle himself. It is a 
 being radiant with youth and beauty, and rendered irresisti- 
 bly attractive by the soul and the sublime sorrow breathed 
 through and breathing from it. Mrs. Lucy was inclined to 
 believe it a Niobe, but to my feeling it could be nothing 
 else but one of the noble women who ministered to our Sa- 
 viour — a Mary, a Magdalene, or the penitent and nameless 
 woman who " washed his feet with her tears, and wiped 
 them with the hairs of her head." * Such a being, in the sub- 
 
 * The old painters make Mary Magdalene this woman, hut there is no 
 evidence of it in the Gospels. Three of the evangelists declare that this 
 
112 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 limity of her grief, so far beyond any subject of the Grecian 
 mythology, inasmuch as the grief of any natural bereave- 
 ment, however agonizing, falls short in its solemn grandeur 
 of that profound sorrow and shame which surprise and 
 overwhelm a noble soul when it becomes aware of the ori- 
 ginal purity of beauty which once was its own, and how 
 much " its inner self it has abused," — can only be con- 
 ceived and expressed by a spirit of a similar elevation. 
 These circumstances point out this beautiful female as be- 
 longing to the Gospel history, and to the pencil of a great 
 master. 
 
 At a short distance, in the park, stands the little church 
 of Charlecote ; and it is well worthy of a visit from the 
 stranger. It contains the monuments of the Lucys, and they 
 are some of the richest and most beautifully executed to be 
 found in any of our country churches. There, too, you see 
 the hatchments of the different knights, with their lucies 
 (the three fishes — pikes) in the escutcheon, made so noto- 
 rious by Shakspeare. Old Sir Thomas lies on "his tomb in 
 effigy ^ and his lady by his side. It is from this effigy that 
 the bust in the hall has been taken, with its ruff, and peaked 
 beard cut square at the end. 
 
 If Sir Thomas has been pretty well misrepresented by 
 the waggish wit of Shakspeare,* we must believe that his 
 
 anointing took place at Bethany, and John says it was by Mary the sister 
 of Martha. The others do not name the woman ; and Luke says it oc- 
 curred at Nain. 
 
 * John Fox, the martyrologist, was received by Sir Thomas at the time 
 when he was obliged to fly for his life on account of his religion, in 
 Mary's reign, and was deserted by every one besides. It is said that Sir 
 Thomas took care to have a good equivalent for his protection, by making 
 Fox the tutor to his children, and that when that end was served, he dis- 
 missed him with little ceremony, and no care for his future provision. 
 Admitting all this, it is evident still, that Sir Thomas gave him that 
 shelter at a critical time, which no one else would give, and in so far was 
 before his age. 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 113 
 
 lady has not been the less so by the fragment of a ballad 
 which has been preserved by Professor Barnes, taken down 
 as an old woman sung it at an inn at Stratford, and attri- 
 buted to Shakspeare, in which she is described as a most 
 unfaithful wife. If any faith is to be put in the epitaph 
 engraved on this tomb, which was written by Sir Thomas 
 himself — " as by him that did best know what hath been 
 written to be true," — she must have been, on the contrary, 
 a very exemplary woman : " a woman," he says, " so gar- 
 nished with virtue as not to be bettered, and hardly to be 
 equalled by any." The tradition is, that she went by the 
 name of " the good Lady Lucy," and Newton in his " Me- 
 moirs of Pious Women," gives her an extraordinary cha- 
 racter for virtue and benevolence. 
 
 Sir Thomas's son and successor, who appears to have 
 only survived him five years, lies in his stately tomb by 
 himself. His lady, in a black hood, is placed in a praying 
 attitude in front of the tomb, thereby indicating that she 
 was the sorrowful survivor ; while, on the plinth, is a whole 
 procession of little images of sons and daughters, two by 
 two. Six sons on the panel before the mother, and eight 
 daughters on that behind her. The tomb of the third Sir 
 Thomas, the grandson of the Sir Thomas, and his lady, is a 
 very splendid one by Bernini, executed in Italy. It is a 
 pediment of white marble, bearing the family escutcheon, 
 the panels and shafts of the columns black. It is indeed of 
 beautiful workmanship. Sir Thomas is in a recumbent 
 position, leaning on his elbow, as if contemplating the effigy 
 of his wife, whose figure and drapery are finely wrought.. 
 Behind him, on the one hand, are seen books as in a library, 
 with various classical titles on the back; and on the other 
 hand, himself, mounted on his favourite horse — probably 
 intended to intimate his prevailing tastes, as well as an ac- 
 cident in hunting which hastened his death. The bust of 
 
 10* 
 
114 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 the lady is particularly soft and rich, the arms and hands 
 are beautiful. 
 
 CLOPTON HALL. 
 
 There is one more place, the history of whose proprietors 
 is, in a slight degree, connected with that of Shakspeare in 
 this neighbourhood, which we will take some notice of be- 
 fore we quit his Stratford haunts altogether ; and the more 
 because it is a specimen of a large class of old mansions 
 which once held families of great note, but are now passed 
 into other hands, leaving no trace of their once important 
 inhabitants, beyond the monuments in the parish church ; 
 the brief record of their genealogy in the history of the 
 county ; and some fragments of mysterious traditions that 
 float about amongst the common people, but which are fast 
 fading away too. 
 
 The ground on which Shakspeare's own house in Strat- 
 ford stood, had been the property of the Cloptons of Clop- 
 ton. In course of time it was again purchased by a 
 member of the Clopton family; and in 1742, Sir Hugh 
 Clopton entertained Garrick, Macklin, and Dr. Delany 
 there, under the poet's mulberry-tree. Shakspeare also 
 mentions in his will, lands belonging to him in Welcome ; 
 which probably also had been the property of the Cloptons, 
 as Welcome adjoins the present estate of Clopton, both of 
 which are, in fact, now in the hands of one proprietor. At 
 Welcome too, Shakspeare used to visit and make merry 
 with his friends, John and William Combe. 
 
 But we have only to enter Stratford church to see that 
 the Cloptons were the great family of that neighbourhood. 
 At the east end of the north aisle, the chapel formerly dedi- 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 115 
 
 cated to the blessed Virgin is occupied with their stately- 
 tombs. Above hang numerous hatchments, recording so 
 many deaths, and family banners, dusty and worn with 
 age, waved there too. These are now gone ; but the monu- 
 ments remain, with a massy and time-worn splendour 
 which dwarfs all others around, and marks the once high 
 estate of the race. Under a Gothic arch is raised an altar- 
 tomb, about four feet and a half from the pavement, with 
 numerous panels, originally filled with brazen shields of 
 arms, but which have been long since torn away. A 
 marble slab, without effigy or inscription, covers the tomb ; 
 but the arms of Clopton, with those of the city of London, 
 and those of the company of woolstaplers, of which he was 
 a member, carved and yet remaining on the arch above, 
 mark it as the tomb of Sir Hugh Clopton, who in 1492 was 
 Lord Mayor of London, and by his will directed that his 
 remains should repose exactly on this spot. Sir Hugh, a 
 younger branch of the ancient family of the Cloptons, had 
 not disdained to enter into trade, and becoming not only 
 very wealthy but Lord Mayor of London, was a man of a 
 princely liberality. Besides numerous benefactions to the 
 city of London, to Aylesbury, and other places, in building 
 bridges and making causeways, leaving perpetual charity 
 to the poor, etc. — -he, at his own charge, built the Chapel 
 of the Holy Trinity in Stratford, the transept of the church, 
 and the bridge over the Avon ; as is still recorded on a 
 tablet on the bridge itself. Sir Hugh also left an exhibition 
 to three poor scholars in Oxford, and three in Cambridge. 
 
 Besides the monument of this magnificent old Sir Hugh, 
 the most conspicuous is that of George Carew, Earl of 
 Totnes and Baron of Clopton. This is the Lord Carew, 
 who, when President of Minister under Queen Elizabeth, 
 wrote the chronicle of the events in Ireland during the three 
 years of his government, called by him Hibernia Pacata, 
 and published by his secretary and natural son, Sir Thomas 
 
116 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 Stafford. He was the friend of Camden the antiquary. 
 He and his brother Richard Carew, were his fellow colle- 
 gians at Christ Church, Oxford, and Camden styles him " a 
 most affectionate lover of venerable antiquity." Lord 
 Carew became Baron of Clopton by marrying Joyce the 
 sole heiress of the family. The effigies of himself and 
 countess in alabaster, coloured to the life, lie under a large 
 ornamented arch, supported by Corinthian columns, and 
 adorned as well with numerous figures of angels and 
 cherubims, as with the various arms, warlike accoutrements 
 and insignia of his office of master of the ordinance, carved 
 in bas-relief. The hearty old Earl, who has a most frank 
 and goodly aspect and bearing, is represented in armour; 
 over which is his mantle of estate, a coronet on his head, 
 and a lion couchant at his feet. If ever the outward form 
 and visage bespoke the inner man, we should say they did 
 in this worthy nobleman. That the effigy is a strong like- 
 ness of the living man is testified by his existing portraits — 
 and the likeness is that of a right worthy nobleman ; and 
 Joyce Clopton his countess must have been a fitting match 
 in generous and good disposition. Sir Thomas Stafford, the 
 natural son of the Earl, so far from being a cause of un- 
 happiness between this amiable pair, was the attached friend 
 of both ; and as is recorded on a panel of this monument, 
 not only lived long with them in affection, but desired to be 
 buried near them, and is accordingly buried here with them. 
 This is a pleasant record to be found on a tomb ; but it is 
 not the only one which shows the amiable heart of the 
 countess. Another inscription tells, that here too lies buried 
 " Mistres Amy Smith, sixty years of age and a maid, who 
 for forty years had been the waiting gentlewoman of the 
 Right Honorable Joyce, Ladie Carew, Countess of Totnes, 
 and desired to be buried in the same church where her ladie 
 intended to be buried." And accordingly on her death, at 
 Nonsuch in Surrey, Lady Carew had her remains deposited 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 117 
 
 here, " in gratefull memorie of her whom she had foun so 
 good a servant." Far and wide might we look for- another 
 tomb bearing such beautiful records of the faith and affec- 
 tions of the good old times. The worthy Earl not only 
 continued in high esteem with Elizabeth, but under James 
 and Charles, by the latter of whom he was created Earl of 
 Totnes : and, as if the calm sunshine of virtue and friend- 
 ship had shed a sanative power upon their lives, all of these 
 parties lived to an old age, the Earl himself being seventy- 
 three and the Countess seventy-eight. 
 
 The stately old mansion where this family resided for 
 more than five hundred years, stands advantageously on a 
 fine upland about a mile above the town of Stratford, and 
 commands all the fair vale in which Stratford stands. It 
 looks full upon the woody spot to the right of the town in 
 which Shottry lies nestled, and has for the boundary of its 
 view, at the distance of some eight or ten miles, the long 
 line of the Ilmington and Meon hills. Though thus ele- 
 vated, it stands in a little hollow, as it were, in the upland 
 slope, as if to give it that snug and protected air of which 
 our ancestors were so fond, while behind it still ascend up- 
 land pastures, their hedgerows finely scattered with noble 
 elms. 
 
 It was of this goodly old abode that a fair lady thus wrote 
 to me on seeing the announcement of this volume. " I 
 wonder if you know Clopton Hall, about a mile from Strat- 
 ford-on-Avon. Will you allow me to tell you of a very 
 happy day I once spent there. I was at school in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and one of my schoolfellows was the daughter 
 
 of a Mr. W , who then lived at Clopton. Mrs. W 
 
 asked a party of the girls to go and spend a long afiernoon, 
 and we set off one beautiful autumn day, full of delight and 
 wonder respecting the place we were going to see. We 
 passed through desolate, half-cultivated fields, till we came 
 within sight of the house — a large, heavy, compact, square 
 
H8 ^ SIT T0 STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 brick building, of that deep, dead red almost approaching 
 to purple. In front was a large formal court, with the massy 
 pillars surmounted with two grim monsters ; but the walls 
 of the court were broken down, and the grass grew as rank 
 and wild within the enclosure as in the raised avenue walk 
 down which we had come. The flowers were tangled with 
 nettles, and it was only as we approached the house that 
 we saw the single yellow rose and the Austrian brier trained 
 into something like order round the deep-set diamond-paned 
 windows. We trooped into the hall, with its tessellated 
 marble floor, hung round with strange portraits of people 
 who had been in their graves two hundred years at least ; 
 yet the colours were so fresh, and in some instances they 
 were so life-like, that looking merely at the faces, I almost 
 fancied the originals might be sitting in the parlour beyond. 
 More completely to carry us back, as it were, to the days 
 of the civil wars, there was a sort of military map hung up, 
 well finished with pen and ink, showing the stations of the 
 respective armies, and with old-fashioned writing beneath, 
 the names of the principal towns, setting forth the strength 
 of the garrison, etc. In this hall we were met by our kind 
 hostess, and told we might ramble where we liked, in the 
 house or out of the house, taking care to be in the " recessed 
 parlour" by tea-time. I preferred to wander up the wide 
 shelving oak staircase, with its massy balustrade all crum- 
 bling and worm-eaten. The family then residing at the 
 hall did not occupy one-half, — no, not one-third of the 
 rooms ; and the old-fashioned furniture was undisturbed 
 in the greater part of them. In one of the bed-rooms (said 
 to be haunted), and which, with its close pent-up atmosphere 
 and the long shadows of evening creeping on, gave me an 
 1 eirie' feeling, hung a portrait so singularly beautiful ! a 
 sweet-looking girl with paly gold hair combed back from 
 her forehead, and falling in wavy ringlets on her neck, and 
 with eyes that 'looked like violets filled with dew/ for there 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 119 
 
 was the glittering of unshed tears before their dark blue — 
 and that was the likeness of Charlotte Clopton, about whom 
 there was so fearful a legend told at Stratford church. In 
 the time of some epidemic, the sweating-sickness, or the 
 plague, this young girl had sickened, and to all appearance 
 died. She was buried with fearful haste in the vaults of 
 Clopton chapel, attached to Stratford church, but the sick- 
 ness was not stayed. In a few days another of the Cloptons 
 died, and him they bore to the ancestral vault ; but as they 
 descended the gloomy stairs, they saw by the torch-light, 
 Charlotte Clopton in her grave-clothes leaning against the 
 wall ; and when they looked nearer, she was indeed dead, 
 but not before, in the agonies of despair and hunger, she 
 had bitten a piece from her white round shoulder ! Of 
 course, she had walked ever since. This was " Charlotte's 
 chamber," and beyond Charlotte's chamber was a state- 
 chamber carpeted with the dust of many years, and dark- 
 ened by the creepers which had covered up the windows, 
 and even forced themselves in luxuriant daring through the 
 broken panes. Beyond, again, there was an old Catholic 
 chapel, with a chaplain's room, which had been walled up 
 and forgotten till within the last few years. I went in on 
 my hands and knees, for the entrance was very low. I 
 recollect little in the chapel ; but in the chaplain's room 
 were old, and I should think rare editions of many books, 
 mostly folios. A large yellow-paper copy of Dryden's " All 
 for Love, or the World Well Lost," date 1686, caught my 
 eye, and is the only one I particularly remember. Every 
 here and there, as I wandered, I came upon a fresh branch 
 of a staircase, and so numerous were the crooked, half- 
 lighted passages, that I wondered if I could find my way 
 back again. There was a curious carved old chest in one 
 of these passages, and with girlish curiosity I tried to open 
 it ; but the lid was too heavy till I persuaded one of my 
 companions to help me, and when it was opened, what do 
 
120 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 you think we saw — bones ! — but whether human, whether 
 the remains of the lost bride, we did not stay to see, but ran 
 off in partly feigned, and partly real terror. 
 
 " The last of these deserted rooms that I remember, the 
 last, the most deserted, and the saddest, was the Nursery, — a 
 nursery without children, without, singing voices, without 
 merry chiming footsteps ! A nursery hung round with its 
 once inhabitants, bold, gallant boys, and fair, arch-looking 
 girls, and one or two nurses, with round, fat babies in their 
 arms. Who were they all? What was their lot in life? 
 Sunshine, or storm ? or had they been ' loved by the gods, 
 and died young ?' The very echoes knew not. Behind the 
 house, in a hollow now wild, damp, and overgrown with 
 elder-bushes, was a well called ! Margaret's Well, for there had 
 a maiden of the house of that name drowned herself. 
 
 " I tried to obtain any information I could as to the family 
 of Clopton of Clopton. They had been decaying ever since 
 the civil wars; had for a generation or two been unable 
 to live in the old house of their fathers, but had toiled in 
 London, or abroad, for a livelihood ; and the last of the old 
 family, a bachelor, eccentric, miserly, old, and of most filthy 
 habits, if report said true, had died at Clopton Hall but a few 
 
 months before, a sort of boarder in Mr. W 's family. 
 
 He was buried in the gorgeous chapel of the Cloptons in 
 Stratford church, where you see the banners waving, and 
 the armour hung over one or two splendid monuments. 
 
 Mr.W had been the old man's solicitor, and completely 
 
 in his confidence, and to him he left the estate, encumbered 
 and in bad condition. A year or two afterwards, the heir- 
 at-law, a very distant relation living in Ireland, claimed and 
 obtained the estate, on the plea of undue influence, if not 
 
 forgery, on Mr. W 's part ; and the last I heard of our 
 
 kind entertainers on that day, was that they were outlawed, 
 and living at Brussels." 
 
 After reading this account, I was strongly drawn towards 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVOX. 12 1 
 
 Clopton, and on my visit to Stratford, I hastened eagerly to 
 see a spot so attractive by its history, and so graphically de- 
 scribed. It was too late. A new lord was in possession. 
 After passing through several hands from the period alluded 
 to by my fair correspondent, and through many dismal stages 
 of neglect and decay, Mr. Ward, the proprietor of Welcome, 
 had purchased, and had had sixty workmen for" at least six 
 months employed upon it. Those old staircases Were now 
 painted and polished into new ones. Those old oak floors 
 had given way to new deal ones. Wagon-loads of lumber, 
 as the new proprietor called it, Wainscot, old chests and 
 benches, and things of the past were carried away, and 
 splendid stoves, and massy mantel-pieces of Italian marble, 
 had succeeded the stern wide old-English fire-places. Mo- 
 dern furniture was standing about in confused heaps in the 
 rooms ; and fresh paintings of a higher character than the 
 Cloptons ever knew, were in the act of ascending those 
 walls where the grim Clopton portraits had hung so long; but 
 which, such as still remained, were now consigned to a back 
 gallery. " They are wretched affairs," said the young and 
 gay lord of the house. " I am not at all related to the family ; 
 and I do not know what I could better do with them." 
 
 Perhaps nothing more could be expected. They clearly 
 belonged to an era and a race that were gone by. They 
 were things which had outlasted their legitimate masters :— 
 
 Another race had been, and other palms were won. 
 
 But I looked them over. They did not exceed two dozen 
 in number, and amongst them 1 looked in vain for Charlotte 
 Clopton, with " her locks of paly gold," or for Margaret, 
 with " her beautiful face, and dark, brown ringlets flowing 
 on her shoulders." " Was there not such and such a tradi- 
 tion ?" I asked. " And such and such a picture ? Mar- 
 
 II 
 
122 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 garet as a child with her little dog in her arms, and again 
 in the bloom of maiden beauty ?" " There were such tra- 
 ditions," it was carelessly replied, and in a tone which 
 showed that there was no strong interest felt in such tradi- 
 tions. Youth, wealth, and fresh possession, and the eager 
 novelty of fitting up a new abode were not calculated to 
 generate a sentimental mood ; and yet methinks the fate and 
 the pictures of the past race of such an abode would have 
 excited in my mind an interest, not the most trivial, amongst 
 those feelings which give value to the possession. 
 
 Well, but where were the pictures of Charlotte and Mar- 
 garet Clopton ? They were not there ! In some of the 
 many changes which had occurred, somebody had taken 
 them away — somebody, it is to be hoped, who valued 
 them. 
 
 It was useless pressing further inquiries upon the new 
 proprietor — but I saw some women collecting apples in 
 the orchard, who were old enough to have known the 
 house well in its former state. I asked them, and they 
 knew the portraits familiarly, just as described by my fair 
 correspondent, and they knew that they were there not very 
 long ago. One of them also went and showed me the spring 
 in which Margaret was drowned. In a woody glade which 
 runs up behind the house is a succession of fish-ponds, now 
 half empty of water, and neglected ; and beyond these, 
 under the shade of large elms, is the spring in which Mar- 
 garet drowned herself. It is a tank of perhaps three yards 
 long, and two wide, and of a considerable depth, now 
 arched over nearly level with the ground, and only open at 
 one end. The water was so transparent that every part of 
 the tank is seen to the bottom, and a fearful and gloomy 
 place it is for any human creature to plunge into. What 
 must have been the misery and despair which must have 
 goaded Margaret's spirit in this old and solitary place, be- 
 fore she could venture to plunge in there ! 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON AVON. 123 
 
 On a stone laid behind the spring, but which is said to 
 have been laid at its mouth, are inscribed the initials S. I. C. 
 1686. No doubt those of Sir John Clopton, who died in 
 1692, and who most probably first enclosed this well. But 
 who were Charlotte and Margaret Clopton ? Whose daugh- 
 ters were they ? At what period did they live ? What 
 more is known of the tragic death of Charlotte ? What is 
 known of the history, or the cause of the suicide of Mar- 
 garet ? These are questions that we ask of the local histo- 
 rian : but we ask in vain. The facts to which they relate 
 are such as antiquaries, while hunting after genealogies, 
 knights and warriors, and heads of families, have too much 
 passed over, to the great loss of our domestic history. The 
 dry outlines of family descent have been scrupulously pre- 
 served, but the most touching and characteristic passages in 
 the home events of those families themselves have been pass- 
 ed over as not belonging to the province of the topographer. 
 What would we not now give to recall them ? What would 
 we not give, as we pass through the galleries of our ancient 
 houses, or stand by family tombs, and see the portraits or 
 read the names of numbers of whom no special record is 
 left, to be able to summon them before us, and hear what 
 befel them in their day ? Even Dugdale, who, unlike the 
 general race of topographers, has rescued so many of these 
 fleeting traditions in his beloved county of Warwick, has 
 left no glimpse of the history of Charlotte or Margaret Clop- 
 ton. Yet there is no doubt but that the popular traditions 
 respecting them are founded in fact. To the portraits of 
 these ladies, which were in the hall at the time of the visit 
 of my fair correspondent, and were well known to the 
 women with whom I conversed in Clopton orchard, these 
 stories were always attached. In Mr. Reason's collection 
 of Shakspeare relics, already mentioned, there is a painting 
 of Charlotte in her Trance ; a lovely young woman leaning 
 
124 VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 back in a cushioned chair as in a profound sleep, which, no 
 doubt, was one of the family-pieces of the hall. Everybody 
 thereabout was familiar with just as much of Charlotte's 
 history as is given above by my fair friend ; and the women 
 in the orchard said that Margaret had drowned herself in 
 the well called after her, on account of the death of her 
 lover in the civil wars. Who would not give up the cata- 
 logue of a score of bearded knights, grim Sir Johns and Sir 
 Thomases, with all their dates of birth and death, for the 
 simple history of these unfortunate damsels, which the his- 
 torians of the time did not deem worthy of their notice ! 
 We may now inquire for them in vain. 
 
 Clopton, independent of its family interest, has, in fact, 
 little interest. It has no claims to fine architecture or to 
 value from works of art ; but it attracts our imagination as 
 a specimen of those mansions of old families which once 
 were of importance, but are now, like their ancient proprie- 
 tors, gone to decay, or are, as it were, resuscitated by the 
 wealth of a modern purchaser. The north and west sides 
 of the house are said to have been built in Henry VII.'s 
 time ; the south and east part in that of Charles II. When 
 Ireland visited it in 1792 or 1793, he found in it a bed given 
 to Sir Hugh Clopton by Henry VIL, and in which he is 
 said to have frequently slept ; the furniture being of fine 
 cloth of a darkish brown, with a rich fringe of silk about 
 six inches deep. In the attic story also was a chapel, with 
 scriptural inscriptions in black letter, and religious paintings 
 on the walls, as ancient as the house. In one place was a 
 large fish, with a hand at a distance dragging it forward 
 with a string ; in others, scraps of poetry, such as these 
 lines : 
 
 W&\)tt]jtx »ou vise nearlne, 
 
 ©i- fioe to bctJ late, 
 
 aHememibcr (£i)vfst JJesus 
 
 STtmt tifeTr flcr »oitr saftc. 
 
VISIT TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 125 
 
 This chapel, which one of the Cloptons, a stanch Catholic, 
 is said to have used after the Reformation, is exactly such 
 a chapel as is still found in the roof of Compton-Winyates.* 
 Mr. Ireland's son, the fabricator of the Shakspeare MSS., 
 in his " Confessions" of that curious transaction, also states 
 that he was with his father on this visit, and saw " numbers 
 of chambers in this antique mansion darkened to obviate 
 the expense of the tax on window-lights ; and in the cock- 
 loft were piles of mouldering furniture of the age of Henry 
 VII. ; amongst the rest an emblazoned representation of 
 Elizabeth the Queen of Henry VII., as she lay in state in 
 the chapel of the Tower of London, after having died in 
 childbed ; which curious relic the then owner of Clopton 
 gave to Mr. S. Ireland, as a ]ricture which was in his opi- 
 nion of no service, because, being on vellum, it would not do 
 to light the. fire." 
 
 Mr. Ireland had been informed that many papers had 
 been removed from Shakspeare's house in Stratford at the 
 time of the fire, to this house ; and on inquiring if any such 
 had ever been seen, the proprietor made this answer, " By 
 G — d, I wish you had arrived a little sooner! Why, it 
 isn't a fortnight since I destroyed several basketfuls of let- 
 ters and papers, in order to clear a chamber for some young 
 partridges which I wish to bring up alive ; and as to Shak- 
 speare, why there were many bundles with his name wrote 
 upon them. Why, it was in this very fire-place I made a 
 roaring bonfire of them." 
 
 Mr. Ireland listened to this relation with feelings not to 
 be described, and starting from his chair, exclaimed, " My 
 God ! sir, you are not aware of the loss which the world 
 has sustained. Would to heaven I had arrived sooner !" 
 Williams, the then proprietor, called his wife, who made 
 
 * See Visit to Compton-Winyates. 
 11* 
 
126 VISIT TO STRATFORD-OX-AVON. 
 
 the same statement, and lanterns were lighted, and the dark 
 rooms of the house examined, but nothing further of the 
 kind found. How far this story is true, considering the 
 fabulating character of the younger Ireland, may be left to 
 the faith of the reader, especially as the father, in his 
 account of his visit, is silent on so remarkable a circum- 
 stance. 
 
 In its later years Clopton must have been, in its desola- 
 tion, just the place for generating tales of superstition. Its 
 old carving and decayed paintings, its ruinous windows and 
 rotting floors, — all around its fences and gates going to 
 decay, and its mighty trees spreading higher and wider, 
 and casting over it a brooding gloom. It will now, no 
 doubt, soon become a goodly and splendidly-furnished 
 mansion ; but the visible traces of the ill-fated Cloptons are 
 nearly erased, and it can only in future be said, such a 
 family once lived there, and such were the traditions of 
 their fate. Amongst the portraits, that of Lord Carew, al- 
 ready mentioned, who married Joyce, the heiress of this 
 house, was still to be seen, bearing a striking resemblance, 
 both in form and feature, to the effigy in the church. There 
 were also one or two besides who exhibited lively and at- 
 tractive features, but they are not by eminent masters, and 
 therefore cannot claim a merit apart from their own iden- 
 tical importance, which has expired. The Cloptons have 
 evidently been not only a powerful but a well-featured 
 race ; but they had not their poet, they had not even their 
 painter, who could invest them with immortality. They, 
 therefore, now hang in the back passage of a house no 
 longer theirs. Its master does not share their blood ; he 
 has no interest in them, and how long they will be tolerated, 
 even there, is a dubious problem, 
 
 Can any termination of the career of a once honoured and 
 fortunate race, be imagined more melancholy ? Yet, of how 
 many a proud line is this the end ! 
 
VISIT TO STRATFOliD-ON-AVON. 127 
 
 As I returned towards Stratford, I met the new lady of 
 the mansion driving up in her gay equipage, and I could 
 not help wondering at what period the portraits of herself 
 and her descendants would be displaced by some other 
 family, and the Cloptons be exiled, even from the back 
 passage, to make room for the Wards ! 
 
 SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNDI. 
 
VISIT TO COMBE ABBEY, WARWICKSHIRE. 
 
 This pleasant old mansion, the seat of the Earl of Craven, 
 which lies about four miles from Coventry, besides its own 
 particular attractions as a good specimen of an old monastic 
 building, and containing a considerable number of valuable 
 paintings, lying also in a pleasant park, and retaining its 
 gardens in their primitive state — making it altogether a 
 very agreeable spot to visit on a summer's day, with cheer- 
 ful hearts and cheerful friends — has a great deal of interest 
 attached to it, through its having been the scene of some of 
 the earliest and latest fortunes of the Princess Elizabeth, 
 the daughter of James I. and Queen of Bohemia. It was 
 hence that the conspirators of the Gunpowder Plot endea- 
 voured to seize and carry her off when a mere girl, and it 
 was hither she returned after all the troubles of her most 
 troublesome and disastrous reign, and enjoyed the only 
 peaceful days of her existence. Elizabeth was a Stuart, 
 and, like the rest of her family, was doomed to drink deep 
 of misfortunes ; but, strictly virtuous and highly amiable, 
 Providence seemed to concede to her what so few of her 
 family were permitted, or indeed deserved, a quiet termina- 
 tion of a stormy life. If ever the finger of an ill-fate, laid 
 on evil deeds, was, however, manifest, it was not merely 
 in her family, but in the families of those who were con- 
 cerned in the attempt to carry her off from this place. Such 
 were the singular fortunes connected with that circum- 
 stance and its great cause, the Gunpowder Plot, that, per- 
 haps, no other spot of the strangely eventful soil of Eng- 
 
VISIT TO COMBE ABBEY. 129 
 
 land can show more remarkable ones. It will be curious 
 to trace these most uncommon and melancholy facts before 
 we make our visit to the house. 
 
 The Princess Elizabeth was, at the time of the plot, 
 living here under the care of the Earl of Harrington, the 
 then proprietor of the abbey. This circumstance, and the 
 fact also that several of the conspirators were closely con^ 
 nected with that part of the country, drew them in their 
 defeat in that direction, and made Warwickshire, with its 
 neighbouring counties of Worcester and Stafford, the grand 
 scene of the catastrophe. 
 
 It appears singular, at first view, that so many of the 
 principal conspirators were from the midland counties ; but 
 Worcestershire, Staffordshire, and Warwickshire, were in- 
 habited by more stanch Catholic families than perhaps any 
 other part of England. Warwickshire, moreover, never 
 was conspicuous for its attachment to the Stuarts, as was 
 eminently shown when the Parliament and Charles I. came 
 to open rupture. Catesby, the originator of the plot, was 
 indeed, of Ashby St. Legers in Northamptonshire, — itself, 
 however, not far distant from the scene of action, and he 
 was intimately connected with the Catholics in these counties. 
 In his case, as very remarkably in that of several others of 
 the conspirators, and as is more often the fact in life than 
 we are aware of till we begin to trace back effects to their 
 causes, he was in a great degree the victim of his father's 
 crimes and a pernicious education. He was lineally de- 
 scended from that Catesby, who was the favourite and one 
 of the base ministers of Richard III., whose fame is still 
 preserved in the old popular rhyme : 
 
 The Rat, the Cat, and Lovel the dog, 
 Rule all England under the Hog. 
 
 He appears to have been one of the most zealous and de- 
 
130 VISIT TO COMBE ABBEY. 
 
 voted bigots that this country every produced. He was for 
 many years the sworn friend of Garnet, the principal of 
 the Jesuits in England, and was supposed to be concerned, 
 more or less, in all the plots and schemes of treason which 
 fermented and occasionally came to the light during the 
 reign of Elizabeth. On her death, the hopes of the Catholics 
 rose high. James, the son of Mary Queen of Scots, a queen 
 who had suffered so much from the heretic Elizabeth, and 
 a queen, too, so fervently attached to the Catholic religion, 
 was fondly expected by the Papists, when seated on the 
 throne of Great Britain, and free to avow his own predi- 
 lections, to show that the influence of blood and of filial re- 
 sentment were not unfelt. They hoped from him, if not 
 the restoration of the ancient worship, at least a most in- 
 dulgent toleration of it. James disappointed them. He 
 showed every disposition to put into rigorous force the laws 
 against popish recusants ; and when, on the conclusion of a 
 peace with the king of Spain, even that monarch was found 
 to have secured no stipulation in favour of the English 
 Catholics, their rage and disappointment grew desperate. 
 Catesby hit upon the grand idea of blowing the whole Pro- 
 testant government of England into the air. He soon found 
 in Thomas Percy, a branch of the illustrious house of Nor- 
 thumberland, a ready coadjutor, for Percy was smarting 
 under personal resentment towards the king, and already 
 brooding on a plan of assassination. 
 
 One of the earliest to join these desperate men in so des- 
 perate an enterprise, was a gentleman who, at first sight, 
 would have seemed the most unlikely of all persons, and 
 that was the handsome, the accomplished, the fortunate -- 
 and, as far as personal disposition, the resources of mind and 
 of fortune, elegant pursuits, and the dearest domestic ties, 
 could make any man so — the singularly happy Sir Everard 
 Digby. 
 
 Sir Everard was descended of a highly distinguished line. 
 
VISIT TO COMBE ABBEY. 131 
 
 He was distinguished at the court of Elizabeth, by the 
 graces of his person, and his accomplishments ; from James 
 himself he had received the honour of knighthood. His 
 father had made himself known by his philosophical writ- 
 ings, and he himself had received such an education, and 
 possessed such abilities as made the pa^h of fresh honours 
 easy and alluring. As if fortune had intended to mark him 
 out as one of her especial favourites, he had succeeded in 
 gaining the hand of a woman, at once of great endowments 
 of person, mind, and estate, — the sole heiress of the Mulsho 
 family, of Gothurst in Buckinghamshire. To crown this 
 extraordinary tendency towards felicity, he had already 
 two lovely children ; one of them afterwards destined to 
 acquire great distinction for himself, as Sir Kenelm Digby. 
 What then was the disastrous cause which was able to 
 overpower all these concurrent auspices, and lead him into 
 this bloody enterprise ? An unlucky education. His father 
 died when he was but eleven years old, and the priests of the 
 Catholic families with which he was most intimately con- 
 nected, seized on the opportunity to mould his naturally 
 fine and generous mind to the views of their party. They 
 brought him up with the most devoted notions of the claims 
 of the Catholic church, and the duties which every gentle- 
 man in this country owed it ; and he eventually became 
 the victim of these their inculcations. 
 
 But there was another circumstance, and one which I 
 have here more particularly in view, which, to a mind ac- 
 customed to mark such things in the current of human 
 affairs, might seem to have a mysterious influence. • 
 
 In the old park of Coleshill, in Warwickshire, formerly 
 stood the ancient hall of the De Montfords. In the reign 
 of Henry VII., Sir Simon de Montford was accused of 
 sending 30/. to Perkin Warbeck, whom he firmly believad 
 to be the son of Edward IV. He was tried at Guildhall in 
 1494, for high treason, condemned, hanged, and quartered 
 
132 ^IBTT TO COMBE ABBEY. 
 
 at Tyburn, and all his vast estates confiscated. The people 
 beheld with surprise that he who had been the accuser of 
 De Montford at the bar — Simon Digby, keeper of the 
 Tower, speedily become the possessor of his estate at Coles- 
 hill, and established himself as master in his ancient house 
 there. In this very house, according to tradition, a de- 
 scendant of this Simon Digby, who attained it by the de- 
 struction of its lawful lord, on a plea of high treason, was 
 wont to hold secret councils with Catesby and his fellows, 
 concocting a scheme of treason of the most terrible descrip- 
 tion, and which brought him to the block when all other 
 circumstances tended to his felicity and advancing fortune. 
 
 But the most striking instance of that fatality which seems 
 to linger in criminal families for some generations, yet at 
 length breaks out, and " visits the sins of the father on the 
 children even unto the third and fourth generation," was 
 shown in yet another family — that of Lyttleton — which 
 furnished two traitor-victims to this popish plot. 
 
 At Shirford, near Nuneaton, in Warwickshire, there 
 formerly stood an old hall, now long since fallen to decay 
 and pulled down, which, with a fair estate there, belonged 
 to a most unfortunate family of the Smiths. 
 
 About the middle of the sixteenth century, Sir Walter 
 Smith was the possessor of Shirford Manor, and his singular 
 story is thus related by Sir William Dugdale : " Sir Walter, 
 being grown an aged man at the death of his first wife, and 
 considering of a marriage for Richard, his son and heir, then 
 grown up to man's estate, made his mind known to Mr. 
 Thomas Chetwyn, of Ingestrie in Staffordshire, a gentleman 
 of ancient family and fair estate, who, encouraging the 
 proposal in behalf of one of his daughters, Dorothy, was 
 willing to give five hundred pounds, as a portion with her. 
 But, no sooner had the old knight seen the young lady, than 
 he became a suitor for himself; being so captivated with 
 her beauty, that he tendered as much for her, besides a good 
 
VISIT TO COMBE ABBEY. 133 
 
 jointure, as he should have received in case the match had 
 gone for his son ; which liberal offer so wrought upon Mr. 
 Chetwyn as that he spared not for arguments to persuade 
 his daughter to accept of Sir Walter for her husband ; — 
 whereupon the marriage ensued accordingly ; but with what 
 a tragic issue will quickly be seen : for it was not long ere 
 that, her affections wandering after younger men, she gave 
 entertainment to one Mr. William Robinson, then of Dray- 
 ton Basset, a young gentleman of about twenty-two years 
 of age, son of Sir George Robinson, a rich mercer of 
 London ; and grew so impatient of all impediments which 
 might hinder her full enjoyment of him, that she rested not 
 til she had contrived a way to be rid of her husband. For 
 which purpose, corrupting her waiting-gentlewoman and a 
 groom of the stable, she resolved by their help and as- 
 sistance of Robinson, to strangle him in bed, appointing a 
 time and manner how it should be effected. And though 
 Robinson failed in coming on the designed night, perhaps 
 through a right apprehension of so direful a fact, she no 
 whit staggered in her resolutions ; for, watching her hus- 
 band till he had fallen asleep, she let in the assassins before 
 specified ; and casting a long towel about his neck, caused 
 the groom to lie upon him to keep him from struggling, 
 whilst herself and her maid, straining the towel, stopped 
 his breath. 
 
 " It seems the good old man little thought that his lady 
 had acted therein ; for when they first cast the towel about 
 his neck, he cried out, ' Help, Doll, help !' After an hour, 
 that the maid and groom were silently got away, to palliate 
 the business, she made an outcry in the house, wringing her 
 hands, pulling her hair, and weeping extremely, with pre- 
 tence that she had found him in that condition. Which 
 subtle and feigned show of sorrow prevented all suspicions 
 of his violent death ; and, not long after she went to London, 
 setting so high a value upon her beauty, that Robinson, her 
 
 12 
 
134 VISIT TO COMBE ABBEY. 
 
 former darling, perhaps for not keeping touch with her, as 
 before hath been said, became neglected. But, within two 
 years following, it so happened that this woful deed of 
 darkness was brought to light by the groom before specified, 
 who, being entertained with Mr. Richard Smith, son and 
 heir to the murdered knight ; and, attending him to Coven- 
 try with divers other servants, became so sensible of his 
 villany when he was in his cups, that, out of good-nature, 
 he took his master aside, and upon his knees, besought for- 
 giveness from him for acting in the murder of his father, 
 declaring all the circumstances thereof. Wherefore Mr. 
 Smith discreetly gave him good words, but wished some 
 others that he trusted to have an eye to him, that he might 
 not escape when he had slept and better considered what 
 might be the issue thereof. Notwithstanding which direc- 
 tion, he fled away with his master's best horse, and hasting 
 into Wales, attempted to go beyond sea ; but, being hindered 
 by contrary winds, after three essays to launch out, was so 
 happily pursued by Mr. Smith, who spared no cost in send- 
 ing to several ports, that he was found out and brought 
 prisoner to Warwick, as was also the lady and her gentle- 
 woman, all of whom with great boldness denying the fact, 
 and the groom most impudently charging Mr. Smith with 
 endeavour of corrupting him to accuse the lady, his mother- 
 in-law, falsely, to the end that he might get her jointure. 
 But upon his arraignment, so smitten was he at the appre- 
 hension of the guilt, that he publicly acknowledged it, and 
 stoutly justified what he had so said to be true, to the face 
 of the lady and her maid : who, at first, with much seeming 
 confidence, pleaded their innocence, till, at length, seeing the 
 particular circumstances thus discovered, they both confessed 
 the fact. For which, having judgment to dye, the lady was 
 burnt at a stake, near the Hermitage on Wolvey-heath, to- 
 wards the side of Shirford lordship, where the country people 
 to this day show the place ; and the groom, with the maid, 
 suffered death at Warwick." 
 
VISIT TO COMBE ABBEY. 1 35 
 
 But misfortune had not yet done with this family. This 
 Richard Smith, having avenged the death of his father, it 
 came to his turn, in the course of years, to become the prey 
 of Sir John Lyttleton, who, to use the words of Sir William 
 Dugdale, "juggled him out of a fair inheritance," of which 
 this lordship of Shirford formed a part. We cannot do bet- 
 ter than let Sir William tell this most singular story, as he 
 has done the last. 
 
 " Having but one daughter, called Margaret, by his first 
 wife, and doubting of male issue, he treated with Sir John 
 Lyttleton, of Frankley in Worcestershire, for a marriage be- 
 twixt his said daughter and William Lyttleton, third son of 
 the said Sir John ; in consideration of which he agreed to 
 settle all his lands in remainder, after his own decease, with- 
 out other issue, upon the said William and Margaret, and 
 their heirs. And having writings drawn accordingly, trusted 
 the said Sir John Lyttleton to get them engrossed. Which 
 being effected, and a day appointed for sealing, Mr. Smith 
 came to Frankley, where he found a very noble entertain- 
 ment, and some of Sir John's friends to bear him company, 
 in whose presence the writings were brought forth, and be- 
 gun to be read : but before they came to the uses, stept in 
 Sir John Lyttleton's keeper in a sweat, and told them that 
 there were a brace of bucks at lair in the park, which car- 
 ried a glass in their tails for Mr. Smith's dogs to look in — 
 for he loved coursing well, and had his greyhounds there — 
 but if they made not haste, those market-people which passed 
 through the park would undoubtedly rouse them. Where- 
 fore Sir John Lyttleton earnestly moved Mr. Smith to seal 
 the writings without further reading, protesting that they 
 were according to the draughts he had seen, and without 
 any alteration. Which bold asseverations, putting him out 
 of all suspicion of sinister dealing, caused him forthwith to 
 seal them, and to go into the park. 
 
 " Hereupon the two children, for they were each of them 
 
136 VISIT TO COMBE ABBEY. 
 
 not above nine years old, were married together, and lived 
 in the house with Sir John. But it so happened that, 
 about six years after, the young man died by a fall from 
 his horse, insomuch as Mr. Smith, considering that his 
 daughter had no issue, resolved to take her away, and sig- 
 nified as much to Sir John ; who, designing to marry her 
 again to George, his second son, refused to deliver her ; till 
 which time Mr. Smith never suspected anything in the deed, 
 formerly so sealed, as hath been said. But then, upon dif- 
 ference between him and Sir John, it appeared that for want 
 of issue by the before specified William and Margaret, the 
 lands were to devolve unto the right heirs of the said Wil- 
 liam, which was Gilbert Lyttleton, the eldest brother, con- 
 trary to the plain agreement at first made. To make short, 
 therefore, William, the third son, married her — George, the 
 second son, enjoyed her — and Gilbert, the eldest, had the 
 estate, as heir to his brother." 
 
 From Gilbert, the eldest son of this bold bad man, the 
 estate descended to his son John, from whom Mr. Smith in 
 vain endeavoured to recover it by several suits at law. 
 Misfortune descended with it. John Lyttleton, the son of 
 Gilbert, being attainted for high treason for uniting with 
 the Earl of Essex in the 4 2d of Elizabeth, and this very 
 estate was forfeited to the crown. It was afterwards 
 granted by James I. to the widow of John Lyttleton, on 
 her petition ; and she, being justly apprehensive of fresh 
 law-suits from Smith, sold it to Serjeant Hale, a lawyer of 
 great eminence. Hale disposed of it among his five sons, 
 — but the curse of unjust possession seemed divided 
 amongst them with it ; it became a source of most bitter 
 and inextinguishable contentions amongst them. 
 
 Nor did the ill luck confine itself to one line of the jug- 
 gling Sir John Lyttleton's descendants ; another of his 
 grandsons — Stephen, the son of his second son George and 
 of this Margaret Smith, became one of the chief conspira- 
 
VISIT TO COMBE ABBEY. 137 
 
 tors in the Gunpowder Plot, and lost his life and estates in 
 consequence. His cousin Humphry, the younger brother 
 of that John who had suffered attainder for his participa- 
 tion in Essex's affair, a conspirator, too, narrowly escaping 
 with his own life in endeavouring to save Stephen. 
 
 If ever a fatality attended ill-gotten property, surely it 
 did that of this daring Sir John Lyttleton. The very means 
 which the Lyttletons used seemed to become the means for 
 their destruction, and their dishonour was brought, as it 
 were, by the design and agency of some supernatural power, 
 to their own country, and exhibited before the eyes of their 
 neighbours. Nay, as treason and gunpowder were em- 
 ployed by them, treason and gunpowder brought them to 
 their fate. 
 
 The course of these strange circumstances now lead us to 
 Combe Abbey. The plot being all ready, and the whole 
 of the royal family being expected to be blown up — . except 
 the Duke of York, whom Percy was to seize, and the 
 Princess Elizabeth, who was here — Sir Everard Digby 
 undertook to be at Dunchurch with a body of horse raised 
 amongst his friends thereabout, and seize upon the princess. 
 As she was a child, and therefore not too old to be edu- 
 cated in the Catholic faith, her they proposed to proclaim 
 queen. When the day came, and, instead of the blowing 
 up of the Parliament, the discovery of the plot was made, 
 and Guy Fawkes seized ; Catesby, Percy, the Lyttletons, 
 and others of the conspirators, as if struck with infatuation, 
 instead of making their escape abroad, all hastened down 
 to Dunchurch to Sir Everard Digby, in the wild hope of 
 seizing the princess, and raising a civil war in her name. 
 The princess, by the activity of Lord Harrington, was con- 
 veyed into Coventry. The celebrated Sir Fulke Greville, 
 who was deputy-lieutenant of the county, appeared in 
 force against them. He seized the horses, arms, and per- 
 sons of the suspected \ the sheriff raised the country 5 and 
 
 12.* 
 
138 VISIT TO COMBE ABBEY. 
 
 the unhappy conspirators soon found the population from 
 whom they had vainly hoped for support, up, and in full 
 chase of them. The pursuit was hot ; gentle and simple, 
 cavalry and peasantry, came fiercely upon them from all 
 quarters, and they flew in wild confusion across the county 
 into Worcestershire ; some taking shelter in Hendlip-hall, 
 the seat of Thomas Habington, Esq., a zealous Catholic and 
 a secret favourer of their views, but the greater number 
 fleeing to Holbeach-house, the fortified mansion of Stephen 
 Lyttleton. 
 
 The account of the discovery of those who concealed 
 themselves at Hendlip, as given in the " Beauties of Eng- 
 land," vol. xv., is very curious. The Habingtons were a 
 family of great distinction and talent. The then owner, 
 Thomas, was a man of letters. He wrote a history of 
 Edward VI., which was completed by his son William 
 Habington, the author of Castara, in which he celebrated 
 under that name, his wife Lucia, the daughter of William 
 Lord Powis ; a poem which went through several editions 
 at the time, and which has been reprinted in the present 
 century by Mr. Elton. William was author also of " The 
 Queen of Arragon," a play acted at court before Charles I., 
 and again at the Restoration ; on this latter occasion with 
 a prologue and epilogue, by the author of Hudibras. 
 
 But the Habingtons were as zealously attached to the 
 Catholic cause as to letters. Thomas, the father of the 
 poet, and at this time possessor of Hendlip, had been deep 
 in the Babington conspiracy for the release of the Queen of 
 Scots, and had suffered six years imprisonment in the 
 Tower. His brother Edward also engaged in the same 
 conspiracy, and suffered death for it. Thomas was mar- 
 ried to Mary, the sister of Lord Monteagle, and it is sup- 
 posed to be this lady whose letter of warning to her brother 
 led to the discovery of the plot. John Habington, the 
 father of Thomas, and grandfather of the poet, had, even 
 
VISIT TO COMBE ABBEY. 139 
 
 while cofferer to Queen Elizabeth, been also a secret par- 
 tisan of the Queen of Scots, and supporter of the Catholic 
 interest, and had built the hall at Hendlip in such a style as 
 might render it, on occasion, a place of most subtle conceal- 
 ment. " There is," says the Beauties of England, " scarcely 
 an apartment that has not secret ways of going in or going 
 out ; some have back stairs concealed in the walls ; others 
 have places of concealment in the chimneys. Some have 
 trap-doors ; and all present a picture of gloom, insecurity, 
 and suspicion." Something of the same kind we shall ob- 
 serve in the old house of Compton Winyates. 
 
 When the sheriff came with a party to Hendlip to search 
 for the fugitives, Habington stoutly denied that any of them 
 were there ; but the sheriff was too certain to the contrary to 
 be easily put off. A most minute and persevering search was 
 made, when in the gallery over the gate there were found two 
 cunning and artificial conveyances in the main brick wall, so 
 ingeniously framed, and with such art, as cost much labour 
 ere they could be found. Three other secret places, contrived 
 with no less skill and industry, were found in and about 
 the chimneys, in one whereof two of the traitors were close 
 concealed. These chimney conveyances being so strangely 
 formed, having the entrances into them so curiously covered 
 with brick, mortared and made fast to planks of wood, and 
 coloured black like the other part of the chimney, that very 
 diligent inquisition might well have passed by without 
 throwing the least suspicion on such unsuspicious places. 
 And whereas divers funnels are usually made to chimneys 
 according as they are combined together, and serve for the 
 necessary use in several rooms, where were some that ex- 
 ceeded common expectation, seeming outwardly fit for car- 
 rying forth smoke ; but being further examined and seen 
 into, the service was to no such purpose, but only to lend 
 light and air downwards into the concealment where such 
 as should be enclosed in them any time should be hidden. 
 
140 VISIT TO COMBE ABBEY. 
 
 Eleven such corners and conveyances were found in the 
 said house, all of them having books, massing stuff, and 
 trumpery in them, only two excepted, which appeared to 
 have been found in some former search, and therefore had 
 now the less credit given to them. 
 
 " Three days had been fully spent, and no more found 
 there all this while ; but upon the fourth day in the morn- 
 ing, from behind the wainscot in the galleries came forth 
 two men of their own voluntary accord, as being no longer 
 able to conceal themselves ; for they confessed that they 
 had but one apple between them, which was all the suste- 
 nance they had received during the time they were there 
 hidden. One of them was named Owen, who afterwards 
 murdered himself in the Tower, and the other Chambers. 
 On the eighth day, the before-mentioned place in the chim- 
 ney was found. Forth of this secret and most cunning 
 conveyance came Henry Garnet, the Jesuit sought for, and 
 another with him named Hall;* marmalade and other 
 sweetmeats were found there lying by them, but their 
 better maintenance was by a quill or reed 7 through a little 
 hole in the chimney that backed another chimney into a 
 gentlewoman's chamber, and by that passage caudles, 
 broths, and warm drinks had been conveyed to them." 
 
 But the most singular fortune befel the Lyttletons. They, 
 with Sir Everard Digby and a considerable number of the 
 other conspirators, made good their flight to Holbeach House, 
 the seat of Stephen Lyttleton, where they determined to 
 make a desperate resistance ; but by a curious coincidence, 
 the very death which they had intended for the king and 
 parliament, had nearly been their own, — their gunpowder, 
 by some accident, exploded, blew up the roof, wounded 
 some of them, and rendered the house untenable. There 
 
 * This Jesuit^ called also Alcuine, or Oldcorn, was domesticated in the 
 family. 
 
VISIT TO COMBE ABBEY. 141 
 
 was nothing left but to make a bold sally, in which Stephen 
 Lyttleton and Winter made their escape, but Percy, Catesby, 
 and some others were killed, and Sir Everard Digby and the 
 rest made prisoners. 
 
 Stephen Lyttleton and Winter, though they had escaped 
 immediate death or captivity, were in a condition little better. 
 They were in a country swarming with active enemies in 
 quest of them, and were obliged to skulk in woods, and hide 
 themselves from view in a miserable condition of hourly 
 fear and starvation. At length Humphry, the cousin of 
 Stephen Lyttleton, conducted them to Hagley, then the 
 house of the widow of his late unfortunate brother John, 
 by which he rashly endangered the very property which 
 had been recently restored to her by the king. Luckily, 
 however, she was absent, and could not be held accounta- 
 ble for their entering there ; and there, moreover, they soon 
 found that treason in a servant which they had entertained 
 against the whole body of the government ; and were 
 delivered up to their fate. 
 
 So perished this singular body of conspirators, many of 
 them closing with a fearful catastrophe, very remarkable 
 histories, and what is not less remarkable, the lines of 
 Digby and Lyttleton, as if sufficient expiation had now been 
 made for their ancestral crimes, again extended in dignity 
 and prosperous state. 
 
 The Princess Elizabeth, thus rescued from the meditated 
 grasp of the conspirators here in her youth, returned once 
 more to Combe Abbey in her latter days. Like that of all 
 the Stuarts, her fate had a melancholy hue. The story of 
 her unfortunate husband, Frederick, the Elector Palatine, 
 of his being raised to the crown of Bohemia ; of his strug- 
 gles to maintain his elevation, in which he was left without 
 the smallest aid by his cold-blooded and pedantic father-in- 
 law, James I. ; of his dethronement and melancholy end, is 
 well known to most readers. If Elizabeth knew any enjoy- 
 
142 VISIT TO COMBE ABBEY. 
 
 ment of life, it must have been in those later days when 
 she resided in England. Many English gentlemen had 
 chivalrously fought to maintain the cause of her and her 
 husband in this kingdom, and amongst them she found a 
 most devoted friend in the then Lord Craven. She is sup- 
 posed, during her residence in this country, to have been 
 privately married to him, and she left him her collection of 
 paintings, most of which are here. In the great gallery of 
 the house, the portraits of her husband and herself are sur- 
 rounded by those of almost every individual of her own 
 family, the Stuarts, and of most of those gallant officers, 
 English and German, who distinguished themselves in 
 their endeavours to maintain the Elector on the throne of 
 Bohemia. 
 
 The great interest of this house consists, indeed, in its 
 connexion with the history of this amiable but unfortunate 
 princess. The beautiful but dissipated Margravine of 
 Anspach, whose portrait will be found on the staircase, 
 may excite a momentary attention, but the mind will here 
 speedily revert to Elizabeth, and every room of the house 
 will present you with the characters and memorials of her 
 story. In the Breakfast Room are white marble busts of 
 Elizabeth and her daughter the Princess Sophia. In the 
 Great Gallery are portraits of a daughter of Charles I. ; 
 Dukes of Richmond and Brunswick ; Charles I. ; Charles 
 II. at fourteen ; Earl of Craven ; Prince Edward, Count 
 Palatine ; the Queen of Bohemia herself, a half-length by 
 Honthorst, a very different face to that of the full-length at 
 Hampton Court attributed to the same artist. She has here 
 all the Stuart countenance ; an amiable but melancholy 
 look, her crown on her head, and is robed in ermine. 
 There is also a head of the king ; of Gustavus Adolphus, 
 the king's firm friend ; Honthorst, the painter to the court 
 of Bohemia, by himself ; a great number of the officers who 
 fought in the king's wars; the queen's daughter as an 
 
VISIT TO COMBE ABBEY. I43 
 
 abbess; Charles II. and James II., and their queens; 
 Princes Rupert and Maurice, and Dukes of Richmond and 
 Brunswick again ; Duke of Richmond again, full-length ; 
 Prince Henry. In the Bohemia Room, you have the queen 
 again, full-length, with six daughters and four sons. In 
 the Vandyke Room, are the Countess of Bedford, the 
 daughter of Lord Harrington, who was educated with the 
 Princess Elizabeth ; two daughters of Elizabeth. On the 
 Staircase are Rupert and Maurice again ; a fine portrait of 
 Lord Craven, and another in armour ; Duchess of Orleans, 
 daughter of Charles I., by Vandyke. In the Library 
 Charles II. in buff and cuirass ; the Duchess of Cleveland, 
 said to be by three masters, Lely, Dobson, and Kneller. In 
 the Drawing Room, full-lengths of the King and Queen of 
 Bohemia, by Honthorst. The king is represented in ar- 
 mour, with a surcoat of velvet lined with ermine. The 
 sceptre is in his hand, and the crown, which was a most 
 uneasy one to him, on his head. It is a fine portrait, ex- 
 pressing great mildness of character. Elizabeth is in black, 
 richly adorned with pearls. We have here again Charles 
 I., by Mytens ; and full-lengths of Maurice and Rupert, in 
 their youth, in buff. In the Beauty Parlour, so called from 
 the portraits of the beauties of Charles IL's court formerly 
 hanging there, are now Charles I. and his queen, three- 
 quarter-lengths, by Vandyke, painted at the request of Eli- 
 zabeth. They are crowned, and Henrietta is presenting 
 Charles with a laurel-wreath. The king was evidently 
 drawn in an hour of domestic comfort; and his coun- 
 tenance is more cheerful and happy than you see it any- 
 where else. In the Hunting Parlour, are the beauties of 
 Charles IL's court. They are said, many of them, to be by 
 Lely, but they are merely small heads, and not very 
 striking. 
 
 Perhaps so many portraits of the Stuart family are not 
 to be met with in any one place besides, as these which 
 were chiefly collected by the affection of Elizabeth. There 
 
14 4 VISIT TO COMBE ABBEY. 
 
 is none, indeed, like the grand equestrian Vandykes of 
 Charles I. at Warwick Castle, Windsor, and Hampton 
 Court ; but there are many of a high character, and some 
 nowhere else to be found. These render a visit to Combe 
 well worth making ; but besides these the Abbey contains 
 many admirable subjects by first-rate masters. Vandyke, 
 Reubens, Carravagio, Lely, Kneller, Brughel, Teniers, 
 Mereveldt, Paul Veronese, Rembrandt, Holbein, and Albert 
 Durer. Amongst them I may particularly mention fine and 
 characteristic portraits of Sir Kenelm Digby, Sir Thomas 
 More, General Monk, Lord Strafford, Vandyke by himself, 
 Honthorst by himself; heads of the Saxony Reformers, by 
 a Saxon artist ; Lot and his daughter, by Michael Angelo. 
 There is also a very curious old picture of a lady with a 
 golden drinking horn in her hand, and a Latin legend of 
 Count Otto, who hunting in the forest, and seeing this lady, 
 asked to drink out of her horn, for he was dreadfully athirst ; 
 but on looking into it, he was suspicious of the liquor, and 
 pouring it behind him, part of it fell on his horse, and took 
 off the hair like fire. 
 
 The Gallery is a fine old wainscoted room ; the cloisters 
 are now adorned with projecting antlers of stags, and black- 
 jacks. There are old tapestry, old paintings, old cabinets, 
 one made of ebony, tortoise-shell, and gold ; and the house 
 altogether has that air, and those vestiges of old times which 
 must, independent of the Queen of Bohemia, give it great 
 interest in the eyes of the lovers of old English houses, and 
 of the traces of past generations. 
 
 Mrs. Jameson, in her interesting " Visits at Home and 
 Abroad," thus speaks of Elizabeth and of the most striking 
 event in her history, that of occasioning the celebrated 
 " Thirty Years' War." 
 
VISIT TO COMBE ABBEY. 145 
 
 " Medon. — Do you forget that the cause of the Thirty 
 Years' War was a woman ? 
 
 " Alda. — A woman and religion ; the two best or worst 
 things in the world, according as they are understood and 
 felt, used and abused. You allude to Elizabeth of Bohemia, 
 who was to Heidelberg what Helen was to Troy. 
 
 " One of the most interesting monuments of Heidelberg, 
 
 at least to an English traveller, is the elegant triumphal 
 
 arch raised by the Palatine Frederic V. in honour of his 
 
 bride — this very Elizabeth Stuart. I well remember with 
 
 what self-complacency and enthusiasm our Chief walked 
 
 about in a heavy rain, examining, dwelling upon every 
 
 trace of this celebrated and unhappy woman. She had 
 
 been educated at his country seat, and one of the avenues 
 
 of his magnificent park yet bears her name. On her, fell a 
 
 double portion of the miseries of her fated family. She had 
 
 the beauty and the wit, the gay spirits, the elegant tastes, 
 
 the kindly disposition of her grandmother, Mary of Scotland. 
 
 Her very virtues, as a wife and a woman, not less than her 
 
 pride and feminine prejudices, ruined herself, her husband, 
 
 and her people. When Frederic hesitated to accept the 
 
 crown of Bohemia, his high-spirited wife exclaimed, 'Let 
 
 me rather eat dry bread at a king's table than feast at the 
 
 board of an elector ;' and it seemed as if some avenging 
 
 demon hovered in the air, to take her literally at her word, 
 
 for she and her family lived to eat dry bread ; ay, and to 
 
 beg it before they ate it ; but she would be a queen. Blest 
 
 as she was in love, in all good gifts of nature and fortune, 
 
 in all means of happiness, a kingly crown was wanting to 
 
 complete her felicity ; and it was cemented to her brow with 
 
 the blood of two millions of men. And who was to blame ? 
 
 Was not her mode of thinking the fashion of her time, the 
 
 effect of her education ? Who had 
 
 Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame 
 Of golden sovereignty 1" 
 13 
 
VISIT TO LINDISFARNE, FLODDEN FIELD, AND 
 OTHER SCENERY OF MARMION. 
 
 The poetry of Scott has been eclipsed by his prose. He 
 had the singular fortune to see his poetic fame diminished 
 by a cause which carried with it its own consolation, — the 
 vast success of those prose romances which came after his 
 metrical ones, — prose in outward form, but abounding in 
 all the elements of poetry, in such force and extent as gave 
 him no mean claim to the title of the second Shakspeare. 
 'Twas a proud circumstance, and one which can happen 
 rarely in the history of literature, that the gloom cast upon 
 his poetry, after it had placed him by acclamation in the 
 chair of cotemporary supremacy, was the mighty shadow 
 of his own growing form, as he ascended higher and still 
 higher up the mountain of Fame, and towards the sun of 
 universal favour. There was indeed another cause which 
 operated collaterally to put down his romantic lays below 
 their just position, and that was the novelty, and consequent 
 great popularity of Byron's Eastern Tales. This cause 
 could, however, have produced merely a temporary effect; 
 for the exaggerated and unhealthy spirit of the Giaour and 
 Mazeppa school could not long maintain its hold upon the 
 public mind. The very effect of Byron's other productions 
 tended to destroy their influence ; for it was impossible for 
 the same mind to feel the philosophic depth and spiritual 
 beauty of Childe Harold, or of Cain, or to enjoy the wit, the 
 humour, the sarcasm, the graphic painting of human life, 
 
 the alternating mockery and poetic feeling which charac- 
 
VISIT TO LINDISFARNE, FLODDEN FIELD, ETC. 147 
 
 terize the equally wonderful and reprehensible Don Juan, 
 and still to admire the stilted and hectoring style of those 
 Turkish tales. Byron was himself the first to laugh at the 
 public which had swallowed his mock-heroic for the true 
 sublime. Between the other poetry of Byron and that of 
 Scott there could be no direct comparison, and therefore no 
 unjust disparagement ; for, though no one would contest the 
 question of Byron's superiority, as a poet, to Scott, no in- 
 tellect which could feel the greatness of the one could be 
 insensible to the real merit of the other in any of his pro- 
 ductions. It could only be the fascination of the prose ro- 
 mances of Scott which could draw away the public from his 
 poetical ones, and make it for a time unjust in its estimate 
 of them ; for, after all, in their particular class and depart- 
 ment, they are amongst the most delightful poems in the 
 language. They are not poetry of the grade of Shak- 
 speare's Hamlet or Lear, of Milton's Paradise Lost, or some 
 of the writings of Wordsworth or Coleridge ; they do not 
 fix us in deep astonishment as does the stern majesty of 
 some of these, nor lead us down into the deepest regions of 
 the human heart as do the others 5 yet they are, in their 
 way and of their kind, as real poetry. They are transcripts 
 of nature in her most beautiful scenery, of human life in its 
 most picturesque and romantic shape. Who would wish 
 for ever to be borne along by the city crowd, to live amid 
 the fiercest political agitations, within the sound of the most 
 trenchant or patriotic eloquence, whether of senate or of 
 bar, and would not delight to steal away to the domestic 
 fireside — to home, peace and affection, to the voices of 
 children, wives, sisters, and friends ? There are none but 
 feel the delicious charm of such retreat from the excitement 
 and exasperation of those public stimulants, and none 
 therefore but who must love the poetry of Scott. The 
 epistles prefatory to each canto of Marmion are some of the 
 most interesting peeps into a heart, strong in its tastes and 
 
j 4 8 VISIT TO LINDISFARNE, 
 
 warm in its affections, with which the world was ever 
 favoured. It is an old truth, that we may have too much 
 of a good thing ; and to climb Alps, however magnificent, 
 — to wander amid the stunning roar of an ocean, however 
 sublime, — to run bareheaded through tempests and dark- 
 ness, however exciting, can be only the wild delights of a 
 moment, — acts of youth, of passion, or romance; but, to 
 stroll out for a summer evening, amongst beautiful hills, by 
 streams rapid and clear ; through forests hoary Avith years, 
 yet green and musical with spring ; these are refreshments 
 which every day and every stage of life have enough in 
 them of weariness and annoyance to render most welcome, 
 and all who love them must love the poetry of Scott. He 
 himself knew, as well as any man, the genuine character 
 and claims of his poetry. He took down from the 
 crumbling wall of the feudal castle, the disused harp of the 
 old metrical romancer, and strung it again to feudal strains 
 in the improved harmony of modern language, and with the 
 wider views of modern society. If the field was old, the 
 mode of its occupation was new : he engrafted on the old 
 Anglo-Norman stock, a germ of poetry novel and peculiar. 
 Chivalrous life, as seen not from its own living centre, but 
 from the modern distance, was beheld again with a quick 
 delight which proved the original power and fresh feeling 
 of its restorer. And had it no high and heroic excitement ? 
 The life and character of the Gael and the Borderer, till 
 then nearly overlooked ; the adventures of Bruce, Wallace, 
 and the fourth and fifth James ; the contentions of England 
 and Scotland ; the beauty of the highland hills and lochs, 
 and the stern picturesqueness of many a mouldering castle, 
 both in highland and lowland, — all had a newness, a 
 piquancy, and a spirit in them, that was felt throughout the 
 kingdom. It is true that, as to heroic story and human 
 character in all its varieties, the abandonment of rhythmical 
 restraint subsequently enabled him to sketch more broadly, 
 
FLODDEN FIELD, ETC. 149 
 
 and fill up more freely and fully ; but after all, when that 
 reaction takes place, which assuredly will, it will be found 
 that there is no poetry so thoroughly imbued with that 
 species of beauty which every summer leads so many 
 thousands to the Scottish highlands, as that of the man 
 whose very name seems to designate him par excellence, 
 The Scott. His poetry actually smells of the heather. I 
 never read it, or think of it, but I hear the very rustle of the 
 crimson heath-bells in the gale. I see the beautiful birches 
 dipping their pensile boughs in summer waters as beautiful. 
 Around me are moss and ferns, where the roebuck couches 
 in secret ; before me, scattered over the brown waste, little 
 brown huts, part and parcel of the scene, sending abroad the 
 odour of their peat-fires ; and my imagination is haunted by 
 shapes of highland warriors, watching to accomplish some 
 stern design, or fairies that still take a peep at this steam- 
 engine world from the hidden entrance to their pleasant 
 subterrane. 
 
 So much for a passing tribute to the poetry of Scott, 
 which, like that of Southey, has for a time been underrated, 
 because we had got the metaphysical fit upon us, and could 
 not condescend to be pleased except with what required 
 reading twice over. Happy is the man whose taste is not 
 so exclusive, but who has eyes for beauty wherever it is to 
 be found, in all fields and schools, whether pleasant or pro- 
 found ! 
 
 The poem of Marmion has always been reckoned the 
 highest in merit amongst those of Scott, as more active, 
 bustling and spirited than the rest. If it were only for those 
 introductory epistles, it ought to be dear to every feeling 
 heart. Where is the spirit of a genuine friendship so sensi- 
 bly felt; where are those descriptions of country life so 
 living, especially in those gloomy months which stir the 
 imagination of the poetical ? 
 
 13* 
 
!50 VISIT TO LESTDISFARNE, 
 
 Heap on more wood, the wind is chill ; 
 
 But let it whistle as it will, 
 
 We'll keep our merry Christmas still. 
 
 Christmas, indeed, never was so richly painted as in this 
 letter to Richard Heber ; and what sportsman, or country 
 gentleman, does not feel the truth of the following lines ? — 
 
 When sylvan occupation's done, 
 
 And on the chimney rests the gun ; 
 
 And, hung in idle trophy near, 
 
 The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear ; 
 
 When wiry terrier, rough and grim, 
 
 And greyhound with his length of limb, 
 
 And pointer, now employed no more, 
 
 Cumber our parlour's narrow floor; 
 
 When in his stall the impatient steed, 
 
 Is long condemned to rest and feed ; 
 
 When from our snow-encircled home, 
 
 Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam, 
 
 Since path is none, save that to bring 
 
 The needful water from the spring ; 
 
 When wrinkled news-page, thrice conned o'er, 
 
 Beguiles the dreary hour no more ; 
 
 And darkling politician crossed, 
 
 Inveighs against the lingering post, 
 
 And answering housewife sore complains 
 
 Qf carriers' snow-impeded wains. 
 
 Introduction to Canto V. 
 
 Hogg himself has not laid before us the wintry toils and 
 perils of the mountain shepherd more vividly than does his 
 letter preceding canto fourth. He induces us to ask with 
 him, 
 
 Who envies now the shepherd's lot, 
 His healthy fare, his rural cot, 
 His summer couch by greenwood tree, 
 His rustic kirn's loud revelry, 
 
FLODDEN FIELD, ETC. 151 
 
 His native wood-notes tuned on high 
 To Marion of the blithesome eye ; 
 His crook, his scrip, his oaten reed, 
 And all Arcadia's golden creed? 
 
 The very foundation of the poet's own character and 
 tastes are all sketched out in these letters with a most de- 
 lightful feeling. In the poem itself, it is not to be denied 
 that there are many passages of merely easy tinkling rhyme, 
 but there are also many others of the richest harmony and 
 of the true trumpet tone. But we must pass from the poem 
 to the scenery of its action. Not, however, let us premise 
 here, to go over all that ground, for it would lead us to 
 Edinburgh, to Boroughmoor, to Tantallon, and a whole 
 train of places where our excellent friend Robert Chambers 
 can lead the reader a thousand times better ; being one of 
 those rare persons whose love of antiquities has grown, like 
 that of Scott himself, out of the poetical feeling, and who 
 has, in indulgence of it, traced some thousands of miles of 
 auld Scotland, and made many a nook of Edinburgh as fa- 
 miliar to him as the face of his Journal is to his host of 
 readers. We must confine ourselves to the two most im- 
 portant points of interest, Holy Isle and Flodden Field. 
 
 LINDISFARNE IN HOLY ISLAND. 
 
 Next to the great natural interest which bears upon the 
 Battle of Flodden, is that produced by the fate of Constance 
 de Beverley in the dungeon of Lindisfarne Abbey. In this 
 episode Scott has portrayed one of those horrid practices of 
 the Catholic church in its days of unlimited power, which 
 forcibly act upon the imagination, because they are sur- 
 rounded with mystery and darkness, and involve their des- 
 
!52 VISIT TO LTNDISFARNE, 
 
 tinies in a machinery so vast and overwhelming as to present 
 no result to the sufferers but despair and death. This scene 
 in the dungeon of Lindisfarne is one of the most intensely 
 interesting and powerfully painted in English poetry. The 
 victims, a young, beautiful, and faithful, but ill-requited 
 woman, roused by the passions of love, and jealousy, and 
 resentment, to deeds against her rival of a deadly character, 
 and the sordid wretch by whom she strove to accomplish 
 her vengeance. The high spirit of the woman, which rises 
 and towers over the heads of her judges in majesty of in- 
 jured feeling, and the base fear of the man, 
 
 Who shamed not loud to moan and howl ; 
 
 His hody on the floor to dash, 
 
 And crouch like hound beneath the lash, 
 
 contrast finely, as does the impassioned eloquence of the 
 unhappy lady, with the awe-stricken aspects of her judges, 
 who pronounce the fatal words, 
 
 Sister, let thy sorrows cease, 
 Sinful brother part in peace ; 
 
 and hurry up to the light of day. The place a dungeon, 
 whose access was a secret, except to the abbot and a few of 
 his familiars, a hundred steps below the surface, where the 
 thunder of the ocean above it was heard as a dull sound ; 
 the figures of the judges in their monastic robes and seated 
 on their stone seats ; the dim cresset showing the sepulchral 
 vault, the two executioners and the two niches ready to re- 
 ceive their living victims, and the stones and mortar ready 
 to build them up — unite to raise the tone of mind to that 
 pitch in which even the exaggeration of the midnight pass- 
 ing-bell, which is made to be heard fifteen miles off, becomes 
 grand and imposing. 
 
FLODDEN FIELD, ETC. 1 5 3 
 
 Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung; 
 Northumbrian rocks in answer rung ; 
 To Warkworth cell the echoes rolled, 
 His beads the wakeful hermit told ; 
 The Bamborough peasant raised his head, 
 But slept ere half a prayer he said ; 
 So far was heard the mighty knell, 
 The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, 
 Spread his broad nostril to the wind, 
 Listed before, aside, behind, 
 Then crouched him down beside the hind, 
 And quaked amid the mountain fern, 
 To hear that sound so dull and stern. 
 
 But Scott was aware of the excellent effect of connecting 
 as much of the circumjacent country as possible with the 
 scene of his subject. The youthful reader of Marmion will 
 recollect the pleasure with which he perused the description 
 of the voyage of the abbess of Whitby and her nuns to Holy 
 Isle ; and no one can have passed over the high ground of the 
 Great North road, between Alnwick and Belford, without 
 being struck with admiration at the vast extent of sea and 
 shore thence beheld, embracing nearly the very places which 
 he has included in the following lines. 
 
 And now the vessel skirts the strand 
 Of mountainous Northumberland; 
 Towers, towns, and halls successive rise, 
 And catch the nuns' delighted eyes. 
 Monkwearmouth soon behind them lay, 
 And Tynemouth's priory and bay : 
 They marked amid her trees, the hall 
 Of lofty Seaton Delaval ; 
 They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods 
 Rush to the sea through sounding woods ; 
 They passed the tower of Widdrington, 
 Mother of many a valiant son; 
 At Coquet Isle their beads they tell 
 To the good saint who owned the cell. 
 
154 VISIT TO LINDISFARNE, 
 
 Then did the Alne attention claim, 
 
 And Warkworth proud of Percy's name ; 
 
 And next they crossed themselves to hear 
 
 The whitening breakers sound so near, 
 
 Where boiling through the rocks, they roar 
 
 On Dunstanborough's caverned shore. 
 
 Thy tower, proud Bamborough, marked they there ; 
 
 King Ida's castle huge and square 
 
 From its tall rock look grimly down, 
 
 And on the swelling ocean frown. 
 
 Then from the coast they bore away, 
 
 And reached the Holy Island's bay. 
 
 We left the coach and dined at Belford, and set off for 
 Holy Island. From the hill above the town we saw it 
 lying off the coast below, at apparently no great distance. 
 The distance is, nevertheless, four good miles, yet a plea- 
 sant walk through fields and past farm-houses, with the wide 
 wild sea-view before us ; to our right Bamborough Castle, 
 on its lofty rock, and in the offing the Fern and Staple 
 Islands. When we reached the strand, the scene was wild 
 and solemn. Scott conducts his fair bevy of voyagers 
 thither at high water. 
 
 The tide did now his flood-mark gain, 
 And girdled in the saint's domain ; 
 For with the flow and ebb the style 
 Varies from continent to isle ; 
 Dry-shod o'er sands twice every day 
 The pilgrims to the shrine find way : 
 Twice every day the waves efface 
 Of staves and sandaled feet the trace. 
 
 But we arrived at low-water, and the sands between the 
 mainland and Isle, called Fenham Flats, were partly bare 
 and partly intersected with creeks and pools of salt water. 
 If the pilgrims could cross twice a-day dryshod,it was more 
 than we could do. We were told, indeed, that it might be 
 
FLODDEN FIELD, ETC. 155 
 
 done, but only by those who knew both the track and the 
 proper hour ; those who are ignorant of these, run a good 
 chance of being set fast in quicksands, or overtaken by the 
 tide, for it is more than a mile across. We imagine, too, 
 that the holy pilgrims were not dainty about wetting their 
 sandals. We found it necessary to pursue, the curvature 
 of the shore, which forms a vast circuit at the lower end of 
 the inlet. From this point of view the projecting land and the 
 island appear a continuous range running for some miles 
 parallel to the shore, a brown and jagged range of rocks 
 and sand-banks, worn and torn by the ocean into an aspect 
 sufficiently savage. On our right hand run these sand- 
 banks, high, and thrown up in irregular heaps, and over- 
 grown with sea-grass, behind them the ocean booming with 
 an awful grandeur. The strand was rent and undermined by 
 the violence of the tides. In some places patches of smooth 
 turf overhung the beach, crimson with flowering thrift ; in 
 others huge masses of the sward were lying half-buried in 
 the sands. The sand-hills were at intervals scooped into 
 caves by the assaulting ocean ; an old boat lay half buried 
 in the sandy drift ; and long heaps of sea-weeds, shells, and 
 pebbles, at high-water mark, added to the picturesque effect 
 of the scene. Near these sand-hills we found the strand 
 dry, and as we advanced, — 
 
 Higher and higher rose to view, 
 The castle with its battled walls, 
 The ancient monastery's halls, 
 A solemn, huge, and dark-red pile, 
 Placed on the margin of the isle : 
 
 and besides these appeared a solitary hut on the sandy pro- 
 montory, and two tall white obelisks, — land-marks which 
 kept continually varying their apparent relative position in 
 that singular manner that most of my readers must have 
 noticed. We reached the hut, and wished for the pencil of 
 
!56 VISIT TO LINDISFARNE, 
 
 Collins to preserve the aspect of it and its locality. It was 
 a fisherman's abode, erected in this wilderness of sand-hills, 
 with all those adjuncts of boats, nets, pitch-casks, and rem- 
 nants of fish, that are scattered about such places. There 
 were rabbits in abundance running in and out of their sandy 
 burrows ; and cows, which if they did not live on this coarse 
 and rigid sea-grass, it was a wonder on what they did live. 
 As we stood looking on this isolated tenement, out came a 
 whole troop of grotesquely clad children, with the half-shy 
 and half-curious air that solitary children have. But this 
 spot was not so solitary as it seemed, for here the promon- 
 tory terminated, and across a passage of not more than a 
 quarter of a mile wide lay Holy Island. On the summit of 
 a range of dark rocks opposite, appeared the ruins of Lin- 
 disfarne Abbey, and to our right the castle, perched on, or 
 rather built into, the summit of a singular and most inacces- 
 sible pile of rock. In this are stationed a few individuals 
 of the preventive service, and a king's cutter is generally 
 cruising not far off. Some fishermen on the island observed 
 us, and put across for us. Truly a wild place, and an am- 
 phibious population ! Evening was coming fast upon us, 
 and no doubt greatly heightened the effect. We landed under 
 a dark range of cliffs, on a shore scattered with huge blocks 
 fallen from above. There were numbers of sailor-looking 
 figures about ; boats drawn on shore, drying-houses, fish 
 bones scattered around, and all the signs of a fishing-place. 
 We climbed the cliff, and at once appeared the ruins of the 
 abbey, and a village just by them. Troops of children 
 were at play, and their familiar cries sounded strangely in 
 this desolate-looking place. The population of the island 
 is about five hundred souls. It has its school, its shops, and 
 its resident clergyman. What a place for the constant abode 
 of a man of cultivated tastes ! and yet how many much 
 more isolated stations do Christian ministers occupy, and in 
 these kingdoms too — in the Orkneys and Shetlands for in- 
 
VISIT TO LINDISFARNE, 157 
 
 stance. And how much more unselfish, how much more 
 devoted to the truest objects of mortal ambition and duty are 
 they than we, if men, however lowly, however ignorant, 
 and cut off from the ordinary haunts of society, the occu- 
 piers of the outposts, of the habitable world, be still the 
 children of one common parent, and worth seeking and 
 gathering into the great human family. 
 
 We found the ruins of the abbey far surpassing our ex- 
 pectation, both in extent and beauty. They are of a massy 
 construction, but of genuine Saxon, and in a state of 
 preservation, their age and exposure considered, truly 
 remarkable. The description in the poem is one of the 
 many instances of the extreme accuracy of Sir Walter's 
 details. 
 
 In Saxon strength the abbey frowned, 
 With massive arches broad and round, 
 That rose alternate, row and row, 
 On ponderous columns, short and low, 
 Built ere the art was known, 
 By pointed aisle and shafted stalk, 
 The arcades of an alleyed walk 
 To emulate in stone. 
 On the deep walls, the heathen Dane 
 Had poured his impious rage in vain ; 
 And needful was such strength to these, 
 Exposed to the tempestuous seas, 
 Scourged by the winds' eternal sway, 
 Open to rovers fierce as they, 
 Which could twelve hundred years withstand 
 Winds, waves, and northern pirates' band. 
 Not but that portions of the pile, 
 Rebuilded in a later style, 
 Showed where the spoiler's hand had been; 
 Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen, 
 Had worn the pillar's carving quaint, 
 And mouldered in his niche the saint, 
 14 
 
158 VISIT TO LINDISPARNE, 
 
 And rounded, with consuming power, 
 The pointed angles of each tower ; 
 Yet still entire the abhey stood, 
 Like veteran worn but unsubdued. 
 
 The line put in' italics expresses the very peculiar cha- 
 racter of the massy columns here. There is a singular 
 arch of grand dimensions, stretching in a diagonal direction 
 from one part of the fabric to another, and richly adorned 
 with the Saxon zigzag. It appears to have been a sort of 
 bridgeway to some upper part of the building, reached by 
 a spiral staircase. The walls about the arch itself have dis- 
 appeared, and it stands in its naked grandeur, " like a rain- 
 bow in the sky," — on seeing it, we exclaimed, " How like 
 a rainbow !" " Yes," said the guide, " it is called the rain- 
 bow-arch. The boys delight, above everything, to get up 
 and walk across it, high and unprotected as it is. For this 
 reason the staircase leading to it has been built up, but still 
 the lads will climb aloft. They stick their fingers and toes 
 into the crevices of the masonry, and up they go." 
 
 Within the ruins of the abbey stands a rustic chapel, built 
 from the fallen stones ; and within its green inclosure rest 
 the dead of the island. There was one circumstance which 
 struck me in reading the inscriptions, both here and in the 
 burying-ground of Tynemouth Priory — the numbers of 
 deaths by shipwreck and other seafaring causes, which 
 are recorded in these maritime cemeteries, and which makes 
 them so different to any others. There is something both 
 strangely fascinating to the imagination and touching to the 
 heart in these records : so many memorials raised by the 
 weeping spirits of the living, to husbands, brothers, sons, 
 and lovers, whose bodies lie in the depths of the sea, and in 
 every region of it. One is made to feel with a perception 
 nowhere else so living, over what wastes of waters,into what 
 far off seas, our countrymen go. There is no part of earth 
 
FLODDEN FIELD, ETC. I59 
 
 or ocean whither they do not find some cause to lead them ; 
 there is no shore, desert or inhabited, where their bones do 
 not lie : and if one could but summon around us at some 
 one time those whose names are here, but whose bodies are 
 absent, there would be such a combination of adventures, 
 of sufferings and experiences, as never yet was penned in 
 any volume. Every stone around you has a fact upon its 
 face which rouses a strong spirit of inquiry in your bosom. 
 One died in mid-sea as he was homeward bound ; one 
 perished in saving the life of another, who had fallen over- 
 board. One fell in a great sea-fight, whose very name is a 
 portion of England's glory ; others in desperate attempts to 
 seize on important stations in America, North or South, the 
 Indies, East or West. Others were the victims of some 
 plague-shore, that swallowed up its thousands. These died 
 in some tropical clime ; those were wrecked in sight of home, 
 on England's own rocks. There is no fiction, however ro- 
 mantic, but here finds a more striking fact ; and the names 
 of every nation and place of mercantile resort meet your 
 eye on every hand — Chili and Mexico, Quebec and Mon- 
 treal, the Straits of Magellan and the Cape of Good Hope, 
 Newfoundland and New Zealand, are brought together in 
 strange juxta-position in these maritime cemeteries. And 
 it is not only the memory of those who died thus distant 
 that is recorded here, but the bodies of many a foreigner, 
 and many a mariner from remote parts of England, who have 
 been wrecked on these coasts, here take their rest. 
 
 Another cause of admiration, not the less strong, which 
 came over us in looking on these stately ruins, was that 
 such a fabric should be raised in such a place. What could 
 induce the holy fathers to pitch on such desolate and isolated 
 places in preference to the fair vales and rich lands of Eng- 
 land ? It was a principle of action widely differing from 
 that of the Romish church. There must have been some- 
 thing in the old Saxon and Celtic saints of a very primitive 
 
160 VISIT TO LINDISFARNE, 
 
 character. Holy Island and Iona ! instead of the rich vales 
 of Durham and the Lothians. It could not be the loaves, 
 however it might be the fishes, which inspired the choice. 
 These primitive fathers must have had a pitch of imagina- 
 tion highly poetical as well as religious. They must have 
 loved the sound of the sea and the rush of the winds ; they 
 must have found inspiration in the wild aspect of crags, of 
 naked towers, and dashing waves. They must have had 
 pleasure in solitude and the solitary enjoyment of know- 
 ledge, or in the shepherding of souls that others cared little 
 for, or these stately fabrics had never risen in these desolate 
 regions. They must have had courage too ; for what a 
 sense of exposure does these islands give us, when we re- 
 collect that such savages as Norsemen and Vikinger roamed 
 these howling seas. One no longer wonders at the repeated 
 ravages committed here by the Danes ; the only wonder is 
 that St. Cuthbert, instead of fleeing away in his coffin, on 
 that miraculous pilgrimage which terminated at Durham, 
 did not flee away on his living legs. 
 
 As we quitted the island, the gloom of evening was upon 
 it ; the tide was rolling over the sands between it and the 
 mainland with whitening billows ; the sea-birds were scud- 
 ding about in the gloaming with wild cries, and the roar of 
 the ocean beyond the sand-banks was loud and awful. The 
 beacon-lights on the Fern and Staples islands shone out ; 
 and we walked on in the gathering darkness, strongly im- 
 pressed with the wildness of the scene, and glad that we 
 had visited it at such a time. 
 
FLODDEN FIELD, ETC. 161 
 
 FLODDEN FIELD. 
 
 A fearful field in verse to frame, 
 
 I mean, if that to mark ye list. 
 O Flodden Mount ! thy fearful name 
 
 Doth sore affray my trembling fist. 
 
 Ballad of Flodden Field. 
 
 From Belford to Flodden ! We have got our seven 
 league boots on, and it is but one stride. Nevertheless, 
 before we move our right leg, sheathed in our miraculous 
 boot, we must take a single note of a stride as marvellous. 
 In Marmion's time, gunpowder was doing its work. One 
 of those ingredients out of which God works good : it was 
 at the very moment that it made carnage more horrible, 
 breaking down the pride of physical heroism, and the 
 feudal system with it. It took out of the aristocratic warrior 
 the vanity of personal prowess, or rather personal strength, 
 and placed intellect, with its slave mechanical power, far 
 above it ; and it not only took the sting of brute force out of 
 the feudal chief, but it knocked down his castle about his 
 ears. Out of this state of things arose a new organization 
 of civil society ; the spirit of the multitude took a new and 
 courageous impulse. What gunpowder was then, steam is 
 now ; and the vast projects into which its agency is now 
 introduced, will work changes beyond present calculation, 
 but assuredly for the spread of more equal knowledge and 
 equal distribution of social benefits ; but in the change, 
 there must be sufferers, and the innkeepers of the north 
 road could tell you their tale on this subject. Is there any 
 one who used to travel this road seven years ago, who 
 does not perceive a mighty change on it ? Who does not 
 miss the throng of carriages on the road, and the bustle at 
 the inns which then existed ? In some of these large inns, 
 
 14* 
 
162 VISIT TO L1NDISFARNE, 
 
 which used to have all the signs of flourishing concerns 
 about them, we seemed to be the solitary guests. There 
 were long suites of apartments, beds with their gilded cor- 
 nices, dining-rooms with their services of plate, — but over 
 all, the silence of desertion ; servants at long intervals, and 
 landlords with long faces. On venturing to ask the cause, 
 "Oh," said our boniface, "everybody now goes from the 
 north to London by the steamers, it is all over with post- 
 ing !" 
 
 We approached the Field of Flodden with great interest. 
 It is a place invested alike by history and poetry with a 
 melancholy glory. As the field most fatal to Scotland of all 
 those so fatally contested by that disastrous family the 
 Stuarts ; as the field where 
 
 The flowers of the forest were a' wede away, 
 
 where indeed fell twelve Scottish earls, thirteen lords, five 
 eldest sons of peers, fifty chiefs, knights, and men of emi- 
 nence, and ten thousand common men,* — it has a gloomy 
 fame peculiar to itself. The Englishman regards it with a 
 certain pride, as ground where the brave Earl of Surrey 
 maintained the honour of English valour against the bravest 
 nation and the most chivalrous monarch with which Eng- 
 land ever contended ; and the lapse of time, and the union 
 of these two great nations into one peerless empire, have 
 rendered the sympathies of the Englishman with that lament- 
 ing memory which dictated " the Flowers of the Forest," 
 no longer those of a generous foe, but of a sworn brother. 
 The blood and the interests of the two realms have been 
 
 * See a detailed catalogue of the bishops, abbots, noblemen, and prin- 
 cipal gentlemen, in "Hall's Chronicle," also quoted in Weber's edition 
 of the stately old ballad of Flodden Field, where everything relating to 
 the battle and those who fought in it is brought together from the chroni- 
 cles, historians and tradition. 
 
FLODDEN FIELD, ETC. 163 
 
 long enough blended into one stream, to annihilate all sen- 
 timent of triumph or resentment on one side or the other ; 
 and the inhabitants of either side of the border, must now 
 tread that field with no other feelings than those of regret 
 over the waste of life once made there, and of thankfulness 
 that the cause and the occasion are done away for ever. 
 No one can stand here without beholding the signal effects 
 of the Union. The name of the field itself is one of gloom 
 and desolation. Our imaginations naturally picture it as 
 black and melancholy; to mine no name in history or 
 poetry had a sound so dreary. Our astonishment was 
 therefore proportionate to find the " dark Flodden" of the 
 poets, so fair and so cultivated ; a scene of plentiful corn- 
 fields and comfortable farms. No one can, in fact, approach, 
 for the first time, the "Debatable Lands," without surprise 
 at their extreme cultivation. That was our feeling all 
 through them. We directed our course first to Wooler, 
 where the gallant Surrey encamped previous to the battle ; 
 
 The total army did ensue, 
 
 And came that night to Wooler-Haugh. 
 
 Old Ballad of Flodden Field. 
 
 and on reaching the eminence on the opposite side of the 
 valley, south-east of the town, we stood in delighted sur- 
 prise at the extensive strath, which stretched away to our 
 right in the highest state of cultivation. And so we found 
 it all along the borders, Where the "rank reivers and 
 moss-troopers" used to gallop over moss and moorland, 
 there now stretch the richest meadows, the fairest fields. 
 The track which used to lie between the two countries, — 
 a blasted and desolate region, ravaged with fire and sword, 
 drenched with blood, and peopled only with horrible memo- 
 ries, — is now turned into a garden. The one country has 
 blended so beautifully into the other, that the only line of 
 demarcation is one of superior culture and abundance.. In 
 
164 
 
 VISIT TO LINDISFARNE, 
 
 this neighbourhood, up to the very ridges of the Cheviots, 
 extend large corn-farms, where all the improvements and 
 scientific triumphs of modern agriculture are displayed. 
 How rapid has been the recent growth of this remarkable 
 cultivation is evidenced by statistical facts, laid before one 
 of "the Agricultural Committees" in parliament. There it 
 is shown, that between 1795 and 1811, Berwickshire, a 
 county especially exposed to the effects of border rains for- 
 merly, had, according to the property-tax returns, advanced 
 from a rental, of 112,000/., to 231,973/. ; and that the fol- 
 lowing parishes in that, and the neighbouring county of 
 Roxburgh, in the very neighbourhood of Flodden, had 
 made this striking progress : — 
 
 Whitsome parish 
 
 Melrose 
 
 St. Boswells' 
 
 Linton . . 
 
 Yetholm 
 
 Edrom 
 
 Eccles 
 
 Rental in 1795. 
 
 In 1836. 
 
 £ 3,080 
 
 . £ 7,526 
 
 4,000 
 
 . 20,000 
 
 1,700 
 
 3,080 
 
 2,113 
 
 5,514 
 
 2,104 
 
 5,600 
 
 6,493 
 
 . 15,200 
 
 11,000 
 
 . 20,000 
 
 £30,490 
 
 £ 76,920 
 
 An increase in forty years of 166 per cent. Everywhere 
 too, on the poorer lands on both sides the border, planting 
 has kept an equal pace. We passed extensive woods, 
 principally of pine, planted by the Earl of Tankerville, Mr. 
 Collingwood, Mr. St. Paul, the Marquis of Waterford, the 
 Duke of Roxburgh, and many other gentlemen and noble- 
 men. In one thing cultivation had gone too far for us. 
 One would have liked to see the site of so memorable a bat- 
 tle respected in the general enclosure, and left as national 
 property — as commonable land — where the stranger, the 
 antiquarian and historian, might ramble at will, without 
 
FLODDEN FIELD, ETC. 165 
 
 trespass or damage ; or, if this be thought too fanciful by 
 our modern utilitarian, that, at least, the King's-chair Hill 
 itself should not be destroyed. As you advance from Mill- 
 field, you see high before you Flodden Ridge, where James 
 first took up his position : this is now covered with a pine- 
 wood; and is, as it should be, a conspicuous object from the 
 country all round ; but, on arriving at that lower eminence 
 of Branksome, whither, Pinkerton tells us that, on the morn- 
 ing of the battle, James, setting fire to his tents, descended, 
 you find, to your surprise and mortification, that this very 
 hill is in course of demolition, its very summit being turned 
 into a stone quarry ; as if no other stone existed in this 
 neighbourhood, or as if that, which stands as a national 
 monument, was only worthy of mending roads and erecting 
 pigstyes ! Whose act and deed this is we know not, but 
 every lover of Scottish antiquities should make his most 
 strenuous protestation against it. 
 
 Just below this King's-Chair Hill a farm-house has been 
 erected, since the enclosure of what are called the Brank- 
 some allotments ; and here is the little well which Scott has 
 made the site of the Cross of Sybil Grey, — 
 
 A cross of stone, 
 That on a hillock standing lone, 
 Did all the field command ; 
 
 and which he has marked as the death-spot and grave of 
 Marmion. It is, in fact, the well which supplies the house, 
 and stands in the yard, so that a good deal of the pic- 
 turesque of the poet's description has gone from that, too. 
 
 Time 's wasting hand has done away 
 The simple cross of Sybil Grey, 
 
 And broke her fount of stone ; 
 And yet from out the little hill 
 Oozes the slander springlet still. 
 
166 VISIT TO LINDISFARNE, 
 
 Oft halts the stranger there, 
 For thence may hest his curious eye, 
 The memorable field descry ; 
 
 And shepherd boys repair 
 To seek the water-flag and rush, 
 And rest them by the hazel bush, 
 
 And plait their garlands fair ; 
 Nor dream they sit upon the grave, 
 That holds the bones of Marmion brave. 
 
 Both hazel bush, water-flag, rush, and shepherd boys, have 
 all vanished before an Act of Parliament and the plough. 
 Hence, however, you have a full and wide view of the 
 scenery of the battle to Twiz el-bridge and castle, where the 
 English crossed the Till. From Flodden ridge you may 
 see, in the direction of Millfield, Ford Castle, the seat of the 
 Herons, whose conquest was so fatal to James, — now the 
 property of the Marquis of Waterford. The features of 
 the battle-field have been tamed down by the hand of cul- 
 tivation ; the open waste of "red Flodden" has given way 
 to hedges ; its heather to corn ; and the very King's Chair 
 itself is broken by the hammer and the pick ; but the wooded 
 ridge and the little well will not easily be annihilated ; and 
 many a ruin or site in the neighbourhood, connected with 
 the field of Flodden, or with stirring passages in border war- 
 fare, render this a most delightful resort for a summer-day's 
 party ; especially of such as have hearts and imaginations 
 to raise again the ruined ranks, and see, as Scott saw, the 
 last scene of that contest, when — 
 
 On the darkening heath 
 More desperate grew the strife of death, 
 The English shafts in volleys hailed, 
 In headlong charge their horse assailed ; 
 Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep, 
 To break the Scottish circle deep, 
 That fought around their king. 
 
FLODDEN FIELD, ETC. 167 
 
 But yet, though thick the shafts as snow, 
 Though charging knights like whirlwinds go, 
 Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow, 
 
 Unbroken was the ring. 
 The stubborn spearmen still made good 
 Their dark impenetrable wood, 
 Each stepping where his comrade stood, 
 
 The instant that he fell. 
 No thought was there of dastard flight ; 
 Linked in the sorried phalanx tight, 
 Groom fought like noble, squire like knight, 
 
 As fearlessly and well ; 
 Till utter darkness closed her wing 
 O'er their thin host, and wounded king. 
 Then skilful Surrey's sage commands 
 Led back from strife his shattered bands; 
 
 And from the charge they drew; 
 As mountain waves from wasted lands 
 
 Sweep back to ocean blue. 
 Then did their loss his foemen know ; 
 Their king, their lords, their mightiest low, 
 They melted from the field as snow 
 When streams are swoln, and south winds blow, 
 
 Dissolves in silent dew. 
 Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash, 
 
 While many a broken band, 
 Disordered, through her currents dash, 
 
 To gain the Scottish land ; 
 To town and tower, to down and dale, 
 To tell red Flodden's dismal tale 
 And raise the universal wail. 
 Tradition, legend, tune and song, 
 Shall many an age that wail prolong; 
 Still from the sire the son shall hear 
 Of the stern strife and carnage drear, 
 
 Of Flodden's fatal field, 
 Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear, 
 
 And broken was her shield. 
 
 The ballads and traditions of Scotland are full of the 
 
163 VISIT TO LINDISFARNE, 
 
 lamentation and the desolation long produced there by this 
 fatal battle. 
 
 « The Scots/' says Sir Walter Scott, " were much dis- 
 posed to dispute the fact that James IV. had fallen on Flod- 
 den Field. Some said he had retired from the kingdom, 
 and made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Others pretended 
 that, in the twilight, when the field was nigh ended, four 
 tall horsemen came into the field, having each a bunch of 
 straw on the point of their spears, as a token for them to 
 know each other by. They said these men mounted the king 
 on a dun hackney, and that he was seen to cross the Tweed 
 with them at nightfall. Nobody pretended to say what 
 they did with him, but it was believed he was murdered in 
 Howe Castle ; and I recollect about forty years since, that 
 there was a report that, in cleaning the draw-well of that 
 ruinous fortress, the workmen found a skeleton wrapt in a 
 bull's hide, and having a belt of iron round the waist. 
 There was, however, no truth in this rumour. It was the 
 absence of this belt of iron which the Scots founded upon 
 to prove that the body of James could not have fallen into 
 the hands of the English, since they either had not that 
 token to show, or did not produce it. But it is not unlikely 
 that he would lay aside such a cumbrous article of penance 
 on a day of battle ; or the English, when they despoiled his 
 person, may have thrown it aside as of no value. The body 
 which the English affirm to have been that of James, was 
 found on the field by Lord Dacre, and carried by him to 
 Berwick and presented to Surrey. Both of these lords 
 knew James's person too well to be mistaken. The body 
 was also acknowledged by his two favourite attendants, Sir 
 William Scott, and Sir James Forman, who wept at be- 
 holding it." 
 
 The singular history of these remains, Stow, in his " Sur- 
 vey of London," 4to, p. 539, thus furnishes from his own 
 knowledge. What a strange end for so proud and chival- 
 
FLODDEN FIELD, ETC. 169 
 
 rous a king, and what treatment from the hands of a brother- 
 in-law — Henry VIII. — who certainly refused the body 
 Christian burial ! 
 
 "After the battle, the bodie of the same king being found, 
 was closed in lead, and conveyed from thence to London, 
 and to the monasterie of Sheyne in Surrey, where it remained 
 for a time, in what order I am not certaine ; but since the dis- 
 solution of that house, in the reygne of Edward the Sixt, 
 Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolke, being lodged, and keeping 
 house there, I have been shewed the same bodie so lapped 
 in lead, close to the head and bodie, throwne into a waste 
 room amongst the old timber, lead, and other rubble. Since 
 the which time, workmen there, for their foolish pleasure, 
 hewed orT his head ; and Lancelot Young, master glazier to 
 Queen Elizabeth, feelinge a sweet savour to come from 
 thence, and yet the form remaining, with the hair of the 
 head and beard red, brought it to London to his house in 
 Wood-street, where (for a time) he kept it for the sweet- 
 ness ; but, in the end, caused the sexton of that church to 
 bury it amongst other bones, taken out of their charneL" 
 
 15 
 
r 
 
 VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 
 
 The man of genius is often looked upon as a being that 
 shuts himself up, and knows little of what is going on in the 
 real world around him, He is supposed to live in a fairy- 
 land of his own creation — often a very barren and profit- 
 less one — full of all manner of enchantments and magical 
 delusions. In reference to him, men of arts and sciences, 
 the men of spinning-jennies and steam-engines — nay, the 
 naturalists, and many other writers — talk of themselves as 
 practical men. They often smile at the poet and the ro- 
 mance-writer, as men of the world affect to do, and say, — 
 "Ola very clever, a very clever fellow indeed ; but as 
 ignorant of actual life as a child." But the poets and ro- 
 mancers of late have proved themselves both to be profita- 
 ble fellows and practical ones. To say nothing of the vast 
 sums coined from the brain of Scott and of Byron ; look at 
 the comfortable nest which Moore has feathered for himself. 
 Very pretty sums he has fobbed now and then. See old 
 George Crabbe going down to his parsonage with 3000/. in 
 his saddle-bags at one time. Look at the poet's house at 
 Kewsick : it has a library in it which has cost a fortune ; 
 and the poet and the historian sits there now, what with 
 salaries, pensions, Quarterly Review articles and residuary 
 legateeships, as no inconsiderable man of substance. There 
 is that "old man eloquent" too, his neighbour at Rydal 
 Mount, who, if he have not amassed a mount of gold on 
 which to build his palace, has got a poet's bower on one of 
 the most delicious little knolls in Europe, warmed by as 
 
VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 171 
 
 much affection and domestic peace as ever crowned one 
 man's hearth ; and having no mark or stamp of poverty 
 about it. Yes, and spite of Edinburgh and Quarterly, and 
 a host of lower critics who echoed their owl-notes, his poetry 
 is become fashionable ! Only think of that — " The Idiot 
 Boy" and "Betty Foy," "The Old Wanderer" in his worsted 
 stockings, and "Michael" and " The Wagoner," become 
 fashionable, so that every critic who knows no more of 
 poetry than he did ten years ago, now cries "glorious ! di- 
 vine ! inimitable !" at every new edition of his poems. Yes, 
 and so they shall cry — for such is the ultimate triumph of 
 general sense and taste over professional stupidity. His 
 poetry is become golden in all senses ; and if government 
 only act in the matter of copyright as a British government 
 ought to act,* it will flow on in a golden stream to his 
 children's children, to the third and fourth — ay, to the for- 
 tieth and four-hundredth generation. 
 
 These are your dreamless and thriftless poets of the pre- 
 sent days ! But they are not merely the profitable, they 
 are the really practical men too. We ask, where would 
 your Watts and Boltons be, if it were not for them ? Why, 
 it is they — it is the men of poetical genius — who build 
 your steam-boats and steam-coaches. The man of genius 
 is not now merely a scrawler on paper, a writer of poems 
 or of tales ; but his pen has become a magician's wand — 
 the most potent one that was ever wielded : and while other 
 men think that he is merely inditing some pleasant lay, or 
 matter for a winter evening's fireside, they who see farther 
 into a millstone know that he is actually building ships and 
 boats, steam-engines and steam-carriages ; launching new 
 and splendid packets ; laying down railroads, and carrying 
 them through mountain and forest ; erecting inns, furnishing 
 
 * Not, however, by passing Mr. Serjeant Talfourd's present bill, with 
 its retrospective clause, to smooth the bristled manes of the booksellers. 
 
172 
 
 VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 
 
 them with hosts, and guests, and waiters ; spreading tables 
 with every delicacy of the season — as witness, ye grouse 
 on many a heathery hill, ye herrings of Loch Fine, and 
 salmon of countless lochs, and rivers running like silver from 
 the mountains — spreading them for thousands who run to 
 and fro in the earth ; not merely increasing knowledge of 
 one another, but the good luck of landlords, and the employ- 
 ment of whole troops of poor and deserving men. The man 
 of genius does this, and more : he creates joint-stock com- 
 panies, he invests large capitals, he makes captains and 
 stewards of steamers, clerks, coachmen, and sailors — these, 
 and many other creatures after their kind, are of his crea- 
 tion. Does any one doubt it ? — Why, Sir Walter Scott has 
 done more than this, of his single arm. See what he has 
 done for Scotland. See every summer, and all summer 
 long, what thousands pour into that beautiful country, ex- 
 ploring every valley, climbing every mountain, sailing on 
 every frith and loch, and spreading themselves and their 
 money all through the land. And what roads and steam- 
 vessels, what cars and coaches are prepared for them ! what 
 inns are erected ! and yet not half enow — so rapidly does 
 the spirit of the poetical and picturesque spread — so won- 
 derfully do the numbers of its votaries increase, seeking a 
 little easement of their swollen purses, a little outlet for all 
 their taste and enthusiasm. No less than nine hundred 
 persons, on a daily average, pass through the single city of 
 Glasgow, chiefly of this class of persons, set astir by this 
 great spirit which has of late years sprung up, the work of 
 our poets and romancers. In summer all the inns are filled 
 jam-full ; trains of omnibuses, or omnibi, are flying down 
 to the Broomielaw every hour, to discharge the contents of 
 the inns into the steamers, and return with the living cargoes 
 of the steamers to the inns. Every hour the bell of some 
 packet, bound to the Highlands, the Western Isles, Ireland, 
 Wales, and all such places, attractive as the very land of the 
 
VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 173 
 
 Genii to poetical imaginations, is heard ringing out its call to 
 the picturesque and pleasure-hunters ; and that call is obeyed 
 by swarms of eager tourists, to the height of all human 
 astonishment. 
 
 And when did all this grow up ? — "0," say the mere 
 mechanic heads, " why, when steam created such facilities." 
 Yes, since the steam of poetic brains created them ! Where 
 wouldyour steamboats and your railroads have been leading 
 us, do you think, if Bishop Percy had not collected the glo- 
 rious ballads of nature and of heroism that were scattered 
 over Scotland and England — the leaves of a new Sibyl, a 
 million times more fateful and pregnant with wonders than 
 the old ; if Bishop Percy had not done this, and set on fire 
 the kindred heads of Southey, of Wordsworth, and of Scott ; 
 if the " Border Minstrelsy" had not been gathered by Scott ; 
 if ballads and eclogues of a new school, if poems full of a 
 pensive beauty and a pure love, had not been framed by 
 Southey ; if Wordsworth had not — stricken, as he con- 
 fesses, by the mighty power of nature through this very me- 
 dium — gone wandering all over the mountains of Cumber- 
 land, filling his heart with the life of the hills, and the soul 
 of the over-arching heavens, and the peace or passion of hu- 
 man existence hidden in glens and recesses where poets had 
 ceased to look for them ; — if the last of these great men had 
 not come forth again in a fresh character, with metrical ro- 
 mances, and with historical romances in prose, pouring a 
 new spirit through field and forest • bringing down from the 
 mountains of the north a clan life, and race of fiery warriors, 
 with their pride, their superstitions, their bloody quarrels, 
 their magnanimity of mutual devotion and fatal loyalty, 
 such as we should otherwise never have known ; and, be- 
 sides this, peopling mountain and glen, palace and cottage, 
 garrison and town, with a host of characters which live and 
 move before us, as if they were not the offspring of a mortal 
 brain 2 but of the earth and the heavens themselves ? I say, 
 
 15* 
 
J74 VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 
 
 where would these steamboats and railroads now have been 
 leading their passengers ? Why, dully enough, to the market 
 — to purchase cottons and printed calicoes in Glasgow, 
 Paisley, and Manchester ; ashes and indigo in Liverpool ; 
 teas, and a thousand other things in London ! They would 
 be going, not the pack-horse, but the railroad round of dull 
 and wearisome commerce, wearing out his own soul by his 
 over-drudgery; and, even of these, there would not have been 
 a tithe of the present outgoers. But now, the soul which has 
 been crushed under the weight of daily duty, has felt a spark 
 of this great spirit, has felt an indefinable impulse, which is,in 
 fact, the nascent love of nature and out-of-door liberty; and, in 
 the summer months, the weavers and spinners, the thump- 
 ers and bumpers, the grinders and shearers, the slaves of 
 the desk, the warehouse, the bank, and the shop, leap up, 
 and issue forth — as bear witness Sir George Head — by 
 hundreds and by thousands, in all directions, for a pleasure 
 that their fathers, poor old fellows ! never dreamed of on the 
 most auspicious night of their lives. boats, whether on 
 canal or river, driven by steam or drawn by horse ! 
 ships, on loch or frith, or ocean prop elled by engines of 
 three-hundred-horse-power ! cabs and cars, omnibi and 
 stages, inns and lodging-houses, wayside rests and fishing 
 taverns, Tom-and-Jerries Tillysue s or Kidley- Winks ! bear 
 ye witness to the tribes set on fire by this Walter Scott, these 
 poets, and even these naturalists — Bewick, Walton, Gil- 
 bert White, and that class of quiet agitators — tribes who 
 have gone forth, to scramble up hills and tumble down them, 
 to sport parasols amongst frightened sheep, and scream on 
 precipices that they may fall into the arms of careful lovers ; 
 to eat beef-steaks, and drink ginger-beer and soda-water, with 
 open windows, and under trees, in boats or in booths — 
 bear witness, all of you, in all quarters of these islands ! Let 
 us hear no more about the poets not being practical men : 
 they are the men practical and promotive of public wealth 
 
VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 175 
 
 and activity ; they are your true political economists, your 
 diffusers of the circulating medium ; in fact, your ship-build- 
 ers, house-builders ; smiths, black, white, or copper ; your 
 tailors and clothiers : your very hosts, cads, waiters, and 
 grooms — for, to all these, they give not merely employment, 
 but life and being itself. 
 
 And yet it is a curious fact, that the poets and the me- 
 chanists struck out into a new and bolder line together ; 
 that this new growth and outburst of intellect and ideality 
 — this revival in the world of mind — indicated its pre- 
 sence at once in the imaginative and the constructive crania. 
 It is curious that steam, mechanism, and poetry, should have 
 been brought simultaneously to bear in so extraordinary a 
 degree on the public spirit and character. The love of 
 poetry and nature, of picturesque scenery and summer- 
 wandering, no sooner were generated by the means I have 
 here stated, than lo ! steamers appeared at the quays, and 
 railroads projected their iron lines over hill and dale. Im- 
 pulse was given at the same moment to the public heart, 
 and facility to yield to it. Had the one appeared without 
 the other, there must have been felt a painful restraint, an 
 uncomprehended but urgent want. Had the poetic spirit 
 come alone, it would have lacked wings to fly to the moun- 
 tains and the ocean shores. Had the mechanic impetus 
 arisen without this, it would have wanted employment for 
 its full energies. Their advent was coincident ; and their 
 present effect is amazing, and their future one a matter of 
 wild speculation and wonder. 
 
 But there is yet another feature of this subject that is 
 worthy of notice ; and that is, how cunningly our great 
 masters have gone to work. Call them dreaming and im- 
 provident ! It is the most absurd abuse of language ever 
 committed. There is no class of men more notorious for 
 saving and care-taking than that of your great geniuses. 
 Accordingly, as we go through the country, propelled in the 
 
176 VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 
 
 human tide by the double power of poetry and steam, what 
 is one of the first facts that seizes on your attention ? Why, 
 the ingenuity and tact with which these thoughtless poets 
 and air-dreaming romancers have laid hold, not only of the 
 most glorious subjects, but the most glorious scenes. They 
 know that, next to a popular theme, is the popular location 
 of it — and what beautiful spot is there now, from Land's- 
 End to John-O'Groat's — what spot known for its loveli- 
 ness, or sacred for its history, or made mysteriously inter- 
 esting by traditions — on which they have not seized ? The 
 monks were said, of old, to have pounced upon all the para- 
 disaical valleys and rich nooks of the country ; but the poets 
 have pounced upon them now. The ancients were accused of 
 having robbed us of all our fine thoughts and spirit-stirring 
 topics ; but the modern poets have taken away our very 
 mountains and battle-fields, our fairy haunts and our waters, 
 lying under the beautifying lights and shades of love, and 
 heroism, and sorrow. They have preoccupied them before 
 our very eyes. There is nothing which has impressed me 
 so much with the prescience and deep sagacity of our great 
 modern geniuses, as the care with which they have perched 
 themselves on every pleasant nook and knoll all over the 
 land. It reminds me, ludicrous as the illustration is, of the 
 nursery-tale of the young bears that came into their house ; 
 and one said, " Who has taken my fork ?" and another, 
 " Who has eaten of my bread ?" and a third, " Who has 
 sate in my chair ?" and another, " Who is this sleeping in 
 my bed , ? " Every spot of interest has this Scott, this Words- 
 worth, or this Campbell appropriated — and who does not 
 admire their policy ? The grandeur and intellectuality of a 
 subject may, of themselves, give it a great charm ; but it is 
 better to have two strings to your bow — a subject noble 
 and beautiful in itself, linked to noble and beautiful scenery ; 
 not confined to the library or the fireside book, but thrown, 
 as it were, in the way of the public, cast before the summer 
 
VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. I77 
 
 wanderers, where natural beauty and traditional romance 
 exert a double influence. What a fine effect it has, both 
 for poet and reader, when, as you stop to admire some 
 lovely landscape, some sublimity of mountain or sea-shore, 
 you hear it said — " This is the scenery of Marmion — this 
 is the Castle of Ellangowan — this is the spot where Helen 
 M'Gregor gave her celebrated breakfast — here fought 
 Baillie Nicol Jarvie with his red-hot ploughshare — this is 
 Lammermuir — or this is Artornish Hall." What a charm 
 and a glory suddenly invest the place ! How deep sinks the 
 strain of the bard or the romancer into your soul ! The 
 adroitness with which great names have thus been written 
 — not on perishable paper, but on every rock and moun- 
 tain of the land — is admirable. To compare great things 
 with small — it is like the hand-writing on the wall, of War- 
 ren, or of Mechi ; it is seen everywhere, and who shall pos- 
 sibly erase it from his mind ? But, admirable as the plan 
 is, who shall now adopt it ? The day and the opportunity 
 are past. Did the same ability exist to inscribe places at 
 once to the glory of the poet and their own name, it is too 
 late ; the field is preoccupied. The clan regions and the 
 Borders of Scotland — ground rife with matter — are all 
 Scott's, by right of discovery, and by the mighty hand of 
 the conqueror. If you go to the isles — Shetland, Hebri- 
 dean, or Orcadian — he has been there too ; and Campbell 
 has there placed his name, in Runic cipher, with that of 
 Reullura and the " dark-attired Culdee." Wordsworth is — - 
 
 Sole king of rocky Cumberland. 
 
 Scott, again, extends his influence over Durham, Derby^ 
 shire, and Warwickshire ; and southward, tradition becomes 
 more faint — all, at least, which Shakspeare has not appro- 
 priated, and what he left to his proper heirs. We cannot, 
 indeed, say what genius may yet draw from material which 
 
178 VI S!T TO BOLTON PRIORY. 
 
 still lies unseen or unregarded — for its power is boundless ; 
 but, in the mean time, let us wander over a few spots of 
 consecrated ground, and admire what has been done by " the 
 giants that have been in the land.' 7 
 
 SCENERY OF " THE WHITE DOE OF RYLSTON." 
 
 We visited this scenery much in the order in which it is 
 introduced to our notice in Wordsworth's poem. First, the 
 White Doe is seen at Bolton Priory; then you have a 
 glimpse of the history of the Shepherd Lord, and his resi- 
 dence, Barden Tower ; lastly, the poet takes you to Rylston, 
 and enters, with earnest heart, into the fate of the Nortons. 
 We took the same course. We walked from Skipton Castle 
 to Bolton Priory, on the morning of the 6th of July. The 
 country had nothing very remarkable in it, if we except the 
 wild aspect of Rumbold's Moor — a corruption of Ro mil- 
 ley's Moor — on our left as we went; nothing which bore 
 any relation to that exquisite scenery which we looked for 
 in the neighbourhood of Bolton. As we drew near, indeed, 
 we could not help saying repeatedly — " We fear we shall 
 be disappointed in this place." Presently, however, a 
 valley filled with dense wood appeared below us, stretching 
 away northwards. We came to a few cottages in their 
 gardens, to a high stone wall ; and passing through a small 
 arched gateway, the valley and ruins of Bolton Priory lay 
 before us ; one of the most delicious and paradisiacal scenes 
 which the heart of England holds. The effect upon our 
 spirits Was one of profound and soothing delight. We sate 
 down on a rustic bench placed just within the gateway, and 
 contemplated it in silent enjoyment. We were on a green 
 elevation, somewhat above the valley, and the scene lay 
 before us in all its loveliness; a vale in which all the 
 
VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 179 
 
 charms of peaceful variety, which poetry delights to com- 
 bine in some fairy paradise, were concentrated. It was a 
 splendid morning ; and the freshness of the greensward, of 
 the trees, the glittering dews, the cheerful voices of birds, 
 the profusion of blossoms around on bush and bank, made 
 the scene perfect. There were the gables and pinnacles of 
 the Priory, appearing amongst a wilderness of trees in the 
 open bosom of the valley ; there was the Wharf, sounding 
 on his way with a most melancholy music, under the cliffs 
 opposite ; there was the silver line of a waterfall, thrown 
 from a cliff of considerable and nearly perpendicular height, 
 a cliff of rich purple hue, facing the eastern end of the 
 Priory ; there were the parsonage, and other houses 
 shrouded in their trees ; beyond, lay the deep and densely- 
 wooded vale ; on the northern slope above it, the ancient 
 oaks of the park ; and still farther, the fells and rocky 
 distances of Barden and Simon-Seat. Whittaker, in his 
 " History of Craven," says well that, for picturesque effect, 
 the site of this Bolton Priory has no equal amongst the 
 northern houses, and perhaps in England. 
 
 As we descended and walked towards the Priory, the 
 parsonage presented a very inviting aspect. Its garden, 
 crimson with roses ; its old ivied porch, in a sort of toAver, 
 with an ancient escutcheon emblazoned on it — I believe of 
 the Clifford arms; its pleasant shrubberies, and its little 
 garden gateway up a few steps, overhung, on each hand, 
 with drooping masses of yellow fumitory, made it one of 
 the most perfect little rural nests we ever set eyes upon. 
 As soon as we passed this, the Priory broke upon us with 
 a fine effect. We need not attempt to describe it ; it is a fit 
 subject for the pencil only ; and the pencils of many of our 
 artists, particularly that of Turner, have made it familiar to 
 the public eye. The magnificent ash-trees, however, which 
 grew about, deserve especial mention. One, in particular, 
 secured with iron hoops and stays from the effects of storms 
 
180 VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 
 
 on its mighty limbs, showed that their beauty was felt and 
 appreciated : and indeed, the ash about this place generally, 
 has an extraordinary stateliness and grandeur of growth. 
 
 The nave of the Priory church is now used for a paro- 
 chial chapel. 
 
 In the shattered fabric's heart 
 
 Remaineth one protected part — 
 
 A rural chapel, neatly drest, 
 
 In covert like a little nest ; 
 
 And thither young and old repair 
 
 On Sabbath-day, for praise and prayer. 
 
 White Doe, p. 8. 
 
 But the most singular feature of this beautiful structure, is 
 a tower, or western entrance, built like a screen before the 
 old western entrance. This was begun by Prior Moore, 
 the last prior before the dissolution, but never finished. It 
 possesses a fine receding arch, and is embellished with 
 shields, statues, and a window of exquisite tracery. 
 Amongst others on this part of the work, is the statue of a 
 pilgrim, with a staff in one hand, and a broad, flat, round 
 hat in the other. The buttresses are surmounted with 
 figures of hounds. Within this, partly darkened and 
 partly hidden by it, appears the old front, with its lancet 
 windows and slender columns — a work equally exquisite 
 of its kind. The sculpture and carvings of the Priory 
 altogether, its running trefoils and fleur-de-lis, have pre- 
 served their sharpness and distinctness most remarkably. 
 
 Opposite to this western entrance stands the Duke of 
 Devonshire's house — a small castellated building — a mere 
 nut-shell to his other houses — Chatsworth, Hardwicke, 
 Chiswick, or Devonshire House. In fact, it is formed out 
 of the original gateway of the Priory — the principal room 
 being the gateway itself, with walls run across it. It serves, 
 however, for a sporting-box, when his Grace comes hither 
 
VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. IS] 
 
 in autumn to the moors, and contains a marvellous number 
 of beds for its compass. The walls of the principal apart- 
 ment are adorned with pieces from classical subjects ; with 
 horns of stags and antelopes, and with some paintings, 
 the most interesting of which are, one of the Boy of Egre- 
 mond about to leap the Strid, with his dog in a leash, and 
 a puppy at the dog's heels — a circumstance that I do not 
 recollect as forming part of the tradition. A portrait of 
 Sir Philip Sidney, and a curious picture of the seven sons 
 of one of the Earls of Burlington. There is one of the 
 celebrated Earl and Countess of Derby ; some family por- 
 traits of the Cliffords and Burlingtons ; and several of the 
 Charleses and Jameses, and their queens — of little value. 
 
 But our attractions lay out of doors. We hastened down 
 to the Wharf, and crossed it, by a row of stepping-stones, 
 into the woods on the opposite side. These stones are solid 
 square blocks of considerable size, and require some courage 
 in the passer ; for, though the river is not deep here, it is 
 very rapid, clear, and broad, and rushes on with an awful 
 sound, especially after heavy rains, as had been the case 
 then ; so that the water flowed, in some places, over the 
 stones. Immediately after us came across two young 
 ladies, whom we found to be the clergyman's niece, Miss 
 Kitty Crofts, and her young friend, Julia somebody. They 
 had their rural dinner in a basket, and were going to spend 
 the day in the woods. They accompanied us about a mile 
 up through the woods, and very politely directed our atten- 
 tion to the striking points of the scenery, and gave us direc- 
 tions for our course to Barden Tower, which every now 
 and then showed itself up the valley. 
 
 Nothing can exceed the beauty and delightfulness of 
 these woods, which run on each side of the sounding 
 Wharf; and the public owes much to the worthy clergy- 
 man, Mr. Carr, for having rendered the forest banks of the 
 Wharf accessible, opening up the turns and reaches of the 
 
 16 
 
182 VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 
 
 river, and the views of the Priory downwards, and of Bar- 
 den Tower upwards, with the most admirable taste and 
 erTect. All through the woods, for miles on each side, run 
 winding walks ; and wherever seats are placed, there you 
 may be sure is some new view of river, ruins, forest, or fell. 
 The woods themselves afford a delicious retreat in the noon- 
 blaze of a summer's day ; they present such sylvan seclu- 
 sion ; such dark and shadowy nooks ; such mossy slopes, 
 where spring throws out by thousands her primroses, and 
 summer her delicately-veined flowers and green leaflets of 
 the oxalis ; such wildernesses of heather and bilberry, of 
 ferns and polypodies ; such dim chaos of craggy masses or 
 uplifted gray cliffs, hung with ivy and overshadowed with 
 boughs. But then, the river below ! — such a dark brooding 
 stream at once place ; such a wild hurrying torrent at 
 another, sending up its softened roar all through the woods. 
 I never saw a stream that so vividly brought before me the 
 descriptions of rivers flowing through American forests, 
 with their foamy rapids, and their dark woodland steeps, 
 and wild boughs overhanging the stream. 
 
 About a mile from the Priory we came to the celebrated 
 Strid — 
 
 The pair hath reached that fearful chasm — 
 
 How tempting to bestride ! 
 
 For lordly Wharf is there pent in, 
 
 With rocks on either side. 
 
 This striding-place is called The Strid — 
 A name it took of yore ; 
 A thousand years hath it borne that name, 
 And shall a thousand more. 
 
 And hither is young Romilly come ; 
 And what may now forbid 
 That he, perhaps for the hundredth time 
 Shall bound across The Strid 1 
 
"VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. !S3 
 
 He sprung in glee, for what cared he 
 
 That the river was strong and the rocks were steep 1 
 
 But the greyhound in the leash hung back, 
 
 And checked him in his leap. 
 
 The boy is in the arms of Wharf, 
 And strangled by a merciless force ; 
 For never more was young Romilly seen, 
 Till he rose a lifeless corse. 
 
 The Force of Prayer. Wordsworth's Poems. 
 
 The Strid is not so much a waterfall as a narrow passage, 
 torn by the river through its bed of solid rock, through which 
 it rushes with tremendous fury and a stunning din. Many 
 people, who go expecting to see a sheer cascade, are at first 
 disappointed ; but no one can stand long by it without feel- 
 ing a sense of its power and savage grandeur grow upon 
 him. It is indeed a place " most tempting to bestride ;" 
 and, notwithstanding the repeated fatalities which have oc- 
 curred there since that of the boy Egremond — one of a 
 young lady, in the very presence of her lover, but a few 
 years ago — I felt an intense desire to take the leap, and 
 should have done so, had it not been for the earnest dissua- 
 sion of my companion. I am, however, very sensible, that, 
 narrow as the opening appears, its real width is much greater 
 than its apparent one ; and very dangerous, both on that 
 account, and from the slipperiness of the rocks. One slip 
 of the foot, and the leap is into eternity. 
 
 As we stood here, we were delighted to see the various 
 parties that came up, or that were to be seen glancing at 
 intervals in the woods — gay young spirits, full of the en- 
 joyment of fresh life, of social affection, and natural beauty; 
 another proof of the manner in which all places of natural 
 or historical interest are now visited — the happy conse- 
 quence of the spirit of modern literature ; and we were, per- 
 haps, most pleased with the sight of a party of Friends, in 
 
184 VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 
 
 their dove-coloured robes and drab bonnets. If you cannot 
 see them at places of artificial amusement, there are no 
 people whom you now more frequently meet at places of 
 natural amusement — a satisfactory evidence that the spirit 
 of modern literature has extended itself to them too ; that 
 the Wiffehs, the Bartons, the Stickneys, and other writers 
 of the Society, are not exceptions, but merely indications of 
 that love of poetry, polite literature, and the fine arts, which 
 a puritanic zeal in some of its founders unhappily banished 
 from it for a time. 
 
 We now advanced to Barden Tower, the walk thither 
 being still up the valley along the banks of the Wharf, and 
 through the most delightful scenery. The splendour of the 
 day, and the beauty of the place, filled us with delight and 
 admiration. We crossed a fine bridge to Barden, and soon 
 stood before the ruined tower of the Cliffords. 
 
 It is a singular circumstance, out of what peaceful, pro- 
 found, old-fashioned nooks, have gone forth some of the 
 stormiest, sternest, and most ambitious characters in history. 
 Whittaker says — " The shattered remains of Barden Tower 
 stand shrouded in ancient woods, and backed by the purple 
 distances of the highest fells. An antiquarian eye rests 
 with pleasure on a scene of thatched houses and barns, 
 which in the last two centuries have undergone as little 
 change as the simple and pastoral manners of the inhabi- 
 tants." The place, in fact, seems to belong to a past age 
 of English history ; to make no part of bustling, swarming, 
 steam-engine, and railroad England ; but of England in 
 the days of solemn forests, far-off towns, and the most 
 peaceful and rustic existence. The tower stands a mere 
 shell ; but the cottages about it are those which stood there 
 in the days of its glory, and are peopled with a race as pri- 
 mitive and quiet as they were then. We inquired for a 
 public-house to get a luncheon ; there was no such thing ; 
 but we procured bread and butter, and milk, at one of the 
 
VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 185 
 
 cottages : and, as we sate looking out of its door, the pro- 
 found tranquillity of the scene was most impressive. It 
 was a sultry and basking noon ; around were lofty ancient 
 woods ; on the opposite slope a few cottages, half-buried 
 in old orchards, and gardens with their rows of bee-hives ; 
 and an old man at work with his hoe, as slowly and as 
 gravely as an object in a dream, or a hermit in his unpar- 
 taken seclusion. Yet from this place, and such as this 
 issued 
 
 The stout Lord Cliffords that did fight in France, 
 
 ay, and in Scotland and England too — conspicuous in all 
 the wars, from the time of the Conqueror to that of Crom- 
 well ; the " Old Clifford," and the " Bloody Clifford," who 
 slew the young Duke of Rutland, and afterwards the Duke 
 of York, hisfather — of Shakspeare's " Henry VI." Thence, 
 too, went out the great seafaring Lord Clifford, George, 
 third Earl of Cumberland, of Elizabeth's time, who made 
 eleven expeditions, chiefly against the Spaniards and Dutch, 
 and chiefly too, at his own expense, to the West Indies, 
 Spanish America, and Sierra Leone. But the most re- 
 markable characters connected with this place are — the 
 Shepherd Lord Clifford ; the heroic Countess of Derby, 
 daughter of Henry, second Earl of Cumberland, and grand- 
 daughter of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, and the 
 Dowager Queen of France, sister of Henry VIII. , Avhose 
 romantic story is known to all readers of English history ; 
 and especially Anne Clifford, Dowager Countess of Pem- 
 broke and Montgomery, of famous memory ; for the others 
 made only occasional visits hither, from their more frequent 
 residence of Skip ton Castle, to enjoy field-sports at their 
 lodge here ; but Anne Clifford has placed her memorial on 
 the very front of the house as its restorer ; and the Shep- 
 herd Lord constituted it his principal abode. 
 
 16* 
 
186 VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 
 
 Anne Clifford has justly been termed one of the most ex- 
 traordinary women which this country has produced. She 
 was a woman of a high spirit, a determined will, and many 
 good and magnificent qualities, and of a very commensu- 
 rate consciousness of them. She did great works, and took 
 good care to commemorate them. Two such builders of 
 houses and of families, perhaps no nobleman of the present 
 day can reckon amongst his female ancestry, as the Duke 
 of Devonshire — Anne Clifford, and Bess of Hardwicke. 
 The first thing which strikes your attention in front of 
 Barden Tower, is this singular inscription : — - 
 
 This Barden Tower was repayred 
 
 By the Ladie Arne Clifford Counte 
 
 sse Dowager of Pemrok.ee Dorsett 
 
 and Montgomery Btroness Clifford 
 
 Westmerland and Vercie Lady of the 
 
 Honor of Skipton in Craven and High 
 
 Sherifesse by inheritance of the 
 
 Countie of Westmoreland in the Yearss 
 
 1658 and 1659 after it had layne 
 
 Ruinous ever since about 1589 when 
 
 Her mother then lay in itt and was 
 
 Great with child with her till 
 
 NoWE THAT IT WAS REPATRED BY 
 
 The said Lady. Is. chapt. 5S. v. 12. 
 God's name be praised ! 
 
 The text referred to is — " Thou shalt build up the founda- 
 tions of many generations, and thou shalt be called the re- 
 pairer of the breach, and the restorer of paths to dwell 
 in." 
 
 When she came to her ancestral estates, she found six 
 castles in ruins, and the church of Skipton in a similar con- 
 dition, from the ravages of the Civil War. She restored 
 
"VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 187 
 
 them all ; and upon all set this emblazonment of the fact. 
 One of the first things which she built, was a work of filial 
 piety — a pillar in the highway, at the place where she and 
 her unhappy mother last parted, and took their final fare- 
 well. She erected monuments to her tutor, Daniell, the 
 poetic historian, and to Spenser — the latter in Westminster 
 Abbey. She wrote her own life — of which the title-page 
 is indeed a title-page, being a whole page of the most vain- 
 glorious enumeration of the titles and honours derived from 
 her ancestors. Spite of her vain-glory, she was, neverthe- 
 less, a fine old creature. She had been an independent 
 courtier in the court of Queen Elizabeth, possessing a spirit 
 as lofty and daring as old Bess herself. She personally re- 
 sisted a most iniquitous award of her family property by 
 King James, and suffered grievously on that account. She 
 rebuilt her dismantled castles, in defiance of Cromwell ; and 
 repelled with disdain the assumption of the minister of 
 Charles II. " She patronised," says her historian, " the 
 poets of her youth, and the distressed loyalists of her ma- 
 turer age ; she enabled her aged servants to end their days 
 in ease and independence ; and above all, she educated and 
 portioned the illegitimate children of her first husband, the 
 Earl of Dorset. Removing from castle to castle, she dif- 
 fused plenty and happiness around her, by consuming on 
 the spot the produce of her vast domains, in hospitality and 
 charity. Equally remote from the undistinguishing profu- 
 sion of ancient times and the parsimonious elegance of mo- 
 dern habits, her house was a school for the young and a 
 retreat for the aged ; an asylum for the persecuted ; a col- 
 lege for the learned ; and a pattern for all." To this it 
 should be added, that, during that age when such firmness 
 was most meritorious, she withstood all the arts, persua- 
 sions, and all but actual compulsion of her two husbands, 
 to oblige her to change the course and injure the property 
 of her descendants; and therefore, it must be confessed 
 
138 YISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 
 
 that she was a brave woman, and one whose like does not 
 often appear. It is, however, her celebrated letter to Sir 
 Joseph Williamson, the secretary of Charles II., who had 
 written to name a candidate for her borough of Appleby, 
 that has given her name a Spartan immortality : — 
 
 " I have been bullied by an usurper ; I have been ne- 
 glected by a court ; but I will not be dictated to by a subject 
 
 — your man shan't stand. 
 
 Anne, Dorset, Pembroke, 
 
 and Montgomery." 
 
 The history of the Shepherd Lord is one of the most sin- 
 gular in the peerage. When his father, Lord John ClifTo.rd 
 
 — the bloody or black-faced Clifford — fell at the battle of 
 Towton, which overthrew the house of Lancaster, and 
 placed Edward IV. on the throne, his mother was obliged 
 to fly with him, for safety, into the wildest recesses of York- 
 shire and Cumberland. She afterwards married Sir Launce- 
 lot Threlkeld, of the latter county, who assisted to keep him 
 concealed from the knowledge of the York family — to 
 whom the Clifford blood was, for notorious reasons, most 
 especially odious ; but to effect this, he was obliged to be 
 brought up as a shepherd, and so lived for twenty-four 
 years. On the ascension of Henry VII. to the throne, the 
 attainder against his father was reversed, and he succeeded 
 to his ancestral honours and estates. At this period, it ap- 
 pears that he was as uneducated as his fellow shepherds ; 
 but he was a man of strong natural understanding, and had, 
 it would seem, learned much true wisdom in its simple abode 
 up amongst the hills. 
 
 Among - the shepherd-grooms no mate 
 Had he — a child of strength and state ! 
 Yet lacked not friends for solemn glee. 
 And a cheerful company, 
 
VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 189 
 
 That learned of him submissive ways, 
 
 And comforted his private days. 
 
 To his side the fallow-deer 
 
 Came and rested without fear ; 
 
 And both the undying fish that swim 
 
 Through Bowscale Tarn did wait on him — 
 
 The pair were servants of his eye, 
 
 In their immortality ; 
 
 They moved about in open sight, 
 
 To and fro for his delight. 
 
 He knew the rocks which angels haunt 
 
 On the mountains visitant ; 
 
 He hath kenned them taking wing ; 
 
 And the caves where fairies sing 
 
 He hath entered ; and been told, 
 
 By voices how men lived of old, 
 
 Among the heavens his eye can see 
 
 Face of thing that is to be : 
 
 And, if men report him right, 
 
 He could whisper words of might. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 These verses allude to the studies for which he became 
 remarkable ; for he resorted to this Barden Tower, and put 
 himself under the tuition of some of the monks of Bolton. 
 With these he appears to have contracted a strong friend- 
 ship, and to have passed a life of what must have been a 
 very delightful prosecution of the popular studies of the time. 
 They applied themselves to astronomy, and it seems equally 
 certain, to astrology. In the archives of the Cliffords have 
 been found manuscripts of this period, and supposed to be- 
 long to the Shepherd, which make it more than probable 
 that alchemy was another of the fascinating pursuits of Lord 
 Henry and his monkish companions. Some of these verses 
 conclude with the usual declaration that the writer could 
 not disclose the grand secret. 
 
 Hie wer accursyde that soo wolde dene. 
 How schold yow have servans then, 
 
190 VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 
 
 To tyll your lands, and dryffe your plughe? 
 
 Yff ev'ry mane to ryches came, 
 
 Then none for oth'r owght wolde dowghe. 
 
 There is matter for a fine romance in the life of this lord : 
 the stirring nature of the times when he was born ; the flight 
 of his family ; his concealment ; his life on the mountains ; 
 his restoration ; his secluded mode of existence and myste- 
 rious labours ; and then his emerging, as he did, after he 
 had so spent the whole of the reign of Henry VII. and the first 
 years of Henry VIII., at the age of nearly sixty, as a principal 
 commander of the victorious army of Flodden; showing that 
 the military genius of the Cliffords merely slumbered be- 
 neath the philosophic gown. There is something very pic- 
 turesque in the description of his followers, in the old 
 metrical history of Flodden Field. 
 
 From Penigent to Pendle Hill, 
 From Linton to Long Addingham, 
 And all that Craven coasts did till — 
 They with the lusty Clifford came ; 
 All Staincliffe hundred went with him, 
 With stripling strong from Wharledale, 
 And all that Hauton hills did climb, 
 With Longstroth eke and Litton Dale, 
 Whose milk-fed fellows, fleshy bred, 
 Well-browned, with sounding bows upbend ; 
 All such as Horton F, lis had fed — 
 On Clifford's banner did attend. 
 
 Before leaving Barden Tower, we must just notice the sin- 
 gular old chapel which bounds one corner of the court-yard. 
 You enter at a door from the court, and find yourself in a 
 dwelling-house ; another door is opened, and you find your- 
 self in the loft of a very old chapel, which remains in the 
 state in which it was centuries ago, except for the effects of 
 time, and where service is still performed by the clergyman 
 of Bolton. 
 
VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 191 
 
 We now directed our course to Rylston; but hearing 
 that the common way was circuitous, and being curious to 
 pass along the very route of the White Doe, we determined 
 to cross the moor, contrary to the earnest dissuasion of the 
 villagers, who declared it was perfectly trackless, and that 
 a stranger could not find his way over it. And sure enough 
 we found it the most solitary and impracticable waste we 
 ever traversed. The distance was six miles ; not a track 
 nor a house to be seen, except a keeper's lodge, standing in 
 the brown heathery wilderness about a mile from Barden, 
 with a watch-tower annexed to it, whence he might look 
 out far and wide for depredators on the moorgame. We 
 had the precaution to take a young man with us as guide, 
 and on we went, plunging up to the waist in the heather, 
 and sinking in deep moss at every step ; now in danger of 
 being swallowed up by a bog, and now put to our contri- 
 vances by some black ravine. A weary way of it the poor 
 Doe must have had every Sunday from Rylston to Bolton 
 Priory ; and well, we thought, might the people deem it 
 something supernatural. Our guide himself found it no 
 very easy matter to steer his course aright, or to pursue it 
 when he thought it was right. He directed his way by 
 certain crags on the distant hill-tops, called the Lord's 
 Stones : and, when we gained the highest elevation, whence 
 we had immense prospect, we came to a track cut through 
 the moorland for the Duke to ride along on his shooting 
 excursions. He told us to follow that, and it would lead 
 us to the Fell-gate just above Rylston. Here, therefore, 
 we allowed him to return ; but we speedily repented the 
 permission, for the track soon vanished, and before us lay 
 only wild craggy moors with intervening bogs, which ex- 
 tended wider and wider as we went. The moor-game, 
 ever and anon, rose with loud cries and whirring wings ; 
 the few sheep ran off as we made our appearance ; and we 
 
1 92 VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 
 
 seemed only getting farther and farther into a desolate 
 region — 
 
 Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, 
 And mortal feet had ne'er or rarely heen. 
 
 Knowing, however, that there was nothing for it but push- 
 ing on to the extremity of the waste, bring us whither it 
 would, we hurried forward in spite of weariness and bewil- 
 derment, and presently found ourselves on a savage ridge 
 of crags, from which a wide prospect of green and cham- 
 paign country burst upon us, and the village of Rylston 
 itself lying at the foot of the steep descent before us. We 
 hastened down as well as we could, and proceeded towards 
 the churchyard, knowing that near it had stood Rylston 
 Hall, the abode of the Nortons. Here we soon found that 
 all vestiges of the old house were gone, and that a modern 
 gentleman's house was built upon the site. The village 
 lies on the green and cultivated plain, just that sort of 
 country which has a most attractive aspect to a grazier, but 
 which the poet gives but one glance at ; it has nothing pic- 
 turesque in its appearance : a more common-place collec- 
 tion of houses can scarcely be met with, though three or 
 four of them are, no doubt, the dwellings of wealthy people. 
 We found the tradition of the White Doe quite current still 
 amongst the peasantry, who soon pointed out to us, on the 
 moorland eminence whence we had descended, Norton 
 Tower, still exactly answering the description by the histo- 
 rian of Craven : — " Rylstone Fell yet exhibits a monument 
 of the old warfare between the Nortons and Cliffords. On 
 a point of very high ground, commanding an immense 
 prospect, and protected by two deep ravines, are the remains 
 of a square tower, expressly said by Dodsworth to have 
 been built by Richard Norton. The walls are of strong 
 
VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 193 
 
 grout-work, about four feet thick. It seems to have been 
 three stories high. Breaches have been industriously made 
 in all sides, almost to the ground, to render it untenable. 
 The place is savagely wild, and admirably adapted to the 
 site of a watch-tower." Here, no doubt, stout old Richard 
 Norton used to assemble his retainers, to make their inroads 
 into Barden Moor amongst the Cliffords' deer, in which he 
 delighted, and for which he constructed, by help of natural 
 crag, and bog, and ravine, that famous, and, to the Cliffords, 
 most provoking pound, of which abundant traces yet ap- 
 pear. Here too, as the poet has more than hinted, he used 
 to come and make merry. 
 
 High on a point of rugged ground, 
 Among the wastes of Rylstone Fell, 
 Above the loftiest ridge, a mound 
 Where foresters or shepherds dwell, 
 An edifice of warlike frame 
 Stands single, Norton Tower its name. 
 It fronts all quarters, and looks around 
 O'er path and road, and plain and dell, 
 Dark moor, and gleam of pool and stream, 
 Upon a prospect without bound. 
 
 The summit of this bleak ascent, 
 Though bleak, and bare, and seldom free, 
 As Pendle-hill or Pennygent, 
 From wind, or forest, or vaporous wet, 
 Had often heard the sound of glee, 
 When there the youthful Nortons met 
 To practise games and archery. 
 How proud and happy they ! The crowd 
 Of lookers-on how pleased and proud ! 
 And from the scorching noontide sun, 
 From showers, or when the prize was won, 
 They to the watch-tower did repair — 
 17 
 
J94 VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 
 
 Commodious pleasure-house ! And there 
 Would mirth run round with generous fare ; 
 And the stern old Lord of Rylstone Hall, 
 He was the proudest of them all. 
 
 White Doe. Canto V. 
 
 If the village of Rylston has little in the aspect of the pre- 
 sent or remaining of the past, to draw the feet of poetic 
 wanderers to it — if Rylston Hall itself, the hearth and 
 home of the stout Nortons, be gone — if all its gardens, 
 walks, waters, and topiary-work have vanished like a 
 dream, — yet there still stands that stern old tower, on those 
 dark and frowning fells, which will rear their black and 
 storm-shattered heads till the shock which commingles earth 
 and heaven. There they stretch along the grim edge of 
 that region of moorland, glen and forest, river and ruin, 
 over which have passed the consecrating influences of 
 heroic spirits crushed by malignant destinies, of human 
 hearts and hearths laid waste and desolate for ever ; and 
 over which, once more, the poet has thrown a new and in- 
 destructible enchantment. 
 
 In this beautiful poem, " The White Doe of Rylston," 
 Wordsworth has shown how far he was capable of handling 
 a romantic and historic subject ; and nothing is more obvi- 
 ous than that, if he had chosen to select such subjects, 
 rather than undeviatingly attempting to develope his own 
 views of the real nature and compass of the province of 
 poetry, he might much earlier have stepped into that popu- 
 larity which he has now attained, and avoided the long 
 reign of ridicule and abuse under which he lived. To say 
 nothing of Peter Bell, the Wagoner, Betty Foy, and that class 
 of subjects — a class, and so treated, that I am fi*ee to confess 
 to be fair game for critics that love a little fun ; — it is quite 
 as true as it was ten years ago, that neither the simple 
 pathos of his " Lyrical Ballads/' nor the grave dignity and 
 philosophy of his " Excursion," ever could or ever can be 
 
VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. I95 
 
 truly appreciated by the common run of readers. They 
 can have no charms for those who delight in the literary 
 dram-drinking of fashionable novels. You might just as 
 well have expected a Persian to love Spartan broth ; just 
 as well expect a London epicure, with his gullet on fire 
 with curry and cayenne, to relish the girdle-cake and milk 
 of the shepherd's hut. In this poem he has enlisted more 
 of those stirring elements of historical action and national 
 change, with all their sequences of family disruptions and 
 disastrous overthrows, which, for the habitual story-monger, 
 may become a tolerable substitute for his ordinary stimulus 
 of tragic recital and piquant personalities ; and which the 
 reader, of genuine passion and healthful sensibilities, may 
 yet combine with gentler causes and their emotions into a 
 whole of living and exalting influences. He has beautifully 
 woven into his scheme every history or tradition floating 
 about the scene of action with which our nature sympa- 
 thises. The fate of the Boy of Egremont, the fortunes of 
 the Shepherd Lord, blend like soft and sunset hues into the 
 great picture of " The Rising in the North," of which 
 the outline is gloriously sketched in the ancient ballad of 
 that name ; the imposing, but ill-organized and ill-main- 
 tained attempt to put down in England the growing power 
 of Protestantism, and to restore the old religion. Here is 
 material enough to quicken the pulse of every true Briton ; 
 but we soon find the poet, amid the splendour of historic 
 matter, fixing his eye upon a few characters, towards whom 
 he irresistibly draws our hearts after him ; resting finally 
 on that high-spirited old gentleman, Maister Richard Nor- 
 ton, and his family, — his nine sons and single daughter. 
 In working out the characters and fate of these, he finds 
 ample employment for that philosophic taste, and that de- ' 
 light in tracing the movements of our inner nature ; the 
 power of our affections ; the contention between our prin- 
 ciples and our interests ; the development of that highest pitch 
 
196 VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 
 
 of mortal grandeur, the stern subjection of every hope, feel- 
 ing and ambition, to the sole and sovereign sense of duty 
 shed into the heart of man by the law of Christianity. We, 
 accordingly, behold with admiration the brave Richard Nor- 
 ton, who had spent his days amid his sons and vassals in the 
 festivities of the hall, the excitements of the chase, and of 
 Border war, now coming forward in his silver hairs to cast 
 all the fortunes of his house on a single and hazardous die. 
 We behold with equal admiration the unhesitating devotion 
 of his eight sons, and their manly beauty, as they surround 
 him, as he takes in his hand the banner wrought by the fair 
 fingers of his only daughter — that banner which displayed 
 
 The Cross, 
 And the five wounds our Lord did bear. 
 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 The group, at this moment, would form a noble picture. 
 
 They mustered their host at Wetherby — 
 Full sixteen thousand, fair to see, 
 The choicest warriors of the North ! 
 But none, for beauty and for worth, 
 Like those eight sons, embosoming' 
 Determined thoughts ; who, in a ring, 
 Each with a lance erect and tall, 
 A falchion, and a buckler small, 
 Stood by their sire on Clifford Moor, 
 To guard the standard which he bore. 
 With feet that firmly pressed the ground 
 They stood, and girt their father round ; 
 Such was his choice — no steed will he 
 Henceforth bestride ; — ■ triumphantly 
 He stood upon the grassy sod, 
 Trusting himself to the earth, and God. 
 There, sight to embolden and inspire ! 
 Proud was the field of Sons and Sire ; 
 Of him the most ; and sooth to say, 
 
VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 197 
 
 No shape of man in all the array 
 
 So graced the sunshine of that day. 
 
 The monumental pomp of age 
 
 Was with this goodly personage ; 
 
 A stature undepressed in size, 
 
 Unbent, which rather seemed to rise, 
 
 In open victory o'er the weight 
 
 Of seventy years, to higher height; 
 
 Magnific limbs of withered state ; 
 
 A face to fear and venerate ; 
 
 Eyes dark and strong ; and on his head 
 
 Bright locks of silver hair, thick spread ; 
 
 With a brown morion, half concealed, 
 
 Light as a hunter's of the field. 
 
 And thus, with girdle round his waist, 
 
 Whereon the banner-staff might rest 
 
 At need, he stood, advancing high 
 
 The glittering, floating pageantry. 
 
 Nothing, we think, for a moment, can be more beautiful 
 and admirable ; but the poet soon shows us a character and 
 a devotion far higher, in Francis Norton, the eldest son, 
 who singly opposes and attempts to dissuade his father and 
 brothers from this enterprise ; and is repulsed as a coward 
 and a renegade by the indignant father and the silently 
 contemptuous sons. The wise spirit and unflinching forti- 
 tude of this English Abdiel impress us with a respect and 
 veneration that are not easy to be heightened ; and yet 
 they are heightened by finding Francis, instead of satisfying 
 himself with having striven to dissuade — and that vainly 
 — and quietly sitting down to wait the result, or feeling 
 resentful of the rude repulse and wrongful imputations 
 received from them, now showing that the devotion and 
 nobility of his nature are of a far loftier stamp. He follows 
 them unarmed, and, unmindful of their taunts or their sus- 
 picions, watches with patient endurance for that moment of 
 reversed fortune which he is sure will come, and when he 
 hopes to render assistance that may be accepted and availa- 
 
 17* 
 
198 VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 
 
 ble. That moment of reverse soon arrives ; but the indig- 
 nant father only heaps fresh and more trying scorn on his 
 faithful son; and it is only when the vengeance of the 
 offended law dooms the father and the sons in arms to 
 perish in their blood, that the sleepless and affectionate 
 attentions of Francis, to sooth, and serve, and comfort them, 
 break down the barrier of thick prejudice from the old man's 
 heart, and he sees and acknowledges the wisdom and mag- 
 nanimity of his devoted son. Here one scarcely knows 
 whether most to admire, the frank confession of the old 
 warrior and the confidence he immediately places in Fran- 
 cis, or the filial piety with which, to gratify the mind of his 
 dying father, Francis undertakes a task, hopeless, and fatal 
 to himself. The following out of these great human im- 
 pulses ; the portraiture of this sublime character of Francis 
 Norton, than which none in history or fiction is greater ; 
 and, besides this, the beautiful sketch of his sister, equally 
 devoted, equally strong in principle, though not so compre- 
 hensive and commanding in intellect as her brother ; she 
 
 Whose duty was to stand and wait ; 
 
 In resignation to abide 
 
 The shock, and finally secure 
 
 O'er pain and grief, a triumph sure : — ■ 
 
 these, altogether, were elements of heart and spirit, of eha- • 
 racter and action, in which the soul of the philosophical 
 poet, who has sought to link fast to our theory of metaphy- 
 sics the system of the affections, was sure to revel ; although 
 on one occasion we saw him, strangely enough, as the 
 author of " Peter Bell," and of this poem, lay down a 
 volume of a contemporary, full of the same elements, and 
 actually of a most kindred nature, saying that he could not 
 read of " sin and sorrow, finding enough of them in the 
 world about him." Notwithstanding this paradoxical 
 
VISIT TO BOLTON PRIORY. 199 
 
 assertion, he has here, in his own case, cast over the sor- 
 rows of the Nortons a profound sympathy, and a golden 
 glory over the Scenery of the White Doe of Rylston ; over 
 Bolton Priory ; the Vale of Wharf; over Barden Tower 
 and Norton Tower, on the grim Rylston Fells — which, as 
 it drew us thither, shall draw thither also, from generation 
 to generation, other pilgrims as devoted to the charms of 
 nature, of poetry, of history and tradition, as ourselves. 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 A visit to Hampton Court Palace, is one of the bravest 
 pleasures that a party of happy friends can promise them- 
 selves. Especially is it calculated to charm the thousands 
 of pleasure-seekers from the dense and dusty vastness of 
 London. It lies in a rich country ; on the banks of the 
 Thames, — there unmuddled by commerce, but flowing 
 free and pure, amid the greenest meadows, scattered villas, 
 and trees overhanging its clear waters, and adding to its 
 glad aspect the richness of their beauty. From the swell- 
 ing hills of Richmond, Esher, and St. George, the palace 
 is seen standing aloft amid a wide sea of woodland foliage, 
 like a little town in its extent. Its ample and delightful 
 gardens, bounded by the splendid masses of its lime-tree 
 avenues ; its ancient courts, with all their historic recollec- 
 tions ; its accumulated paintings, the Cartoons of Raphael 
 themselves being part of them — all are thrown open to the 
 leisurely and perfect enjoyment of the public. There is no 
 royal palace in England, excepting Windsor, which, after 
 all, is to be compared to it, and this is, as it should be, 
 given up to the use and refreshment of the people. It is 
 the first step towards the national appropriation of public 
 property. It is long since it was said, " The king has got 
 his own again," and it is now fitting that the people should 
 have their own again. Of all the palaces, the towers, the 
 abbeys, and cathedrals, which have been raised with the 
 wealth and ostensibly for the benefit of the people, none 
 till lately have been freely open to the footsteps of the mul- 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 201 
 
 titude. They have been jealously retained for the enjoy- 
 ment of an exclusive few, or have been made engines to 
 extort still further payment from those out of whose pockets 
 they were raised. But the tolls at the door of St. Paul's 
 and the Tower have been relaxed ; park after park in the 
 metropolis has been thrown open ; and now this charming 
 old palace of Hampton Court has been made the daily re- 
 sort of any, and of all, of the English people who choose to 
 tread the pavements, and disport themselves in the gardens, 
 and gaze on the works of art, which for ages were wont 
 only to be accessible to the royal, the aristocratic, and the 
 ecclesiastical dignitary and their retainers. 
 
 These are visible and unequivocal evidences of the growth 
 of general intelligence, and of that popular influence and 
 benefit which must spring out of it. Courts are no longer 
 despotic because the people is no longer ignorant. The 
 crown has resigned its lands into the hands of the people, 
 saying, give us what you deem fitting for the just mainte- 
 nance of the regal dignity, — and the crown has had no cause 
 to regret this surrender ; while, on the other hand, it has 
 given the people a right to use a bolder tone regarding those 
 which were the royal lands and houses, woods and forests. 
 The people can now say with an air of just authority, we 
 demand to be admitted to the use and fruition of that for 
 which we have given a noble equivalent. It is with this 
 consciousness that we now walk about the courts, the gar- 
 dens, the galleries, and painted chambers of Hampton Court ; 
 and there can be perhaps no instance cited where public 
 property is more completely enjoyed by all classes of the 
 community. The royal race have had their will of it from 
 the days in which the last great English Cardinal built it, 
 and presented it, as a most magnificent gift, to Harry VIII. 
 his master, till they abandoned it as an abode, for others 
 which more engaged their fancies. A considerable portion 
 of it has since, and still is, given as residences to branches 
 
202 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 of the aristocracy, and lo ! at length the very people have 
 entered into possession of the rest. 
 
 And now, the great question is, how do they enjoy it ? — 
 How do they use their advantage ! Do they feel the great 
 delight of having got their own again ? Do they act like 
 rational masters and proprietors on their own estates, com- 
 mitting no injury and seeing none committed ? A few facts 
 will sufficiently answer these questions. Steam has in a 
 great measure brought this delightful old palace into the 
 very suburbs of London ; and thrown it open to the thou- 
 sands of its citizens. The Southampton railway, passing 
 within a short distance of it, has enabled almost all that 
 please to be down at it in about an hour, and has given them 
 a pleasant excursion at a cheap rate, through a delightful 
 country, besides the luxury of fair gardens, on the banks of 
 the Thames, and the contemplation of rich paintings when 
 they get there. Have they availed themselves of these pri- 
 vileges ? The palace has only been fairly thrown open this 
 summer, and for some time the fact was but very little 
 known — yet through spring and summer the resort thither 
 has been constantly increasing ; the average number of 
 visiters on Sunday or Monday is now two thousand five 
 hundred, and the amount of them for the month of August 
 was thirty-two thousand ? 
 
 And how have these swarms of Londoners of all classes 
 behaved ? With the exception of some scratches made on 
 the panels of the grand staircase, for the discovery of the 
 perpetrator of which an ominous placard is pasted on the 
 door-post as you enter, offering five pounds reward, but of 
 which slight injury no one can tell the date — the police, 
 who are always on the spot, never having witnessed the 
 doings of it since they were stationed there — I cannot learn 
 that the slightest exhibition of what has been considered 
 the English love of demolition, has been made. Never 
 have I seen, at all times that I have been there, a more 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 203 
 
 orderly or more well-pleased throng of people. I happened 
 accidentally to be there on Whit-Monday, when, besides 
 the railway, upwards of a dozen spring-vans, gaily adorned 
 with ribbons, and blue and red hangings, had brought there 
 their loads of servants and artisans, all with their sweet- 
 hearts, and in fine spirits for a day's country frolic ; and not 
 less than two thousand people were wandering through the 
 house and gardens, yet nothing could be more decorous 
 than their behaviour. Never, indeed, did I behold a scene 
 which was more beautiful in my eyes, or which more 
 sensibly affected me. Here were thousands of those whose 
 fathers would have far preferred the brutal amusement of 
 the bull-baiting or the cock-pit ; who have made holiday 
 at the boxing-ring, or in guzzling beer in the lowest dens 
 of debauch, — here were they, scattered in companies, and 
 family groups ; fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters, old 
 people and children of all ages, strolling through the airy 
 gardens, admiring the flowers, or resting on the benches, or 
 watching swarming shoals of gold and silver fish in the 
 basin of the central fountain, and feeding them with crumbs 
 of bun amid shouts of childish delight. Here were these 
 poor people, set free from the fret and fume, the dust and 
 sweat, and mental and bodily wear and tear of their city 
 trades and domestic cares, well dressed, amongst their more 
 wealthy neighbours, clean, and jocund from the sense of 
 freedom and social affection, treading walks laid down only 
 for royal feet, listening to the lapse of waters intended only 
 for the ears of greatness and high-born beauty, though all 
 constructed by the money of their forefathers ; and here 
 were they enjoying all these more than king or cardinal 
 ever could do, beneath a sunny sky, that seemed to smile 
 upon them as if itself rejoiced at the sight of so much hap- 
 piness. There too, through the open windows, you saw 
 the passing crowds of heads of men and women wandering 
 through the rooms intent on the works of Raphael, Titian, 
 
204 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 Correggio, Lely, Vandyke, Kneller, Rembrandt, Rubens, 
 Ricci, Giulio Romano, and many another master of the sub- 
 lime and beautiful ; pausing to behold forms of power, and 
 grace, and loveliness, and to mark many a face of man or 
 woman whose names are so bruited in our annals that even 
 the most ignorant must have heard something of them. 
 Here surely was significant indication of a change in the 
 popular mind in the course of one generation, which must 
 furnish an answer to those who ask what has education 
 done for the masses, and most pregnant with matter of 
 buoyant augury for the future. Those who do not see in 
 such a spectacle that the march of intellect, and the walk- 
 ing abroad of the schoolmaster, are something more than 
 things to furnish a joke or a witticism, and blind indeed to 
 the signs of the times, and to the certainty that the speed 
 of sound knowledge amongst the people will yet make this 
 nation more deserving of the epithet of a nation of princes, 
 than ever Rome deserved from the Parthian ambassador. 
 I could not help asking myself, as my eye wandered amid 
 the throng, how much more happiness was now enjoyed in 
 any one day on that ground, than had been enjoyed in a 
 twelvemonth when it was Only the resort of kings and 
 nobles, and the scene of most costly masks and banquets. 
 Nothing more than the sight of that happiness was needed, 
 to prove the rationalty of throwing open such places to 
 diffuse amongst the million, at once the truest pleasure and 
 the most refining influences. 
 
 To the visiters of cultivated taste and historic knowledge, 
 Hampton Court abounds with subjects of reflective interest 
 of the highest order. It is true, that, compared with some 
 of our palaces, it can lay no claims to antiquity ; but from 
 the days of Henry VIII. to those of George III., there are 
 few of them that have witnessed more singular or momen- 
 tous events. 
 
 Overbearing despot as Wolsey was, there is something 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 205 
 
 magnificent in the sweep of his ambition, and irresistibly- 
 interesting in the greatness of his fall. He was the last of 
 those haughty prelates in the good old Catholic times, rose 
 up from the dust of insignificance into the most lordly and 
 overgrown magnificence ; outdoing monarchs in the number 
 of their servants, and in the pomp of their state. Equalling 
 the great Cardinals who have figured on the continent, 
 Ximenes, Richelieu, Mazarine, and De Retz, in political 
 ability and personal ambition, he exceeded all in the wealth 
 which he unhesitatingly seized, and the princely splendour 
 in which he lived. He fell only just before, and almost 
 with, the Catholic religion itself in this country, and has 
 therefore left a more marked place in men's memories. 
 There could be none come after him of a like kind. Those 
 swelling and mighty archprelates, filling the public ways 
 with their enormous travelling processions, and ruling both 
 as spiritual and temporal lords equally church and state, at 
 once the primates and the prime ministers of the realm, 
 could no more exist. Wolsey seemed to have gathered 
 into himself all the powers and splendours of that extra- 
 ordinary class of men, to have raised them to the highest 
 pitch, to the uttermost blaze of exhibition, and to have 
 quenched them in his fall. Never was such a rise, such a 
 progress ; such a sudden, sheer, and ruinous descent ! It 
 may be said that the Romish hierarchy fell with him, for 
 nothing is more clear than that by first leading Henry to 
 question the propriety of his marriage with Catherine of 
 Arragon, in order to make way for a French alliance, 
 which then appeared to him the surer way to the popedom, 
 he opened the path of that royal license which led Henry 
 into so much matrimonial villany and blood, and placed on 
 the throne his enemy, and the enemy of popery, Anne 
 Boleyn. He involved his irascible monarch in those terms 
 with the Pope, which led him to kick down his power in 
 this kingdom ; and moreover, he was the first to lead the 
 
 18 
 
206 VISIT T0 HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 way to the suppression of the monasteries, by showing to 
 Henry their enormous wealth and their profligate state, that 
 he might obtain from him an order for the extinction of the 
 worst, and appropriation of their revenues to the building 
 and endowing of his colleges. 
 
 When we enter, therefore, the gates of Hampton Court, 
 and are struck with the magnificent extent of the erection, 
 which at that time not only, according to Rapin, " was a 
 stately palace, and outshined all the king's houses," but 
 was one of the most splendid structures in Europe, we 
 cannot help figuring to ourselves the proud Cardinal sur- 
 veying its progress, and musing over the wonders of that 
 career which had brought him, if not from the humble 
 estate of the son of a butcher, yet from an origin of no 
 great condition, or it could not have remained dubious to 
 this period — the wealthiest man in Europe, the most potent 
 in political influence, and the ardent aspirant to the pope- 
 dom itself. It would be curious to run over the multitude 
 of offices and dignities, civil and ecclesiastical, which this 
 able adventurer had grasped in a daring and rapid succes- 
 sion. First, in 1504, chaplain to King Henry VII., with 
 dispensation to hold three livings ; then royal almoner ; 
 immediately afterwards, in 150S, Dean of Lincoln ; in the 
 next year, Prebendary of Stowe Magna ; in the autumn of 
 the same year, 1509, made almoner to Henry VIII., with a 
 grant of all goods and chattels of felones de se, and all 
 coroners' deodands, which, although expressly reserving 
 the whole proceeds of the offices to charitable purposes, no 
 doubt were found very profitable in such hands. Next 
 came the appointment of reporter of the proceedings in the 
 Star Chamber, with acknowledged abundance of bribes for 
 his good services with the king, in whose favour he already 
 stood high. 
 
 In January, 1510, he received a formal grant of the par- 
 sonage and tenements of St. Bride's, with various gardens 
 
■VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 207 
 
 and other property, given him some time before ; in Fe- 
 bruary following he was appointed Canon of Windsor ; in 
 the same year he received the rich rectory of Turnington 
 in the diocese of Exeter ; and was made a privy councillor. 
 Early in 1511 he was appointed Registrar of the order of 
 the Garter; in February, 1512, Dean of York; soon after, 
 Prebend of Bngthorpe ; in October, Dean of St. Stephen's, 
 Westminster, now the House of Commons. In November 
 of that year he was specially appointed to superintend the 
 king's household and the preparation of the army for the 
 invasion of France ; and in September of the following year 
 he was made Bishop of Tournay in that kingdom. On the 
 first of January, 1514, he became Bishop of Lincoln : soon 
 after he was elected Chancellor of the University of Cam- 
 bridge, but declined the office ; in June of that year the 
 king granted him half the advowson, or next reversion, of 
 Bermondsey Abbey, a valuable gift ; and before the year 
 was out, he was actually on the throne of the Archbishopric 
 of York. The next year had not passed over before he re- 
 ceived from Rome a cardinal's hat, and the appointment of 
 Legate, and from his king the seals of the office of Lord 
 High Chancellor of England. While honours and emolu- 
 ments thus showered upon him, Wolsey did not hesitate to 
 receive gifts and pensions from foreign potentates. From 
 the King of Spain, about this time, he accepted a pension 
 of 3000 livres per annum, and another of 200 ducats from 
 the Duke of Milan. Then came a bull from the Pope, 
 granting authority of visiting the monasteries, and confer- 
 ring on him the tenth of all the revenues of the clergy. In 
 151S the king empowered him to confer letters patent of 
 denizen under the great seal ; and then to make out conges 
 d'elire, royal assents, and restitutions of temporalities of ec- 
 clesiastical dignities, from archbishops down to the lowest 
 religions establishments ; as well as to take the homages 
 and fealty of all persons which might be due to the crown 
 
208 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 for such temporalities — sources of most extraordinary in- 
 fluence and emolument. Next was added the Bishopric of 
 Bath and Wells, and the rich Abbey of St. Albans ; then 
 the administration of the sees of Worcester and Hereford 
 was conferred on him by the Pope. In October of that 
 year he received the grant of the office of Bailiff of the lord- 
 ship of Cheshunt, in Hertfordshire, and park-keeper of 
 Brantingisley. In 1521 the Pope sent him a bull empower- 
 ing him to make fifty knights, fifty counts palatine, forty 
 apostolic notaries — whose privileges were equal to those 
 made by the Pope himself, namely, to legitimate bastards 
 ■ — and confer degrees in arts, law, medicine, and divinity, 
 and also to grant all sorts of dispensations. This was fol- 
 lowed by another bull, empowering him to check and put 
 down the new Protestant heresies. This year he was sent 
 as ambassador to the king of France and the Emperor 
 Charles V., and he received a grant of 9000 crowns of pen- 
 sion from the emperor, besides 2500 in lieu of a former 
 grant of revenue out of the bishopric of Badajoz. 
 
 In 1522 he made himself master of the see of Durham 
 — so rich that his predecessor had died that year worth 
 100,000/. In 1524 he received a new bull, confirming his 
 power to visit and suppress disorderly monasteries ; and 
 in 1529, the grant of the see of Winchester. This was his 
 last favour, and came only about a year before his death. 
 When we add to all this, various grants of lands and manors 
 which have not been particularized, and the many costly 
 gifts and bribes received from both crowned heads and 
 numberless private persons to propitiate his favour in his 
 days of palmy fortune, we sum up an account of honour, 
 preferment, and emolument, which had been growing, with 
 scarcely any intermission, through five-and-twenty years. 
 Well might it be said, that the revenues in his command 
 much exceeded the revenues of the king, or indeed of any 
 crowned head in Europe. He exercised the powers, and 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 209 
 
 was virtually Pope in England. The king seemed to de- 
 light in showering upon him the most unbounded afflu- 
 ence, and in seeing him expend the princely revenues de- 
 rived from strictly national sources, on colleges and palaces, 
 to perpetuate the glory of his own name. This was the 
 most magnificent portion of the Cardinal's ambition. He 
 was ever emulous to build up his fame with the advance- 
 ment of learning. He was the steady friend of Erasmus, 
 and the most learned men of the age. He was the pro- 
 moter of what was called the " new learnin g," the study of 
 Greek ; he suggested the establishment of the College of 
 Physicians ; at his instigation Henry invited both Titian 
 and Raphael into England ; he established seven lectures at 
 Oxford ; commenced a college at Ipswich, and founded, 
 and nearly completed that of Christ Church Oxford, before 
 his fall. He appeared as enthusiastic and as superb in his 
 love of building, as he did in his ambition of power. Wher- 
 ever he was, he was busily employed in building, and his 
 structures are everywhere remarkable for their superiority 
 to the general style of the age. The greater part of them 
 are of brick-work, but that is of the most admirable and 
 compact kind ; and many of his fabrics still standing, look 
 comparatively new, and likely to endure yet for ages. Be- 
 sides Hampton Court, he restored and enlarged his archi- 
 episcopal house in York Place ; during his holding the see 
 of Durham he built one-third of the bridge over the Tyne ; 
 he built considerably at Cheshunt, and at More in Hert- 
 fordshire, at the latter place inclosing with a Avail several 
 hundred acres of additional park ; and at his house at 
 Battersea. Esher Place, then the property of the see of 
 Winchester, fell only into his hands a short time before his 
 disgrace, nevertheless, he is said to have repaired it, and 
 built a new gate-house, which is yet standing, though the 
 house itself, originally built by Bishop Waynnete, has been 
 pulled down some years.. 
 
 IS* 
 
210 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 At Apscourt, near Moulsey in Surrey, there is the re- 
 mains of a house said to have been built by him, and to 
 derive its name from A. P. S., the sign-letters of Archiepis- 
 copus : near Walton also, the old mansion of Ashley Park 
 is attributed to him ; and even in his last days of trouble 
 and disgrace, on his melancholy journey to York, on arriving 
 at Cawood Castle, a palace of the archbishopric, about seven 
 miles from that city, where it was necessary to take up his 
 abode, and finding it much out of repair, he set out about 
 immediately to restore it. He did it in his usual admirable 
 manner ; added new buildings to it on a noble scale, and 
 poor as he then comparatively was, kept upwards of three 
 hundred workmen daily employed upon it. 
 
 Such was Wolsey when he built the Palace of Hampton 
 Court. The actual ruler of this country, both in church and 
 state, by the unlimited favour of his sovereign, and the cour- 
 tesy of the Pope ; flattered and sought by power and beauty 
 at home, and by the crowned heads of all Europe ; hated, 
 yet feared by the courtiers ; haughty, arbitrary and vindic- 
 tive ; possessed of revenues to which the incomes of the 
 greatest nobles were poor, he lived in a splendour and state 
 such as became only a reigning prince, and expressed his 
 swelling vanity in the well known words — Ego et Rex 
 metis. It was only at Hampton Court that his vast train of 
 servants and attendants, with the nobility and ambassadors 
 who flocked about him, could be fully entertained. These, 
 as we learn from his gentleman-usher, Cavendish, were little 
 short of a thousand persons ; for there were upon his " cheine 
 roll" eight hundred persons belonging to his household, in- 
 dependent of suitors, who were all entertained in the hall. 
 In this hall he had daily spread three tables. At the head 
 of the first presided a priest, as steward ; at that of the 
 second a knight, as treasurer; and at the third his comptroller, 
 who was an esquire. Besides these, there were always a 
 doctor, a confessor, two almoners, three marshals, three 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 211 
 
 ushers of the hall, and grooms. The furnishing of these 
 tables required a proportionate kitchen : and here were two 
 clerks, a comptroller, and surveyor of the dressers ; a clerk 
 of the spicery ; two cooks, with labourers and children for 
 assistants ; turnspits a dozen ; four scullery-men ; two yeo- 
 men of the pastry, and two paste-layers. In his own kitchen 
 was his master-cook, daily dressed in velvet or satin, and 
 wearing a gold chain. Under him were two other cooks 
 and their six labourers ; in the larder a yeoman and groom ; 
 in the scullery a yeoman and two grooms ; in the ewry two 
 yeomen and two grooms ; in the buttery the same ; in the 
 cellar three yeomen and three pages ; in the chandlery and the 
 wafery, each two yeomen ; in the wardrobe the master of 
 the wardrobe and twenty assistants ; in the laundry, yeoman, 
 groom, thirteen pages, two yeomen-purveyors and groom- 
 purveyor ; in the bake-house, two yeomen and two grooms ; 
 in the wood-yard, one yeoman and groom ; in the barn, a 
 yeoman ; at the gate, two yeomen and two grooms ; a yeo- 
 man of his barge ; the master of his horse ; a clerk and 
 groom of the stables ; the farrier ; the yeoman of the 
 stirrup ; a maltlour and sixteen grooms, each keeping four 
 horses. 
 
 There were the dean and sub-dean of his chapel ; the 
 repeater of his choir ; the gospeler, the epistler, or the sing- 
 ing priest ; the master of the singers, with his men and 
 children. In the vestry were a yeoman and two grooms. 
 In the procession were commonly seen forty priests, all in 
 rich copes and other vestments of white satin, or scarlet, or 
 crimson. The altar was covered with massy plate, and 
 blazed with jewels and precious stones. But if such were 
 his general establishment, not less was the array of those 
 who attended on his person. In his privy chamber he had 
 his chief chamberlain, vice-chamberlain, and two gentlemen- 
 ushers. Six gentlemen-waiters and twelve yeomen ; and at 
 their head nine or ten lords to attend on him, each with 
 
212 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 their two or three servants, and some more, to wait on them, 
 the Earl of Derby having five. Three gentlemen cup- 
 bearers, gentlemen-carvers, and servers to the amount of 
 forty in the great and the privy-chamber; six gentlemen- 
 ushers and eight grooms. Attending on his table were 
 twelve doctors and chaplains, clerk of the closet, two clerks 
 of the signet, four counsellors learned in the law,, and two 
 secretaries. 
 
 He had his riding-clerk ; clerk of the crown; clerk of the 
 hamper and chaffer ; clerk of the cheque for the chaplains ; 
 clerk for the yeoman of the chamber ; and " fourteen foot- 
 men garnished with richrunning-coates, whensoever he had 
 any journey ;" besides these, a herald-at-arms, serjeant-at- 
 arms, a physician, an apothecary, four minstrels, a keeper 
 of the tents, an armourer ; an instructor of his wards in 
 chancery ; " an instructor of his wardrop of roabes ;" a 
 keeper of his chamber ; a surveyor of York, and clerk of 
 the green cloth. 
 
 " All these were daily attending, downelying and uprising. 
 And, at need, he had eight continual boords for the cham- 
 berlaynes and gentlemen-officers, having a mease of young 
 lordes, and another of gentlemen ; besides these, there never 
 was a gentleman or officer, or other worthy person, but he 
 kept some two, some three persons to wait on them." 
 
 This was his state at home. When he prepared to attend 
 term at Westminster Hall, he summoned his retinue in his 
 privy chamber, where he was ready appareled in his car- 
 dinal's robes ; his upper vesture entirely of red, scarlet, or 
 fine crimson taffeta, or crimson satin ingrained ; his pillion 
 scarlet, with a sable tippet about his neck. He had in his 
 hand an orange, which, having the inside taken out, was 
 refilled with a sponge and aromatic vinegar, lest in the 
 crowd he might imbibe any pestilence. Before him were 
 carried the great seal of England, and the cardinal's hat, by 
 some " lord or gentleman, right solemnly." On entering 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 213 
 
 his presence chamber his two great crosses were borne be- 
 fore him, and the gentlemen-ushers cried, " On, masters, on, 
 and make room for my lord." On descending to the hall 
 of his palace, he was preceded J>y additional officers, a ser- 
 jeant-at-arms with a great silver mace, and two gentlemen 
 bearing great plates of silver. Arriving at his gate, he 
 mounted his mule, trapped all in crimson velvet, with a 
 saddle of the same, and thus he proceeded to Westminster — 
 
 Poleaxe and pillar borne before his face. — Moile. 
 
 his cross-bearers, and pillar-bearers all upon great horses, 
 and in fine scarlet, with a train of gentry, footmen with 
 battleaxes, etc. 
 
 Regularly on Sundays, when Henry held his court at 
 Greenwich, which was often, the great lord cardinal made 
 thither his progress to visit him. He had then his magni- 
 ficent state barge, with troops of yeomen standing upon the 
 sails, and crowds of gentlemen within and without. He 
 disembarked to avoid the fall at London Bridge, and there 
 his mule and cavalcade awaited him, to conduct him from 
 the Three-Cranes of Billingsgate, where he again went on 
 board ; and the same solemn state was observed on his re- 
 turn. 
 
 When he celebrated mass before the royal family, the 
 most distinguished noblemen held the basin for him to wash 
 his hands : nay, when he performed mass at St. Paul's be- 
 fore Henry and Charles V. on his visit to this country, two 
 barons gave him water before mass ; two earls after the 
 gospel ; and at the last lavatory this office was performed 
 by two dukes. The very Spaniards themselves who ac- 
 companied the emperor, are said to have been offended by 
 his unparalleled assumption of dignity. 
 
 The whole establishment and style of life of Wolsey, how- 
 ever, more resemble the gorgeous romance of an Arabian 
 
214 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 tale than anything which ever existed in the sober realm of 
 England. His friend and servant Cavendish relates scenes 
 of gaiety and revelry enacted within these very walls, which 
 it is sorrowful not to be able to give at length here. " The 
 cardinal's house," he observes, " was resorted to like a king's 
 house, by noblemen and gentlemen, and such pleasures 
 were here devised for the king's delight as could be invented 
 or imagined. Banquets set with masquers and mummers, 
 in such costly manner, that it was glorious to behold. There 
 wanted no damsels meet to dance with the masquers, or to 
 garnish the place for the time with variety of other pastimes. 
 Then there were divers kinds of music, and many choice 
 men and women singers appointed to sing, who had excel- 
 lent voices. I have seen the king come suddenly thither in 
 a masque, with a dozen masquers, all in garments like shep- 
 herds, made of fine cloth of gold and silver wire, and six 
 torch- bearers, besides their drummers, and others attending 
 on them with vizards, and clothed all in satin : and before 
 his entering in the hall, you shall understand that he came 
 by water to the water-gate without any noise, where were 
 laid divers chambers and guns charged with shot, and at his 
 landing they were discharged, which made such a rattling 
 noise in the air, that it was like thunder. It made all the no- 
 blemen, gentlemen, and ladies to muse what it should mean, 
 coming so suddenly, they sitting quietly at a banquet. In 
 short you shall understand, that the tables were set in the 
 Chamber of Presence around, and my lord cardinal sitting 
 under his cloth of state, and there having all his service 
 alone ; and then there were set a lady and a nobleman, a 
 gentleman and a gentlewoman, throughout all the tables in 
 the chamber on the one side, which were made all joining, 
 as if it were but one table. All which'was done by my Lord 
 Sands, then lord-chamberlain to the king, and by Sir Henry 
 Guilford, then comptroller of the king's house. 
 " Then immediately after this great shot of guns, the 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 215 
 
 Cardinal desired the Lord Chamberlain to see what it did 
 mean, as though he knew nothing of the matter. They 
 then looked out of the window into the Thames, and re- 
 turning again told him, that they thought they were noble- 
 men and strangers arrived at the bridge, and coming as 
 ambassadors from some foreign prince ; with that said the 
 Cardinal, ' I desire you, because you can speak French, to 
 take the pains to go into the hall, there to receive them into 
 the chamber, where they shall see us, and all these noble 
 personages, being merry at our banquet, desiring them to 
 sit down with us, and take part of our fare.' " 
 
 So they are introduced, salute severally the Cardinal, de- 
 clare the cause of their coming to be the rumour of such a 
 constellation of beauty there that night ; they beg to have 
 a game at mum-chance with the ladies, which is accorded ; 
 and the Cardinal sends a message to them to the purport, 
 that he believes there is amongst them a noble person who 
 deserves the seat of honour at the feast more than himself, 
 and begs that he will take it. They reply there is such a 
 person, who if his grace can point him out, is willing to 
 take his place most willingly. Wolsey pitches on his man, 
 which turns out to be the wrong one : at which Bluff Harry 
 pulls down his masque, and is very merry at the mistake. 
 He goes and puts on a fresh and splendid dress, as do all 
 his followers; a new banquet is laid, and they feast and 
 dance till daylight. 
 
 This, it will be seen, is the masque given by Shakspeare 
 in Henry VIII., but as occurring at York House, and with 
 some difference of circumstance. A brief extract, from an 
 entertainment given to the French ambassadors, will serve 
 to show more completely the sort of scenes passing here in 
 the palmy days of Wolsey. The king commanding the 
 cardinal to entertain these gentlemen, orders were sent out 
 to all of the carriers, purveyors, and other persons to pre- 
 pare. The cooks wrought both day and night in many 
 
216 VISIT TO HAMPTON COUET. 
 
 curious devices, when was no lack of gold, silver, or any 
 costly thing. The yeomen and grooms of his "wardrobes 
 were busied in hanging the chambers with costly hangings, 
 and furnishing the same with beds of silk, and other furni- 
 ture of the same in every degree. . . . Then wrought joiners, 
 carpenters, painters, and all other artificers needful, that 
 there was nothing wanting to adorn this noble feast. There 
 was carriage and re-carriage of plate, stuff, and other rich 
 implements, so that there was nothing lacking that could 
 be desired or imagined for that purpose. They were also 
 provided two hundred and eighty beds, and all manner of 
 furniture to them. 
 
 The Frenchmen were ready before their time, so they 
 were taken to Hanworth, a park of the king's about three 
 miles from Hampton, to hunt till night ; when they were 
 conducted to the palace, and all taken to their several 
 chambers, where they found good fires, and stores of wine 
 to entertain them till supper-time. They supped in the 
 Great Waiting Chamber and Chamber of Presence, which 
 were hung with rich arras, and furnished with tall yeomen 
 and goodly gentlemen, to serve. The tables were set round 
 the chambers, banquetwise, covered. In the Waiting 
 Chamber was a cupboard garnished with white plate ; and 
 four great plates were set with great lights, to give the 
 more brilliancy, and a great fire of wood and coals. In the 
 midst of the Chamber of Presence was placed the high 
 table beneath the cloth of state, with six desks of plate gar- 
 nished all over with fine gold. The cupboard was barred 
 about that no man could come very near it, for there were 
 divers pieces of great store of plate to use : besides the 
 plates that hung on the walls to give light, which were of 
 silver gilt, with wax-lights. 
 
 The trumpets blew, and the guests were conducted to 
 the table ; where, says Cavendish, " the service came up in 
 such abundance, both costly and full of devices, with such 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 217 
 
 a pleasant noise of music, that the Frenchmen, as it seemed, 
 were wrapped up in a heavenly paradise." 
 
 The Cardinal was not there ; but, at the second course, 
 he "came in, booted and spurred, suddenly amongst them ; 
 at whose coming there was great joy, every man rising 
 from his place." But my Lord Cardinal made them all be 
 seated, and being in his riding apparel, called for his chair, 
 and sate him down in the midst of the high table, and was 
 there as merry and pleasant as ever I saw him in all my 
 life. 
 
 " Presently after came up the second course, which was 
 above a hundred several devices, which were so goodly and 
 costly that I think the Frenchmen never saw the like. Bat 
 the rarest curiosity of all the rest, they all wondered at 
 (which indeed was worthy of wonder) was a castle and 
 images in the same, like St. Paul's church for the model of 
 it. There were beast, birds, fowls, — personages most ex- 
 cellently made ; some fighting with swords, some with guns, 
 others with cross-bows ; some dancing with ladies, some on 
 horseback in complete armour, justling with long and sharp 
 spears, with many more strange devices. Among others, I 
 noted there was a chess-board made of spice-plate, with men 
 of the same, and good proportion. And because the French- 
 men are very expert at that sport, my Lord Cardinal gave 
 that to a French gentleman, commanding that there should 
 be made a good case, to convey the same into his country. 
 
 " Then called my lord for a great bowl of gold, filled with 
 hippocras, and putting off his cap, said, ' I drink a health to 
 the king my sovereign lord, and next unto the king, your 
 master ;' and when he had drank a hearty draught, he 
 desired the grand master to pledge him a cup, which cup 
 was worth five hundred marks, and so all the lords in order 
 pledged these great princes. Then went the cup merrily 
 about, so that many Frenchmen were led to their beds. 
 Then went my lord into his privy chamber, making a short 
 
 19 
 
218 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 supper, or rather a short repast, and then returned again 
 into the presence chamber amongst the Frenchmen, be- 
 having himself in so loving a sort and so familiarly towards 
 them that they could not sufficiently commend him. And 
 while they were in communication and pastime, all their 
 livery were served to their chambers ; every chamber had 
 a basin and ewer of silver, and a great livery-pot, with 
 plenty of wine and sufficient of everything." 
 
 Such were the merry and gorgeous doings at Hampton 
 Court, then in all the glory of its newness, in the days of 
 Wolsey's prosperity. I am afraid the story of Henry VIII. 
 coming to see this splendid palace on its first being built, 
 and saying in a jealous surprise, " My Lord Cardinal, is 
 this a dwelling for a subject ?" and the courtly Cardinal 
 replying, " My gracious liege, it is not intended for a sub- 
 ject ; it is meant only for the greatest and most bounteous 
 king in Christendom," is too good to be true ; for although 
 Wolsey did give up this favourite palace to his royal master, 
 it was long afterwards, and only on the palpable outbreak 
 of his displeasure, as a most persuasive peace-offering ; an 
 offering which, though especially acceptable, failed never- 
 theless to ensure lasting peace. The sun of the great Car- 
 dinal was already in its decline. His fair Protestant enemy 
 was in possession of the king's ear and mind, and he had 
 soon to make his sorrowful exclamation : 
 
 Farewell ! a long farewell to all my greatness ! 
 This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow blossoms, 
 And bears his blushing honours thick upon him ; 
 The third day comes a frost, a killing frost; 
 And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
 His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, 
 And then he falls as I do. I have ventured, 
 Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
 This many summers in a sea of glory ; 
 But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 219 
 
 At length broke under me ; and now has left me, 
 Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
 Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me. 
 Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ! 
 I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched 
 Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours ! 
 There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
 That sweet aspect of princes and their ruin, 
 More pangs and fears than wars or women have : 
 And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
 Never to rise again! 
 
 The story of the ambition and greatness of Wolsey is a 
 splendid and rare story ; but what would it have been with- 
 out his fall ? Had he gone down to the grave in the ful- 
 ness of his age, and the undiminished strength of his power, 
 it would have been looked upon as a wondrous career of 
 prosperity, and would have excited but little curiosity in 
 posterity ; but his fall came, to fix it on the heart of all time. 
 Never were mortal fortunes so complete in their light and 
 shade, in their height and depth, as his. While we are 
 gazing on the authority and the gay pageantries of the 
 long life of the great man, as on the brightness of a summer 
 day that seems as if it would shine on for ever ; suddenly 
 the clouds blacken overhead, the lightning flames abroad, 
 the tempest falls, with deluging torrents and a rending 
 thunderbolt, and when it is past — we gaze in silent astonish- 
 ment on a scene of blackened desolation ! 
 
 The fall of Wolsey is one of the most complete and per- 
 fect things in the history of man. The hold which he had 
 so long on that fierce and lionlike king — that passionate 
 and capricious king — is amazing ; but at once it gives way, 
 and down he goes for ever. But, great as he was in his 
 prosperity, so is he great in his ruin. There are those who 
 accuse him of servility and meanness, but they do not well 
 comprehend human nature. Wolsey knew himself, his 
 
220 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 master, and the world ; and Shakspeare, whose own heart 
 was the representative of the universal heart of man, has 
 shown that he judged justly of Wolsey's spirit in his deli- 
 neation of him at this crisis. Wolsey knew himself. He 
 knew his own proud ambition, and he knew that his story 
 must for ever stand a brilliant point in the annals of his 
 country ; but to give to it an effect that would cover a mul- 
 titude of sins, and make him, who had hitherto been a 
 daring adventurer and a despot of no mean degree, an 
 object of lasting commiseration — it was necessary to fall 
 with dignity and die with penitence. He knew his master, 
 — and his favour once gone ; his resentment once at the 
 pitch, by the thwarting of his passions ; his cupidity once 
 kindled — there was nothing to expect but destruction, cer- 
 tain, and at hand. 
 
 Nay, then, farewell ! 
 I have touched the highest point of all my greatness; 
 And from that full meridian of my glory 
 I haste now to my setting ; I shall fall 
 Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 
 And no man see me more. 
 
 In the contemplation of Wolsey in his fallen condition, 
 we are so much affected by his humility, his candour, and 
 his sorrow, that we forget his former haughtiness and his 
 crimes. He never accuses his sovereign of inj ustice ; he breaks 
 out in no passion against him; he acknowledges that he 
 was the creature of his favour, and that all he had — rank 
 and fortune — were his to take away, as he had given them. 
 His tears for so great a reverse — for such a stripping down 
 of power and honour — are natural; and his tears and sor- 
 row for his faithful servants open up the noblest place in his 
 heart, and go far to make you love and honour him. We 
 cannot help comparing the cases of Thomas a Becket and 
 his own ; and asking what Wolsey would have done, had 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 221 
 
 he stood in the situation of that daring and indomitable 
 churchman. Probably he might have put on the same air 
 of menace and defiance. But here matters were in a dif- 
 ferent position : Henry VIII. was not Henry II., nor was 
 the papal power now of the same terrible force in England. 
 Bluff Harry was one that could and would have his will, 
 outrageous or bloody as it might be ; and the spirit of the 
 Reformation was already shaking the tiara to the ground 
 in this country. Under these circumstances, a wise and 
 sagacious man would see that there was nothing for it but 
 to submit, — with sorrow, which must be felt to the core, 
 but with the decency and grave humility of a fallen states- 
 man ; and, in these respects, the conduct of Wolsey, through- 
 out the melancholy period of his disgrace, must sensibly 
 affect every generous mind. There is nothing in all history 
 more touching and interesting than his progress northward, 
 at the king's command, to retire to his diocese. If any act 
 of his after his fall, can bear the construction of servile or 
 unworthy of him, it was, that when the king's messenger 
 overtook him on his way to Esher, with a ring and a word 
 of comfort from the king, and he alighted from his mule, 
 and, kneeling in the road, kissed the ring and embraced the 
 messenger, sending back his most heartfelt thanks to his 
 highness, — and his jester, as a present that he knew would 
 be especially welcome. But this was in the very moment 
 of his surprise and agony at the king's displeasure, and 
 when he was full of the bruising sense of his unlooked-for 
 fall. Afterwards, as he progressed from Esher to York, his 
 conduct was such as truly seemed to indicate that the words 
 which Shakspeare puts into his mouth — 
 
 I feel my heart new opened, 
 
 were those of his genuine feeling. How picturesque and 
 solemn that journey ! He went, progressing slowly on his 
 
 19* 
 
222 V! SIT T0 HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 way from stage to stage, riding on his mule in a grave 
 sadness, followed by his troop of faithful servants. Wher- 
 ever he came, people flocked out to see him, and to ask his 
 blessing ; and everywhere he administered to their wants. 
 Tt was then only that he seemed to be the real Christian 
 bishop. Wherever he abode for any length of time — as at 
 Peterborough, Southwell, and Scroby — he became highly 
 popular with both the gentry and the people, and was long 
 after remembered in those places. His train had something 
 still even of his ancient pomp, for it consisted of one hundred 
 and sixty persons, with twelve carts, loaded with goods, 
 and others for the carriage of articles of daily use. He 
 kept the holidays in the most solemn manner, on Palm 
 Sunday going in procession with the monks, and bearing 
 his palm with as much humility as the lowest of the com- 
 pany. On Maunday Thursday he washed and kissed the 
 feet of fifty poor people ; gave each twelve pence, three 
 ells of good canvass, for shirts ; a pair of shoes ; and a 
 cask of red herrings. On Easter-day he went in procession 
 in his cardinal vestments, and sung mass himself solemnly ; 
 giving his benediction and "cleane remission to all the 
 hearers." He used all his ability wherever he came to 
 reconcile the differences of the gentry, and to comfort and 
 nourish the poor. Arriving on a wide waste near Ferry- 
 bridge, he found upwards of five hundred children assem- 
 bled round a great stone cross, seeking his blessing and 
 confirmation at his hands. He alighted immediately, and 
 confirmed them all before he would leave the place, so that 
 he did not arrive at Cawood, his destination, until a late 
 hour. 
 
 However much of policy there may have been in this 
 conduct of the fallen prelate and prime minister, as we 
 cannot doubt there was considerable, yet it would be more 
 than uncharitable, it would be false to human nature, not 
 to give him credit for feeling deeply the vanity of his past 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 223 
 
 career, and for discovering thus in the last hour, in what 
 the true glory and blessing of humanity really lie. In such 
 a belief, how beautiful and noble are the sentiments which 
 Shakspeare makes him utter, in taking leave of his faithful 
 secretary Cromwell : — 
 
 Let's dry our tears ; and thus far hear me, Cromwell : 
 
 And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 
 
 And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
 
 Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee ; 
 
 Say, VVolsey — that once trod the ways of glory, 
 
 And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, — 
 
 Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
 
 A safe and sure one, though thy master missed it. 
 
 Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me. 
 
 Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ; 
 
 By that sin fell the angels; how can man then, 
 
 The image of his Maker, hope to win by it] 
 
 Love thyself least; cherish those hearts that hate thee: 
 
 Corruption wins not more than honesty : 
 
 Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace 
 
 To silence envious tongues ; be just and fear not : 
 
 Let all the ends thou aims't at be thy country's, 
 
 Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell! 
 
 Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. 
 
 It would have been out of nature, on entering Hampton 
 Court, not to pause and contemplate for a while the singular 
 story and fate of the great man who raised it. These 
 ancient towers and courts are full of the memory of that 
 strange fortune, and will be for many generations yet ; and 
 now that the great mass of the people is at once admitted 
 to education and to this place, the history of Wolsey — at 
 one time said to be a butcher's son, at another stretching 
 his lordly hand over this realm, making foreign princes 
 
224 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 tremble at it, and reaching it out even to the papal tiara, 
 and then again a poor and sinking suppliant, exclaiming — : 
 
 O father abbot, 
 An old man broken with the storms of state 
 Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; 
 Give him a little earth for charity ! 
 
 will be more widely known and wondered at. But many 
 have been the sad and singular passages which have oc- 
 curred to royal and ambitious heads in these chambers since 
 then. We must, however, pass more fleetly over them than 
 over those of the great original builder. 
 
 Henry VIII. used to keep his court here frequently in 
 great state, and here he used to celebrate Christmas in all 
 its ancient festivity. Here he lost his third wife, Jane Sey- 
 mour, a few days after the birth of his son Edward VI., 
 and felt or affected much grief on that account, perhaps be- 
 cause he had not had the pleasure of cutting off her head. 
 Here he married his sixth wife, Lady Catherine Parr, 
 w.idow of Neville, Lord Latimer, and sister of the Marquis 
 of Northampton. This lady, who had the hardihood to 
 marry this royal Bluebeard, after he had divorced two 
 wives and chopped off the heads of two others, narrowly 
 escaped the fate she so rashly hazarded. The very warrant 
 for her committal to the Tower, whence she was only to be 
 brought forth to be burnt at the stake for heresy, was 
 signed, and on the point of execution, when she acci- 
 dentally became aware of it, and managed to sooth the fe- 
 rocious tyrant by the most artful submission to his conceit 
 of his theological learning, and by rubbing his ulcerated 
 leg. 
 
 Here, as we have said, Edward VI. was bora ; and three 
 days after, he was baptized in the king's chapel in the 
 palace in great state — Cranmer, archbishop of Canterbury, 
 and the Duke of Norfolk, being godfathers. Hampton 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 225 
 
 Court was appropriated by the guardians of Edward as his 
 residence, and he was residing here when the council rose 
 against the authority of the Protector Somerset, and was 
 removed by him hence to Windsor Castle, lest the council 
 should obtain possession of his person. Here Bloody Mary, 
 and her husband Philip of Spain, passed their honey-moon 
 in great retirement ; and here, — when they were desirous 
 of effacing from the mind of their sister, the Princess Eliza- 
 beth, the recollection of her imprisonment at Woodstock, 
 and the vain attempts of their arch-rascal priest Stephen 
 Gardiner, Lord Chancellor and Bishop of Winchester, to 
 coerce her into popery, or to convict her of heresy, and pro- 
 bably bring her to the flaming stake, — they invited her to 
 spend some time with them, and set on foot banquets, 
 masqueings, and all sorts of revelries. Here they kept 
 Christmas with her as royally as their father Harry VIII. 
 had kept it in his day ; Elizabeth being seated at the royal 
 table with their majesties, next the cloth of state, and, at 
 the removal of the dishes, served with a perfumed napkin 
 and plate of confects by the Lord Paget. Here, too, during 
 her stay, they gave a grand tournament, wherein two hun- 
 dred spears were broken by the contending knights. Here 
 Elizabeth also, when she was become the potent queen in- 
 stead of the jealously-watched sister, continued occasionally 
 to assemble her brilliant court, and to hold merry Christ- 
 mas, as Mary, Edward, and her father had done before. 
 Here also the especial festivals of the Christmases of 1572 
 and 1593 were kept by her. 
 
 Here James I., notwithstanding his being accustomed to 
 the mountain scenery of Scotland, was often to be found, 
 loving as well its level richness of scenery as he could have 
 done the more magnificent landscapes of Stirling or Holy- 
 rood. He had a particular liking to this palace. It was 
 here that, in the early part of his reign, 1604, he summoned 
 his famous conference of bishops and Puritan leaders, to 
 
226 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 confer on the settlement of religion — or rather for this 
 British Solomon to have an opportunity of showing his 
 learning and powers of disputation. The conference, as all 
 the world knows, ended as might be expected before such a 
 man. " He talked much Latin," says Sir John Harrington, 
 who was present, " and disputed much with Dr. Reynolds ; 
 telling the petitioners that they wanted to strip Christ 
 again ; and bade them get away with their snivelling." 
 
 When they asked for the renewal of liberty to hold those 
 of their meetings called prophesy ings, he burst out into a 
 virulent rage, saying — " Ay, is it that ye would be at ? If 
 you aim at a Scotch Presbytery, let me tell you, it agrees as 
 well with monarchy as God and the Devil. Then shall Jack 
 and Tom and Will and Dick meet, and censure me and my 
 council. Therefore I reiterate my former speech : " Le roi 
 s'avisera. Stay, I pray you, for one seven years before 
 you demand, and then, if you find me grow pursy and fat, 
 I may perchance hearken to you, for that government will 
 keep me in health, and find me work enough." The end 
 of it was, that he cried out — " No Bishop no King /" To 
 which the bishop replied, that " surely his majesty spoke by 
 the immediate inspiration of God." And thereon James 
 declared to the Puritans, that if they did not speedily con- 
 form themselves, " he would harrie them out of the king- 
 dom, or worse." Such is the certain consequence of dis- 
 puting with royal heads ; and on the heels of this, instead 
 of the Puritans retaining even their old freedom, a fierce 
 proclamation was issued, commanding immediate and gene- 
 ral conformity. 
 
 In 1606, the king and queen gave here a splendid enter- 
 tainment to Francis, Prince of Vaudemois, son of the Duke 
 of Lorraine, and to a large company of noblemen and gen- 
 tlemen, keeping up the feastings and festivities for a fort- 
 night. Here also died the queen of James, Anne of Den- 
 mark, in 1618. 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 227 
 
 The unfortunate Charles I. resided at Hampton in his 
 happiest and most melancholy days. Like Mary and Philip, 
 he and his queen Henrietta came hither to spend the honey- 
 moon ; the plague having obliged them to leave London, — 
 and here they remained till it was past. Nineteen years 
 afterwards Charles and Henrietta again retreated hither 
 under more menacing circumstances. A worse plague had 
 broken out — the pestilence of civil dissension. Charles, by 
 his high notions of prerogative, had brought his subjects to 
 the verge of rebellion. His arbitrary assumptions of eccle- 
 siastical supremacy ; his attempts to force on Scotland epis- 
 copacy ; his seizure of ship-money ; his violation of the 
 privileges of parliament by personally attempting to arrest 
 five of its members in their places in the house ; these, and 
 similar demonstrations of despotic will, had roused the king- 
 dom, and especially the capital against him. He was obliged 
 to flee hither from the presence of the infuriated people, who 
 surrounded Whitehall ; and not the common people only, 
 but the city militia, with Major- General Shipton at their 
 head, conducting the accused members to the house with a 
 triumph of armed boats, and other vessels carrying cannon, 
 while the crowds, investing Whitehall both by land and 
 water, cried amain — "What has become of the king and 
 his cavaliers ? — and whither are they fled ?" 
 
 No language can more forcibly answer the fierce popular 
 query than that of the historian Hume. " The king, appre- 
 hensive of danger from the enraged multitude, had retired 
 to Hampton Court ; deserted by all the world, and over- 
 whelmed with grief, shame, and remorse for the fatal mea- 
 sures into which he had been hurried. His distressed situ- 
 ation he could no longer ascribe to the rigours of destiny, 
 or the malignity of enemies : his own precipitancy and in- 
 discretion must bear the blame of whatever disasters should 
 henceforth befall him. The most faithful of his adherents, 
 between sorrow and indignation were confounded with re* 
 
228 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 flections on what had happened, and what was likely to 
 follow. Seeing every prospect blighted, faction triumphant, 
 the discontented populace inflamed to a degree of fury, they 
 utterly despaired of success in a cause to whose ruin friends 
 and enemies seemed equally to conspire." 
 
 Such was the wretched condition of royalty in Hampton 
 Court at that moment. The queen, despairing of safety, 
 fled to France, and Charles was quickly enveloped in the 
 very heart of that tempest which now was blackening to its 
 discharge. Years of civil wrath left this once gay palace a 
 place of solitude and desolation ; and when Charles again 
 became its inhabitant, it was in a still more lamentable con- 
 dition. He was the thrall of his triumphant subjects ; sold 
 by the army of Scotland to the army of England ; the mere 
 phantom of a monarch, awaiting, in the midst of the sorrow- 
 ful remnant of a once brilliant court, whose noblest orna- 
 ments had fallen on many a battle-plain in his cause, or 
 were arrayed against him, or had fled for safety to other 
 countries, the determination of his enemies. His queen was 
 not with him — he had seen her for the last time — and, 
 escaping from this sad mockery of a court, to seek one more 
 chance for life — he bade his last adieu to Hampton, and 
 soon arrived — at the scaffold. 
 
 The next scene in the great political drama presented 
 here was to find Oliver Cromwell, the destroyer of the 
 monarchy and the betrayer of the republic, in possession of 
 it. Cromwell, one of the ablest men and the most precious 
 hypocrites who ever covered ambitious designs beneath the 
 double cloak of liberty and religion, was now lord of Hamp- 
 ton Court, Windsor, and Whitehall. It was in such places 
 that the man, who professed that he had been called by the 
 Lord to pull down monarchy, with all its vanities, follies, 
 and crimes, and to set up liberty in its purity, and religion 
 in its simplicity and power — now held his court in state, 
 as regal as any monarch. It was in this palace that he 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 229 
 
 married his daughter Elizabeth to Lord Falconberg ; giving 
 another to Lord Rich, the grandson and heir of the Earl of 
 Warwick, thus allying his line with the nobility of the 
 country ; and it was here that he lost his favourite daughter, 
 Mrs. Claypole, who on her dying bed called on him to re- 
 trace his path filled with blood and perfidy, with a heart 
 earnestly in quest of repentance. Her words stuck fast in 
 his conscience, and left him full of horror and dismay. Me- 
 lancholy as was the condition of Charles, as his last steps 
 wandered through the saloons of this palace, it was nothing 
 to that of Cromwell. Without, the hands of assassins threat- 
 ened him — within, conscience, in the voice of his own fa- 
 vourite child, perpetually pursued him. All peace of mind 
 had perished. He was haunted by the fiends of guilty am- 
 bition ; by the sense of political insecurity ; by the feeling 
 that he had no real friend : and that, while the weight of 
 those national affairs which he had piled on his own shoul- 
 ders was ready to crush him, his foes and disappointed rivals 
 in legions were watching to add their weight to that, and to 
 trample with exultation on his grave. He felt himself not 
 merely the destroyer of a monarch, but the traitor of liberty ; 
 and if ever there was a spectacle to angels and to men, it 
 was Cromwell in his last days, wandering from palace to 
 palace — wasting away, in the fever of the mind and the 
 breaking down of the body — and haunted with those ter- 
 rors of death, that he had never felt amid the smoke and 
 thunders of a score of battles. 
 
 It was at this period that George Fox, the founder of the 
 Society of Friends, coming to Hampton Court to beg him to 
 put a stop to religious persecution, met him riding in the 
 park, and in his own expressive language as he drew near 
 him said, he "felt a waft of death to go forth from him ;" 
 and coming up to him, beheld him with astonishment, look- 
 ing already like a dead man. George had been accustomed 
 to have interviews with Cromwell, who used to express 
 
 20 
 
230 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 great pleasure in his society, and would say, " Come again, 
 George, come often, for I feel that if thou and I were oftener 
 together we should be nearer to each other." He now 
 desired George to come to the palace the next day ; but 
 George looked on him already as a dead man, and on going 
 to the palace-gate found him too ill to be seen by any one, 
 and in a few days he died. 
 
 If the two last scenes here were strange, the next was 
 much stranger. Cromwell's power was gone like a dream 
 — the republic had vanished, monarchy was restored ; and 
 here was Charles, the exile, the son of the melancholy 
 monarch, revelling in the midst of the gayest and most 
 profligate court that ever insulted the spirit and the decorum 
 of a too compliant nation. Here was the man that learned 
 no wisdom from adversity, nor feeling from the sufferings 
 of his father's friends, nor decency from respect to the sober 
 habits of those who had recalled him voluntarily to the 
 throne of his ancestors. Here he came, with all the heart- 
 less foppery and rampart licentiousness of the French court 
 pouring like a pestilence in at his heels. Here were his 
 picked friends, Buckingham, Rochester, Grammont, Jermyn; 
 his bigoted but sensual brother James ; with their creatures, 
 Chimnch and Brounkner, — their shameless mistresses 
 wearing the titles and coronets of some of the noblest 
 houses of England. The palace was turned into a brothel, 
 and the astonished nation rewarded for its recall of the 
 Stuarts, by seeing its ancient sobriety laughed to scorn, and 
 its morals corrupted by royal authority. 
 
 It was in this very palace, that Charles introduced to his 
 young queen, a stranger in this country, his notorious 
 mistress, Lady Castlemaine, and compelled his insulted and 
 revolting wife to accept her as a lady of her bed-chamber. 
 But we will not follow further this disgusting history: 
 Charles fell the victim of his excesses, and James was 
 driven out of the realm by his indignant subjects. William 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTOX COURT. 231 
 
 and Mary came in, and added greatly to this palace, making 
 it their favourite abode. The subsequent monarchs, down 
 to George II., occasionally resided here, and their state beds 
 and other vestiges of them yet remain. Their reigns, how- 
 ever, do not furnish passages occurring here, of so striking 
 a character as those we have referred to ; and Ave will now 
 pass from the history of the palace, to its present ap- 
 pearance and condition. 
 
 There are two entrances to Hampton Court Palace — one 
 by the gates opposite to the gates of Bushy Park, leading 
 to the front of William III., and the other by the gates 
 facing Hampton Green, leading to Wolsey's courts. We 
 will take the former first, in order to survey the gardens and 
 extensive grounds as left by William, and then pass to Wol- 
 sey's portion, and the picture galleries, by Wolsey's gate. 
 
 It is well known that Bushy Park was intended by Wol- 
 sey to form part of his parkof Hampton Court, but the public 
 road passing between Bushy Park and Hampton Court, 
 the public were so much opposed to its being taken away 
 and made more circuitous, that even Wolsey in the pleni- 
 tude of his power and royal favour did not find it practica- 
 ble or prudent to insist on removing it ; and thus Bushy and 
 Hampton Court Parks have continued separate to this day. 
 Bushy is laid out with a fine sheet of water, having in its 
 centre a bronze statue of Diana, and thence called the Diana 
 Water, and with splendid rows of horse-chestnut trees, on 
 each side of the public road, which runs through it to Ted- 
 dington and Twickenham. In it also is the house in which 
 William IV. passed thirty-six years of his life, and where 
 his widow, the queen dowager, yet resides. It is a very 
 pleasant drive through this park ; especially when the chest 
 nuts are in full blossom, or in autumn when the nuts are 
 falling amongst the discoloured leaves, and the deer are 
 eagerly running to feed on them. The beauty of these 
 trees is great ; their fine massy piles of foliage, their wide 
 and low-sweeping boughs, and the length of the avenues, 
 
232 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 — being no less than nine of them running parallel for up- 
 wards of a mile. The centre avenue, which is used as the 
 public road, is of a noble width, and the gates at each end 
 every day stand open, so that you are surprised that the 
 deer do not all run out. On the contrary, they are so trained 
 that such an occurrence as the attempt of any one to pass 
 out is very rare, and such a vagrant is always shot, to put 
 a stop to its evil example. The herd will come up close to 
 the road side as a stage-coach is driving past, and graze 
 within a few yards of it without the slightest notice of it. 
 
 But leaving Bushy Park behind us, and entering the 
 gates of Hampton Court opposite, we are agreeably struck 
 with the aspect of the palace gardens. They are on a per- 
 fect flat, and though laid out in the Dutch style, you are 
 inclined to think that no style could have suited the situa- 
 tion better. The great terrace-walk which leads past Wil- 
 liam III.'s front of the palace, stretches on in a straight line 
 before you to the banks of the Thames, along which it is 
 continued, veering away to the left between the river and 
 the park, as far as opposite to the village of Thames Ditton, 
 the whole length of the walk being half a mile.* On your 
 right, behind a high wall, lies that part of the grounds called 
 the Wilderness, which is full of walks overshadowed with 
 trees of the loftiest and noblest growth, and in which, near 
 the gates, is the celebrated Maze — a labyrinth, formed by 
 pleached hedges of hornbeam. This sort of plaything was 
 a great favourite with our ancestors ;t and if we are to 
 
 * The whole length of the walks in the gardens is calculated to be 
 three miles, and the palace itself to occupy eight acres. 
 
 f It is very probable that the shepherds were the earliest introducers 
 of the Maze into England, perhaps assisted by some classical monk, who 
 had read of the Daedalion labyrinth, for, on many of our downs, forests, 
 and chases, they were found cut in the turf. Such a one is yet to be seen 
 at St. Anne's Well, near Nottingham, still called " The Shepherd's 
 Race," and another on St. Catherine's Hill, near Winchester. They 
 were afterwards, as knots or mazes, introduced into gardens. 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 233 
 
 j udge by the number of people who throng to " thread the 
 maze," and by the laughter and merry voices which you 
 always find here, is no less agreeable to our cotemporaries. 
 There is a seat elevated on an ascent of several steps close 
 by, for the person who shows the Maze to mount, and so 
 direct the progress of those within, where those who prefer 
 to see others walk the labyrinth, rather than do it them- 
 selves, may have that satisfaction at their ease ; and will, 
 do doubt, come away convinced, as we are, that more 
 pleasure is conferred by this simple piece of mechanism, on 
 the multitude, than by all the paintings and antiquities in 
 the palace. 
 
 But, leaving the Wilderness on our right, we soon pass 
 the old tennis-court, said to be the finest in Europe, and still 
 used for that amusement, and find ourselves in front of the 
 palace. This is of a Grecian character ; and here you find 
 pleasure-grounds swelling out into the half of a circle, 
 divided by three broad walks, diverging as three radii from 
 the centre, where you stand, at the gate of the palace. The 
 sections between these walks are large lawns of the most 
 neatly trimmed turf, surrounded by flower borders and rows 
 of evergreen trees, — a variegated holly, and a yew alter- 
 nating. The effect of the different coloured verdure of these 
 trees is excellent, and the rich masses of flowers around 
 them, in the borders and in detached beds, contrast admira- 
 bly. These flowers are the most splendid that each season 
 can show ; and I noticed a richness of beauty produced by 
 our own simple cowslips and oxlips, in the spring, which 
 was far greater than I could have believed them capable of, 
 and which I would recommend to the imitation of those 
 who are fond of a garden. It was effected by planting the 
 oxlips and the red and the yellow cowslips in beds of a con- 
 siderable size, so mixed and alternated as to give a mosaic 
 surface of the richest colouring. 
 
 20* 
 
234 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 A breadth of lawn also forms the outer boundary of these 
 sections, and on it, beneath the evergreen trees, are placed 
 seats for the convenience of tired strollers, and loungers who 
 don't wish to be tired. The walks are rolled to the most 
 agreeable smoothness ; and in the centre of the garden is an 
 ample fountain, in the circular basin of which is a famous shoal 
 of gold and silver fish who receive the crumbs and admiration 
 of all visiters. It was probably this fountain which, before 
 the recasting of the gardens, was adorned with figures 
 of syrens, and other statues by Fanelli. The garden is 
 bounded by the park, which extends along the banks of the 
 Thames as far as Kingston, and the lines of the three diverg- 
 ing walks are continued along the park by three noble 
 avenues of lime trees ; the avenue to the left terminated by 
 the view of Kingston church, and the area of the centre one 
 occupied by a canal of nearly three-quarters of a mile in 
 length. These avenues are now in the pride of their growth, 
 and with their long vistas, their noble piles of verdant foli- 
 age, and wide stretching amplitude of lower branches, are 
 magnificent objects, and add greatly to the stately and de- 
 lightful aspect of the whole scene. The water which sup- 
 plies the palace, and gardens, though they are situated 
 on the very margin of the Thames, is conveyed partly by 
 pipes from the heights of Combe Warren, three miles from 
 Hampton, passing through the Thames, and partly by a 
 branch of the river Colne, cut, by Wolsey, ten miles for this 
 purpose. The water is said to be particularly fine. 
 
 At the south-eastern corner of this front a door leads 
 you into what is called Queen Mary's Garden ; that is, a 
 garden laid out by William and Mary, by whom this part 
 of the palace was built. This is exceedingly pleasant. It 
 is overlooked from the south windows of the palace, and by 
 green terraces at each side. The centre forms a sort of valley 
 between these terraces, planted, like the outer garden, with 
 fine variegated hollies and yews alternating, with flower 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 235 
 
 borders, fountains seen playing sweetly near the lower end ; 
 and on the south-west terrace, a fine old pleached walk of 
 elm, called Queen Mary's Walk, the trees seeming to have 
 grown into one solid green arch. Orange trees are ranged 
 in front of the palace, where are, in the lower story, green- 
 houses to receive them in winter. Some of these trees are 
 said to be as old as the reign of William. In an inner gar- 
 den is the greenhouse, containing the celebrated vine, de- 
 scribed as the largest in the world. It is one hundred and 
 ten feet long, has often from two to three thousand bunches 
 of grapes upon it, said to weigh about fourteen hundred 
 weight. These are regularly sent to the queen's table. 
 
 The entrance to the portion of the palace built by Wolsey 
 is by a sort of outer court of great extent, the gates of which 
 have their pillars surmounted by a large lion and unicorn 
 as supporters of the crown royal, and each of the side gates 
 by a military trophy. Along the left side of the area are 
 barracks and such offices ; the greater part of the right side 
 is open towards the river, and there stand nine as lofty and 
 noble elms, in a row, as perhaps any part of England can 
 match. Two gateways are before you ; the one to the left 
 leading to the kitchen -court, the centre one to the first 
 quadrangle. This chief gateway has been restored, in ex- 
 cellent keeping with the old building, and has a noble 
 aspect as you approach it, being flanked with octagon 
 towers, pierced with a fine pointed arch, over which are 
 cut, in rich relief, the royal arms, and above them projects 
 a large and handsome bay-window, framed of stone. 
 
 You now enter by a Gothic archway the first of the 
 courts of Wolsey remaining. These two are said to have 
 been the meanest then in the palace. There were origi- 
 nally five ; the three finest of which were pulled down to 
 make way for William III.'s great square mass of brick- 
 work. The writers who saw it in its glory, describe it in 
 entireness as the most splendid palace in Europe. Grotius 
 
236 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 says, " other palaces are residences of kings, but this is of 
 the gods." Hentzner, who saw it in Elizabeth's time, 
 speaks of it with astonishment, and says, " the rooms being 
 very numerous, are adorned with tapestry of gold, silver, 
 and velvet, in some of which were woven history pieces ; 
 in others Turkish and Armenian dresses, all extremely 
 natural. In one chamber are several excessively rich tapes- 
 tries, which are hung up when the queen gives audience to 
 foreign ambassadors. All the walls of the palace shine 
 with gold and silver. Here is likewise a certain cabinet 
 called Paradise, where, besides that everything glitters so 
 with silver, gold, and jewels, as to dazzle one's eyes, 
 there is a musical instrument made all of glass except the 
 strings." 
 
 It was indeed a Dutch taste which levelled all these 
 stately buildings to the ground, to erect the great square 
 mass which replaced them. A glorious view, if old draw- 
 ings are to be believed, must all that vast and picturesque 
 variety of towers, battlements, tall mullioned windows, 
 cupolas and pinnacles, have made, as they stood under the 
 clear heaven glittering in the sun. Those two courts which 
 remain are said to have consisted only of offices, and, in- 
 deed, we see that the first court we enter is, as represented 
 in old drawings, much lower than the next, which did not 
 itself nearly equal the stateliness of the rest. Yet the old 
 dark- red brick walls, with still darker lines of bricks in dia- 
 mond shapes running along them — the mixture of Gothic 
 archways and square mullioned windows — the battle- 
 mented roofs, turrets, and cupolas, and tall twisted and 
 cross-banded chimneys, all are deeply interesting, as be- 
 longing to the unquestionable period of Wolsey, belonging 
 altogether to that Tudor or transition style, when castles 
 were fast turning into peaceful mansions, and the beauties 
 of ecclesiastical architecture were called in, to aid in giving 
 ornament where before strength had only been required. 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 237 
 
 In this first quadrangle, the tall gable of the banqueting- 
 hall, with figures of dogs and griffins pursuing each other 
 down its roof; a griffin erect, supporting a vane on the sum- 
 mit; a large window of the perpendicular order; the octagon 
 towers projecting from the wall of that side of the quad- 
 rangle ; the gateway with its Gothic arch, tall bay-window, 
 and armorial escutcheon, and the compartmented roof of the 
 archway itself, are all excellent in their kind. The ceiling 
 in this archway has a large rose in the centre, and in the 
 different compartments, the portcullis, fleur-de-lis, and other 
 symbols of the Tudor arms, with the letters H. A., no doubt 
 intended for Henry and Ann (Boleyn). On the gateway 
 tower of this and the next quadrangle are eight out of the 
 twelve heads of Roman emperors sent by Leo X. to Wolsey. 
 The four in the second quadrangle are almost totally de- 
 cayed, the two in the first court continuing much more 
 perfect. They appear to have been made of some very 
 perishable composition. 
 
 The second court is still more striking than the first, hav- 
 ing the side of the banqueting-hall on the left, and in the 
 tower under which you enter, an ancient astronomical clock, 
 erected in 1540, and said to be the first of the kind made in 
 England ; or rather, we should say, here is the clock-face, 
 the clock itself having been some two years ago, it is said, 
 taken away to be repaired, and not yet brought back. The 
 dial, however, is curious, having, like continental clocks, the 
 twenty-four instead of the twelve hours marked upon it, be- 
 sides sundry adornments of zodiacal signs, and solar and 
 lunar phenomena. But the most remarkable thing in this 
 court is a ponderous Grecian colonnade built by Sir Chris- 
 topher Wren. The barbarism of such a piece of work 
 in a Gothic building instantly strikes every eye, and even 
 those who are not learned enough to detect the cause, are 
 sensible of the painful effect. That Sir Christopher under- 
 stood Grecian architecture St. Paul's is an illustrious evi- 
 
238 * VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 dence, otherwise such outrageous blindness to the beauty 
 of our own ecclesiastical architecture would have sent him 
 down to posterity as a man utterly devoid of taste. No 
 two men ever demonstrated so strongly the effect of edu- 
 cation as Wren and Inigo Jones. They were taught to 
 regard classical architecture as including in itself all that is 
 beautiful in nature and in art ; and those lovely and inimi- 
 table Christian temples in which the human mind has re- 
 vealed its utmost reach of poetry and sublimity, those fabrics 
 which stand here and there throughout England like glori- 
 ous dreams of imagination, or like the work of angels and 
 the conceptions of archangels, rather than those of humanity 
 — stones reared into majesty and chiselled into life and 
 aerial lightness — were to them as masses of barbarism, and 
 the grotesque enormities of men in the dark ages. How 
 inconceivable is the blinding and besotting influence even 
 of that classical erudition which should throw over the mind 
 the very sunshine of intellectual grace and perception of the 
 beautiful. But more of this anon. Wren built this mon- 
 strous mass in Hampton Court ; and Inigo Jones, when 
 employed to design a bishop's throne for the rich choir of 
 Winchester, instead of matching it with the elegance of the 
 whole Gothic carving and architecture of that noble pile, 
 struck up a Grecian absurdity, which the return of true 
 taste has wisely thrust away again. 
 
 Passing through the Queen's Staircase, we come into the 
 court built by William III. This is another violation of all 
 architectural unity, being the Palladian linked in unlawful 
 wedlock with the Gothic ; but we need not stop to lament 
 that now. It is in itself a goodly and substantial fabric, — 
 the space between its upper and lower story is decorated with 
 a series of fresco paintings representing the labours of Her- 
 cules, but which exposure to the weather has rendered nearly 
 blank, one alone having been refreshed as if to show what 
 they would be with similar attention. This court has a 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 039 
 
 fountain in it, probably occupying the position of the one 
 mentioned by Hentzner in the original building.* 
 
 It would have been a pleasure to wander through the 
 chapel, the banqueting-hall, Wolsey's withdrawing-room, 
 filled with ancient and most curious tapestries : the kitchen 
 court, with its old detached circular kitchen, of the true 
 antique sort, like some huge dark lantern set upon the 
 ground; and other parts of the building, not thrown open 
 to the public, but to be seen by application to the house- 
 keeper : — but my space warns me that I must hasten 
 through the state apartments, in which a vast treasure of 
 paintings is kept for the public enjoyment ; and even there 
 only be able to point to some of the most remarkable 
 subjects. The hall, the chapel, the withdrawing-room, are 
 all splendid specimens of Gothic grandeur, and possess 
 many historic associations. In the hall, Surrey wrote on a 
 pane of glass some of his verses to Geraldine ; and there, too, 
 it is said, the play of Henry VIII., exhibiting the fall of 
 Wolsey in the very creation of his former glory, was once 
 acted, Shakspeare himself being one of the performers ! 
 But are not all these things to be found in the full histories 
 of this noble old house ? Therefore we will ascend the 
 grand staircase, with a thousand eager visiters, on our way 
 to the state-rooms. 
 
 The mere catalogue of the contents of these rooms, as 
 sold here for sixpence, contains thirty closely printed pages ; 
 judge, then, how little more is in my power than to point 
 an admiring finger at some work of pre-eminent beauty as 
 I pass. The whole place is full of paintings, of which many 
 are worthy of all the fame of their great originators ; and, 
 if a host of others are of less artistic value, they have all, 
 more or less, an historical one, which makes one glad to find 
 
 * On our last visit here we were glad to see an artist engaged in re- 
 storing the whole. 
 
240 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 even the worst of them here, and anxiously desirous that 
 we could restore the name, and recall the story of others, 
 that tell plainly that they were of no mean character. We 
 have here specimens of art from the earliest days of its 
 European revival to some of the present century ; and the 
 opportunity of studying varieties of style and merit here 
 contrasted, is not the least of the benefits offered to the 
 public. 
 
 We now ascend the Grand Staircase, in order to make 
 the circuit of the rooms. This is a noble approach to the 
 state-rooms, and is painted by Verrio, in that gorgeous style 
 which, though the interest diminishes in examination of 
 details, yet, as a whole, is very gay and splendid. The 
 ceiling and upper portions of the walls are filled with 
 mythological and allegorical groups. The figures in general 
 are too ponderous for their ethe rial - character and position ; 
 yet here and there your eye is caught by some shape of 
 sweetest grace, or countenance of sunny beauty. The 
 lower panels are ornamented with paintings of military 
 trophies, and above them, on your left-hand as you ascend, 
 are the twelve Cassars ; while before you Julian the Apos- 
 tate is writing in a modern book, and with a modern ink- 
 stand before him, and Mercury appearing to encourage him 
 in his labours. 
 
 The next is the Guard Chamber, a room of princely di- 
 mensions, the walls of which are nearly covered with arms 
 — swords, muskets, daggers, halberts, with drums, banda- 
 liers, and other equipments, sufficient for a thousand men — 
 disposed in a variety of forms, by the same person who ar- 
 ranged the arms in the little armoury in the Tower of Lon- 
 don. The remainder of the space is occupied by a large 
 painting of the Battle of Constantine by Julio Romano ; the 
 Colosseum, by Canaletti ; eight battle pieces, by Rugendas, 
 to which a peculiar character is given by the strong light 
 thrown upon particular figures ; six portraits of English 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 241 
 
 admirals, by Bockman ; and Queen Elizabeth's Porter by 
 Zucchero. 
 
 We next find ourselves in the First Presence Chamber ; 
 the canopy of William III.'s throne being the first thing 
 which meets the eye at entering. Here, as was fitting, you 
 find too the principal figures are those belonging to William's 
 court. Himself landing at Torbay, forms the subject of a 
 very large picture by Sir Godfrey Kneller, in which he is 
 represented on horseback, in armour, with plenty of alle- 
 gorical figures about him : his queen, by Wissing, and eight 
 of the principal beauties of his court, by Kneller, occupy a 
 large portion of the walls. These ladies are, the Duchess 
 of St. Albans, a granddaughter of Nell Gwynn; the Countess 
 of Essex ; Countess of Peterborough ; Countess of Ranelagh ; 
 Miss Pitt ; Duchess of Grafton ; Countess of Dorset ; and 
 Lady Middleton. They are full-length figures, represented, 
 perhaps, too tall for their present position, and wanting 
 variety of attitude ; yet there are those amongst them who 
 would have been admired even in Charles II.'s court, and 
 whose reputations are much better than if they had been 
 there. Amongst them, Miss Pitt is a lovely young creature 
 of seventeen, with an expression of the greatest sweetness 
 and sincerity of character ; the Duchess of Grafton has a 
 handsome and very intelligent countenance ; and Lady Mid- 
 dleton and the Countess of Ranelagh claim the title of fine 
 women. 
 
 Amongst the other paintings in the apartment which de- 
 serve particular attention, are a Saint's Head by Lanfranco, 
 full of strength and expression : a portrait by Titian, a rough 
 keeper-like personage, but with a countenance more like that 
 of a living man than a painting ; a Jesuit-like portrait by 
 Giorgione ; and by it a portrait of a man showing a trick, 
 by L. da Vinci ; St. Matthew called from the receipt of 
 Custom, by Mabuse, is curious, as exhibiting the style and 
 laborious peculiarities of that old painter. Besides these ? 
 
 21 
 
242 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 are Sir John Lawson, by Lely ; a portrait by Pordenone ; 
 old woman blowing charcoal, by Holbein ; a portrait by 
 Dobson; Pharaoh overthrown, by Jordaens ; St. William, by 
 Giorgione ; a man reading, by A. Catalani ; a landscape, by 
 Schiavone ; Calumny, an allegory, by Zucchero ; portraits, 
 by P. Bordone, Bassano, Tintoretto ; and other paintings, 
 by P. Veronese, Gennari, etc. 
 
 Amongst the numerous paintings in the Second Presence 
 Chamber, we may single out as curious, a large picture of 
 the Doge of Venice in the Senate-house, by Fialetti, which 
 formerly belonged to Sir Henry Wotton, and represents 
 him sitting with his hat on at the Doge's right hand; the 
 sculptor Baccio Bandinelli, the rival of Benvenuto Cellini, 
 by Correggio ; Mrs. Leman, Vandyke's mistress, by Van- 
 dyke, a lovely woman ; a Holy Family by F. Vanni ; 
 Virgin and Child, by Bronzino ; an Italian lady, by Parme- 
 giano, in a most elaborately painted dress ; and the Sea- 
 sons, by Brughel and Rothenamer, in which all sorts of 
 beasts, birds, and fishes, are brought together in an appa- 
 rent state of great wonder and excitement. For their ex- 
 cellence we must notice the portrait of a sculptor, by Bas- 
 sano, which, for strength of natural expression and colour- 
 ing, would do honour to Titian ; a bandit-like warrior by 
 Giorgione ; the female painter Artemisia Gentileschi, by 
 herself; a most admirable portrait of Alessandro de Medici, 
 by Titian ; Charles I. on horseback, one of the three well- 
 known equestrian paintings of Charles by Vandyke, the 
 others being at Windsor and Warwick Castles ; Guercino 
 by himself ; the marriage of St. Catherine, by P. Veronese ; 
 St. Francis and the Virgin, by Carlo Maratti ; Peter Oliver 
 the painter, by Hanneman, a countenance of great life ; a 
 Dutch gentleman, by Vander Heist ; and Jacob, with Ra- 
 chel and Leah. This last is very beautiful ; it is full of the 
 simplicity of the patriarchal age, of the sunny glow of the 
 climate, and the individual characters of the three chief 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 243 
 
 personages. The countenance of Jacob has great beauty, 
 and the freedom and spirit of his attitude are masterly. 
 There are many other paintings by eminent masters ; and 
 over each door Roman ruins, by Rousseau, by whom there 
 are others in other rooms. 
 
 In the Audience Chamber, the eye is first arrested by 
 five very large Scripture pieces by Ricci. Christ in the 
 Rich Man's House ; Christ healing the Sick ; the Woman 
 taken in Adultery ; the Woman of Faith ; and the Woman 
 of Samaria. Horace Walpole has pronounced these paint- 
 ings to be trash ; but spite of a good deal of coldness of 
 tone and hardness of colouring, and a want of depth of 
 shade, they possess merit of the highest kind. The heads 
 of the old Pharisees are vigorously and truthfully designed ; 
 the grouping is frequently felicitous ! and the spirit of the 
 transaction, and the passions and feelings of the spectators, 
 are clearly developed. In the Healing of the Sick, the 
 figures of the benevolent Saviour, and of the Pharisee be- 
 hind him, are very striking — and in the left-hand corner, 
 the limbs of the sick boy, who is held in the arms of his 
 stooping mother, are most touching in their expression of 
 wasting and feebleness. 
 
 We have besides these, admirable portraits of Ignatius 
 Loyola by Titian, of Titian's uncle, by Titian, and a Spanish 
 lady by Sebastian del Piombo ; a full-length of Elizabeth 
 of Bohemia, by Honthorst ; and paintings, — Venus and 
 Cupid by Rubens, after Titian ; Venus, a heavy Dutch 
 figure, but the flesh exquisitely painted ; two landscapes by 
 Swanefeldt, in which a story is told, — Venus attended by 
 Cupid carrying away a child from a sleeping group, in one 
 piece, and in the other delivering the child to an armed 
 band ; a most curious but revolting Resurrection and Judg- 
 ment, by Heemskirk, in which skeletons and figures, hav- 
 ing only half recovered their flesh, are strangely mixed with 
 greet living people'; fiends dragging their victims to the in- 
 
244 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 fernal regions ; and Mammon crowned, drawn in his car 
 by imps and monsters. The heads of St. Peter and Judas, 
 by Lanfranco ; a Holy Family, by Correggio ; a Madonna 
 and Child over each door, by Parmegiano ; and one of 
 Mabuse's curious pieces, a Madonna and Child, with St. 
 Andrew and St. Michael, deserve particular attention, the 
 former for their high merit, the last for its singularity. 
 
 In the King's Drawing Room, as you enter, your eye is 
 immediately arrested by an immense painting of George 
 III. on horseback at a review, with the Prince of Wales, 
 the Duke of York, and officers, by Sir William Beechey. 
 There are two very large pictures also, by Tintoretto — the 
 Muses, and the Presentation of Queen Esther ; Joseph and 
 Potiphar's Wife, by Gentileschi ; the Offering of the Magi, 
 by Luca Giordano, singular for the bright pink tint with 
 which the flesh, and in particular the faces of the personages 
 in it are flushed. The Cornaro family by Old Stone, repre- 
 senting four generations, in which the preservation of the 
 family likeness amid the variations of age, youth, childhood, 
 and individuality, is admirably maintained. A Holy Family 
 by Parmegiano ; Christ's Agony in the Garden, and the 
 Angels appearing to the Shepherds, by N. Poussin ; and 
 the curious family of Pordenone by himself, are perhaps 
 the most striking of the lesser paintings. 
 
 We now arrive at William III.'s Bed-room, in which the 
 state bed of Queen Charlotte stands, and, with its hangings 
 of flowered needlework, embroidered on a rich white satin 
 ground, executed for the queen by orphan daughters of cler- 
 gymen, is extremely beautiful. An old clock is pointed out 
 to you as made by Daniel Quare, to go twelve months 
 without winding up. The ceiling was painted by Verrio, 
 representing Night and Morning : but the great attractions 
 of this room are the Beauties of the Court of Charles II. by 
 Lely and Verelst. The greater part of these celebrated 
 portraits were brought hither from the Gallery of Beauties 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 245 
 
 at Windsor ; but we have not all here, and some of those 
 which are here, are not by the same artists. The Duchess 
 of Somerset here is not the one by Lely, but by Verelst ; here 
 are neither the interesting Lacly Chesterfield, who was said 
 to have poison given to her by her husband in the wine at 
 the sacrament,* nor Miss Bagot, afterwards Countess of 
 Falmouth. The Duchess of Portsmouth is not the one by 
 Lely from Windsor, but the one by Gascar, which was pre- 
 viously at Hampton Court. Most readers are familiar with 
 the Beauties of Charles II.'s court, from the engravings in 
 Mrs. Jameson's Memoirs of them ; but it must be recollected 
 that several of those portraits are after originals, not from 
 Windsor, but from other galleries, as the Duchess of Tyr- 
 connel and the Duchess of Portsmouth from Althorpe, and 
 the Duchess of Devonshire from Hard wicke. Amongst those 
 which are here, there is great confusion. It is very singular 
 that ladies who lived so near our own time, and who were 
 so celebrated in their day, should have become as dubious 
 in their identity as some of them were scandalous in their 
 reputation. The Countess of Ossory here by Lely is the 
 same person given by Mr. Jameson, on the authority of 
 Walpole and Granger, as the Duchess of Somerset : so that 
 we must here have two portraits of the same Duchess of 
 Somerset under different names, or the Duchess of So- 
 merset here by Verelst must be another Duchess, one of 
 the three living at or near the same time. The portrait 
 
 * So entirely was this story believed in the family, that Gertrude Sa- 
 ville, daughter of the Marquis of Halifax, the wife of Lord Stanhope, Lord 
 Chesterfield's son by his third wife, Lady Elizabeth Dormer, never dined 
 at the table of her father-in-law, Lord Chesterfield, without having her 
 servant out of livery standing behind her chair, who produced from his 
 pocket a bottle of water, a bottle of wine, and a golden cup, out of which 
 alone she was served, plainly intimating to the Earl that she would trust 
 no drink or drinking-vessel from the hand of any one of his establish* 
 ment. 
 
 2V 
 
246 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 of Nell Gwynn here, though said to be by Lely, is not 
 the one from which the plate in Mrs. Jameson's Me- 
 moirs is engraved, said also at that time to be at Windsor. 
 This portrait is unlike every portrait of Nell Gwynn which 
 we have seen, and bears a far more striking resemblance to 
 Mary of Modena, Queen of James II. ; as any one may see 
 by looking at the two portraits of that queen, one a half- 
 length in the Portrait Gallery, and the other a full-length 
 over the door as you pass out of the Queen's Bed-room. 
 
 The lady here styled Lady Whitmore is contended by 
 Mrs. Jameson, again on the authority of Walpole and Gran- 
 ger, and by comparison with a duplicate at Narford in the 
 possession of Mr. Fountaine, to be no other than the 
 Countess of Southesk. In the engraving in the Memoirs 
 the lady has a look of innocence which is very little accord- 
 ant with her real character ; but in the portrait here we 
 may plainly see that the infamous character which the 
 Countess of Southesk acquired could not be so startling and 
 incredible a structure on the promise of that face, which, is 
 lovely without assurance of any good principle. The lady 
 again, here still called Lady Byron, as she always was 
 called at Windsor, is by Mrs. Jameson styled Lady Bellasys. 
 Surely here is enough of confusion and incertitude. 
 
 With the exception, perhaps, of the Duchess of Cleve- 
 land, the engravings in the Memoirs do not convey the full 
 beauty of the originals; yet such is the power of fame and 
 imagination, that most people are disappointed on first look- 
 ing on these beauties. Splendid women indeed they are : 
 but if Kneller's portraits want variety of attitude, those of 
 Lely want variety of colouring and complexion. Sir Peter's 
 flesh is in women and children too much alike. It has a 
 delicacy and enamel-like transparency which is conferred 
 on all. Not one of this series of ladies diners in complexion 
 from the rest. They are all equally fair, equally clear; 
 have all hands and arms of the same faultless uniformity, 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 247 
 
 and nearly all dark hair and jet-black eyebrows. There 
 must be a great want of truthfulness in the painter, unri- 
 valled though he be in elegance and grace, or nature was at 
 that period in a very monotonous humour. Having read 
 also the glowing praises in the Memoirs of the beauty of 
 Lady Byron and the Countess de Grammont, one is sur- 
 prised to find the one anything but handsome, and the 
 other very affected in her air, and somewhat insipid. The 
 Duchess of Cleveland looks her real character ; a woman of 
 uncommon beauty and of a spirit daring, impetuous and 
 imperious. Lady Denham, Lady Rochester, the Duchess 
 of Richmond, and Mrs. Middleton (here styled Lady Mid- 
 dleton), are extremely beautiful ; but there are no two 
 countenances more interesting than those of Mrs. Nott and 
 Mrs. Lawson. The portrait of the Duchess of Portsmouth 
 by Gascar is vulgar in expression and destitute of that beauty 
 which Louise de Querouaille must have possessed, and 
 which Lely has conferred on her. Was Lely insensible to 
 the beauty of the female form, exquisitely sensible as he 
 was of the divinity of the female face ? — for almost all his 
 full-lengths of ladies have their figure disguised by heaps of 
 loose draperies, so that we have in reality, after all, seldom 
 anything in his paintings of ladies but busts. 
 
 The Portraits altogether in this room, as they stand in 
 their present nomenclature, are — Anne, Duchess of York ; 
 Lady Byron ; Princess Mary as Diana ; Queen Catherine ; 
 Mrs. Knott ; Duchess of Portsmouth ; Duchess of Richmond 
 (La belle Stuart) ; Nell Gwynn ; Countess of Rochester ; 
 Duchess of Somerset ; Mrs. Lawson ; Countess of Northum- 
 berland ; Lady Denham ; Countess of Sunderland ; Coun- 
 tess de Grammont ; Duchess of Cleveland ; Countess of 
 Ossory ; Lady Whitmore. 
 
 Having quitted this constellation of beauty, we must now 
 pass hastily on through the three small apartments, — the 
 King's Dressing-room, the King's Writing-Closet, and Queen 
 
248 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 Mary's Closet, which, however, are filled with paintings, 
 many of them of great merit and curiosity ; particularly a 
 Magdalen's head by Sasso Ferrato ; Villiers, Duke of Buck- 
 ingham, and family, by Honthorst (curious) ; Judith with 
 the head of Holofernes, by Guido ; Prince Rupert, when a 
 boy (curious) ; Singing by candlelight, by Honthorst ; Duke 
 of Gloucester, a boy, by Lely, in his favourite style of a 
 young sandaled hunter, with his hunting-pole on his shoul- 
 der ; an old man's head, by Bassano ; and a laughing boy, 
 by F. Hals. 
 
 We then enter into what is called Her Majesty's Gallery, 
 — a vast room completely filled with historical pieces and 
 portraits, which of themselves would require a volume — and 
 a most interesting volume it would be — to describe them 
 in detail, with all their associations. We can but take 
 the merest glance at the multitude of objects presented to 
 us. What is as conspicuous and curious as anything in 
 the gallery is a series of large paintings said to be by Hol- 
 bein, representing the exploits of Henry VIII. in France. 
 They are curious, as being so out of the ordinary track of 
 Holbein ; they are not less so from their disregard of all per- 
 spective ; and they are most of all curious as being full of 
 actual portraits of the persons introduced, as well as of the 
 actual general representation of the scenes, these at the time 
 of their execution, being familiar to the minds of abundance 
 of the very actors as well as spectators. These are Henry 
 VIII. embarking from Dover; the meeting of Henry and 
 Francis I. on the field of Cloth of Gold ; the meeting of 
 Henry and the emperor Maximilian ; and besides these 
 there are of a similar character, the battle of Pavia, and the 
 battle of Spurs. 
 
 This gallery is rich in the works of Holbein, — including 
 several of Henry VIII., of Elizabeth, one of Francis I. of 
 France, two of Erasmus, Holbein by himself, and also his 
 father and mother. We have Elizabeth as a child, and as 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 249 
 
 a young girl, by him ; to which are added, Elizabeth in 
 middle age, by Zucchero ; and in old age, said to be the 
 very last portrait of her, by Mark Garrard. In none of 
 these do we recognize any of that beauty which her flat- 
 tering courtiers assured her in speech and song that she pos- 
 sessed ; nor, what is more surprising, do we perceive any 
 striking evidence of that masterly mind which she certainly 
 possessed. The portrait in old age is one of the most me- 
 lancholy things imaginable ; it represents, in fact, one of the 
 most haggish and bedizened old beldames that can be con- 
 ceived, and is an astonishing proof of that self-delusion in a 
 strong mind, the effect of the most fulsome court flattery, 
 which could induce her thus to exhibit herself to all posterity 
 in the physical ruin of senility, and the paltry adornment of 
 the most absurd vanity. It is only by looking on this ghastly 
 spectacle, and recollecting the outrageous compliments of 
 Sir Walter Raleigh to this old lady, that we can convince 
 ourselves of the depth to which the adulation of courtiers 
 and the credulity of crowned heads can go. 
 
 Here are numbers of portraits of high historic interest of 
 those times, too, by other artists, as Mabuse, Janet, Janssen, 
 L. de Heere, Cornelizs, by Sir A. More. By the latter artist 
 the portrait of a lady, hanging next to one of Mary I. when 
 a child, by Holbein, is most natural, and exquisitely painted. 
 Amongst the portraits of old statesmen we see the Earl of 
 Nottingham, Earl of Leicester, Sir Francis Walsingham, Sir 
 Nicolas Bacon, Sir Peter Carew, and Sir Henry Guildford. 
 There is a very characteristic portrait of Henry VIII. as a 
 child; and another picture of a stout child in a dove-coloured 
 silk frock, and with a white feather in its cap, which was 
 formerly labelled as Henry VIII., and can be the childhood 
 of nobody else. The child is there certainly " the father of 
 the man." One of the most admirable pictures in the whole 
 gallery, however, is that of the Jester of Henry VIII., per- 
 haps the very man presented to him by Wolsey in his dis- 
 
250 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 grace. The jester's face is seen looking through a casement 
 window, and every feature of his face, nay, the very crook 
 of his forefinger, as it is laid on the lead of the window, 
 laughs, and is alive with merriment. One is surprised, after 
 the unusually hard style of Holbein, to find here such free- 
 dom, such softness, and round richness of expression.* 
 
 Amongst the multitudinous subjects that catch the eye as 
 you proceed, perhaps the following have the greatest at- 
 tractions : Lord Darnley, whom one looks at to wonder 
 what Mary Stuart could have seen in his empty plain face 
 .to charm her j the. Admirable Crichton, worthy of the sub- 
 ject ; a portrait of R. Walker the painter, by himself — a 
 most spirited and intellectual head, worthy of a painter or 
 a poet ; Cleopatra bitten by the Asp, by Caracci ; a Hermit, 
 by Slingeland ; Youth and Age, by Denner ; Venus and 
 Adonis, by Gennari ; St. Catherine reading, by Correggio ; 
 Moses striking the Rock, by Salvator Rosa ; the Marquis 
 del Guasto and Page, by Titian ; Nymphs and Satyrs, by 
 N. Poussin ; a saint's head, by G. Dow ; Lucretia, by 
 Titian ; a Jewish Rabbi, by Rembrandt ; a Dutch lady, by 
 Rembrandt ; and a boy paring fruit, by Murillo. Between 
 the windows, and in a light where they are seldom seen, 
 are twelve sunny and ethereal figures of the Grecian deities, 
 by Ricci. 
 
 We have still to pass through no less than eight rooms 
 crowded with paintings, many of them by the best masters, 
 before we arrive at the Gallery of the Cartoons, which it 
 is impossible within the limits of this article to notice. The 
 Queen's Bedchamber, Avhere yet stands the rich state bed 
 of Queen Ann, has its ceiling painted by Sir James Thorn- 
 
 * If the Jester is provocative of mirth, so were the remarks of a person 
 who, on one occasion, volunteered his ciceroneship. Pointing to "Diana 
 and Actason," " That," said he, " is Diana enacting ;" and in this gallery 
 — "Here," he said, "is Henry VIII.," and pointing to the Jester — 
 " there he is in a gesture." 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 251 
 
 hill, representing Aurora rising out of the sea, and its walls 
 adorned by the pencils of Honthorst, Parmegiano, Claude, 
 Guido, Michael Angelo, Giorgione, Titian, and others. The 
 Queen's Drawing-room, with a painted ceiling by Verrio, 
 Queen Ann occupying the centre in the character of Justice, 
 is entirely appropriated to the works of Benjamin West, — 
 full-lengths of the family of his great patron George III., 
 besides several historical subjects, the finest of which are, — 
 the Oath of Hannibal ; Peter denying Christ ; the Depart- 
 ure of Regulus ; and the Death of General Wolfe. 
 
 The Queen's Audience Chamber, besides the state bed 
 of William III., has a multitude of paintings, principally 
 by Kneller, Mytens, Spagnoletto, Schiavone, Holbein, West, 
 Ricci, P. Veronese, Julio Romano, etc. The Public Dining- 
 room contains models of Buckingham Palace, and of palaces 
 intended to have been raised in Richmond Gardens and 
 Hyde Park ; the large old water-colour paintings ; the 
 Triumphs of Julius Caesar, and several good paintings, 
 amongst which Duns Scotus, by Spagnoletto, rivets the 
 attention by its stern severity. We pass through the Queen's 
 Private Chapel ; the Private Dining-room ; the King's 
 Private Dressing-room, and George II.'s Private Chamber, 
 and enter the Gallery of the Cartoons of Raffaelle. 
 
 These celebrated and masterly works, it is well known, 
 are seven in number — namely : the Death of Ananias ; 
 Elymas the Sorcerer, struck blind by St. Paul ; Peter and 
 John at the Beautiful Gate of the Temple ; the Miracu- 
 lous Draught of Fishes ; Paul and Barnabas at Lystra ; 
 Paul Preaching at Athens ; Christ's Charge to Peter. 
 
 So much has been written about these noble drawings, 
 and so well are their character and subjects known, through 
 abundant comment and by engravings, that I shall confine 
 myself to a few matter-of-fact remarks regarding them. No 
 comment and no engravings can convey an adequate idea 
 of their beauty and sublimity. They must be seen, and not 
 
252 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 only seen, but studied, and that repeatedly and long, before 
 their whole force and perfection can be felt. The first view 
 of them generally disappoints. In such enthusiastic terms 
 have all been accustomed to hear them spoken of, or writ- 
 ten of, that they come prepared to expect an instant burst 
 of splendour of colours and startling magnificence of objects, 
 that do not exist in part, and in part are not at once recog- 
 nised. The colours, by exposure to damps, to the injuries 
 of ignorant neglect, and the silent action of years, are in a 
 great degree dimmed and faded ; so that, coming to them 
 from the rich colouring of oil paintings, with heated imagi- 
 nations, and beholding them in the sober light of this gal- 
 lery, they have even a dingy aspect ; and we have fre- 
 quently witnessed the first disappointed wonder of visitants 
 of taste. But it requires you to fix your eye upon them 
 but for a short period, before they begin to fill you with 
 awe and surprise. You become speedily sensible of their 
 ample size, and the admirable proportions of figure in each 
 splendid group ; of the distinctive character of each separate 
 scene, and of each individual in it ; of the strong and life- 
 like expression in every form, both of physical power or 
 weakness ; and of every passion, sentiment, and feeling, in 
 each different countenance. You feel that the perfection of 
 art has placed before you some of the most marvellous per- 
 sons and events in the human history in all the truth of 
 nature. These grand assemblages of sainted men momently 
 grow on your eye and your mind ; they become solemn 
 and sublime visions ; — and you soon forget that you are 
 merely gazing upon sheets of paper that were prepared for 
 the weavers of Arras ; and seem to be admitted, by the 
 retrospective power of a sacred enthusiasm, to behold the 
 presence of Christ and the deeds and faith of his greatest 
 disciples on the hallowed ground of their occurrence. 
 
 The reader knows that these Cartoons were executed by 
 Raffaelle during the last two years of his life, when he was 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 053 
 
 thirty-six and thirty-seven years of age, at the command of 
 Pope Leo X., as patterns for tapestry to adorn the papal 
 chapel. They are supposed to have been originally twelve 
 in number, seven of which are here ; and four others, Pyne, 
 in his." History of the Royal Residences," states to be also 
 in this country. The Vision of Ezekiel and a Holy Family, 
 at Brought on, formerly the seat of the Duke of Montagu ; 
 a Holy Family, at the seat of the late Duke of Beaufort; 
 and the centre, or principal part of a Cartoon — The Mas- 
 sacre of the Innocents, in possession of Mr. Prince Hoare. 
 They are called Cartoons, from being merely on paper. On 
 being delivered to the weavers at Arras, they proceeded to 
 cut them into six or seven slips each, in order to work more 
 readily from them. The assassination of the Pope, as it 
 prevented the tapestries being placed in the chapel for 
 which they were intended, also left them unpaid for, and 
 the Cartoons were detained by the weavers at Arras for the 
 debt. Here they lay for about a century, it is said, in a 
 cellar. They were then purchased for James I. of England, 
 or, as is said by others, for Charles I., at the suggestion of 
 Rubens. Scarcely were they arrived in this country, when 
 our civil commotions threw them into danger. They were 
 sold during the Commonwealth for 300/. ; but by some 
 means became overlooked, and lay for another century, till 
 discovered at Hampton Court in William III.'s reign. They 
 were afterwards conveyed to Windsor ; they have been lent 
 to the Royal Academicians ; and after all these changes and 
 perils were restored to Hampton Court by George III., who 
 had them placed in their present frames at a cost of 500/. 
 They have been copied by Sir James Thornhill of their full 
 size, and by Charles Jervas and Goupy in small. And vari- 
 ous engravings have been made from them, as by Gribbelin, 
 Dorigny, Holloway, Fitler, and Burnet. 
 
 A short time ago a violent cry was raised in the London 
 journals for the removal of these splendid works of art to 
 
 22 
 
254 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 the metropolis. It was curious to see some of the most 
 zealous of these journalists menacing them with destruction, 
 both from fire and water. They were represented as per- 
 ishing from damp in a rotting and neglected old palace ; and 
 the palace as in danger of being burnt down. Every one, 
 after this, must be surprised to find the palace a firm and 
 compact brick building, not very liable, either from material 
 or situation, to fire, and remarkably dry, in excellent preser- 
 vation, and kept in the neatest order. The reasons urged 
 would have been equally good for stripping the palace of 
 the Beauties, and of any other valuable painting. But the 
 zealous advocates for their removal forgot that London has 
 no place fit to receive them, either in point of size or in 
 means of protecting them from the effects of a London 
 atmosphere. Here they are in a pure air, and there is no 
 reason to believe that they have suffered materially since 
 they have been finally deposited in this gallery ; and the 
 facility of a railroad has made them nearly as accessible to 
 all persons in the metropolis, as if they were in some part 
 of the great Babel itself; while 32,000 visiters, in one month, 
 prove they offer an additional inducement to a country trip. 
 Were a new gallery built for their reception, it should be 
 much larger than the present one, in fact, nearly as wide as 
 this is long. In this, we are too near all those hung on the 
 side of the gallery, as by looking on either of those at the 
 ends from the centre of the gallery you instantly perceive. 
 It is only there that you see them in full strength of their 
 relief, and comprehend the beauty of the whole group. 
 
 Here we must quit the presence of these noblest of the con- 
 ceptions of the divine Raffaelle, — rejoicing, however, that 
 they are now free to our contemplation as the very land- 
 scape around them, and that we can, at our pleasilre, walk 
 into this fine old palace, linger before these sacred creations 
 at our will, and return to them again and again. 
 
 Quitting them, we shall now hastily quit the palace of 
 
VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 255 
 
 Hampton Court; for though there is a small room ad- 
 joining, containing Cassanova's drawing of Raffaelle's 
 celebrated picture of the Transfiguration, and several other 
 interesting paintings ; and yet another long Portrait Gallery, 
 filled from end to end with the forms and faces of celebrated 
 persons by celebrated artists, we can but gaze and pass on. 
 And yet who would not delight to have that one room to 
 himself, to haunt day after day, and to ponder over the 
 features and costumes of Locke, Newton, Sheridan, Boyle, 
 Charles XII. of Sweden, Caroline, the Queen of George II., 
 made interesting to all the world by the author of Waverley, 
 in the interview of Jeannie Deans ? Who would not pass a 
 moment before even the little Geoffrey Hudson, and think 
 of all that diminutive knight's wrath, his duel, and his ad- 
 venture in the pie ? Lord Falkland's fine and characteristic 
 face is a sight worth a long hour's walk on a winter's 
 morning ; and the Earl of Surrey, flaming in his scarlet 
 dress, scarlet from head to foot, — who would not stop and 
 pay homage to the memory of his bravery, his poetry and 
 his Geraldine ? But there are Rosamond Clifford and Jane 
 Shore. Lely had not brought the Graces into England in 
 their day, and therefore, instead of those wondrous beauties 
 which we expect them, we find them — ghosts. 
 
 Here, too, is another portrait of Queen Elizabeth, a full- 
 length by Zucchero, where " stout Queen Bess" is not in 
 one of her masculine moods of laconic command — when 
 she looked " every inch a queen" — but in a most melan- 
 choly and romantic one indeed. She is clad in a sort of 
 Armenian dress — a loose figured robe, without shape, 
 without sleeves, and trimmed with fur ; a sort of high cap, 
 and eastern slippers. She is represented in a wood, with a 
 stag near her ; and on a tree are cut, one below the other, 
 after the fashion of the old romances, the following sen- 
 tences: — Injusti justa querela. — Me a sic mihi. — 
 Dolor est medicina dolori. And at the foot of the tree, 
 
256 VISIT TO HAMPTON COURT. 
 
 on a scroll, these verses, supposed to be of the royal manu- 
 facture : 
 
 The restless swallow fits my restlesse mind, 
 In still revivinge, still renewinge wrongs ; 
 Her just complaints of cruelty unkinde 
 Are all the musique that my life prolonges. 
 With pensive thoughts my weeping stag I crown, 
 Whose melancholy teares my cares expresse ; 
 His tears in sylence, and my sighes unknowne 
 Are all the physicke that my harmes redresse. 
 My onley hopes was in this goodly tree, 
 Which I did plant in love, bring up in care 
 But all in vaine, for now to late I see 
 The shales be mine, the kernels others are 
 My musique may be plaintes, my musique teares, 
 If this be all the fruite my love-tree beares. 
 
 We step through the door of which Jane Shore's spectral 
 visage is hung ; and lo ! we are on the Queen's Staircase, 
 and descend once more to the courts of Wolsey. Long as 
 we have lingered in this old palace, we have had but a 
 glimpse of it. Its antiquities, its pleasantness, and its host 
 of paintings, cannot be comprehended in a Visit; they 
 require a volume ; and a most delicious volume that would 
 be, which should take us leisurely through the whole, giving 
 us the spirit and the history, in a hearty and congenial tone, 
 of its towers and gardens, and all the renowned persons who 
 have figured in its courts, or whose limned shapes now 
 figure on its walls. 
 
VISIT TO COMPTON-WINYATES. 
 
 WARWICKSHIRE. 
 
 Compton-Winyates is a curious old house belonging to 
 the Marquis of Northampton, and gives the title of Lord 
 Compton to his eldest son. It lies in the range of hills of 
 which Edge-Hill forms a part, and is about four miles from 
 Edge-Hill, and two from the village of Brailes. Perhaps 
 there is no house in the kingdom which is located in a more 
 hidden and out-of-the- world situation. It stands in a deep 
 hollow of this range of hills, surrounded by woods and 
 ponds. It is often called Compton-in-the-Hole, from its 
 singular site ; and a man of whom I asked the way to it, 
 said, " You never seed a house in sich a hole." 
 
 In endeavouring to find it, I passed from Edge-Hill, down 
 the vale of the Red Horse, leaving the Red Horse itself on 
 my left hand;* passing through the obscure village of 
 Church-Tysoe, and there made inquiries. So little even did 
 the villagers, who were perhaps not more than a mile from 
 it, seem to know it, that one had to go and inquire of 
 another the way to it. I was at last informed that there 
 was a narrow lane which led to it ; but that it was so cir- 
 cuitous, I had better take a footpath leading over a hill 
 which was in view, and to keep a mill which stood on its 
 
 * This is the rude figure of a horse cut in the turf of the hill side, 
 showing the red marie of the hill, most probahly in commemoration of 
 some ancient battle, as the White Horse in the vale of the same name in 
 Berkshire. 
 
 22* 
 
258 VISIT TO COMPTON-WINYATES. 
 
 summit to my right. This is the mill of Over-Tysoe, which 
 is laid down in the map of Kineton hundred, in the Coventry 
 edition of Sir William Dugdale's Antiquities of Warwick- 
 shire, from a survey in 1725 ; so that the mill, or a mill, has 
 stood there for one hundred and fourteen years at least. I 
 went on towards it, but soon found the footpath fade away 
 to nothing, and I therefore ascended to this ancient mill to 
 inquire there. When within a short distance of this mill I 
 observed a stile to my left, and on reaching it beheld, to my 
 great satisfaction, this old house of Compton-Winyates lying 
 doAvn in the solitary and most secluded valley below me. 
 
 I know not how to describe the feeling which came over 
 me at the sight of it. There was something so still — so 
 dreamlike — so unlike any ancient hill which I had ever seen, 
 that I stood and gazed on it in a sort of wandering reverie. 
 It seemed as if I had suddenly come upon an enchanted re- 
 gion, or had got a peep at the castle of Avalon, where King 
 Arthur and Ogeir the Paladin are said still to abide with 
 the fairy Morgana, awaiting the time when they shall re- 
 turn to the realms of France and England, to restore them 
 to their ancient chivalrous honour. The words of Bishop 
 Percy's ballad of the hermit of Warkworth came vividly 
 into my mind. 
 
 Behind yon hill so steep and high, 
 
 Down in the lowly glen, 
 There stands a castle fair and strong, 
 
 Far from the abode of men. 
 
 Far indeed from the abodes of men did it seem, though I 
 had so recently passed through the village of Tysoe, — but 
 it was far from the stir of the present men of cities and 
 steam-engines. It was not of the fashion of these times. 
 There stood, in its perfect calm, that dark-red old mansion, 
 with all its gables, towers, and twisted chimneys ; with its 
 one solitary smoke ascending above its roof, and around it 
 
VISIT TO COMPTON-WINYATES. 259 
 
 neither other habitation nor any visible object or sound of 
 life. Its hills and woods seemed to shut it into a perpetual 
 loneliness : and the gleam of still waters came dimly here 
 and there through the openings amongst overhanging 
 boughs. 
 
 I hastened down into the valley, and plunged into the 
 woody shades. I passed the head of those nearly-hidden 
 ponds, and as I approached the house, its utter solitude be- 
 came more and more sensibly felt. It was now the moated 
 grange of Tennyson's poetry. You might quite expect to 
 see Mariana watching at one of the windows. The moat 
 was not as most old moats now are, dry and become a green 
 hollow, but full of water, as if still necessary for defence. 
 As you drew near, a little church revealed itself under the 
 trees on your right hand, while a garden on your left, lead- 
 ing down to the house, retained the style in which it had 
 been first laid out some centuries ago. There was the little 
 footpath by which the family came to church, running along 
 amid evergreens cut into a variety of shapes, not only pea- 
 cocks and such things, but cut also into such figures as cor- 
 responded with the figures of the beds in which they grew, 
 — cubes, rhomboids, triangles of different degrees of acute- 
 ness. 
 
 To reach the great entrance of the house, it was necessary 
 to hold round some offices to the left, and then I came into 
 the front of the old court. Here a scene of ruin presented 
 itself. The buildings on one side of the court-yard were 
 nearly pulled down ; on the other they consisted of a range 
 of stables, coach-houses, etc., in a state of great dilapidation. 
 This front, which is the south, is very venerable. It con- 
 tains an old projecting gateway leading to the inner court, 
 and various gables, towers, and twisted chimneys. Over 
 the gateway are the royal arms, supported by a griffin and 
 a dog, and surmounted by the crown royal. The spandrel 
 of the porch surrounding the arms in form of a tablet, and 
 
260 VISIT TO COMPTON-WINYATES. 
 
 the whole of the moulding of the spandrel are ornamented 
 with quaint animals, as lizards, mice, dogs, etc. In the cor- 
 ners between the elliptic arch and the spandrel, are embla- 
 zoned a portcullis on one side, and castle on the other, with 
 the rose between them and the point of the arch ; and, on 
 each side of the spandrel, in the brick wall, is again embla- 
 zoned in stone, the rose surmounted by the crown. These 
 are indications of that loyalty of the Comptons and of that 
 royal favour of which we shall speak anon. 
 
 Passing through this gateway, you find yourself in the 
 square court round which the house is built. The great 
 hall is opposite to you on the right. You are struck with 
 its grand bay-window, with its turreted head, and orna- 
 mented frieze. The old hall is lofty, and retains the style 
 and features of the feudal age. In its oaken roof may yet 
 be seen traces of the aperture whence the smoke made its 
 escape from the fire in the centre of the floor. It has its 
 old music-gallery, and the screen beneath it is curiously 
 carved with fine tracery of leaves, amongst which the thistle 
 is conspicuous. In the centre of the screen is a cross-panel, 
 with a rude escutcheon of the ancient arms of the Comptons. 
 The chief bearings are meant to represent a lion passant 
 guardant between three helmets, the present arms of the 
 Northampton family. There is also a battle scene upon 
 this panel, with the most rude and grotesque figures of 
 knights on horseback, fighting, others falling, others lying 
 slain — all sketched with a grace that would match some 
 of the Egyptian tombs, and a perspective that would delight 
 a Chinese. Some of the slain men are tumbling up hill, and 
 others are miraculously lying in the air, as if there were no 
 such thing as specific gravity in the world. One wonders 
 that even the carver could keep any gravity in himself. It 
 is a performance in the very rudest style of art, and were 
 not the thistle visible would be supposed to be very ancient. 
 One might attribute it to some genius of design who flou- 
 
VISIT TO COMPTON WTNYATES. 261 
 
 rished in this secluded region at the time of the erection of 
 the screen, did not our old woodcuts of James I.'s time show 
 us that the most eminent engravers of the realm then de- 
 signed exactly in the same style. At all events it is a 
 genuine curiosity ; and no doubt is intended to represent 
 some battle with which the family was concerned, if we 
 could but understand it. 
 
 The hall, as the whole house indeed is, is stripped of its 
 original furniture and decorations. The dai's is gone. The 
 banners which waved in the smoky roof, wave there no 
 longer ; and the arms and armour, trophies of hard-fought 
 fields, which were wont to cover the walls, have vanished. 
 One solitary black-jack of capacious dimensions, and a large 
 pair of stag's antlers, alone remained. 
 
 I was glad to see in the large bay-window a book lying 
 for the reception of the names of visiters, for even this most 
 retired mansion, by its peculiar style, and traditions belong- 
 ing to it, has begun to draw the attention of the curious. 
 The book was only introduced during the last summer, yet 
 I found inscribed the names of 
 
 Lord Glenelg. 
 
 George Lucy, ^ 
 
 Mrs. Lucy, ( of Charlecote. 
 
 Rev. John Lucy, ) 
 
 Dr. Buckland, of Oxford. 
 
 Lord Nugent. 
 
 As I proceeded through the house, I became sensible of 
 its present condition. It is thoroughly stripped of furniture. 
 It has not been inhabited for these ninety years, except the 
 lodge in the gateway, and a portion of the east front, which 
 is the residence of the bailiff. There is not a bench or table, 
 not a picture or piece of tapestry left. The rooms are all 
 empty, excepting one or two, moderately furnished for the 
 use of the Marquis on any temporary visit in the shooting 
 
262 VISIT TO COMPTON-WINYATES. 
 
 season. Except in these few rooms, the walls are all 
 naked, and what is worse, they appear at the latest period 
 of the occupation of the house to have been papered in the 
 then style. This paper has in most cases been stripped off; 
 in some rooms entirely, in others by patches and fragments. 
 In some few instances, perhaps a whole room has escaped 
 the hands that have thus delighted to destroy ; but wherever 
 that is the case, the paper is of the most ordinary and coarse 
 kind, and in vast and rude patterns, as if it were from the 
 very first manufactory, and therefore of the very rudest 
 fashion. Altogether, as may be supposed, the place has a 
 most forlorn air ; yet is by no means a ruin. The roof has 
 been kept in repair, and the ceilings in general are in good 
 condition, and many of them very beautiful ; and have evi- 
 dently been cleaned at a recent period, so as to show their 
 design and excellence. The ceilings are indeed amongst 
 the most striking features of the place. They are in so su- 
 perior a style that their quality evidently saved them, when 
 the walls were modernized, from a similar fate, and now 
 present a singular contrast. 
 
 We noticed the royal arms and the roses emblazoned on 
 the gateway; and the thistle on the screen in the hall. 
 These ceilings everywhere display the same emblems, and 
 point to the two great eras of royal favour. The ceilings are 
 of stucco-work. In many of them appear massy escutcheons 
 of the royal arms ; in others the portcullis and castle ; in 
 others large roses and thistles ; and, again, the rose and the 
 thistle united, not merely in one bouquet, but half a thistle 
 and half a rose joined into one strange heraldic flower. 
 The room called Henry VIII.'s room, has various embla- 
 zonments of the royal arms in stained glass in the windows. 
 
 All these armorial insignia, thistles, roses, and unions of 
 thistle and rose, record the loyalty of the house in the reigns 
 of Henry VIII. and James I., in which the Comptons re- 
 ceived distinguished marks of the royal grace. 
 
, VISIT TO COMPTON-"VVIN YATES. 263 
 
 There are other hints of the history of this house visible 
 in it. There was no one at it who could give any account 
 of it. The young woman who showed it, said she had not 
 long been there, and knew nothing of it — but added the 
 consoling intelligence that the old woman who had been 
 there thirty years, and knew all about it, was dead. The 
 steward was not at home ; and the house, stripped as it 
 was, was obliged to speak for itself. In some respects it 
 were to be wished that it had done it more intelligibly. 
 
 In the tower overlooking the outer court there was a trap- 
 door, and the ladder yet remaining below. On inquiring 
 where that ladder led to, my guide told me that the soldiers 
 used to hide themselves down there. What soldiers ? That 
 was not in her books. We shall see that anon. 
 
 Another indication of what had been going on here dur- 
 ing the great political changes of England, was given by 
 the fact that there are two chapels in the house. One is on 
 the ground floor, still retaining on its walls the tables of the 
 Decalogue and Psalms, showing that it had been used as a 
 Protestant chapel in the later days. But in the roof we 
 came to another chapel, which is called the Popish chapel. 
 This had evidently been constructed as a place of secret wor- 
 ship when Popery was become illegal, and could only be 
 practised in the utmost privacy. It was therefore constructed 
 in the roof by oaken frame-work fitted in between the tim- 
 ber of the roof, and wainscot partitions, leaving behind them 
 a space into which the worshippers, if surprised by their 
 now Protestant masters, could disappear through different 
 doors leading to two private staircases. Nothing could be 
 more expressive of what had been going on here in troublous 
 times, nor could more stimulate one's curiosity as to who 
 were the actors in these affairs, but nothing more was to be 
 learned on the spot. All living knowledge of these persons 
 and transactions had passed away, and almost all living 
 persons too. 
 
264 VISIT TO COMPTON-WIN YATES. 
 
 In the lower chapel there, were, as I observed, signs of 
 Protestant devotion, but there were also signs of Popish 
 worship too of a more ancient date, or at least of that re- 
 formed worship of Henry VIII.'s time, which was Popery 
 scarcely a single degree removed. There was an open 
 screen, which formed a sort of division between the outer 
 part of the chapel where the servants and dependents sate, 
 from the inner, which was occupied by the lord's family 
 solely. Along the top of this screen ran, on each side of the 
 centre division which formed the doorway, a long narrow 
 panel by way of frieze, and upon these panels, on both 
 sides of them, were carved scenes, no doubt intended to be 
 religious, and evidently by t the same hand as that which 
 adorned the screen beneath the music-gallery in the hall. 
 
 On one panel appears a row of saints or kings, of a solemn 
 stateliness and dignity, most primitively expressed, each 
 holding a huge sword on his shoulder. On the fellow panel 
 appears the Old Gentleman, and a very corpulent old gen- 
 tleman too, with a stout pair of horns, standing or sitting 
 in a very standing posture, and either fighting with a great 
 saint or monk, or in the act of being exorcised by him ; to 
 decide which, however, would perhaps require us to call 
 up from the dead the genius who designed the piece. 
 Probably, after all, it is intended to depict the contest of 
 St. Michael and the old dragon. Whatever it be, around 
 the saint or archangel, appear monster heads, haunting 
 fiends, no doubt attempting to intimidate him, and behind 
 him come riding up troops of people in very primitive, wide, 
 short frocks, or surcoats, mounted on very odd horses, bear- 
 ing a striking resemblance to large dogs with asses' ears, 
 and behind each person is mounted an imp, looking very 
 alert and triumphant. Some of those imps have monstrous 
 long ears pricked up, others long ears hanging down to 
 their middle, and others wearing fools' caps. 
 
 These two panels are within the inner chapel, and thereby 
 
VISIT TO COMPTON-WINYATES. 265 
 
 meant for the edification of the lord and his family. On 
 the back, that is, facing the people, appear two other sub- 
 jects, still more difficult to decipher. One is probably- 
 meant for Christ on his way to the Crucifixion, for he is 
 seen bearing his cross, and angels are crowning him. The 
 other is perhaps the Ascension. There is seen a figure 
 supported by two lower figures upon a cushion, or, perhaps, 
 a cloud, and crowned by what are very likely meant for 
 angels. In the group appears a stag with stupendous 
 horns, at whose business there one cannot help wondering ; 
 except that a stag is similarly introduced in some of the 
 old Christmas carols. 
 
 These singular carvings, as well as those on the screen 
 of the music-gallery, have, in the course of modern im- 
 provements, been all painted white. Perhaps, however, 
 they are not the more indistinct for that, and are curious for 
 their very rudeness of execution. One sees in them what 
 our Catholic ancestors, both gentle and simple, used to 
 puzzle and wonder over, during the rude ages when mys- 
 teries and miracle-plays were in vogue, and the scenery and 
 figures for them were got up by artists like him whose handi- 
 works yet flourish here. 
 
 Such are the appearances which present themselves to a 
 stranger first going over this singular and solitary old house. 
 Let us now call in the aid of history to throw as much light 
 upon it as we can. 
 
 The Comptons were a distinguished family in Warwick- 
 shire from a period soon after the Conquest, From the 
 reign of King John to the time of Henry VIII. they con- 
 tinued living here, holding various offices of honour and 
 responsibility under the crown. One of them accompanied 
 Edward II. in his expedition into Wales. But Sir William 
 Compton of the reign of Henry VIII. was the first to raise 
 the family to a greater degree of honour. He was the first 
 page to Henry when he was but a boy ; then successively 
 
 23 
 
266 VLSYF TO COMPTON-WINYATES. 
 
 groom and chief gentleman of the bedchamber, and chan- 
 cellor of Ireland. So greatly did he rise in the good graces 
 of the king, that, says Dugdale, Henry " made him a special 
 grant to himself and his heirs of an honourable augmenta- 
 tion of his arms out of the said king's own royal ensigns 
 and devices, viz., a lion passant guardant Or, and for his 
 crest a demi-dragon erased Gules, within a coronet of gold, 
 upon a Torse Argent and Vert." He was knighted, and 
 led the rear-guard of the king's army at Terouenne, which 
 was principally composed of the retinue of Richard Fox, 
 Bishop of Winchester, and Wolsey, then the king's almoner. 
 He joined, in the 16th of Henry VIII., the Marquis of 
 Dorset, to assist the Earl of Surrey in his expedition 
 towards Scotland against the Duke of Albany, and in the 
 following year was appointed Bursarius Regis. 
 
 It was this Sir William who built the present house. He 
 was royal keeper of the park at Fulbrook, the same which 
 afterwards came into the hands of Sir Thomas Lucy, and 
 where Shakspeare invaded his deer. The castle of Ful- 
 brook, Sir William Compton, by royal permission, pulled 
 down, and with the brick principally constructed this house. 
 There is a tradition that he had the chimneys, which were 
 very curious, removed whole, and conveyed to Compton 
 upon scaffolds framed for the purpose. They are certainly 
 a set of fine old chimneys of various devices. 
 
 " In the chapel within this house," says Sir William 
 Dugdale, " was a costly window of rare workmanship, the 
 Passion of our Saviour being therein very lively repre- 
 sented ; and in the lower part thereof his own portraiture, 
 as also that of his lady, both kneeling, in their surcoats of 
 arms." Sir William enclosed a park here, and died of the 
 sweating sickness in the 20th of Henry VIII., the king also 
 being very ill of it at the time. In remembrance of the 
 king's goodness to him, he bequeathed him " a little chest 
 of ivory, whereof the lock was gilt, with a chess board 
 
VISIT TO COMPTOX-WINYATES. 267 
 
 under the same, and a pair of tables upon it ; and all such 
 jewels and treasures as were enclosed therein." He founded 
 also two chantries at Compton for daily prayers " for the 
 soul of the King, the Queen, and Lady Ann Hastings ; as 
 also for the souls of himself, his wife, his ancestors, and all 
 Christian souls." Notwithstanding which, Wolsey, to 
 whom it does not appear that he had left anything, would 
 not grant a probate of his will till he had fingered one 
 thousand marks. His grandson Henry became Lord 
 Compton in the reign of Elizabeth, and in the 16th of 
 James I. his son William was created Earl of Northampton. 
 The family had now risen to high rank. The Earl was also 
 lieutenant of the county, knight of the garter, and president 
 of the king's council in the marches of Wales ; and it was 
 his fortune to bring by his marriage as much wealth into 
 his house as he had brought honour into it. He wedded 
 Elizabeth, the daughter and heiress of Sir John Spenser, 
 alderman of London ; and there is that about this notable 
 dame which it will be worth while to look a little more 
 particularly at. 
 
 Miss Spenser was the richest heiress of the time. Her 
 father's wealth, supposed to be approaching to a million of 
 money, was enormous even for a lord mayor of London at 
 that day. So great was it, that a scheme had once been set 
 on foot by the pirates of Dunkirk to carry him off, in order 
 to extort a famous ransom. When Lord Compton came to 
 a sudden and full discovery of the wealth which Sir John 
 had left, it so overcame him that he became unsettled in his 
 intellects for a considerable period. His lady, who seems 
 to have been a woman of great spirit, and by no means 
 foolishly unconscious of the magnificence of her dowry, and 
 the consequence it justly conferred upon her, took the most 
 likely means to recall his scattered senses. She addressed 
 to him a letter, suggesting to him the mode of disposing of 
 his affairs, which she concluded thus on her own behalf. 
 
268 VISIT TO COMPTON-WINYATES. 
 
 " My sweet life, Now I have declared to you my mind 
 for the settling of your estate, I suppose that it were best for 
 me to bethink and consider within myself what allowance 
 
 were meetest for me I pray and beseech you to grant 
 
 to me, your most kind and loving wife, the sum of 2600/. 
 quarterly to be paid. Also I would, besides that allowance, 
 have 600/. quarterly to be paid, for the performance of 
 charitable works : and those things I would not, neither will 
 be accountable for. Also, I will have three horses for my 
 own saddle, that none shall dare to lend or borrow ; none 
 lend but I, none borrow but you. Also, I would have two 
 gentlewomen, lest one should be sick, or have some other 
 let. Also, believe it, it is an undecent t?ring for a gentle- 
 woman to stand mumping alone, when God hath blessed 
 their lord and lady with a great estate. Also, when I ride 
 a-hunting,or a-hawking, or travel from one house to another, 
 I will have them attending ; so, for either of those said 
 women, I must, and will have for either of them a horse. 
 Also, I will have six or eight gentlemen ; and I will have 
 my two coaches, one lined with velvet for myself, with four 
 very fair horses; and a coach for my women, lined with cloth 
 and laced with gold, or otherwise with scarlet and laced 
 with silver, with four good horses. Also, I will have two 
 coachmen ; one for my own coach, the other for my women. 
 Also, at any time when I travel, I will be allowed not only 
 caroches and spare horses, for me and my women, I will 
 have such carnages as be fitting for all, orderly, not pest- 
 ering my things with my women's, nor theirs with their 
 chamber-maids, nor theirs with wash-maids. Also, for 
 laundresses, when I travel, I will have them sent away 
 before, with the carriages, to see all safe. And the cham- 
 ber-maids I will have go before, that the chamber may be 
 ready, sweet and clean. Also, that it is undecent for me to 
 crowd up myself with my gentleman-usher in my coach, I 
 will have him to have a convenient horse to attend me, 
 
VISIT TO COMPTON-WIN YATES. 269 
 
 either in city or country. And I must have two footmen. 
 And my desire is, that you defray all the charges for me. 
 And for myself, besides my yearly allowance, I would have 
 twenty gowns of apparel ; six of them excellent good ones, 
 eight of them for the country, and six other of them very 
 excellent good ones. Also, I would have to put in my 
 purse 2000/. and 200/., and so, you to pay my debts. Also, 
 I would have 6000/. to buy me jewels, and 4000/. to buy 
 me a pearl chain. Now, seeing I have been, and am so 
 reasonable unto you, I pray you do find my children ap- 
 parel, and their schooling, and all my servants, men and 
 women, their wages. Also I will have all my houses fur- 
 nished, and my lodging chambers to be suited with all such 
 furniture as is fit : as beds, stools, chairs, suitable cushions, 
 carpets, silver warming-pans, cupboards of plate, fair hang- 
 ings, and such-like. So for my drawing chamber in all 
 houses, I will have them delicately furnished, both with 
 hangings, couch, canopy, glass, carpet, chairs, cushions, and 
 all things thereunto belonging. Also, my desire is, that 
 you would pay your debts, build up Ashby-house and 
 purchase lands, and lend no money, as you love God, to 
 my Lord-chamberlain, who would have all, perhaps your 
 life, from you 
 
 " So, now that I have declared to you what I would 
 have, and what it is that I would not have, I pray you, 
 when you be an earl, to allow me 2000/. more than I now 
 desire, and double attendance."* 
 
 Surely nothing could act as a more perfect sedative to 
 the excited mind of the astonished nobleman than this admi- 
 rable letter. Nothing could be more calculated to reduce 
 him to soberness o f thought. It showed him that if his 
 wife's fortune was magnificent, she had a right magnificent 
 mind and notion of spending it. There is something irre- 
 sistibly pleasant in her " I must and will." Her 2600/. to 
 
 * Harleian MSS. 
 23* 
 
270 VISIT TO COMPTON-WINYATES. 
 
 be paid quarterly, and 600/. quarterly for charities; and 
 6000/. for jewels, and. 4000/. for a pearl chain ; and 2000/. 
 and 200/. to furnish her purse with at starting ; and all her 
 very excellent gowns; and gentlewomen, and gentlemen, 
 and caroches and couches, and saddle horses, and all her 
 houses richly furnished ; and all her debts paid, and all her 
 servants wages into the bargain ; " and so you to defray all 
 charges for me :" and then when he became an earl, 2000/* 
 more and double attendance ! No wonder that his lordship 
 recovered his senses ; for there was a most comfortable 
 prospect of expenditure chalked out for him. And the 
 warning not to lend any money to my lord-chamberlain — - 
 how good it is. ! she was a right stately, gorgeous, and 
 goodly dame, worthy to be the daughter of the lord mayor 
 of London, and first Countess of Northampton of that line ! 
 Who does not see her coming in her velvet-lined coach, 
 with her gentleman-usher riding by her coach-door ; and 
 her waiting-gentlewomen in their coach lined with cloth 
 and gold lace, or scarlet and silver lace ; and all her caval- 
 cade of attendants on horseback, and her led horses that 
 " nobody shall lend but me, and nobody borrow but you ;" 
 and all her chambermaids and laundresses gone before with 
 the stores of household linen, and her " very excellent good 
 gowns" in their separate packages and carriages-; — 
 " orderly, not pestering my things with my women's 
 things, nor theirs with the wash-maids." What a stir 
 would be created in these quiet villages as the great Coun- 
 tess passed through — what an idea must the villagers 
 have had of a lord mayor of London's daughter. And 
 what a clatter, and a racket, and a bustle, must there have 
 been about this now silent old mansion when the great 
 lady and her company swept into the court. Who does not 
 see her ascend the easy oaken stairs, with a stately grace, 
 to see whether her women have made the chambers all 
 " ready, sweet, and clean." 
 
VISIT TO COMPTON-WINYATES. 271 
 
 She was clearly a grand and prudent dame, fit to have a 
 princely fortune ; many houses ; to travel from one to an- 
 other in becoming state ; and to see at once the poor made 
 glad out of her noble reservation for them, and that his 
 lordship built up his decayed houses, paid his debts, and 
 purchased more land. I could not walk about the now 
 deserted chambers without thinking with what a noble 
 presence she once presided, and how indignant she would 
 feel, could she behold them now ; deserted and forlorn. 
 
 The name of this splendid lady is retained in that of the 
 present worthy and enlightened Marquis, who is Spenser 
 Joshua Alwyne Compton ; and who married Margaret Cle- 
 phane, the friend of Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 The son of this first Earl of Northampton and of this 
 great heiress was Spenser Compton, commonly called the 
 loyal Earl of Northampton, for his attachment to the cause 
 of Charles I., and his aetive support of his interest in that 
 country in opposition to Lord Broke, who exerted himself 
 strenuously for the Parliament. The loyalty of the Earl 
 was the more conspicuous, from the general disaffection to 
 the king which prevailed throughout that part of the coun- 
 try, and to, such a degree that the smiths used to hide them- 
 selves that they might not be compelled to shoe the 
 horses of the royalists. The Earl was killed in the battle 
 of Hopton Heath, and five years afterwards his house 
 at Compton-Winyates was garrisoned by the Parliament 
 army. 
 
 We have thus sufficient facts to explain most of the appear- 
 ances which struck us in going through the house. The 
 roses and thistles, the crowns and royal arms, point to. the 
 favours of Henry VIII. and James I. Henry is said to have 
 slept in the room, when he visited Sir William Compton 
 here, which is still called Henry the VIII. 's room, and has 
 his arms emblazoned in the window. James elevated the 
 family to an earldom, and the thistle still proclaims the 
 
272 VISIT TO COMPTON-WINYATES. 
 
 grateful story. The second earl died in battle for James's 
 son, and his house became the garrison of his enemies. 
 During the five years between the earl's death and that 
 event, how many skirmishes and alarms about this old 
 house might suggest the trap-door and the ladder : or the 
 Parliament troops might lodge in that extensive roof, or 
 keep the stores there. This is certain, that they demolished 
 the " costly window of rare workmanship" in the chapel, 
 with the " very lively representation of our Saviour," and 
 the portraits of Sir William and his lady kneeling, in their 
 surcoat of arms. They also destroyed the church just by. 
 a As for the fabric thereof," says Sir William, " it is now 
 totally reduced to rubbish, having been demolished in an. 
 1 646, when Compton-House was garrisoned by the Parlia- 
 ment forces : the monuments therein, of Sir William Comp- 
 ton and his lady, with that of Henry Lord Compton, their 
 grandson, which were very beautiful and stately, being then 
 utterly rased and knocked in pieces ; so that instead of them, 
 which I was not so happy as to take notice of while they 
 stood, I shall here, to the memory of that worthy person 
 (Sir William Compton) and honour of the family, insert the 
 portraitures of himself, his lady, and children, as they still 
 remain (having been set up in his time) in the Chapel of 
 Baliol College in Oxford." 
 
 The church was rebuilt at the Restoration, and contains 
 some monuments of the family since. 
 
 One only circumstance, which is mysterious, is the exist- 
 ence of the Popish chapel in the roof. The family was 
 always so loyal and so Protestant, that the existence of 
 such a place in the house is not a little curious. Henry 
 Compton, the youngest of the six sons left by the loyal 
 Earl, became bishop of London, and so distinguished him- 
 self as the opponent of all schemes for the restoration of 
 Popery, that James II. suspended him ; and only restored 
 him on the approach of the Prince of Orange. This pre- 
 
VISIT TO COMPTON-WINYATES. 273 
 
 late was active in effecting the Revolution, and settling the 
 government of King William. 
 
 The present Marquis, struck with these facts, is inclined 
 to doubt whether this ever was a Popish chapel at all ; yet 
 he confesses that a curiously carved door, which he removed 
 from a crypt or confessional in it, lately to Ashby Castle, 
 looks suspicious. In fact, the situation, — in the roof, the 
 construction, with its private closets and staircases, so ex- 
 actly on the principle of the secret chapels of the recusants, 
 and the established tradition, all seem to reveal a secret 
 which was no doubt well kept, when it was of the greatest 
 consequence — that some one of this highly loyal and Pro- 
 testant family, the lord, or perhaps his lady, was of the 
 ancient faith, and here practised its rites in the profoundest 
 secresy. And, indeed, rare must have been the instances 
 in which the subtlest skill and contrivance could prevent 
 the fact of recusancy transpiring, when the richest rewards 
 were offered by government to espionage. In Rushworth 
 we find a list of no less than seven-and-thirty knights and 
 baronets, besides the Earl of Rutland, Viscount Dunbar, 
 William Lord Evre, Lord St. John, and Lord Scroop, as 
 well as a long catalogue of esquires, which was presented 
 by the servile parliament of James I. as of persons whom 
 it was desirable to remove from the offices of lords lieute- 
 nant, magistrates, etc., as Popish recusants, and of many of 
 these the simple offence was that their wives, and in some 
 instances, even their children, did not go to church ! In 
 the third year of Charles I., we find the Commons again 
 congratulating the Crown that it had driven all " the Pa- 
 pists and Jesuits, enemies of church and state, to lurk in 
 dark corners like the sons of darkness ;" and this was fol- 
 lowed by a proclamation, ordering a levy upon their estates 
 of two-thirds of their value, and for all priests and Jesuits 
 not already banished, to be confined in the Castle of 
 Wisbeach. 
 
274 VISIT TO COMPTON-WIN YATES. 
 
 The eastern part of the house, which we have not yet 
 mentioned, appears to have been the side on which lay the 
 pleasaunce. The boundaries of its walls are yet visible, 
 and the basin of a fountain, now dry. From the pleasaunce 
 the hills rise steeply, scattered with trees ; and in a glen to 
 the left are other old ponds, now choked up with mud and 
 weeds, and wild with flags and the black spear-heads of 
 the tall club-rush. 
 
 Of the seclusion and desertion of this old " moated grange" 
 some idea maybe formed from this fact: — I asked the 
 woman which was the way from the house to Brailes, the 
 next village on my route. She replied, she " really could 
 not well direct me — for there once had been a road, but 
 it was now grown up ; but I must go directly out at the 
 front gate, through the belt of wood opposite, and hold 
 across the common, as well as I could, till I saw the tower 
 of Brailes." 
 
 In following these encouraging directions to the best of 
 my ability, I speedily found myself on a wild hilly moor- 
 land to the south-west of the house, rough with furze, old 
 ant-hills of a yard in height and width, and bogs full of 
 sedge, that would have delighted the eye of Bewick. But 
 I could discern no trace of a path, either to Brailes or any 
 other Christian village. I looked round in silence, and 
 above me on a hill to the left I beheld an old gray pyramid 
 of stone, which had once boasted a vane on its summit, but 
 now exhibited only its iron rod, ruefully leaning as if to 
 look down after its old companions — the weathercock and 
 initials of the four quarters of the heavens. I ascended to 
 this object, in hope that it was meant to mark the site of a 
 prospect into some inhabited country. I walked round it 
 to discern some inscription, explaining the cause of its 
 erection, or some entrance into it ; but there was neither 
 entrance nor inscription. It was as mysterious a gray and 
 ancient pyramid as any one could desire. Though not 
 
VISIT TO COMPTON-WINYATES. 275 
 
 more, perhaps, than a furlong from the house, I turned and 
 saw that the house was already hidden in its deep combe, 
 and shrouded by its wooded hills, and I was sensibly im- 
 pressed with the utter loneliness and silence of the scene. 
 The caw of a rook, or the plaintive bleat of a sheep on the 
 moor, were the only sounds that reached me : and the only 
 moving objects were the sails of the old mill on the distant 
 hill, and of slowly progressing plough-teams far off in the 
 heavy fields. I never, in the moors of Scotland or of Corn- 
 wall, felt such a brooding sense of a forlorn solitude. I 
 need not have wondered, had I looked, as I have done since, 
 and found, in the old maps of the county, this object laid 
 down as Compton-Pike, and the place itself as the World's 
 End! 
 
 There was nothing for it but to push on in the most pro- 
 bable direction of my route, and fortunately I soon spied — 
 a man ! an old man, heavily mounting a stile on the hill- 
 side, which led into the fields. I ran up as fast as I could, 
 leaped the stile and called to him, But by this time he had 
 advanced a good way into the next field. I still ran and 
 shouted, but the wind blew towards me — the man was 
 very old, and, doubtless, deaf. He went stalking on, with 
 a tall staff in one hand, and a bag on his back — a figure 
 worth anything to a painter, but a most provoking one to 
 me. Luckily at this moment I descried another man at a 
 distance, actually advancing towards me. I waited his ap- 
 proach, and he soon pointed the direction of my course. 
 Two such men in such a place were really little short of a 
 miracle ; and this was as tall, picturesque, and weather- 
 beaten an old fellow as the other. He was a shepherd, 
 who had been all his life thereabout, but could give no 
 more information respecting the old house than what I had 
 heard before — that it had been stripped of its furniture 
 ninety years ago, and some sent to Ashby Castle, and the 
 rest sold. And what was this done for ? " ! elections, 
 
276 VISIT T0 COMPTON-WINYATES. 
 
 sir ! elections ! they did it that have brought the hammer 
 into many a good old house !" 
 
 Pondering on the old man's words, I walked over the 
 fields to Brailes, glad that the roof had been kept on the 
 old house, and hopeful, if the wild solitude of its situation 
 did not prevent it, that the rapidly increasing wealth and 
 well-known taste of its present noble owner, may yet cause 
 the refitting of Compton-Winyates, and its restoration to 
 all its ancient state. 
 
A DAY-DREAM AT TINTAGEL. 
 
 During the whole time I had been wandering in Corn- 
 wall, the weather had been most glorious. Now and then, 
 indeed, the southerly wind brought up from the sea one of 
 those thick fogs that wrap up everything in a moment, and 
 make some of the dreary scenes of that wild country ten- 
 fold more dreary ; every object being enlarged, and yet only 
 dimly descried through it, while the close stifling heat of 
 it is intense, — you seem to walk about in a vapour-bath 
 at a high temperature, and your clothes are as thoroughly 
 saturated with wet as if you had been dipped in the ocean. 
 Now and then this had been the case, but only for a short 
 time ; the wind veered to another point, and the whole was 
 swept away ; driving over the plains like smoke, you might 
 almost suppose there was a city on fire beneath it ; and roll- 
 ing along the sides of the bare hills and high craggy coasts 
 in a style that might rejoice the eye of the painter and the 
 poet. It had been fine, but this morning seemed to rise, as 
 if it would outshine all its forerunners. The sun ascended 
 into a sky of cloudless and soul-inspiring azure ; a western 
 breeze came with that fluttering freshness which tells you 
 it comes from the ocean : the dew lay in glittering drops on 
 the sides of the green hills on each hand, and the lark was 
 high in heaven overhead, sending forth all the fulness of 
 the heart's rejoicing, which mine endeavoured to express 
 in vain. 
 
 I was fast approaching the western coast, and one of those 
 deep wild valleys which, in so many places, run down from 
 
 24 
 
278 A DAY-DREAM AT TESTTAGEL. 
 
 the mainland to the sea-shore — gashes cut, as it were, by 
 some giant hand in the days of the earth's infancy, to give 
 a speedy access to the ocean, which you might have other- 
 wise sought in vain amongst craggy hills and continuous 
 precipices — now suddenly opened before me, and gave 
 me, at once, sight of the magnificent Atlantic, flashing 
 and rolling in the morning sun, and the lofty promontory 
 and dark mouldering ruins I was in search of. 1 descended 
 the ravine by its narrow rocky road. The polypody and 
 hartstongue hung in long luxuriant greenness on the mossy 
 acclivity at my right, the small wild rose blooming amongst 
 them ; on the left ran, dashing and murmuring, a clear little 
 torrent, soon intercepted by a picturesque old mill stuck in 
 a nook of the hollow below me, whose large overshot-wheel 
 sent the water splashing and spattering down into a rocky 
 basin beneath, I stepped across this little stream, and 
 wound along a path like a sheep-track up the steep side of 
 the lofty hill on which stood the old palace. What a mag- 
 nificent scene was here ! The ruins of that ancient place 
 were visible over an extent that gave ample evidence of an 
 abode befitting an old British king ; and their site was one 
 worthy of the great hero of romance, the morning star of 
 chivalry, and the theme of a thousand minstrel harps, ring- 
 ing in hall and bower, diffusing love and martial daring in 
 the sound. They occupied the hill on which I stood, and 
 a high-towering and rock-ridged promontory, whose dark 
 tremendous precipices frown awfully over the sea. Arches 
 and flights of steps cut in the native rock remain ; and walls, 
 based on the crags, as they protrude themselves from the 
 ground, some at one elevation and some at another, and 
 inclosing wide areas, which once were royal rooms, but are 
 now carpeted with the softest turf; where the goat, or the 
 mountain sheep, grazes, or seeks shelter from the noon sun 
 and the ocean wind, and where the children from the mill 
 come up and pursue their solitary sports, build mimic castles 
 
A DAY-DREAM AT TINTAGEL. 379 
 
 with the fallen stones of the dwelling of ancient kings, and 
 enclose paddocks and gardens with rows of them. Some 
 of these stones I put into my knapsack, for I would not dis- 
 turb a particle which time had yet left in the place where 
 the builder laid it many an age ago. Other battlemented 
 walls, which constituted the out-works and fortifications, 
 run winding here and there up the steeps, and along the 
 strips of green turf, apparently natural terraces, on the 
 heights of the promontory ; and, between the two hills, show 
 themselves the massy foundations of the bridge which con- 
 nected that part of the royal castle on the promontory with 
 that on the mainland. This promontory is now called the 
 island, because the mighty Atlantic has nearly succeeded 
 by its perpetual attacks, century after century, with all the 
 force of tides and tempests, in severing it entirely from the 
 mainland. In stormy weather it rushes through the open- 
 ing with a terrible roar and concussion ; and it has, in fact, 
 made such an inroad between the island and the castle hill, 
 as to have formed a large cove, surrounded by stupendous 
 precipices, into which it pours, even at neap-tides, with a 
 glorious rage, and most magnificent sound. It has carried 
 away, in its aggression, half of the castle itself, and has left 
 the other half aloft on the edge of a sheer descent of several 
 hundred feet, awaiting its gradual destruction from the ever- 
 lasting onset of the waves. The great circular tower — the 
 one where we may suppose the Round Table to have stood, 
 has thus fallen half into the gulf, and has half yet standing, 
 to show awhile longer, by its lofty walls and ample dimen- 
 sions, what a noble banqueting-room for one hundred and 
 thirty heroes, and a due proportion of ladies fair, it must 
 have been. 
 
 I was standing on the edge of this dizzy height, listening 
 to the solemn roar of the sea, as it rolled its host of waves 
 into the cove, white as a sea of milk, amongst the square 
 masses of rock scattered over its bottom, and to the cries of 
 
280 A DAY-DREAM AT TINTAGEL. 
 
 the choughs or red-legged crows, that soared and darted 
 about over this wild scene of agitated waters, and amongst 
 the lofty cliffs, with an evident and intense delight, that one 
 well might envy, and uttering, with never-ceasing din, their 
 quaint, croaking cry of, "choo, choo," whence they derive 
 their name. I was listening thus, and letting my eyes wan- 
 der right and left, where I still beheld only craggy downs, 
 dun precipices, up which the waters were leaping, white as 
 snow, and streaming down again slowly, as if they clung to 
 the rocks in love, in streaks as of molten silver ; and the 
 great ocean itself, with its everlasting life of motion and of 
 sound — its breezy heart-strengthening freshness — its far- 
 off sails — and its shoreward cries of many a wild-voiced 
 bird. I was standing thus occupied when a troop of lads 
 came merrily up the hill. When they saw me, there was 
 a moment's silence. " Well, my lads," said I, " don't let me 
 hinder your sport. I know what you are after; you mean 
 to visit the nests of the terns and choughs, if you don't break 
 your necks first." They looked at each other and laughed. 
 " What hill do you call this ?"— " Hill, Sir ? ! it's Tintagel, 
 Sir." — " Tintagel ! Well, and what old castle is this, then ?" 
 — " Castle, Sir ? its King Arthur's castle !" — " King Arthur's 
 castle ! and who was King Arthur ?" The lads seemed sharp 
 lads enough ; they had sparkling eyes, faces full of intelli- 
 gence ; they were lads full of activity and spirit, and yet 
 they looked at one another with a funny kind of wonder. 
 It was a question they had evidently never had put to 
 them. The fame of King Arthur was a thing supposed to 
 be so perfectly commonplace that nobody ever thought of 
 asking about it ; and therefore the boys were unprovided 
 with an answer. They were learned in a far different lore ; 
 in the ways and means of coming at the retreats of terns, 
 smews, choughs, and their airy and cliff -haunting fellows. 
 " King Arthur !" at length said one of them, " why we don't 
 know nothing about him, only as he was a king." — "A 
 
a Day-dream at tintagel. 281 
 
 king! ay, but when could that be ? it can't have, been of 
 late ; they have all been Georges and Williams lately." — 
 " Oh ! Lord bless you, Sir ! this castle was built before we 
 were born !" and with that most luminous solution of the 
 difficulty, they scampered off, over crag, ruin, and green 
 slope, down to the ravine, and up the opposite winding track 
 to the top of the island, and soon were out of sight in eager 
 pursuit of their object. 
 
 Built before you were born ! Ay, sure enough, my light- 
 hearted lads, by many a long century, if minstrels and 
 chroniclers say true — thirteen at least — more ages than 
 3^ou have seen years over your heads. And look ! every- 
 thing around seems to say, that the old minstrels and 
 chroniclers were right. There is an air of antiquity on the 
 very hills themselves ; they are high and bare to the breezes 
 of heaven and the ocean ; the rocks protrude from their 
 green sides, gray with the stains of centuries — the ravages 
 which the sea has committed on the land have not been 
 effected in any trivial time — and the venerable walls of 
 Tintagel have every character of an ancient and primitive 
 masonry. They are built of the micaceous slate on which 
 they stand ; a gray and sparkling substance, that, if found 
 in blocks, might give a beautiful aspect to a building, but 
 existing in such thin laminae — many not above a few 
 inches thick — one cannot but equally wonder at the pa- 
 tience with which those old builders piled them up, and at 
 their not resorting to those endless blocks of harder stone 
 that lie scattered over the hills of the neighbourhood. I 
 know not whether Warton ever saw the place, but he 
 gives you a very good idea of it in his " Grave of King 
 Arthur" — 
 
 O'er Cornwall's cliffs the tempest roared, 
 High the screaming sea-mew soared ;. 
 On Tintagel's topmost tower 
 Darksome fell the sleety shower ; 
 24* 
 
282 A DAY-DREAM AT TINTAGEL, 
 
 Round the rough eastle shrilly sung 
 The whirling blast, and wildly flung 
 On each tall rampart's thundering side 
 The surges of the tumbling tide. 
 
 Yes I you may well imagine it to have been a " rough 
 castle" of a very ancient day ; and yet you may as readily 
 imagine it too in its first estate — in its majestic situation, 
 with its walls of fresh silvery stone, with all its ample 
 towers and halls, courts and ramparts, offices and gardens — 
 to have stood a stately object of barbaric splendour. I threw 
 myself with these thoughts on the warm green turf, leaning 
 against a great block of stone on the edge of the gulf, and 
 gazed on the strange scene. As the sound of the billows 
 came up from below, and the cliffs stood around in their 
 dark solemn grandeur, I gradually lost sight of the actual 
 place, and was gone into the very land and times of old ro- 
 mance. The Palace of Tintagel was no longer a ruin ; it 
 stood before me in that barbaric splendour I had only be- 
 fore supposed. There it was, in all its amplitude, with all 
 its bastions and battlements, its towers and massy archways, 
 dark, yet glittering in the sun with a metallic lustre. The 
 porter stood by its gate; the warder paced its highest 
 turret, beholding, with watchful glance, sea and land : 
 guards walked to and fro on its great drawbridge, their 
 battle-axes flashing in the morning beams as they turned ; 
 pennons were streaming on every tower, and war-steeds 
 were neighing in their stalls. There was a sound and a 
 stir of life. Where I had seen before the bare green turf, I 
 now saw knights jousting for pastime in the tilt-yard : 
 where the sea had rolled, I beheld a fair garden, the very 
 model of that of the Kinge's daughter of Hungarie. 
 
 A garden that was full gay : 
 
 And in the garden, as I ween, 
 Was an arbour fair and green ; 
 And in the arbour was a tree, 
 No fairer in the world might be. 
 
A DAY-DREAM AT TINTAGEL. 283 
 
 The tree it was of cypress, 
 
 The first tree that Jesus chose. 
 
 The southernwood and sycamore, 
 
 The red-rose and the lily-flower ; 
 
 The box, the beech, and the laurel-tree, 
 
 The date, also the damyse : 
 
 The filberds hanging to the ground, 
 
 The fig-tree, and the maple round ; 
 
 And other trees there many a one, 
 
 The pyany, poplar, and the plane, 
 
 With broad branches all about, 
 
 Within the arbour and without. 
 
 On every branch sate birds- three, 
 
 Singing with great melody. 
 
 And in this arbour sate a noble dame, with a bevy of high- 
 born damsels, whom she 
 
 taught to sew and mark 
 All manner of silken work, 
 Taught them curtesy and thewe,* 
 Gold and silk for to sew j 
 
 and all nurture and goodly usages of hall and bower. 
 Many a young knight and damsel paced the pleasant 
 garden walks in high discourse or merriment, and other 
 knights " in alleys cool" were playing at " the bowls." 
 
 But the bugle blew ; the great portcullis went up with a 
 jar ; there was a sound of horns, a clatter of horses' hoofs 
 on the hard pavement, a cry of hounds, and forth issued 
 from the castle court the most glorious pageant that the eye 
 could look upon. It was no other than King Arthur, Queen 
 Genevra, and a hundred knights and dames, equipped and 
 mounted for the chase. ! for some old minstrel to tell us 
 all their names, and place their beauty and bravery all be- 
 fore us ! There they went — those famous warriors of the 
 
 * Good manners. 
 
284 A DAY-DREAM AT TINTAGEL. 
 
 table round, on their strong steeds ; the fairest dames on 
 earth, on their ambling jennets of Spain, with their mantles 
 of green, and purple, and azure, fluttering in the breeze, 
 and flashing in the sun. There they went — that noble, 
 stalwart, and magnanimous Arthur at their head, wearing 
 his helmet-crown as he was Avont in battle; that monarch 
 of mighty fame, but mild and open countenance, who at 
 fifteen had brought all Britain from uproar to peace — ex- 
 pelled the Saxons — conquered Scotland, and afterwards 
 Ireland, Denmark, Norway, Iceland, Gothland, and Sweth- 
 land, and took captive their kings ; killed the brave Froll, 
 and the grim giant Dynabus ; slew five Paynim monarchs, 
 the Grecian Emperor, and put to flight Lucius the Emperor 
 of Rome, whither he afterwards went himself, and was 
 crowned by all the cardinals. There he rode with King 
 Ban-Booght and King Bos, and the brave and loving friends 
 Sir Gawain and Sir Ywain : 
 
 Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bold, 
 
 They rode with them that day, 
 And foremost of the company 
 
 There rode the steward Kaye. 
 
 So did Sir Banier and Sir Bore, 
 
 And eke Sir Garratt keen ; 
 Sir Tristram, too, that gentle knight, 
 
 To the forest fresh and green. 
 
 They had hounds and spears for stag and boar ; hawks 
 for the heron, and greyhounds in leashes for the hare. They 
 went on over hill and dale, beneath the boughs of the green- 
 wood. Bright was the sun, fair the breeze, sweet the sound 
 of the bugle and the chiding of the bounds, gladsome the 
 sight of that gallant company, in full career after the flying 
 hart, in the far-off forest. 
 
 At length I saw them arrive in an open glade, where 
 
A DAY-DREAM AT TINTAGEL. 235 
 
 stood a rich pavilion ; and the ladies alighted, with certain 
 of the younger knights and pages, and there they found 
 meats and wines ready prepared for them ; and then some 
 stretched themselves beneath the greenwood boughs, and 
 listened to the lays of minstrels, and some disposed them- 
 selves to dance in the open glade, while Arthur and his stout 
 compeers went into the deep forests and rough holds to chase 
 the boar. 
 
 Anon, I saw stags and grizzly-tusked bears, laid across 
 steeds, and borne towards the castle by serving-men ; and 
 I turned thither again my own regards. I saw an old man 
 come out of the gate, and seat himself on a stone seat under 
 the southern wall of the castle. He was clad in the tawny 
 robe of the minstrel ; his harp was slung in a band of gold 
 embroidery before him ; his white beard spread on his 
 breast, and his frame was feeble with excessive age. It 
 was the king of the minstrels — the friend and companion 
 of Uther Pendragon. I sate down on a piece of rock op- 
 posite, and asked the venerable man of the days of 
 Uther — of the high adventures of his own generation, 
 and of those swarthy eastern people, whose galleys lay in 
 almost every creek and bay, and whose followers explored 
 the hills and the rivers for tin and brass. But anon, the 
 royal troop came hurrying back. There was dismounting 
 and arraying in chamber and bower — washing and sitting 
 down to meat. There sate that illustrious company, at that 
 illustrious board, where every place was the place of honour, 
 and all precedence and jealousy were banished. There sate 
 the noble Arthur — those warriors whose fame had gone 
 through the whole world — that splendid Genevra, whose 
 beauty was so queenly and dazzling that they who looked 
 on her could scarcely remember her faults — and many a lady 
 whose embroidered bodice and jewelled tiara the minstrels 
 have described in such glowing terms, and who they de- 
 clared, were " bright as blossoms on the breeze" — 
 
2S6 A DAY-DREAM AT TINTAGEL. 
 
 And white they were as the lily in May, 
 Or the snow that snoweth on winter's day. 
 
 The torches cast their flickering light on the storied arras 
 around — the harps went merrily — the servers in their 
 scarlet tunics, bound with a broad belt embroidered with 
 zigzag lace, with chaplets on their heads, set before the 
 guests venison, and flesh of the boar, and wild fowl, and 
 
 Wine of Greke and muscadell, 
 With clare, pyment, and Rochell. 
 
 Royal was the cheer, whether the court lay at Carlisle, 
 Caerleon, Camelot, or Tintagel ; for Arthur was bounteous 
 in hall as mighty in battle. 
 
 But to tell all the palpable and living visions that came 
 before me would be endless. Now I seemed to be amongst 
 that little knot of knights on that memorable day when they 
 sate in the hall before the door of the king as he took his 
 siesta, and the queen came and sate down with them, and 
 heard the adventures of Sir Calgrevance at the enchanted 
 fountain in the forest, with its basin and silver chain, which 
 she made him repeat to Arthur ; and whence arose Sir 
 Gawain's own exploit there, and all his future troubles. 
 Now I seemed to see the good Lunet that so often befriended 
 him come 
 
 On her Jennette of Spayne that been so white, 
 Trapped to the ground with velvet bright, 
 
 to solicit aid for her lady mistress ; and now I beheld the 
 lady Tryamour, as she rode into the palace court to vindicate 
 the fame of Sir Launfall — a vision of beauty and splendour 
 that amazed them all — with her mantle that she let fall, that 
 the better might be seen her bewitching figure ; her gray pal- 
 frey, her gorgeous saddle, the very jewel upon whose pom- 
 
A DAY-DREAM AT TINTAGEL. 337 
 
 mel was worth the best earldom in Lombardy — her falcon 
 on her hand, and her two white greyhounds running at her 
 side. 
 
 A glorious land was that old land of romance. Its geo- 
 graphy was none of the clearest, yet it was a land of most 
 facile communication — knights and damsels were often lost 
 for a time in its forest and wildernesses, but none for ever. 
 They were sure to turn up some day. What a happy land 
 was that in which Babylon, Jerusalem, Rome, France, Eng- 
 land, and Fairyland to boot, were all within the range of its 
 travellers, and all so accessible ; were visited by such un- 
 imaginable means — hyppogriffs, winged horses, charmed 
 couches, and, perhaps better than all, the boat Guingelot of 
 Sir Wade ; — a land in which the daughters of emperors 
 were always so beautiful, and where, however tried and 
 persecuted virtue might be, miracles had not ceased, and 
 were not withheld by a bountiful Providence from eventually 
 crowning it with felicity. All there was poetical and pic- 
 turesque. The generous youth aspired to distinction by 
 honourable means, and he never found any lack of tyrants, 
 giants, or dragons to contend with ; nor of beautiful dames, 
 to bestow themselves and their ample domains upon him. 
 Vast and fair were its forests — we love all forests now, be- 
 cause they remind us of them ; venerable its hermits ; and 
 never were such noble men, or fair and gorgeously-arrayed 
 dames — nor such minstrels to celebrate them. Blessed is 
 he that can even now escape, if but for an hour, into it. It 
 can be but an hour — it will fade speedily away — it passed 
 away from me as I sate on the cliff of Tintagel ; there was 
 nothing left but the bare hill, the crumbling ruins, and the sea. 
 
 I said that the vision faded away, and nothing was left 
 but the bare hill, the crumbling ruins, and the sea — I 
 should have said, nothing but Poetry and Nature. Nature 
 was young, and triumphant as ever : the sun was in the 
 sky, the breeze wandering over the earth and the ocean — 
 
288 A DAY-DREAM AT TINTAGEL. 
 
 the sea sent up its murmur, not of rage, but of power — 
 and the voices of children, on the opposite hill, sent to my 
 heart a cordial and cheerful delight : — and Poetry ! it was 
 in all, and through all — it was that which had given me 
 these visions of old romance. "And what good," some 
 bald-spirited utilitarian will say, " do such dreams do you ?" 
 They do much. It is from such dreams that we come 
 refreshed, as by a draught of good old wine, to grapple with 
 the realities of life. It is the spirit of poetry that has been 
 thus able to transform a ruin into an Elysium ; and give 
 back from the dust of ages, beauty and valour, glory and 
 power ; what sneering spirit of doubt, of ignorance, or affect- 
 ed wisdom, can do as much ? It was easy to show that this 
 spirit has done more for us as a nation, than all the mere 
 matter-of-fact men could do without it, however wise, or 
 brave, or indefatigable. 
 
 It is to poetry that we owe our knowledge of King 
 Arthur — not to the fabulous history of Brutus — not to 
 Geoffrey of Monmouth — it was from the lays of the 
 minstrels that they derived him. And if we are told that, 
 after all, King Arthur as a mere fable of the minstrels, we 
 say, No. If such a man never existed, the minstrels — by 
 combining everything great, generous and dignified, every- 
 thing calculated to catch the better spirit and kindle a noble 
 ambition — in such a character have given us an immortal 
 and inestimable present. But they were not accustomed to 
 hang their lays upon nothing — to fashion their heroes out 
 of shadows. Their enthusiasm, that burns up whenever 
 they touch upon him, even passingly, tells us that such a 
 man had lived and won the warmest admiration of his 
 countrymen. They might adorn him, but they could not 
 create ; and they have adorned him, not in his spirit, but in 
 his deeds. They have spread his conquest over lands that 
 he never saw, or perhaps heard of; but in so doing, they 
 have only more perfectly, as by a spirit of poetic prophecy, 
 
A DAY-DREAM At TINTAGEL. 289 
 
 prefigured in him the British fortunes. What a career has 
 this country run from those days to these ? We look now- 
 over this ocean, and know that, went we to the ends of 
 the earth, east or west, there we should find mighty 
 nations resting under the shadow of our power, and pre- 
 pared, by the infusion of our spirit, arts and religion, to 
 unfold to future ages scenes of prosperity and happiness at 
 present but dimly realized. A succession of poets, philoso- 
 phers, statesmen, and heroes, have arisen in this island, 
 which may not be excelled by any other nation. And 
 what has borne them on to this pitch of greatness ? The 
 great spirit of poetry which was diffused through their 
 hearts, from generation to generation, descending in a con- 
 tinuous stream from those simple but mighty minstrels that 
 made the halls of kings and barons resound with the 
 praises of such men as Arthur. 
 
 Minstrels that walked far and wide, 
 Here and there, on every side, 
 In many a diverse land. 
 
 They were simple, it is true ; but nature and poetry were 
 strong in them. They give us touches of the beauty of 
 nature, of human affection and human sorrow, that are un- 
 rivalled by any more modern and more skilful bard. They 
 are like flashes of lightning out of a cloud, that strike home 
 in a moment. What can be more full of beauty, and pity, 
 and love, than that story of Emare, who was sent afloat on 
 the sea with her infant in a little boat — pure in heart, but 
 wronged in character and affection — and then, as she 
 survived, and lived in a strange court, and — 
 
 The child began for to thrive, 
 And waxed the fairest child alive, 
 White as flower on hill ; 
 25 
 
290 A DAY-DREAM AT TINTAGEL. 
 
 And she sewed silk-work in bower, 
 
 And taught unto her son nurture — 
 
 But ever she mourned still ! 
 
 So much was Chaucer delighted with this, that he rewrote 
 it, as his " Man of Law's Tale." What can be more 
 touching than that speech of Annie of Lochroyan — a ballad 
 of a later, but still of a rude age — when she supposes her- 
 self abandoned by her lover, whom she had made a voyage 
 to see in a splendid bark ? 
 
 Take down, take down, this mast of gold 4 
 
 Set up a mast of tree ; 
 It does na become a forsaken lady 
 
 To ride sae royally. 
 
 The old minstrels were fond of the marvellous, it is true, 
 but that was only the stirring of the poetic spirit within 
 them — a spirit that is always seeking after the beautiful, 
 the new and the wonderful — after something beyond the 
 bareness of every-day life. They had, like other men, their 
 extravagances ; but their hearts were strong in the right — 
 in right true feelings — in the sense of honour, and justice, 
 and humanity. Their heroes did not seek to recommend 
 themselves by dressing, and lounging, and affecting the fine 
 gentlemen — it was only by a self-renouncing course of 
 noble and patriotic action that they could win acceptance. 
 They were always simple, earnest, in love only with nature 
 and truth; — >they never attempted to make the worse ap- 
 pear the better reason. Their minds were noble, and their 
 feelings healthful. It may be seen in the " Squire of Low 
 Degree," what sort of men the ladies of those days admired. 
 This, it must be allowed, was a far more rational and better 
 tone of morals and manners than prevails amongst large 
 classes of the present day ; and it was by this means that 
 the love of honourable deeds was kept alive from age to 
 
A DAY-DREAM AT TINTAGEL. 291 
 
 age — that it stimulated to high exploits kings and barons. 
 It is to these men and their lays that we owe the great poem 
 of Ariosto, much of that of Tasso, many of the best tales of 
 Boccaccio ; from these drew strength and inspiration, Chau- 
 cer, Gower, and Spenser ; and greater still, Shakspeare and 
 Milton, the crowned kings of the land of poetry. Several 
 of Shakspeare 's finest dramas are restorations and amplifi- 
 cations of the lays of those old minstrels ; and what does 
 Milton say in recounting the studies of his youth ? — the 
 preparations for that great fame he afterwards achieved ! 
 Having imbued himself with classical knowledge — 
 " Next," he adds, " I betook me amongst those lofty fables 
 and romances which recount in solemn cantos the deeds of 
 knighthood, so that even those books proved to me so many 
 enticements to the love and steadfast observation of virtue." 
 And his knowledge of these furnished him with many beau- 
 tiful allusions, as.^ 
 
 ■ what resounds 
 
 In fable or romance of Uther's son, 
 Begirt with British and Armoric knights ; 
 And all who since, baptized or infidel, 
 Jousted in Aspramont or Montalban, 
 Damasco, or Marocco, or Trebisond ; 
 Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore, 
 When Charlemagne with all his peerage fell 
 By Fontarabbia, 
 
 And again, — 
 
 Such forces met not, nor so wide a camp, 
 
 When Agrican, with all his northern powers, 
 
 Besieged Albracca, as romances tell, 
 
 The city of Gallaphrone, from thence to win 
 
 The fairest of her sex, Angelica, 
 
 His daughter, sought by many prowest knights, 
 
 Both Paynim, and the peers of Charlemagne. 
 
292 A DAY-DREAM AT TINTAGEL. 
 
 Such were the fruits of the poetic feeling kindled in this 
 country by our old minstrels. The spirit they awakened 
 has grown and spread on every side ; and if any one says 
 we might have had the same sages, heroes, and men of 
 science, without poetry, I say no. Without our poetry, we 
 had been a nation of Dutchmen — slaves to the duties of 
 the day — drudges of accumulation — blind- worms of the 
 earth, fattening in darkness, seeing nothing of the sun in 
 the heavens — ascending not to the mountain-tops of 
 thought and feeling, whence only the earth itself can be 
 seen in its breath and true loveliness. 
 
 For what is poetry ? It is not merely the melody of verse, 
 or the spirit of passion and emotion embodied in verse. It 
 is a revelation from heaven of its own beauty and glory — 
 an atmosphere of heaven, breathed down and diffused 
 through our grosser one, by which we become sensible of 
 the strength of joy in the heart, of the moral greatness of 
 our better nature ; of the treasures of past intellect, and the 
 full grandeur and rainbow splendour of human hopes. It 
 is this spirit that is continually lifting us out of the clay of 
 the earth — out of the grossness of our animal condition ; to 
 a perception of wider views, intenser being ; more generous, 
 glowing and ethereal aspirations. It is like that suffusion 
 of purple and violet light cast down from the evening sun 
 over the mountains, which, however beautiful in them- 
 selves, derive a tenfold and heavenly beauty from it. It is 
 not so much a part of ourselves, as the spirit of an eternal 
 and divine world, which moulds and incorporates us into 
 itself, and changes us from what we are to what we are to be. 
 
 Let no man fall into the grievous mistake that poetry 
 only lives in verse — nor that it is confined to language at 
 all. It is a far and widely diffused spirit, and lives in all 
 human hearts, more or less, and often in greater affluence 
 than we imagine. It cannot always throw itself into lan- 
 guage. Mr. Wordsworth truly says — 
 
A DAY-DREAM AT TENTAGEL. 293 
 
 Oh ! many are the poets that are sown 
 
 By nature ; men endowed with highest gifts, 
 
 The vision and the faculty divine, 
 
 Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse. 
 
 And another great poet of our time says, that even he 
 could not express all the poetry that lived within him. 
 
 I would speak, 
 But as it is, I live and die unheard, 
 With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword. 
 
 But we hear a great deal of the philosophy of life — the 
 poetry of life is equally real, and far more generally dif- 
 fused. It is that spirit which mingles itself with all our 
 hopes, affections, sorrows, and even death, and beautifies 
 them all. It mingles itself with the ambition of aspirants 
 in every honourable track — with the emotions of the lover, 
 with the ardour of the hero, till it covers the battle-field pit 
 from his eyes, and shows him only a halo of glory — with 
 the patriotism of the righteous statesman — with all our 
 social attachments and intercourse, and spreads the roses of 
 heaven on the beaten path of our daily life. No human 
 speculation, no human pursuit, no human feeling, which is 
 not utterly selfish and base, but draws fire and force from 
 this spirit — and is borne by its elating influence towards 
 its legitimate end. It is impossible to point out any nation 
 that has become great, or even successful for a time, with- 
 out it. Of the ancient nations we need not speak — in all, 
 of which we know anything but the barest facts, poetry, 
 and the intense desire of glory, which cannot exist totally 
 distinct from poetical feeling, were found. From some of 
 them, what have we not received ! The very Saracens, 
 when, under Mahomet, they suddenly overflowed Asia, 
 Africa, and part of Europe, were set on fire by the poetic 
 charms of his new paradise ; — the Teutons, who extin- 
 
 25* 
 
294 A DAY DREAM AT TINTAGEL. 
 
 guished the last sparks of the Roman empire, and laid the 
 foundations of the present European kingdoms, were not 
 led hither merely for food — it was Valhalla, and the poetic 
 legends of their Scalds, that armed and animated them. 
 We cannot take away poetry from life, without reducing it 
 to the level of animal stupidity. In our days, stupendous 
 events have passed on the face of the civilized world, and 
 equally extraordinary has been the development of poetic 
 power. A host of great names will be left to posterity, and 
 with them a host of new impulses, that will fill futurity 
 with increase of light and happiness ; and as Christianity 
 becomes better understood, as our natures become better 
 understood, as the spirit of love begins" to predominate over 
 the spirit of selfishness, — the true poetry of life, and its 
 power, shall be more and more acknowledged. Men will 
 feel, that in aspiring after true honour — in desiring to be- 
 come benefactors of men — to spread knowledge and intel- 
 lectual beauty, they are but giving exercise to the divine 
 spirit of poetry which is sent from heaven to warm and 
 embellish every human heart, though often unseen and un- 
 acknowledged ; and they will work in the spirit of love 
 and in its enjoyment. 
 
 I rose from my rocky seat. The nakedness of the sea- 
 worn hill, the masses of crumbling ruins, seemed to me to 
 be just as they ought — they have an aspect of antiquity 
 which separates them from every-day things, and leads us 
 back to a point in human history whence we look down to 
 the present times with wonder and joy. For myself, re- 
 joicing in the past, and confident of the future, I went on 
 refreshed by my Day-dream at Tintagel. 
 
VISIT TO STAFFA AND IONA. 
 
 In the days of Sam Johnson and of Pennant, it was 
 deemed a vast and adventurous undertaking to reach the 
 
 Hebrid Isles, 
 Placed fat amid the melancholy main. 
 
 It was then only one or two zealous travellers in an age, 
 who accomplished so great and dangerous a voyage. In 
 our boyhood, we read Johnson's " Tour to the Hebrides/' 
 and the poetic allusions of Collins and Thomson to the 
 Western Isles, with a feeling that those regions of poetical 
 wildness were only to be reached by a few fortunate mor- 
 tals. What a change have commercial wealth and steam 
 produced ! The turbulent ocean of the west is laid open — 
 the mists that hang about the shores and mountains of its 
 once mysterious isles are not cleared away, but they are 
 daily penetrated by the barks of our summer tourists : and 
 Stafla and Iona are as familiar to thousands, as St. Paul's 
 or the Tower. So many are the accounts of trips to these 
 places already published, that I am not intending to add 
 another to them ; and for the history, natural or unnatural, 
 or supernatural, civil or uncivil, I shall content myself with 
 the knowledge that there are such works as those of 
 Martyn, Macculloch, and Gregory. I propose only to note 
 down a few such impressions on my visit to these celebrated 
 spots, as I imagine are the most common to those who 
 generally go thither. What, indeed, is the great object of a 
 voyage to the Western Isles? Without doubt, in nine 
 
296 VISIT TO STAFFA AND IONA. 
 
 cases out of ten, to unbend the mind from the stress of its 
 ordinary occupations and cares. To refresh it with what- 
 ever is most accessible of novelty and grandeur — to luxu- 
 riate in the picturesque. Would it not then be difficult for 
 the inhabitants of our cities to choose any track of a 
 moderate extent, where they would meet with more to their 
 purpose ? What a change is here, in the course of a few 
 short days ; from the noise and crush of the metropolis, for 
 instance, to the solitude of nature in her wildest aspect — • 
 from heat and dust, to the fresh breeze and the fresh ocean 
 — from shops, factories, offices, invoices, and cash accounts, 
 to splintered mountains, rolling billows, the misty isles of all 
 the poetical traditions and superstitions of our early reading. 
 Nothing can be more unlike our ordinary existence, and 
 therefore nothing for a brief period more agreeable. A trip 
 to Stafla and Iona ! it is an episode in our unromantic history 
 of life, all romance, all poetry. The spirit of Collins, and 
 Thomson, of Ossian, of Leyden, and Scott, and Campbell 
 is upon us. We desire to see the regions which they have 
 invested with so many charms ; to tread the lands of second- 
 sight, and airy spirits ; to touch at Icolmkill, the primitive 
 asylum of British learning and religion ; we would look on 
 the tombs and shattered images that stood when 
 
 Aodh, famed afar, 
 In Iona preached the word with power ; 
 And Reullura, beauty's star, 
 Was the partner of his bower. 
 
 We are bound for the region of ghosts and fays, mermaids 
 and kelpies, of great sea-snakes, and a hundred other mar- 
 vels and miracles. To accomplish all this, we have nothing 
 more to do than step on board the steam-packet that lies at 
 the Broomielaw, or great quay at Glasgow. The volume of 
 heavy black smoke, issuing from its nickled chimney, an- 
 
VISIT TO STAFFA AND IONA. 297 
 
 nounces that it means to be moving on its way speedily. 
 Hark ! the bell rings ; your fellow-travellers are running 
 aboard ; the plank is pulled back to the pier, and you are 
 bound on as fair a voyage as ever prince or paladin attempt- 
 ed. If it were only to skirt the busy banks of the Clyde ; 
 to traverse the romantic kyles of Bute ; to sit on deck quietly, 
 but delightedly gazing on the cloudy heights and hollows 
 of Arran ; on the solitary shores of Cowal and Cantire, — 
 it were a little voyage of bold beauty, not readily to be 
 matched in the same distance in any other quarter. But, 
 steering along the western shore of Loch Fine, you soon 
 arrive at Loch Gilp-head, where your steam Gerhe suspends 
 his energies, stops his busy paddles, and you are feasted on 
 salmon and white-herrings, drawn fresh from the deep be- 
 neath you ; a feast, indeed, of such delicacy, that an epicure 
 would think it worth going all the way for, solely. Your 
 entertainment over, your vessel enters the Crinan canal, 
 which runs across the Mull of Cantire, and while it leisurely 
 winds along, through a delightful country of wooded hills 
 and moorland solitudes, you may walk on a-head, and find, 
 when you come to speak with the inhabitants, that you are 
 in the Highlands, where Gaelic is the native speech. But 
 emerging, from the Crinan canal, you issue forth into the 
 Sound of Jura, and feel at once that you are in the stern and 
 yet beautiful region of your youthful admiration. There is 
 the heavy swell and the solemn roar of the great Atlantic. 
 You feel the wild winds that sweep over it. You see around 
 you only high and craggy coasts, that are bleak and naked 
 with the lashing of a thousand tempests. All before you 
 are scattered rocks that emerge from the restless sea, and 
 rocky isles, with patches of the most beautiful greensward, 
 but with scarcely a single tree. The waves are leaping in 
 whiteness against the cliffs, and thousands of sea-birds are 
 floating in long lines on the billows, or skimming past you 
 singly, and diving into the clear hissing waters as they near 
 
298 VISIT TO STAFFA AND IONA. 
 
 your vessel. One of the very first objects which arrests 
 your senses is the Coryvrekan, or great whirlpool of the He- 
 brides, — an awful feature in all the poetry and ballads 
 belonging to these regions ; 
 
 Where loud the Coryvrekan roars. 
 
 This is Martin's account of it. " Between the north end of 
 Jura and the isle of Scarba, lies the famous and dangerous 
 gulf called Coryvrekan, about a mile in breadth. It yields 
 an impetuous current not to be matched anywhere about 
 the isle of Britain. The sea begins to boil and ferment with 
 the tide of flood, and resembles the boiling of a pot, and then 
 increases gradually, until it appears in many whirlpools, 
 which form themselves in sort of pyramids, and immediately 
 afterwards spout up as high as the mast of a little vessel, 
 and at the same time make a loud report. These white 
 waves run two leagues with the wind before they break. 
 The sea continues to repeat these various motions from 
 the beginning of the tide of flood, until it is more than half 
 flood, and then it decreases gradually until it hath ebbed 
 about half an hour, and continues to boil till it is within 
 half an hour of low water. This boiling of the sea is not 
 above a pistol-shot distant from the coast of Scarba Isle, 
 where the white waves meet and spout up ; they call it the 
 Kailloch, i. e. an old hag ; and they say, when she puts on 
 her handkerchief, i. e. the whitest waves, it is fatal to ap- 
 proach her. Notwithstanding of this great ferment of the 
 sea, which brings up the smallest shells from the ground, 
 the least fisher-boat may venture to cross this gulf at the 
 last hour of the tide of flood and the last hour of the tide 
 of ebb. 
 
 " This gulf hath its name from Brekan, said to be the 
 son of the King of Denmark, who was drowned here, cast 
 
VISIT TO STAFFA AND IONA. 299 
 
 ashore in the north of Jura, and buried in a cave, as ap- 
 pears from the stone tomb and altar there." 
 
 I suppose we were not nearer than three miles to this 
 " loud Coryvrekan," yet we heard its angry roar, and saw 
 its waters white as snow, tossing and leaping in strange 
 commotion. We glided along, gazing on the lofty heights 
 of Jura, upwards of 2000 feet above the level of the sea, 
 and on the cloudy bulk of the huge Ben More in the more 
 distant isle of Mull, and passed through similar scenery, to 
 our haven for the night — Oban. Here we climbed the 
 mountains that rise behind the town, and gazed far over 
 the sea and its scattered islands ; walked up to the pic- 
 turesque Castle of Dunolly, and saw the eagle, confined in 
 a hole of the ruined wall, which has been celebrated by 
 Wordsworth ; had a look at Dunstaffnage, the ancient 
 palace of the Scottish kings, and in the morning resumed 
 our course to Staffa and Iona. 
 
 What a sweet voyage is that up the Sound of Mull ! The 
 clear leaping waters ; — the wild, dreamy mountain lands 
 all around you ! Every object which successively catches 
 your eye brings some poetical associations. There is the 
 Castle of Duart — there is " Artornish Hall" — there the 
 stern fortress of Aros ; and lastly, on your right lies Morven 
 itself— the land of Ossian, — with its blue, misty hills ; its 
 rugged, wave-bathed coast ; and its clear streams, that come 
 hurrying and shining in the sun ! Another night at Tober- 
 mory, and then round the north headland of Mull forth into 
 the rough Atlantic. All before you, and to the right, Eig 
 and Canna and Rum, and in the dim horizon the far moun- 
 tains of Skye. The course now, however, was southward, 
 past the clustered islands of Treshanish, with Gometra, 
 Colonsa, and Mull on your left, and Staffa rising like an 
 isolated crag from the waves before you. 
 
 I never visited any part of Great Britain which more 
 completely met my anticipated ideas than this. The day 
 
300 1VISTF T0 STAFFA AND IONA. 
 
 was fine, but with a strong breeze. The sea was rough ; 
 the wild-fowl Were flying, scudding, and dividing on all 
 hands ; and, wherever the eye turned, were craggy islands, 
 — mountains of dark heath or bare splintered stone, and 
 green, solitary slopes, where scarcely a tree or a hut was to 
 be discovered ; but now and then black cattle might be de- 
 scried grazing, or flocks of sheep dotted the hill sides. Far 
 as we could look, were naked rocks rising from the sea, 
 that were worn almost into roundness, or scooped into hol- 
 lows by the eternal action of the stormy waters. Some of 
 them stood in huge arches, like temples of some shaggy 
 sea-god, or haunts of sea-fowl, — daylight and the waves 
 passing freely through them. Everywhere were waves, 
 leaping in snowy foam against these rocks and against the 
 shaggy shores. It was a stern wilderness of chafing billows 
 and of resisting stone. The rocks were principally of dark 
 red granite, and were cracked across and across, as if by 
 the action of fire or frost. Everything spake to us of the 
 wild tempests that so frequently rage through these seas. 
 
 Gazing on such a scene, you no longer wonder at the 
 popular superstitions of the Hebrides, not even at their be- 
 lief in all the marvels of their second-sight. 
 
 To monarchs dear, some hundred miles astray, 
 
 Oft have they seen Fate give the fatal blow ! 
 
 The seer in Skye shrieked as the blood did flow, 
 When headless Charles warm on the scaffold lay ! 
 As Boreas threw his young Aurora forth,* 
 
 In the first year of the first George's reign, 
 And battles raged in Welkin of the North. 
 
 They mourned in air, fell, fell rebellion slain ! 
 And, as of late, they joyed in Preston's fight, 
 
 Saw at sad Falkirk all their hopes near crowned ! 
 They raved, divining through their second-sight, 
 
 Pale, red Culloden where those hopes were drowned ! 
 
 Collins. 
 
 * The northern lights, said to be first seen in 1715. 
 
VISIT TO STAFFA AND IONA. 301 
 
 But StafFa rose momently in its majesty before us ! After 
 all the descriptions which we had read, and the views we 
 had seen of this singular little island, we were struck with 
 delightful astonishment at its aspect. It is, in fact, one 
 great mass of basaltic columns, bearing on their head an- 
 other huge mass of black stone, here and there covered with 
 green turf. We sailed past the different caves, — the Boat 
 Cave and the Cormorant Cave, which are themselves very 
 wonderful ; but it was Fingal's Cave that struck us with 
 admiration and awe. To see the magnificent cavern, with 
 its clustered columns on each side, and pointed arch, with 
 the bleak precipices above it, and the sea raging at its base, 
 and dashing and roaring into its gloomy interior, was worth 
 all the voyage. There are no words that can express the 
 sensation it creates. We were taken in the boats on shore 
 at the north-east point, and landed amid a wilderness of 
 basaltic columns thrown into all forms and directions. 
 Some were broken, and lay in heaps in the clear green 
 water. Others were piled up erect and abrupt ; some were 
 twisted up into tortuous pyramids at a^little distance from 
 the shore itself, and through the passage which they left 
 the sea came rushing — all foam, with the most tremendous 
 roar. Others were bent like so many leaden pipes, and 
 turned their broken extremities towards us. We advanced 
 along a sort of giant's causeway, the pavement of which 
 was the heads of basaltic columns, all fitting together in the 
 most beautiful symmetry ; and, turning round the precipice 
 to our right hand, found ourselves at the entrance of the 
 great cave. The sea was too stormy to allow us to enter 
 it, as is often done in boats, we had therefore to clamber 
 along one of its sides, where a row of columns is broken 
 off, at some distance above the waves, and presents an ac^ 
 cessible, but certainly very formidable causeway, by which 
 you may reach the far end. 
 
 I do not believe that any stranger, if he were there alone, 
 
 26 
 
302 VISIT TO STAFFA AND IONA. 
 
 would dare to pass along that irregular and slippery cause- 
 way, and penetrate to the obscure end of the cave ; but 
 numbers animate one another to anything. We clambered 
 along this causeway or corridor, now ascending and now 
 descending, as the broken columns required, and soon stood 
 ; — upwards of seventy of us — ranged along its side from 
 one end to the other. Let it be remembered that this 
 splendid sea-cave is forty-two feet wide at the entrance ; 
 sixty-six feet high from, the water ; and runs into the rock 
 two hundred and twenty -seven feet. Let it be imagined 
 that at eight or ten feet below us it was paved with the sea, 
 which came rushing and foaming along it, and dashing up 
 against the solid rock at its termination ; while the light 
 thrown from the flickering billows quivered in its arched 
 roof above us, and the whole place was filled with the 
 solemn sound of the ocean ; and if any one can imagine to 
 himself any situation more sublime, I should like to know 
 what that is. The roof is composed of the lower ends of 
 basaltic columns, which have yet been so cut away by nature 
 as to give it the aspect of the roof of some gigantic cathedral 
 isle ; and lichens of gold and crimson have gilded and 
 coloured it in the richest manner. It was difficult to forget, 
 as we stood there, that, if any one slipped, he would dis- 
 appear for ever, for the billows in their ebb would sweep 
 him out to the open sea, as it were, in a moment. Yet the 
 excitement of the whole group was too evident to rest with 
 any seriousness on such a thought. Some one suddenly 
 fired a gun in the place, and the concussion and reverbe- 
 rated thunders were astounding. When the first effect was 
 gone off, one general peal of laughter rung through the 
 cave, and then nearly the. whole company began to sing 
 "The sea! the sea!" The captain found it a difficult 
 matter to get his company out of this strange chantry — 
 where they and the wind and waves seemed all going mad 
 together — to embark them again for Iona. 
 
VISIT TO STAFFA AND IONA. 303 
 
 Venerable Iona — how different! and with what dif- 
 ferent feelings approached ! As we drew near, we saw a 
 low bleak shore, backed by naked hills, and at their feet a 
 row of miserable Highland huts, and at separate intervals 
 the ruins of the monastery and church of Ronad, the church 
 of St. Oran and its burying ground, and lastly, the cathe- 
 dral. The following is from Martin's account of these, as 
 they remained in his time. 
 
 " This isle was anciently a seminary of learning, famous 
 for the severe discipline and sanctity of Columbus. He 
 built two churches and two monasteries in it, one for men 
 and the other for women ; which were endowed by the kings 
 of Scotland and of the Isles, so that the revenue of the church 
 
 then amounted to four thousand marks per annum 
 
 St. Marie's church here is built in the form of a cross ; the 
 choir twenty yards long, the cupola twenty-one feet square, 
 the body of the church of equal length with the choir, and 
 the two aisles half that length. There are two chapels on 
 each side of the choir; the entry to them opens with large 
 pillars neatly carved in basso-relievo. The steeple is pretty 
 large. The doors, windows, etc., are curiously carved. 
 The altar is large, and of as fine marble as ever I saw. 
 There are several abbots buried within the church ; Mack 
 Ilikenich, his statue is done in black marble, as big as 
 the life, in an episcopal habit, mitre, crosier, ring and stones 
 along the breast, etc. The rest of the abbots are done after 
 the same manner. The inscription of one tomb is as fol- 
 lows : — Hicjacet Joannes Mack Fingone, Abbas de Oui, 
 qui obiit Anno Domini milesimo quingentesimo. Bishop 
 Knox, and several persons of distinction, as Mack Leod of 
 Harries, have also been buried here. There's the ruins of 
 a cloister behind the church, as also a library, and under it 
 a large room ; the natives say it was a place of public dis- 
 putations. There is a heap of stones without the church, 
 under which Mackean of Audnamurchan lies buried. 
 
304 VISIT TO STAFFA AND IONA. 
 
 There is an empty piece of ground between the church and 
 the gardens, in which murderers and children that died be- 
 fore baptism were buried. Near to the west end of the 
 church in a little cell lies Columbus his tomb, but without 
 inscription. 
 
 " Near St. Columbus's tomb is St. Martin's Cross, an entire 
 stone of eight feet high. It is a very hard and red stone, 
 with a mixture of gray in it : on the west side of the cross 
 is engraven a large crucifix, and on the east a tree. It stands 
 
 on a pedestal of the same kind of stone A little further 
 
 to the west lie the black stones, on which Mack Donald, 
 King of the Isles, delivered the rights of their lands to his 
 vassals in the Isles and Continent, with uplifted hands and 
 bended knees ; and in this posture, before many witnesses, 
 he solemnly swore that he would never recall those rights 
 which he then granted ; and this was instead of his great 
 seal. Hence it is that when any one was certain of what he 
 affirmed, he said positively, ' I have freedom to swear this 
 matter upon the black stones.' 
 
 " At some distance from St. Marie's is St. Oran's church, 
 commonly called Reliqui Ouran. The saint of that name is 
 buried within it. 
 
 " The Laird of Mack Kinnon has a tomb within this 
 church, which is the stateliest tomb in the isle. On the 
 wall above the tomb there is a crucifix engraven, having the 
 arms of the family beneath ; viz., a bo vis head, with a couple 
 of sheep's bones in its jaws. The tombstone has a statue as 
 big as life, all in armour, and upon it a ship under sail ; a 
 
 lion at the head, and another at the feet There are other 
 
 persons of distinction in the church, all done in armour. 
 
 " On the south side of this church is the burial-place in 
 which the kings and chiefs of tribes are buried, and over 
 them a shrine. There was an inscription giving an account 
 of each particular tomb, but time has worn them off. The 
 middlemost had written on it, * The Tombs of the Kings of 
 
VISIT TO STAFFA AND IONA. 305 
 
 Scotland,'' of which forty lie there. Upon that on the right 
 hand, < The tombs of the Kings of Ireland,'' of which four 
 were buried there. And upon that on the left hand, ' The 
 Kings of Norway,' of which eight were buried there. Next 
 to the kings, is the tombstone of Mack Donald of Isla ; the 
 arms a ship with hoisted sails, a standard, four lions and a 
 tree. The inscription, ' Hie Jacet corpus Angusi Mack 
 Donuil de Isle' There are besides the tombs of the Mack 
 Donalds, Mack Leans, and Mack Alisters, with effigies in 
 armour as big as life. 
 
 " About a quarter of a mile further south is the church 
 Konad,'m. which prioresses are buried Without the nun- 
 nery there is such another square as that beside the monas- 
 tery for men. The two pavements, which are of a hard red 
 stone, are yet entire. In the middle of the longest pave- 
 ment there is a large cross, like to that mentioned above, and 
 is called Mack Lean's cross." 
 
 A good deal of these remains of this ancient and venera- 
 ble establishment has been defaced or destroyed since Martin 
 saw them ; and especially the altar ; but nothing is more 
 striking, than, in this wild and neglected spot, yet to walk 
 amongst these ruins, and behold amid the rank grass those 
 tombs of ancient kings, chiefs, and churchmen, with their 
 sculpture of so singular and yet superior a style. 
 
 It is said that there were formerly three hundred and sixty 
 stone crosses in the island of Iona, which since the Reforma 
 tion have been reduced to two, and the fragments of two 
 others. The Synod of Argyle is reported to have caused no 
 less than sixty of them to be thrown into the sea at one 
 time ; and fragments of others, which were knocked in 
 pieces, are to be seen here and there, some of them now con- 
 verted into gravestones. Amongst the most curious sculp- 
 ture remaining, are Adam and Eve eating the forbidden 
 fruit under the tree, on St. Martin's cross; the carved 
 pavement of St. Oran's chapel, especially that of some sin- 
 
 26* 
 
306 VISIT TO STAFFA AND IONA. 
 
 gular bells ; and the grotesque scenes carved on the capitals 
 of the pillars in the cathedral, including the celebrated one of 
 an angel weighing souls, and the devil putting his foot into 
 the scale against them. 
 
 The details of these may be found in the works to which 
 I have referred, and are too numerous for my limits ; but 
 the masterly style of the sculpture, the singular stories indi- 
 cated in some of the carving on the walls, and the unique 
 and beautiful foliage and flowers with which the tombs are 
 adorned by the chisel, cannot be seen without a very lively 
 admiration. They lie on the margin of the stormy At- 
 lantic ; they lie amongst walls which though they may be 
 loosened by years seem as though they never could decay, 
 for they are the red granite of which the rocks and islets 
 around are composed, and defended only by low inclosures 
 piled up of the same granite, rounded into great pebbles by 
 the washing of the sea. 
 
 But perhaps the most striking scene of all, was our own 
 company of voyagers landing amid the huge masses of rock 
 that scatter the strand ; forming into long procession, two 
 and two, and advancing in that order from one ruin to 
 another. We chanced to linger behind for a moment ; and 
 our eye caught this procession of upwards of seventy per- 
 sons thus wandering on amid those time-worn edifices — 
 and here and there a solitary cross lifting its head above them. 
 It was a picture worthy of a great painter. It looked as though 
 the day of pilgrimages was come back again, and that this 
 was a troop of devotees thronging to this holy shrine. The 
 day of pilgrimages is, indeed, come back again; but they 
 are the pilgrimages of knowledge, and an enlightened 
 curiosity. The day of that science which the saints of Iona 
 were said to diffuse first in Britain, has now risen to a 
 splendid noon ; and not the least of its evidences is, that 
 every few days through every summer, a company like this 
 descends on this barren strand, to behold what Johnson 
 calls, " that illustrious island which was once the luminary 
 
VISIT TO STAFFA AND IONA. 307 
 
 of the Caledonian regions, whence savage clans and roving 
 barbarians derived the benefits of knowledge and the bless- 
 ings of religion." A more interesting or laudable excur- 
 sion, the power of steam and English money cannot well 
 enable our countrymen to make. It would be still better 
 did any quantity of their money remain on this island ; for 
 in truth, the cottagers here seem dreadfully poor and des- 
 stitute of comforts. As we passed their doors, a woman 
 stood and with a very anxious face and imploring tone 
 continued asking something as the procession passed by. 
 Her words were Gaelic ; we did not understand them, but 
 nobody could mistake her tone or look ; and some one in 
 the procession who knew the language, told us that she 
 asked, "Is there any doctor here?" Adding, "a man is 
 very ill, and without a doctor I am afraid he must die." 
 But there was no doctor — and the poor man was left to take 
 his chance of one happening to come with the next packet, 
 perhaps to be again disappointed, if he were then alive. 
 
 The children here gain a trifle by offering, in little dishes, 
 pebbles of green serpentine which they collect on the shore ; 
 and the old schoolmaster who acts as guide, makes some- 
 thing by his profession and his little books descriptive of 
 the place ; but even he has got an opponent, who on this 
 occasion created both the old guide and ourselves a good 
 deal of confusion. Here we must bid adieu to Iona, only 
 adding that the superstition related by Collins is still be- 
 lieved by the inhabitants. 
 
 Where beneath the showery west, 
 The mighty kings of three fair realms were laid, 
 
 Once foes, perhaps, together now they rest, 
 No slaves revere them, and no woes invade; 
 
 Yet frequent now at midnight, solemn hour, 
 The rifted mounds their yawning cells unfold, 
 
 And forth the monarchs stalk with sovereign power, 
 In pageant robes, and wreathed with shining gold, 
 And on their twilight tombs, aerial council hold. 
 
VISIT TO EDGE-HILL. 
 
 The nearness of Edge-hill to Compton-Winyates led me 
 thither. Indeed, as I had walked from Stratford, Edge-hill 
 had gradually risen, as it were, before me, till it filled with 
 its lofty edge the whole of the horizon on that side. A 
 tower near a mill, which was conspicuous on this height, 
 was constantly pointed out to me by the country-people as 
 standing just above the scene of the battle. The road 
 continued to ascend nearly all the way from Stratford, being 
 a distance of about ten miles, and then the edge rising high 
 and almost precipitately, it may be imagined that the ele- 
 vation of the country on its summit is very great. So great, 
 indeed, is it, that it gives you one of the most extensive 
 prospects in the kingdom. The district towards Stratford, 
 Warwick, and Coventry, and across into Gloucestershire 
 and Worcestershire, lies in a grand expanse before you. 
 You seem to take in, on a clear day, the breadth of a king- 
 dom almost. On the other side, into Oxfordshire, and to- 
 wards Banbury, the views are also very airy and attractive, 
 but not so extensive by any means, because Edge-hill is 
 truly an edge, that is, it is a steep, where the country 
 takes an abrupt rise, and when you gain the summit you 
 find yourselves not so much on a hill, as on the level of a 
 higher country. 
 
 The people from Banbury and other neighbouring towns, 
 are fond of making a summer's excursion to Edge-hill, 
 drawn thither by the combined interest of the battle-scene 
 and the magnificence of the views ; and truly they could not 
 
VISIT TO EDGE-HILL. 309 
 
 readily find a more delightful excursion. The Sun-Rising, 
 a substantial farm-house as well as inn, standing on the 
 summit of the hill within a mile of the scene of battle, is a 
 good point for the " refreshment of both man and horse," 
 and where they will find in the landlord a most intelligent 
 guide, who can show them, too, swords and cannon-shot 
 which his own men have turned up when ploughing in his 
 farm. 
 
 I reached this house in the dusk of evening, after a long 
 day's ramble, grid was greatly struck with its solitary ele- 
 vation in the dimness of a wild twilight. The country far 
 below me showed through the mists and shadows of coming 
 night, wide and vast. The door, contrary to the wont of 
 inns, I found fast; and on knocking, I was answered by a fe- 
 male voice within, demanding who was there. When I had 
 satisfied the inquirer, I heard the slow and seemingly re- 
 luctant fall of chains and withdrawal of bolts and bars, and 
 presently an elderly face took a peep at me through the 
 partially-opened door. When admitted, I found that this 
 respectable-looking matron and myself were the sole per- 
 sons in this large old house. It was Michaelmas, and all 
 the servants were at liberty, and gone off to the towns to the 
 statutes, and mops, and bull-roastings, which are the regular 
 places of amusement, and rehiring for all the servants, men 
 and women, throughout the country at that time of the year. 
 The landlady's son was gone to market, and thus was she 
 left alone, and naturally apprehensive of rude and thievish 
 strollers who are on the alert on such occasions, in solitary 
 districts. The good woman soon introduced me into a well- 
 furnished and well-carpeted room, with a blazing fire, and 
 tea and toast before me, and Jacob Hooper's History of the 
 Rebellion, with a paper-mark at the account of the battle of 
 Edge-hill, and Richard Jago's Poem of Edge-hill, to ponder 
 over ; and with a sense of the high wild country in which 
 I was, upon me, and the winds of autumn whistling and 
 
310 VISIT TO EDGE-HILL. 
 
 roaring round the house, I do not know that I ever spent a 
 more pleasantly solitary evening. 
 
 In the morning I sallied forth, and passing Upton House, 
 a lonely-looking seat of Lord Jersey, with a solemn avenue 
 of large Scotch firs leading down to it, I was soon at the 
 tower which had been my land-mark the day before, and 
 which the country -people always designated as the Round- 
 house. This is a lofty round tower, which has been built 
 by Colonel Miller, who lives at Radway, on the slope just 
 below, and who has put into it a veteran sergeant who 
 fought with him at Waterloo, of the goodly name of Wil- 
 liam Perm. 
 
 Penn lives in the lower part of the tower, and a bridge 
 from the road, which is a good deal above the^ foundation 
 of the tower, leads into the upper story. The entrance of 
 the bridge is by an artificial ruin, and there are buildings 
 on the opposite side of the road representing other ruins, 
 which, with the lofty round tower, have been planned not 
 only to form a conspicuous object afar off, but from the 
 Colonel's house below ; and though I do not admire arti- 
 ficial ruins in general, it must be confessed that these had 
 been erected with much better taste than such things in general. 
 
 I had expected, from what the country-people said, that 
 this tower was made a depot for arms and armour found on 
 the field of battle, but I was disappointed to find instead of 
 those, relics of the field of Waterloo. If, however, the 
 tower deceived me in this respect, it afforded me an advan- 
 tage of another kind — a most clear and interesting view, 
 both of the battle-field and of a vast stretch of country. 
 Nothing could be more obvious than the situation of the 
 battle. Below, on the campaign, at the distance of three 
 miles, lay the little town of Kineton, and midway between 
 it and Radway, just below, the spot where the battle took 
 place. At that time the whole country round, with the 
 exception of a few inclosures about Kineton and Radway, 
 
VISIT TO EDGE-HILL. 311 
 
 was open, now it is cultivated like a garden, and the hill 
 side, down which the cavalry of the king rushed, is now 
 covered with fine woods. 
 
 Hume's concise account of this opening battle of the civil 
 war, gives its main features in a little space. " The King, 
 on mustering his army, found it to amount to two thousand 
 men. The Earl of Lmdsey, who in his youth had sought 
 experience of military service in the Low Countries, was 
 general. Prince Rupert commanded the horse : Sir Jacob 
 Astley the foot :* Sir Arthur Aston the dragoons : Sir John 
 Heyden the artillery. Lord Bernard Stuart was at the head 
 of a troop of guards. The estates and revenue of this sin- 
 gle troop, according to Lord Clarendon's computation, were 
 at least equal to those of all the members who, at the com- 
 mencement of the war, voted in both houses. Their ser- 
 vants, commanded by Sir William Killigrew, made another 
 troop, and always marched with their masters. 
 
 " With this army the king left Shrewsbury. . . . Two 
 days after the departure of the royalists, Essex left Worces- 
 ter. Though it be commonly easy, in civil war, to get in- 
 telligence, the armies were within six miles of each other 
 ere either of the generals was acquainted with the approach 
 of his enemy. Shrewsbury and Worcester, the places from 
 which they set out, are not above twenty miles distant ; yet 
 had the two armies marched ten days in this mutual igno- 
 rance. So much had military skill, during a long peace, 
 decayed in England. 
 
 " The royal army lay at Banbury ; that of the parliament 
 at Kineton, in the county of Warwick. Prince Rupert sent 
 intelligence of the enemy's approach. Though the day was 
 far advanced, the king resolved upon the attack. Essex 
 
 * The prayer and charge of Sir Jacob Astley on the commencement 
 of this battle, have been much and justly admired — "O Lord! thou 
 knowest how busy I must be this day. If I forget thee, do not thou for- 
 get me. March on, boys !" 
 
312 VISIT TO EDGE-HILL. 
 
 drew up his men to receive him. Sir Faithful Fortescue, 
 who had levied a troop for the Irish wars, had been obliged 
 to serve in the parliamentary army, and was now posted 
 on the left wing, commanded by Ramsay, a Scotchman. 
 No sooner did the king's army approach, than Fortescue, 
 ordering his troop to fire their pistols into the ground, put 
 himself under the command of Prince Rupert. Partly from 
 this incident, partly from the furious shock made upon them 
 by the prince, the whole wing of cavalry immediately fled, 
 and were pursued for two miles. The right wing of the 
 parliament's army had no better success. Chased from 
 their ground by Wilmot and Sir Arthur Aston, they also 
 took to flight. The king's body of reserve, commanded by 
 Sir John Biron, judging, like raw soldiers, that all was over, 
 and impatient to have some share in the action, heedlessly 
 followed the chase which their left wing had precipitately 
 led them. Sir William Balfour, who commanded Essex's 
 reserve, perceived the advantage. He wheeled about upon 
 the king's infantry, now quite unfurnished of horse, and he 
 made great havoc amongst them. Lindsey, the general, 
 was mortally wounded, and taken prisoner ; his son, endea- 
 vouring his rescue, fell likewise into the enemy's hands- 
 Sir Edmund Verney, who carried the king's standard, was 
 killed, and the standard taken, but it was afterwards re- 
 covered. In this situation, Prince Rupert, on his return, 
 found affairs. Everything bore the appearance of a defeat 
 instead of a victory, with which he had hastily flattered 
 himself. Some advised the king to leave the field ; but that 
 prince rejected such pusillanimous counsel. The two armies 
 faced each other for some time, and neither of them retained 
 courage for a new attack. All night they lay under arms ; 
 and next morning found themselves in sight of each other. 
 General, as well as soldier, on both sides, seemed averse to 
 renew the battle. Essex first drew off, and retired to War- 
 wick. The king returned to his former quarters. Five 
 
VISIT TO EDGE-HELL. 313 
 
 thousand men are said to have been found dead on the 
 field of battle ; and the loss of the two armies, as far as we 
 can judge by the opposite accounts, was nearly equal. Such 
 was the event of this first battle, fought at Kineton, or Edge- 
 hill. 
 
 " Some of Essex's horse, who had been driven off the- 
 field in the beginning of the action, flying to a great distance, 
 carried news of a total defeat, and struck a mighty terror 
 into the city and parliament. After a few days a more, 
 just account arrived, and then the parliament pretended to 
 a complete victory. The king also, on his part, was not 
 wanting to display his advantages, though, excepting the 
 taking of Banbury a few days after her, he had few marks 
 of victory to boast of. He continued his march, and took 
 possession of Oxford, the only town in his dominions which 
 was altogether at his devotion." 
 
 ; To this we may add the following particulars from the 
 historians of the times. The number of slain, although 
 generally stated as above at five thousand, appears, by a 
 survey taken by Mr. Fisher, the vicar of Kineton, at the 
 time, at the request of the Earl of Essex, to have amounted 
 to little more than thirteen hundred. These were buried in 
 two spots which are yet conspicuous, one of them being 
 planted with fir-trees. The copse of fir-trees is said to have 
 been a pit at the time of the battle, into which five hundred 
 bodies were thrown. The farm on which it is, is still called 
 the Battle-farm ; and the two places of the burial, the 
 Grave-fields. They lie about half-way between Radway 
 and Kineton. 
 
 The battle was fought October 23, 1642. It was Sunday. 
 It was some time before the king was aware of the fate of 
 Lord Lindsey ; when he discovered that he was wounded 
 and in the hands of the enemy, he wished to send him a 
 surgeon, but it was useless. That loyal and high-spirited 
 nobleman, while life continued, did not cease to upbraid 
 
 27 
 
314 VISIT TO EDGE-HILL. 
 
 the parliamentary officers about him with their treason and 
 disaffection.* There is a curious letter, signed by Hollis, 
 Stapleton, Ballad, Belfore, Meldrum, and Charles Pym, 
 who were present in the action, addressed to John Pym, 
 for the information of the Parliament, and which was printed 
 five days after the battle, in which they attempt to account 
 for the loss of the standard which the loyalist historians 
 simply say " was recovered." They say that it was de- 
 livered to the Lord General, and by him to his secretary, 
 with an intention to send it back the next day to his ma- 
 jesty ; "but the secretary, after he had long carried it in his 
 hand, suffered it to be taken away by one of our troopers, 
 and, as yet, ive cannot learn where it is." 
 
 Near the Round-house, in the range of hill, is one place 
 called Bullet-hill, from the vast quantity of bullets which 
 have been taken out of it. It would appear, from its 
 position, to have received the hottest fire of the parlia- 
 mentary army. Within view also stands on the height the 
 church of Burton-Dasset, which is supposed to be the place 
 whence Cromwell viewed the battle. Hooper states that he 
 was not in the battle ; afterwards excusing himself to the 
 Earl of Essex, by alleging that he could not come up in 
 time. He was then but a lieutenant or captain, and 
 watching the action from a church-tower near, and see- 
 ing the flight of the parliament cavalry, he slid down the 
 bell-rope and rode off ; showing, as the historian remarks, 
 what great endings may grow out of very indifferent 
 beginnings. If such was the fact, Burton-Dasset seems the 
 only place where it could have occurred. 
 
 The two princes, Charles and James, were here, and the 
 situation of their tent is laid down in old maps ; the boys are 
 said to have watched the battle from the hill, and that 
 
 * A fine portrait of this gallant nobleman, in Warwick Castle, is very 
 expressive of his open-hearted and high-principled character. 
 
VISIT TO EDGE-HILL. 315 
 
 during the temporary defeat of the royal army, they might 
 readily have been taken. In the village of Radway, at the 
 foot of the hill, is a cottage in which tradition says the king 
 and the princes breakfasted on the morning after the battle, 
 and an old table was formerly shown as the one they used, 
 but it has been sold as a relic. In the church is also a 
 tablet to the memory of an officer who fell there. 
 
 In the night after the battle, and during which both 
 armies continued under arms, came a severe frost, with a 
 most bitter wind from the north ; and any one who stands on 
 that height in winter, and feels how keenly the air comes 
 sweeping over the wide open champaign from that quarter, 
 will not wonder that in the morning neither army felt much 
 desire to renew the contest. I was there but ten days 
 earlier in the season than the anniversary of the battle, and 
 a heavy snow-storm driving fiercely for two hours, made me 
 feel sympathetically what must have been the sufferings of 
 the hundreds who lay in their wounds on the open field ; yet 
 to this very circumstance the preservation of the lives of 
 numbers was attributed, the cold stopping their bleeding, 
 when they otherwise must have died of exhaustion. S uch 
 are the miserable comforts of miserable war. 
 
 There is no circumstance, however, connected with this 
 melancholy field, so striking, in my opinion, as the one thus 
 related by Dr. Thomas, in his Additions to Dugdale. 
 
 " As King Charles I. marched to Edgecot, near Banbury, 
 on the 22d of October, 1642, (the day previous to the battle,) 
 he saw a gentleman hunting in the fields not far from Shuck- 
 burgh, with a very good pack of hounds; upon which, 
 fetching a deep sigh, he asked who that gentleman was, 
 that hunted so merrily that morning, when he was going to 
 fight for his crown and dignity. And being told that it was 
 Richard Shuckburgh of Upper Shuckburgh, he was ordered 
 to be called to him, and was by him very graciously re- 
 ceived. Upon which he immediately went home, aroused 
 
316 VISIT TO EDGE-HILL. 
 
 all his tenants, and the next day attended on him in the 
 field, where he was knighted, and was present at the battle. 
 After the taking of Banbury, and his majesty's retreat from 
 those parts, he went to his own seat, and fortified himself 
 on the top of Shuckburgh-hill. Here he was soon attacked 
 by some of the parliamentary forces, and defended himself 
 till he fell, with most of his tenants about him ; but being 
 taken up, and life perceived in him, he was carried away 
 prisoner to Kenil worth Castle, where he lay a consider- 
 able time, and was forced to purchase his liberty at a dear 
 rate." 
 
 As if the disastrous fortunes of the Stuarts had fallen on 
 this warm-hearted gentleman, who was thus " hunting so 
 merrily on the morning when the unhappy Charles was 
 going to fight for his crown," and who so readily aban- 
 doned his happy life at the call of his king, they not only 
 clung to him through life in all their bitterness, but seemed 
 to descend to his posterity. Charles II. rewarded the son, 
 John de Shuckburgh, by creating him a baronet in 1660, 
 and another of his descendants distinguished himself in 
 three successive parliaments and by his philosophical and 
 astronomical attainments, contributing as a member of the 
 Royal Society many valuable papers to its " Philosophical 
 Transactions ;" but so recently as 1809, a catastrophe befell 
 this family, of a nature to leave its memory for ages on the 
 scene of its occurrence. We may close this tragic chapter 
 with this most tragic event. 
 
 It appears that the Bedfordshire militia was stationed 
 somewhere in that neighbourhood, and the officers were in 
 the habit of visiting Shuckburgh Hall. They were received 
 by its hospitable owner, Sir Stewkley Shuckburgh, with the 
 cordiality of a warm-hearted English gentleman. His son 
 was an officer in the army, and that might be an additional 
 motive to the social intercourse which was thus opened to 
 the mutual satisfaction of the parties — a set of intelligent 
 
VISIT TO EDGE-HILL. 317 
 
 officers always finding the doors of a charming house open 
 to them, with an agreeable family, which they served to 
 enliven by their occasional presence. But there was a 
 danger to the younger gentlemen there, which, in such 
 places and under such circumstances, is apt to become 
 irresistible in its operation. The daughter of Sir Stewkley, 
 then about twenty years of age, was a young lady whose 
 attractions, both of person and mind, would not have been 
 safely encountered in the brightest scenes, and amid the 
 concourse of the most beautiful of her sex. But there, in 
 the solitude of an old English country-house, and the 
 charms of a pleasant neighbourhood ; a fine old park, and 
 the cheerful conversations of a familiar fireside ; strolls 
 through pleasant shrubberies, and loiterings in gardens ; the 
 fascinations of so lovely and intelligent a young lady as Miss 
 Shuckburgh produced their natural effect. Lieutenant 
 Sharp, a young and enthusiastic officer, became deeply 
 attached to her. As he was received by her father as a 
 guest, with the utmost kindness, there was every opportu- 
 nity for his cultivating her good opinion. A mutual 
 attachment commenced, a correspondence was entered into ; 
 the young people seemed likely to carry their friendship into 
 a strong and lasting affection ; but the moment Sir Stewkley 
 was made aware of it, he gave it his decided disapproval. 
 The young lady, though evidently entertaining the most 
 favourable feeling towards the youth, listened to the reasons 
 of her father, and resolved to sacrifice her own inclination 
 to the maturer judgment of her parents. The lieutenant 
 was forbidden the house, and Miss Shuckburgh communi- 
 cated to him her intention to submit her own wishes to the 
 wishes of her father. Firmly persisting in this determina- 
 tion, because she was persuaded that her father's motives 
 were neither frivolous nor arbitrary, it was at length agreed 
 between the young people that the intercourse should cease, 
 and the letters which had passed should be returned. It 
 
 37* 
 
318 VISIT TO EDGE-HILL. 
 
 was arranged between them that she should leave the packet 
 for him, in a summer-house in the garden, on the evening of 
 Saturday the 25th of March, 1809 ; and that, on the follow- 
 ing morning, she should find that for her in the same place. 
 Early, therefore, on that Sunday morning, she was observed 
 by a servant taking the way towards the summer-house. 
 The unusual hour, and probably a knowledge of what had 
 taken place in the family on the subject of this attachment, 
 attracted the attention of the servant. He followed stealthily, 
 and as he drew near the summer-house, his suspicions were 
 confirmed. He heard the voices of Lieutenant Sharp and 
 of Miss Shuckburgh in earnest dispute. The officer was 
 loud and impassioned, — the lady firm but deprecating. 
 This was instantly followed by the discharge of a pistol, 
 and the fall of a body, and as quickly by another discharge 
 and another fall. The servant, divining the fatal truth, now 
 flew to the house and gave the alarm. On entering the 
 summer-house, these unhappy young people were found 
 dead, and weltering in their blood. Mr. Sharp had no 
 doubt been lingering on the premises all night, and had 
 come prepared to see Miss Shuckburgh, and, if he could 
 not bend her from her resolve, to destroy both himself and 
 her. He had only too terribly obeyed the dictates of his 
 passion and despair. 
 
 Such is one version of the story ; but by others, it was 
 deemed more probable that this fearful event was the re- 
 sult of a mutual agreement between the lovers. The father 
 of Lieutenant Sharp, though he had placed his son in the 
 Bedfordshire militia, was only a gentleman farmer, residing 
 at the Priory-farm, near Bedford ; and therefore it probably 
 was that Sir Stewkley Shuckburgh did not deem the youth 
 of sufficient standing or property to match with his daughter. 
 Lieutenant Sharp was a young man of fine person, of a gay 
 disposition, and much admired. It was therefore supposed 
 that Miss Shuckburgh, seeing the opposition of her father to 
 
VISIT TO EDGE-HILL. 31 9 
 
 be insurmountable, the lovers agreed thus to fall together, 
 rather than to abandon their attachment ; but, in both sup- 
 positions, more was imagined than was positively known. 
 A certain degree of mystery must for ever hang over the 
 affair. 
 
 Since then, every object about the place which could 
 suggest to the memory this fatal event, has been changed 
 or removed. The summer-house has been rased to the 
 ground, the disposition of the garden itself altered, much of 
 the timber felled, the surrounding scenery remodelled, the 
 house itself renovated. In the opinion of those who knew 
 the place before, the whole has been much improved. The 
 house is large and handsome ; the park is pleasant and well 
 stocked with deer. It is probable that these efforts to ob- 
 literate the remembrance of so fearful a catastrophe from 
 the minds of the family, may not have been without their 
 salutary effect ; but such tragic passages in human life be- 
 come part and parcel of the scene where they occur ; — they 
 become the topic of the winter fire-side. They last while 
 passions and affections, youth and beauty, last. They fix 
 themselves into the soil, and the very rock on which it lies. 
 They are breathed from the woods and fields around on 
 the passer by, like the dim whispers of Pan, or his watching 
 fawns ; and, though the house were rased from the spot, 
 and its park and pleasaunces turned into ploughed fields, it 
 would still be said for ages, — here stood Shuckburgh-hall, 
 and here fell the young and lovely Miss Shuckburgh, by the 
 hand of her despairing lover ! 
 
VISIT TO THE GREAT JESUIT COLLEGE OF 
 STONYHURST IN LANCASHIRE. 
 
 A College of Jesuits, existing in England in the nineteenth 
 century, possessing a large property there, and nourishing, 
 and proselyting the inhabitants all around them — this is a 
 subject of curious interest ! There is something in the very 
 name of it that makes us prick up our ears, and open our 
 eyes, and prepare to inquire and to wonder. At all events 
 — after having read the annals of Romish persecution, the 
 history of Inquisitions, and of this most subtle and distin- 
 guished Order itself, — this was and has long been the effect 
 upon me. When, years ago, I heard that there was a 
 Jesuits* college at Stonyhurst, my curiosity was strongly 
 aroused. To imagine the disciples of Ignatius Loyola 
 erecting their standard amid the spinners and weavers of 
 Lancashire — the fathers of that famous order which had 
 figured so conspicuously in the dark annals of the Inquisi- 
 tion ; which had insinuated its members into every country 
 and city — into the eabinets and councils of all kings ; which 
 had so often directed the political power of Europe, traversed 
 the vast lands of India and America, and moulded savage 
 nations to its designs ; of that order so awful in history for 
 its peculiar policy, its sagacity, and its talent, coming out 
 into the face of the English people, into the full blaze of the 
 freest opinion, into the very midst of the jealous and search- 
 ing scrutiny of Protestant sectaries — was a moral pheno- 
 menon worthy of close attention. 
 
 One was curious to see what system of action these Pro- 
 
VISIT TO STONYHURST. 321 
 
 teus-like priests assumed ; what were the political and social 
 maxims they professedly held ; by what links and lines of 
 sympathy, or, at least, of accordance, they sought to connect 
 themselves with a population alive with the spirit of freedom 
 it all its shapes — in religion, in commerce, and in govern- 
 ment. Accordingly, Mrs. Howitt and myself took the op- 
 portunity, on our way northwards, to visit this interesting 
 place. We went thither from Blackburn, where we were 
 spending a short time with our friends ; and found it a de- 
 lightful drive of ten miles, principally along Ribblesdale, in 
 which Stonyhurst is situated. After proceeding about two 
 and a half miles north of Blackburn, Ribblesdale, one of the 
 finest and most extensive vales in England, opened upon 
 us, with Stonyhurst conspicuous on the opposite side of the 
 valley, on a fine elevation, amidst its woods. The building 
 has a noble and commanding aspect, worthy of its situation. 
 It was apparently about three or four miles distant, and I 
 suppose, was not much more ; one of the Jesuits afterwards 
 telling us that they considered it by the footpath, a pretty 
 direct line, to be about seven miles between Stonyhurst and 
 Blackburn ; but the carriage road is very circuitous, holding 
 down the valley as far as Wh alley, and then along wind- 
 ing lanes through Mitton ; so that it proves a good ten miles. 
 But whoever takes the drive, will not think it one yard too 
 much ; a more delightful one can rarely be found. From 
 the first opening of this splendid vale, you have Stonyhurst 
 lying full in view ; Ribchester, the celebrated Roman station, 
 to the left, in the level of the valley ; down the vale to the 
 north-east, you have the castle of Clitheroe, standing on its 
 bold and abrupt eminence ; and as you wind along the east- 
 ern side of the dale, with the Ribble below you on your left, 
 and above you on your right, woods and cottages with their 
 little inclosures, the ruins of Whalley Abbey come in 
 view, and, high beyond, the bare and cloud-mottled heights 
 of Pendle-hill. The ruins of Whalley Abbey, made so fa- 
 
322 VISIT TO STONYHURST. 
 
 milliar to the public by Dr. Whittaker's history, are still very 
 extensive and picturesque. Old walls mingled with large 
 trees ; large windows here and there visible, still displaying 
 their tracery ; a house with smoking chimneys in the midst ; 
 and the Calder,a beautiful stream between high banks, run- 
 ning close past — present a very attractive whole to a passer- 
 by. Here we crossed a bridge and wound away to the left, 
 in a circuitous course, to Stonyhurst ; in fact, going, in a 
 great measure, backward again. The lanes through which 
 we drove were fine old pastoral lanes, all embowered with 
 tall luxuriant hedges, rich with fresh foliage, and sweet with 
 the flowers of the elder and the wild rose. 
 
 It was the time of roses ; 
 
 We plucked them as we passed. — Hood: 
 
 for it was, in fact, the 29th of June. So we drove on, 
 every few yards catching a peep into fields full of grass, or 
 glimpses of fine uplands, distant hills, and hanging woods. 
 On our left, lying low amongst tall trees, appeared Little 
 Mitton manor-house — one of those quaint, ancient, tim- 
 bered houses with which Lancashire abounds. This is re- 
 markable for its galleried hall of the age of Henry VII., of 
 which an engraving may be found in Whittaker. All about 
 us, as we ascended to the greater Mitton, or the Mitton, 
 were green and whispering trees, and peeps into meadows 
 rich with cattle; and the sound of the two rivers — the 
 Hodder and the Ribble, which unite just below — came up 
 to us delightfully. Mitton is as singularly as it is sweetly 
 situated, on a point of land in the West Riding of Yorkshire 
 which runs into Lancashire betwixt those streams ; and it 
 is a spot at which I must request my readers to pause a 
 moment, not merely because in it lie the greater part of the 
 Sherburne family, the ancient lords of Stonyhurst, but be- 
 cause the village and church of Mitton are, of themselves, 
 
VISIT TO STONYHURST. 333 
 
 highly worthy of a visit from the lovers of antiquity and of 
 rural peace and seclusion. The place is one of the most 
 perfect " Nooks of the World ;" one of those places that, 
 however all the country around them be revolutionized by 
 manufactures and politics, stand, save for the ravages of 
 time on their buildings, as they stood ages ago. It is most 
 absolutely Old English. The slumber of a summer noon 
 lies there profoundly as a trance. The low of cattle from a 
 neighbouring croft, or the hum of a passing bee, seem the 
 only living sounds. The village consists of a few old farm- 
 houses — one of which is a dilapidated monastery — the 
 usual diversification of a blacksmith's shop, a wheelwright's 
 shop, the parsonage, and little garden cottages. It stands 
 surrounded with a profusion of trees. The church is a plain, 
 unpretending structure, with a low square tower ; but it 
 delights you as you approach with the green sequestered 
 beauty of its churchyard, and on your entrance, with such 
 a group of efflgied tombs as few village churches can show. 
 
 We found the old sexton in his little cottage by the church- 
 yard gate, supping his porridge, to use a Lancashire phrase 
 — for it was twelve o'clock ; but on stating our desire to see 
 the church, he set down his porringer, and reached the keys. 
 The man himself was a character worth knowing. He ap- 
 peared very old, with a face that evidently had been a good 
 one, and that now exhibited much shrewdness and sense of 
 office. He was corpulent, and bound his waist about with 
 a cord. He was so asthmatic that he could hardly breathe, 
 and yet, when we asked his age, he replied — 0, I'mnubbut 
 eighty-five !" He seemed, indeed, to regard himself as 
 quite a youth, though he had been clerk sixty-four years, 
 had seen two or three clergymen out, and had copied in- 
 scriptions, and held a deal of intercourse with Dr. Whittaker, 
 the historian of Whaliey, respecting the antiquities of this 
 church. 
 
 On entering the churchyard, the very first object was one 
 
324 VISIT TO STONYHURST. 
 
 which spoke greatly in favour of the old man. It was the 
 tomb of the late vicar, surrounded with a spacious railing, 
 and within the railing, planted with a hedge of evergreens, 
 bays, junipers, box and arbor-vitae. He told us that the 
 former clergyman had been very fond of evergreens, and 
 so he had planted these about his tomb, as he had no sur- 
 viving relatives on the spot to show this respect to his 
 memory. The shrubs had grown bravely ; and he had 
 clipped them square, like a green wall round the tomb, and 
 cut them low at its foot, so as to allow the inscription to be 
 read. The bottom of this verdant screen was newly weeded. 
 He always weeded and clipped it once a year, he said ; he 
 had been doing it these last few days, but he had not yet 
 had time " to ready the weeds and clippings away " — and 
 there they lay. 
 
 As the old man applied his key to a door on the north 
 side of the church, we observed the effigy of a knight, in 
 free-stone, lying close to the wall. " Yes/' said he, " you 
 must notice that, and when you come out of the church, 
 notice it again." He opened the door ; and the sight of the 
 white marble tombs, and their extended figures, was very 
 striking. They were the tombs and effigies of the Sher- 
 burnes, executed by William Stanton, and mentioned by 
 Whittaker in his history of Whalley ; but which our worthy 
 sexton described in a way very peculiar to himself, and one 
 infinitely more graphic and piquant. They were evidently 
 the pride of his heart; and no wonder — for such an assem- 
 blage of marble tombs and recumbent figures, I suppose, 
 scarcely another country church in England can boast. 
 
 The old man, like other show-people, had his story by 
 rote ; and taking his stand before every successive monu- 
 ment, gave his account of it, and read off the inscription — 
 Latin or English, legible or illegible, no matter. The first 
 to which he turned, was, in fact, what he should have 
 shown last, because it was in memory of the last direct male 
 
VISIT TO STONYHURST. 325 
 
 descendant of the Sherburnes ; but it was a pathetic sub- 
 ject, and no doubt strongly attracted his sympathies. It was 
 an alto relievo of white marble. " This/' said he, pointing 
 to the centre figure, a graceful boy, " was the only son of 
 Sir Nicholas Sherburne ; and these," showing two chubby 
 lads on either hand, " were two poor lads that he took to be 
 his playfellows ; and they went to play in the gardens, 
 when green fruit was rife, and he eat something that was 
 poison, and died at nine years of age. Here you see the 
 poor lads weeping for him, and the tears are running down 
 their faces, as natural as life ; here the angels are cutting 
 down lilies and roses with their sickles — the lilies mean 
 that he was cut off in his innocence, and the roses in his 
 youth ; here the hour-glass, with the sand run out, shows 
 that time to him was no more ; and here the angels are re- 
 ceiving his soul into heaven. That is a very affecting 
 thing." 
 
 But one specimen of our worthy cicerone's style must 
 suffice. We must make shorter work of it than he did, and 
 restrict our attention to a few particulars, characteristic of 
 the cemetery of an old English family. There are three 
 tombs, with recumbent figures of knights and their ladies, 
 executed with great spirit, especially one lady, who is really 
 beautiful. But the most singular monument is one of 
 Richard Sherburne, and his lady, who died in childbed of 
 twins, while he was Captain of the Isle of Man, in 1591, 
 " and there lieth entombed." " That," said the sexton, " is 
 Old Fiddle-o'-God and his wife. He went by that name, 
 because, when he was in a passion, that was his word." 
 The pair were kneeling aloft on the monument, at an altar, 
 opposite each other, in prayer, clad and coloured in the 
 quaint style of that age — he in his ruff and full-skirted 
 jerkin ; she in a black gown and hood, falling over the top 
 of her head, and with tan-leather gloves on her arms. On 
 the compartments below are seen the twins in bed, with 
 
 28 
 
326 VISIT TO STONYHURST. 
 
 their nurses watching by them ; and not far off, monks 
 praying for the lady's soul. However passionate and pro- 
 fane the old gentleman might be (and not only his speech 
 betrays as much, but the inscription itself seems to confirm 
 it, praying most heartily for them — " Whose souls God 
 pardon ; grant them His heavenly pardon,") yet he has a 
 most ludicrously pious look on the monument. 
 
 There are two inscriptions by the Duchess Dowager of 
 Norfolk, the daughter of Sir Nicholas Sherburne, which are 
 perfect specimens of the manner in which great families 
 glorify themselves in their own churches, over the very pit 
 of corruption, which one would think enough to confound 
 all human greatness. The first is to her parents, and con- 
 veys a curious picture of the times : — " Sir Nicholas Shire- 
 burn was a man of great humanity, sympathy, and concern 
 for the good of mankind, and did many good charitable 
 things whilst he lived : he particularly set his neighbour- 
 hood a-spinning of Jersey wool, and provided a man to 
 comb the wool, and a woman who taught them to spin, 
 whom he kept in his house, and allotted several rooms he 
 had in one of the courts of Stonihurst, for them to work in ; 
 and the neighbours came to spin accordingly. The spin- 
 ners came every day, and span as long a time as they could 
 spare, morning and afternoon, from their families : this conti- 
 nued from April, 1 6 9 9, to August, 1701. When they had all 
 learned, he gave the nearest neighbours each a pound or 
 half a pound of wool ready for spinning, and wheel, to set 
 up for themselves ; which did a vast deal of good to that 
 north side of Ribble, in Lancashire. Sir Nicholas Sherburn 
 died December 15, 1717. This monument was set up by 
 the Dowager Duchess of Northfolk, in memory of the best 
 of fathers and mothers, and in this vault designs to be in- 
 terred herself, whenever it pleases God to take her out of 
 this world." 
 
 " Lady Sherburn was a lady of excellent temper and fine 
 
VISIT TO STONYHURST. 327 
 
 sentiment, singular piety, virtue, and charity ; constantly 
 employed in doing good, especially to the distressed, sick, 
 poor, and lame, for whom she kept an apothecary's shop in 
 the house. She continued as long as she lived doing great 
 good and charity. She died January 27, 1722. Besides 
 all other great charities which Sir Nicholas and Lady Sher- 
 burn did, they gave, on All- Souls-day, a considerable deal 
 of money to the poor ; Lady Sherburn serving them with 
 her own hands that day." 
 
 But this is nothing to the monumental testimony to the Ho- 
 nourable Peregrin Widderington. In this vault lies the body 
 of the Honourable Peregrin Widderington. The Honour- 
 able Peregrin Widderington was youngest son of William 
 Lord Widderington, who died April 17th, 1743. This Pere- 
 grin was a man of the strictest friendship, and honour, with 
 all the good qualities that accomplish a fine gentleman ; he 
 was of so amiable a disposition, and so engaging, that he 
 was beloved and esteemed by all who had the honour and 
 happiness of his acquaintance, being ever ready to oblige 
 and to act the friendly part on all occasions ; firm and stead- 
 fast in all his principles — which were delicately fine and 
 good as could be wished in any man — he was both sincere 
 and agreeable in life and conversation. He was born May 
 20th, 1692, and died February 4th, 1748-9. He was with 
 his brother in the Preston affair (1716,) where he lost his 
 fortune, with his health, by a long confinement in prison. 
 This monument was set up by the Dowager Dutches of Nor- 
 folk, in memory of the Honourable Peregrin Widderington." 
 
 " What ! was this her second husband ?" we inquired. 
 
 " Ay," said the old man, with a knowing look, " her 
 tally husband — and that makes a difference !"* 
 
 * A provincialism for a lady's choice not sanctioned by the priest. 
 So suited in their minds and persons, 
 That they were framed the tallies of each other. — Dryden. 
 
328 VISIT TO STONYHURST. 
 
 The rest of the interior of the church is old and mean. 
 This aisle, with its proud monuments, separated by a 
 screen, stands in strange contrast, and makes it seem a place 
 where the Sherburnes have the glory rather than God. 
 The old man now led the way to a curious ancient cross in 
 the church-yard, and to the tomb of a monk, whose hon- 
 oured head is still visible upon it ; and then to the freestone 
 effigy under the windows of the Sherburne aisle. The 
 origin of it, he said, was this : — When the monuments of 
 the Sherburnes came down from London, they were, of 
 course, the wonder and the talk of the whole country. A 
 common stonemason, as he sate by the alehouse fire at 
 Hurst's-Green, hearing the company extolling them, said, 
 " 0, he would undertake to cut out as good in common 
 stone." The whole place was scandalised at the man's ar- 
 rogance ; it was carried to the hall. The man was sent for, 
 and desired to make good his boast, under penalty of for- 
 feiting their employment for ever if he failed. He was to 
 take only one view of the figure he pitched upon ; and 
 twelve months were allowed him to finish it in. "And 
 there it is," said the sexton, "as like as pea to pea." The 
 man had done it long before the year was up ; and so sur- 
 prised were the Sherburnes, that they gave him 20l. and 
 allowed it to be laid under the window of the aisle. 
 
 We must now hasten to Stonyhurst College — for we 
 have stopped long by the way; but who would not stop 
 awhile at such a pleasant, antiquated place as Mitton? Let 
 my readers look upon it as a distinct episode in this account. 
 We have seen where the Sherburnes lie — let us now see 
 where they lived ; and we cannot give a better general 
 idea of the place than by transcribing the clear and succinct 
 description of it by Mr. Baines, in his " History of Lan- 
 cashire." 
 
 " In the year 1794, the stately mansion of Stonyhurst was 
 fixed upon as the seat of an English Roman-Catholic col- 
 
VISIT TO STONYHURST. 329 
 
 lege. The heads of that college having been driven from 
 their establishment at Liege by the proscriptions of the 
 French Revolution, were induced, in consequence of the 
 judicious mitigation of the penal enactments in England 
 against Catholic seminaries, to seek an asylum in their native 
 country. A long lease was accordingly obtained of the 
 house and of the college farm, on moderate terms, from the 
 late Thomas Weld, Esq. The mansion they found much 
 dilapidated from time and neglect ; but it is now in a state 
 of complete repair, and they have raised, at a great expense, 
 a large and handsome new building, with a south-east 
 aspect, forming a house admirably adapted for the purpose 
 of education. 
 
 "In the upper stories are the dormitories, where each 
 student has his little apartment. The next story consists of 
 the apartments for the professors and teachers. Below, are 
 the chambers of the president and other directors, with the 
 hall of study and philosophical room ; the former, of seventy- 
 eight feet by twenty feet, is fitted up with desks and benches 
 for two hundred and twenty scholars ; but they do not at 
 present amount to that number. A high throne or pulpit 
 for the prefect, who has the charge of the young gentlemen 
 at their studies, stands against the wall in the central part of 
 the room, so as to command a view of each student. This 
 place is devoted to study exclusively. Not a word is ex- 
 changed between the students during the hours allotted to 
 study. The philosophical apparatus-room is forty-eight feet 
 by thirty-three broad ; it is ornamented with a rich deep 
 frieze ; and the instruments which are used in the illustration 
 of the different branches of natural philosophy, are deposited 
 in this room. A fine painting, by Annibal Caracci, of the 
 taking down of the Saviour from the Cross, hangs over the 
 fireplace. The exhibition-room is connected with this 
 apartment by sliding doors. This room is adapted for 
 
 28* 
 
330 VISIT TO STONYHUKST. 
 
 classical or philosophical exhibitions — and such exhibitions 
 are frequent in the college. 
 
 " On the ground-floor are the seven school or class rooms, 
 where the respective scholars of each class recite to their 
 several masters the lessons which they have learned in the 
 study, and receive lectures. The play-rooms, lavatory, 
 drawing-room, music-room, and dancing-gallery, are also on 
 this floor. Every duty has its own fixed time, place, and 
 superintendent. The library is a handsome, but small room. 
 It contains amongst other valuable works, some highly illu- 
 minated manuscripts, the prayer-book of the queen of 
 Henry VII., and the office in honour of the blessed Virgin, 
 which belonged to the persecuted Queen of Scots. There 
 are also here two or three vellum missals, and several 
 black-letter books ; a copy of St. John's Gospel ; a manu- 
 script of the seventh century, found in the tomb of St. 
 Cuthbert ; with two sculptures in ivory, and a painted 
 crucifix < — all by Michael Angelo ; also, a chest of coins and 
 medals, medallions of the popes, etc. 
 
 " The museum is between the western towers ; and con- 
 tains, among many other interesting subjects, the private 
 seals of James II. and Fenelon ; the embroidered cap of 
 Sir Thomas More ; his seal when Under-Treasurer ; and 
 his original George* when Lord Chancellor, with this in- 
 scription — ' passi graviora dabit his quoque finem ;' 
 several remarkable vases, pixes, and crosses ; with a number 
 of transatlantic curiosities, presented by C. Waterton, Esq. 
 of Walton Hall, in the county of York ; a good collection 
 of minerals and shells ; bronze casts of the Caesars, and 
 plaster casts of the martyrdom of the Apostles ; and the 
 cabinet of the learned Queen Christina of Sweden. The 
 merits and promise of this museum, are not known, or we 
 should find here more monuments of Roman antiquity from 
 
 * A figure of St. George, worn by the Knights of the Garter. 
 
VISIT TO STONYHURST. 331 
 
 Ribchester. A Roman altar, dedicated to the mother god- 
 desses, by a captain of the Asturias, has, however, been 
 lately rescued from the rubbish of a neighbouring farm-yard, 
 and now stands on more classical ground, in the garden of 
 Stonyhurst. This rare piece of antiquity proves to be the 
 identical altar which the venerable Camden, in 1603, saw 
 near Ribchester. The altar is thirty-three inches high, by 
 twenty-two inches broad, and the inscription at length may 
 be read thus : — 
 
 Dis Matribus Marcus Ingenuius Asiaticus Decurio 
 Ala Astrum sxjsceptum solvit libens lubens Merito. 
 
 " The recreation-hall of the professors is a magnificent 
 gallery, ninety feet by twenty, in the old house, running 
 parallel with the study ; the grand tapestry of which room 
 was renewed by the Duke of Norfolk. The refectory, which 
 is of the dimensions of sixty feet by twenty, was the baronial 
 hall of the Sherburnes ; its ceiling, frieze, and floor, are 
 magnificent. The new building is three hundred feet long, 
 and fronts the extensive playground and gardens. The 
 public rooms in the new, as well as in the old buildings, 
 are constructed on a noble scale. The area of the house, 
 playgrounds, and gardens, comprises a space about equal 
 to that on which stood Roman Ribchester — upwards of ten 
 acres. 
 
 " Such is the college in which many of the sons of the 
 Catholic nobility and gentry of this country are educated. 
 Here they are taught to respect and cherish the laws and 
 constitution of their country, and to place a due estimate 
 upon the advantages of a polite and classical education. 
 
 " The character of the population, like that of the lands 
 round the college, is much improved during the last thirty 
 years ; and many of the poor of the neighbourhood are fed 
 and clothed by the institution. The political importance of 
 large Catholic establishments of this kind, is well known to 
 
332 VISIT TO STONYHURST. 
 
 the legislature ; and wise was that monarch and that parlia- 
 ment which relaxed the severity of the penal laws, and 
 invited the Catholic exiles from foreign countries and col- 
 leges, to spend their fortunes and their lives in their own 
 country. 
 
 " The stately pile of Stonyhurst, with its towers and park- 
 like grounds, forms a magnificent object to the whole of the 
 surrounding country ; and the prospects which it commands 
 are bold, rich, and beautiful. Eastward, appears the pic- 
 turesquely-wooded valleys of the Hodder and the Kibble ; 
 the castle of Clitheroe is seen crowning the summit of an 
 insulated hill ; and the vast mass of Pendle closes the view. 
 Southward, appear the high grounds of Blackburn parish, 
 and the windings of the Ribble towards Ribchester. The 
 principal part of the edifice is to the west ; looking over the 
 park and grounds, which are ornamented with clumps of 
 plantation. The geographical situation of Stonyhurst is ten 
 miles to the north of Blackburn, the post-town of the esta- 
 blishment, and is equi-distant from Clitheroe, Walley, and 
 Ribchester. 
 
 " On the south angle of the front of the college, a large 
 and handsome Catholic church or chapel is now erecting, 
 partly by subscription and partly out of the college funds, 
 in the Tudor style of architecture, after a design by J. J. 
 Scholes, Esq. The first stone of the structure was laid in 
 1S32 ; and it will, when finished, be dedicated to St, Peter." 
 
 On approaching this interesting place, we found two 
 roads, one diverging to the right, the other to the left. We 
 took the right, which led us through pleasant, bowery lanes 
 — the fine buildings showing themselves ever and anon, 
 over the trees — to the lodges, the usual way of entrance. 
 Here visiters are expected to use the hospitality of the place, 
 by giving their horses and carriages into the hands of the 
 groom, who takes all possible care of them during their stay. 
 As we were, however, not aware of this circumstance, we 
 
VISIT TO STONYHURST. 333 
 
 drove on, by a winding route, to Hurst's-Green ; a little 
 hamlet, about half a mile from the college. We found 
 here, that the road diverging to the left from Mitton is the 
 direct way to Hurst's-Green, where those who are not in- 
 clined to tax the hospitality of the establishment so much, 
 will find a good village inn, where their horses will be well 
 accommodated. We can only say, however, that, when the 
 heads of the college found that we had not brought our 
 horses to their stable, they expressed the greatest concern. 
 
 The approach from Hurst's-Green is a pleasant walk, 
 and gives you the fullest and finest view of the college. 
 Advancing from the green, you pass several comfortable 
 cottages, and then through a gate, which brings you into 
 the lawn in front of the house ; but at the distance of a quarter 
 of a mile. But, before passing through this gate, you come 
 to a charming little cemetery, belonging to the hamlet and 
 neighbourhood, with a plain but very tasteful oratory, with 
 a bell. The ground is adorned with a white cross, and a few 
 scattered tombs of simple and appropriate style, and graves 
 planted with shrubs and flowers. This rural cemetery stands 
 well, giving wide views of the country round — of Pendle 
 in one direction, and the wild uplands of Bowland Forest 
 in another ; and is screened and skirted with trees, with 
 good effect. Here, in winter and bad weather, the fu- 
 neral rites are performed for the deceased, by one of the 
 fathers of Stonyhurst, in the oratory ; but in summer and 
 fine weather, in the open air. The poetical, and, I trust, 
 the religious effect, must be strong, of such a funeral in such 
 a place. The single bell from this fair, but solitary grave- 
 yard, calling, over hill and dale, with its solemn voice, the 
 dead to his place ; and the weeping forms, the funeral gar- 
 ments, and the impressive rites of Christian sepulture, thus 
 witnessed in the face of heaven, and the beauties of that 
 earth which shall know him who has departed "no more 
 for ever" — must, one thinks, exercise a strong and even 
 
334 VISIT TO STONYHURST. 
 
 soothing influence, under such circumstances, over the hu- 
 man spirit. 
 
 Turning away from this cemetery, and entering upon the 
 lawn, the view of Stonyhurst in very impressive. It is a 
 house which accords well with the style of its former lords 
 in Mitton church. You see that it was worthy of the Sher- 
 burnes. The grounds, woods, and waters about its solitary 
 stateliness belong strictly to the " old English gentleman." 
 You see that it was not unnatural for the lords and ladies of 
 such a place to take to themselves some credit for " their 
 sympathy and concern for the good of mankind," and for 
 " the many good, charitable things which they did while 
 they lived." You could not avoid thinking of Lady Sher- 
 burne now, not as the tenant of a tomb, but as the living 
 lady of this noble mansion ; and then, for " a lady of ex- 
 cellent temper and fine sentiments," inhabiting such a house, 
 it really did not seem too much to glorify her condescen- 
 sion in giving money away, " on All-Saints-day, with her 
 own hands." One thought of those delicate hands, busy 
 amongst her cordials and plasters, " for the poor and lame, 
 for whom she kept an apothecary's shop in the house ;" and 
 then, calling to mind the many stately mansions and stately 
 parks now-a-days, where the fair and highborn shut them- 
 selves up from the intrusion of their own poor neighbours, 
 during the few months in the year that they dwell amongst 
 them ; and calling to mind, at the same time, the poor men 
 removed from their cottages, and imprisoned in some mon- 
 strous Poor-Law prison — and truly, the eulogium of her 
 Duchess-daughter became worthy of being carved with " an 
 iron pen, and with lead in the rock." 
 
 An avenue of noble trees formerly skirted the carriage- 
 road, which runs directly up the lawn to the house. That 
 is gone ; but woods on either hand of the lawn still form a 
 wider kind of avenue, at the end of which appears this tall 
 building, with its large entrance gateway in the centre, its 
 
VISIT TO STONYHURST. 335 
 
 large square windows, and two domed towers, surmounted 
 with eagles. About half way up the lawn, a railing runs 
 across, marking the more immediate approach ; and, on 
 each hand, is a sheet of water. The house is in the style Of 
 Paul of Padua, and is said by the Jesuit fathers to be the 
 most perfect English specimen of that style. It was built 
 in the reign of Elizabeth, on the site of the older edifice, by 
 Sir Richard Sherburne, who received the honour of knight- 
 hood for his bravery in the battle of Leith, and was so great 
 a favourite of her majesty that she allowed him to have his 
 chapel and his priest at Stonyhurst. He did not, however, 
 live to finish it ; and the cupolas of the towers were added 
 by Sir Nicholas Sherburne, at a cost of 40/. ! as is shown 
 by the deed of contract still existing at Stonyhurst. Sir 
 Nicholas was a travelled scholar ; and by him the gardens 
 and grounds were laid out in the French taste ; and he was 
 preparing to complete the half-finished building, when he 
 lost his only son, Richard Francis, who died in the year 
 1702, at the age of nine years, and in the manner already 
 related. This severe domestic bereavement so affected him 
 that he abandoned his design. His only daughter, Maria 
 Winifreda Francisca, married Thomas, the eighth Duke of 
 Norfolk, and died without issue in the year 176S. The 
 family possessions now passed to the children of Elizabeth, 
 sister of Sir Nicholas, married to Sir William Weld, of 
 Lulworth Castle, Dorsetshire ; and his eminence, Cardinal 
 Weld, eldest son of the late Thomas Weld, Esq., of Lul- 
 worth, inherited this noble mansion from his father. 
 
 This family appears to have been always a staunch Ca- 
 tholic one ; and Stonyhurst coming into the possession of a 
 cardinal, one is not surprised that it should be alienated 
 from the family, and converted to the service of the Catholic 
 cause. The estate is now not merely leased, but sold to the 
 founders of the college. 
 
 Nothing could be more courteous than our reception, of 
 
336 VISIT TO STONYHURST. 
 
 more candid than the manner in which all answers to our 
 inquiries, both regarding the place and the social and poli- 
 tical views of the conductors, were given. We found the 
 President, the Rev. Mr. Scott, was extremely ill at some 
 other place — in fact, as was sppposed, and as it proved, at 
 the point of death ; but two of the priests, Mr. Daniells and 
 Mr. Irvine, received us most kindly. They apprised us 
 that we had arrived on a day on which it was contrary to 
 their custom to admit visiters — being no other than the 
 anniversary of the dedication of their new church to St. 
 Peter and St. Paul — but that they would gladly make an 
 exception in our favour. They could not, indeed, both 
 attend us, divine worship going on in the church the greater 
 part of the day, and Mr. Daniells being now just going to 
 celebrate mass ; but Mr. Irvine would show us the institu- 
 tion during that time, and luncheon would be on the table 
 at our return. Accordingly, we made the round of the 
 house, and were struck with admiration at the general style 
 and nobility of the place — its oaken floors, long galleries, 
 paintings, ceilings, the library, the museum, the exhibition, 
 and philosophical apparatus room, and all those relics and 
 antiquarian remains which enrich it. The passing remarks 
 which I have to make upon these may form a sort of run- 
 ning commentary on Mr. Baines's statement above. The 
 dormitories are large and airy rooms, every separate bed 
 being enclosed within a screen, like the screens of a coffee- 
 house ; and a large curtain is drawn in front, so that every 
 boy, with the advantage of ample ventilation, possesses 
 perfect privacy. The philosophical apparatus room and 
 exhibition-room merit all the praise bestowed upon them ; 
 they are noble rooms, and well furnished with orreries, gal- 
 vanic batteries, a small steam-engine, mathematical instru- 
 ments, and every requisite for scientific demonstrations. 
 Besides the fine painting by Annibal Caracci, there is one 
 of St. Catherine of Padua in the hospital, well worthy of 
 
VISIT TO STONYHUEST. 337 
 
 attention, for the contrast of benignant beauty in the saint 
 with the wretched and agonized forms around her. This 
 room is also furnished with a noble organ. 
 
 An excellent and effective mode of education is adopted 
 here. After philosophical exhibitions in these rooms, and 
 after silent reading in the hall of study, each class returns 
 to the room of its particular teacher, and every boy is care- 
 fully questioned upon what he has seen or read, so as to 
 ascertain that he has clearly comprehended and made him- 
 self master of the matter presented to his mind. The silence 
 and decorum of the school are beautiful. At one moment, 
 the sound of one hundred and sixty-six boys at play, in front 
 of the college, came up to us ; — the next, we saw them 
 marching to the hall of study ; and shortly afterwards, pass- 
 ing the door, so profound was the hush, that we inquired 
 whether it were not really empty. 
 
 Amongst the relics and sculptures in the library, which 
 are secured in a glass-case, the Prayer-Book, stated above 
 to have belonged to the Queen of Scots, was asserted by 
 Mr. Irvine to have belonged to Maria of England ; and 
 that with good reason, — the words Maria Regina merely 
 being written within the cover ; and amongst the emble- 
 matical silver embossments on the binding, appearing the 
 pomegranate, the emblem of Spain. The seals of James II., 
 of Fenelon, and the cap, beads, seal, and reliquary of Sir 
 Thomas More, were also at this time in the library. These 
 relics of Sir Thomas More were given by Father More, the 
 last of the family. Amongst the many interesting contents 
 of the Museum, none are more striking than the quaint old 
 jewel-chest of Queen Christina ; a large cup of crystal ; a curi- 
 ous old ark surmounted with a cross ; and some old English 
 MSS. written on long narrow strips of vellum. The re* 
 creation-hall is indeed a magnificent gallery, and is embel- 
 lished with a great number of paintings, amongst which is 
 a very curious large Spanish piece, a portrait of Ignatius 
 
 29 
 
338 VISIT TO STONYHURST. 
 
 Loyola, surrounded by those of almost every celebrated 
 Jesuit. There is also a set of heads of the Apostles, very 
 striking, and correspondent with their characters ; especially 
 that of St. John, which is beautiful, and full of that spirit 
 of love, which gave him the bosom-place with his Divine 
 Master. The refectory is one of the finest baronia^ halls I 
 have seen ; and the floors of this and other rooms are of 
 oak, laid in squares, lozenges, and other figures, of a rich 
 and antique beauty. This noble room had tables, seats, 
 and other furniture then preparing for it, of a fashion ac- 
 cordant with, and worthy of its old English magnificence. 
 We proceeded from the house to view the playground and 
 gardens. In the former, which has been taken from the 
 gardens, we found one hundred and sixty-six boys at play 
 — a fine set of lads, in all the eagerness and animation of 
 their age — the sons of the principal Catholic nobility and 
 gentry of England and Ireland. Charles Waterton and 
 Sheil were educated here. 
 
 With the exception of the piece taken for the playground, 
 the gardens remain pretty much in the form in which they 
 were laid out by Sir Nicholas Sherburne. They are de- 
 lightful in themselves, and delightfully situated — looking 
 out over that splendid valley, with its river, woods, uplands, 
 and distant hills. It is the fashion to cry down all gardens 
 as ugly and tasteless which are not shaped by our modern 
 notions. The formalities of the French and Dutch have 
 been sufficiently condemned. For my part, I like even 
 them in their place. One would no more think of laying 
 out grounds now in this manner than of wearing Eliza- 
 bethan ruffs, or bob-wigs and basket-hilted swords ; but the 
 old French and Dutch gardens, as appendages of a quaint 
 old house, are, in my opinion, beautiful. They are like 
 many other things — not so much beautiful in themselves, 
 as beautiful by association, as memorials of certain charac- 
 ters and ages. A garden, after all, is an artificial thing, and 
 
VISIT TO STONYHURST. 339 
 
 though framed from the materials of nature, may be 
 allowed to mould them into something very different from 
 nature. There is a wild beauty of nature, and there is a 
 beauty in nature linked to art ; one looks for a very differ- 
 ent kind of beauty in fields and mountains, to what one 
 does in a garden. The one delights you by a certain rude 
 freedom and untamed magnificence ; the other by smooth- 
 ness and elegance — by velvet lawns, bowery arbours, 
 winding paths, fair branching shrubs, fountains, and juxta- 
 positions of many rare flowers. Who will say that Colonel 
 Howard's Elizabethan house and old French gardens at 
 Leven's Bridge are not beautiful ? — and who will say, 
 when they have seen them, that the gardens of Stonyhurst 
 are not so too ? 
 
 In the centre is a capacious circular basin of water, in the 
 midst of which stands a leaden figure of a man in chains, 
 said to be Atilius Regulus. This basin abounds with gold, 
 silver, and black fish. Near it a fine observatory was 
 erecting, which would command an enviable prospect. At 
 each lower extremity of the garden, overlooking the dale, 
 is a summer-house of very beautiful form, with tall pointed 
 roof, surmounted with eagles. Over each door is a gro- 
 tesque head, and above it a very classical bas-relief vase, 
 with wreaths of flowers and fruit falling on each side. One 
 side of the garden is still divided by pleached walks of yew 
 — in fact, tall screens or walls of yew, cut square, at least 
 teen feet high, and four or five thick, and kept in fine order. 
 From the observatory you see the whole plan of these 
 fences ; but as you walk among them, you are enveloped 
 in a most green and pleasant solitude. Arched doorways 
 are cut through them, and you come, in one place, to a large 
 circular inclosure, formerly occupied by a fountain, but now 
 converted into a bowling-green. Thence you descend, by 
 broad flights of easy steps, into a most solemn, cool, and 
 twilight walk, formed by ancient, over-arching yews — a 
 
340 VISIT TO STONYHURS1V 
 
 place, of all others, made for the meditations of the religious 
 devotee. Reascending you pass into the air and sunshine, 
 amongst cheerful trees and delicious flowers. Similar flights, 
 at the opposite side of the garden, lead you to walls hung 
 with fruit, and kitchen gardens calculated for such an es- 
 tablishment. 
 
 From the garden we passed into the new church ; an 
 erection of great beauty, dedicated to St. Peter and St. Paul, 
 whose statues occupy niches on each side of the great wes- 
 tern window, which is richly painted with the figures of the 
 Saviour, the Virgin, St. John and the other Apostles. The 
 church contains four altars decorated with considerable 
 splendour ; the carving, which is very good, being princi- 
 pally executed by a working mason of Preston. The dif- 
 ferent parts of the church are copied from various celebrated 
 ecclesiastical buildings : the pillars and arches forming the 
 aisles, from St. Winifred's Well ; the figures of the saints, 
 from Henry VII.'s chapel. The roof, and the organ of oak, 
 are fine. 
 
 This was the first anniversary of the opening of this 
 church, and numbers of the country people were at mass. 
 But, about forty years ago, when the Jesuits came here, 
 they found the place a wilderness, having been uninhabited 
 for some years. The lands were wild, and overgrown with 
 rushes ; now they present an aspect of great cheerfulness 
 and good farming. About fifty cows are kept to supply the 
 establishment with milk and butter. The place, indeed, is 
 a perfect rural paradise. 
 
 We returned to the house, and found, instead of a lun- 
 cheon, an excellent hot dinner awaiting us. Mr. Daniells, 
 having now terminated his labours in the chapel, joined us, 
 and our conversation naturally turned upon their peculiar 
 position here, their success, and the general condition of 
 Catholicism in England and Ireland. We joked them on 
 the casuistry and duplicity of the Jesuits, and on their gal- 
 
VISIT TO STONYHURST. 341 
 
 lantry to the ladies, no women being suffered to sleep under 
 the roof. All this they took in very good part, as Jesuits 
 ought to do, only saying — 
 
 " Ah, indeed, Jesuits are dreadful fellows. General 
 Johnstone," said one of them, " with a young friend of his, 
 was, some time ago, obliged to pass the night here in con- 
 sequence of his chaise not coming for him as he expected, 
 and in retiring to bed, he said to his companion — ' Good- 
 by, my dear fellow — I shall never see you any more ; for 
 when you wake in the morning, you will find your throat 
 cut !' " 
 
 a But," said Mrs. Howitt, "let what would happen, if it 
 rained or snowed beyond all possibility of travelling, you 
 would turn me out. You would permit Mr. Howitt to 
 stay ; but poor I must dare the elements, and do as well as 
 I could." 
 
 "0 ma'am," they replied, " we should be very sorry; 
 but the rules of our order would compel us to do so — not, 
 however, quite so savagely as you represent ; for we would 
 take care to get you good quarters in the neighbourhood." 
 
 I was anxious to sound, if possible, spite of the prover- 
 bial casuistry and caution of their order, their real senti- 
 ments regarding the recovery of ecclesiastical power. When, 
 therefore, conversation had assumed a confidential, and even 
 a merry tone, I alluded to the general belief of their hope of 
 the recovery of ecclesiastical ascendency in this country, and 
 asked — 
 
 "Is not this an object that, as sincere lovers of your own 
 church, you must ardently desire ?" In a moment, and 
 with an enthusiasm that could not be mistaken, one of them 
 replied — " No, never ! To desire the political establish- 
 ment of Catholicism, would be to desire its destruction ! 
 I hope never to see that day — it would be a fatal day to 
 us." 
 
 " Yes," I rejoined ; "this, I know, is the common language 
 
 29* 
 
342 VISIT TO STONYHURST. 
 
 of English Catholics ; but how is it that it does not agree 
 with the practice of Catholics, when the opportunity is 
 afforded thom ? On the continent, we see the Catholics as 
 ready as ever to ally themselves with the state." 
 
 " That," replied Mr. Daniells, " is the very reason that 
 makes me dread a union with the state here. I know 
 human nature — I know how prone it is to grasp at power 
 and honour ; but I know, too, that the union with the state 
 was the destruction of the Church of Rome in this country, 
 in the sixteenth century ; and it is destroying the Church of 
 England now, and will destroy it. Sir, we have read his- 
 tory as well as the Protestants, and we know, as well as 
 we know anything, that an establishment is the most fatal 
 curse that can befall any church. We know that it infuses 
 a Lethean lethargy ; it destroys the vitality of zeal ; it breaks 
 up the living interest between the priest and his people. 
 That is the notorious and necessary result of an establish- 
 ment; that has been, and is, and must be, the perpetual 
 tendency of every such experiment ; and therefore what- 
 ever may be the desire of others, mine is, that Catholicism 
 may never be established by law in these kingdoms. I do 
 not deny that I desire to see Catholicism spread and prosper ; 
 as a zealous lover of my Church, and deeming it, as I do, 
 the best form of Christianity, it is what I must desire ; and 
 here we have done all that we could, and shall continue to 
 do all that we can, to extend its sphere and its influence. I 
 do not deny that we love power ; but then, it is an intel- 
 lectual and moral power — not the unnatural power derived 
 from a political alliance, which in the end brings weakness 
 to the state, while it confers a specious and external form 
 of existence ; and like a vampire, saps the very life of the 
 life within its victim. If I desire prosperity and power for 
 my church, all history has shown me that they only can be 
 derived from the voluntary zeal of the minister and the 
 affections of the people," 
 
VISIT TO STONYHURST. 343 
 
 We could not but admit that this was, at least, sound 
 reasoning — a wise and legitimate rendering of the language 
 of a long and painful experience ; and we felt, in the frank 
 earnestness with which it was delivered, that it was sincere. 
 Whether the body of Catholics partake of the same philo- 
 sophic views, and whether the return of prosperity would 
 not bring back all the ancient thirst of spiritual dominion, 
 are different questions. 
 
 We rose to take our leave, and our polite and hospitable 
 hosts also took their caps and walked down with us to 
 Hurst's-Green. As we approached the place, I pointed out 
 to them the new English church built on the hill opposite. 
 They smiled, and said — 
 
 " Yes, they may build churches, and preach bitter ser- 
 mons against us, but it all will not avail ; it is not by these 
 means that the hearts of the people are won, and their lives 
 amended. We shall go on in our way." 
 
 And what is that way ? That is an important question. 
 The fact, indeed, that the fathers have proselyted the greater 
 part of the population of the neighbourhood, one which has 
 naturally excited no little curiosity and interest. Their 
 regular congregation then consisted of 1600 people, exclu- 
 sive of their own establishment, which was 250, making in 
 all about 1S50 people. The popular alarm respecting the 
 increase of Catholics in England, has therefore necessarily 
 been particularly strong in this neighbourhood, so much so, 
 that the members of the Established Church have built this 
 new church in the nearest possible approach to the estate of 
 the College, in order to counteract the influence of the 
 fathers. A portion of the success of the Jesuits may proba- 
 bly be attributed to their being landlords of a good deal of 
 the district, as well as to the fact of the estate having been 
 from time immemorial in the hands of a zealous Catholic 
 family, whose influence could not fail to leave a strong im- 
 pression. But this will not account for the whole ; and the 
 
344 VISIT TO STONYHURST. 
 
 simple cause is to be found, in the policy of the Jesuit 
 fathers themselves. It is evident that they have established 
 their influence here by the very same means that their order 
 established such amazing power over the people of Para- 
 guay ; not by their doctrines nor their ceremonies, but by 
 that of active and unwearied personal attention to their 
 wants and comforts. This appears to be the only " witch- 
 craft which they have used," and which will produce the 
 same results in the hands of all who will use it. One act of 
 personal kindness, one word of sympathy, will win more 
 hearts than all the eloquence of Cicero or the wealth of the 
 Indies. The religion of good works, of generous and active 
 philanthropy, is the only religion which will suit the 
 people. The bulk of the population are not nice reasoners : 
 they are none of your acute metaphysicians, who can tell 
 you the difference between the hundredth and the hundred- 
 ahd-first shade of a sentiment; but they know in a moment 
 when they are treated as men, and their hearts kindle and 
 embrace their benefactors with a sympathy not easily de- 
 stroyed. Their understandings may even revolt at the 
 prominent errors of a church's doctrines ; but if they once 
 feel that it has the pith of real Christian kindness in it, they 
 are gained for ever. Errors become changed, in their minds, 
 into matters of indifference, or are actually converted by 
 the mental alchemy of grateful affection into venerable 
 truths. This, from our observation and inquiry, appeared 
 to be the process by which so great changes, had been 
 effected at Stonyhurst. More cheerful, friendly people than 
 the Jesuit fathers, it is impossible to find ; visiting the poor 
 in their cottages with the utmost assiduity and familiar kind- 
 ness. Differing most widely from the creed of these gentle- 
 men, it is only justice to bear this testimony to their prac- 
 tice. And so far from cause of alarm, we think that that 
 very success points out to Protestants of all persuasions the 
 most luminous means of its counteraction. If the faith of 
 
VISIT TO STONYHURST. 345 
 
 these men be adulterated by grievous errors and tradi- 
 tionary superstitions, as it unquestionably is — and yet, by 
 their simple practical policy of interesting themselves in the 
 welfare of the people around them, they have succeeded in 
 restoring to popular favour, a religion which for three cen- 
 turies has been stigmatized throughout England and Scot- 
 land as a bloody and superstitious religion — a religion 
 which, in fact, when it was the established religion of the 
 land, crowned itself with odium for its rapacity, its sensu- 
 ality, and for the folly, idleness, and everlasting bickerings 
 of its monks ; and what is more, if they who have done 
 this belong to an order of that religion which, beyond all 
 others — by the depth of its policy, the ambition and the 
 talent of its leaders, by the pliant and most persevering 
 pursuance of its objects — rendered itself the terror and ab- 
 horrence of the English nation — what shall not the pro- 
 fessors of a purer faith achieve by the same means ? The 
 doings of the Jesuits of Stonyhurst are, in fact, a study of 
 curious interest to all those who are alarmed at the growth 
 of Popery, or who would strengthen their own influence in 
 the hearts of the people around them. 
 
VISIT TO THE ANCIENT CITY OF WINCHESTER. 
 
 HISTORICAL REMINISCENCES. 
 
 What an interesting old city is Winchester ! and how 
 few people are aware of it ! The ancient capital of the 
 kingdom — the capital of the British, and the Saxon, and 
 the Norman kings — the favourite resort of our kings and 
 queens, even till the revolution of 1688 ; the capital which, 
 for ages, maintained a proud, and long a triumphant rivalry 
 with London itself; the capital which once boasted upwards 
 of ninety churches and chapels, whose meanest houses now 
 stand upon the foundations of noble palaces and magnifi- 
 cent monasteries ; and in whose ruins or in whose yet 
 superb Minster, lie enshrined the bones of mighty kings, 
 and fair and pious queens ; of lordly abbots, and prelates, 
 who, in their day, swayed not merely the destinies of this 
 one city, but of the kingdom. There she sits — a sad dis- 
 crowned queen, and how few are acquainted with her in 
 the solitude of her desertion ! Yet where is the place, 
 saving London itself, which can compete with her in solemn 
 and deep interest ? Where is the city except that in Great 
 Britain, which can show so many objects of antique beauty, 
 or call up so many national recollections ? Here lie the 
 bones of Alfred — here he was probably born, for this was 
 at that time the court and the residence of his parents. 
 Here, at . all events, he spent his infancy, and the greater 
 portion of his youth. Here he imbibed the wisdom and 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 347 
 
 magnanimity of mind with which he afterwards laid the 
 foundations of our monarchy, our laws, liberties, and litera- 
 ture, and in a word, of our national greatness. Hence he 
 went forth to fight those battles which freed his country 
 from the savage Dane ; and having done more for his 
 realm and race than ever monarch did before or since, here 
 he lay down in the strength of his years, and consigned his 
 tomb as a place of grateful veneration to a people, whose 
 future greatness even his sagacious spirit could not be pro- 
 phetic enough to foresee. 
 
 Were it only for the memory and tomb of this great king, 
 Winchester ought to be visited by every Englishman with 
 the most profound veneration and affection ; but here also lie 
 the ashes of nearly all Alfred's family and kin : his father 
 Ethelwolph, who saw the virtues and talents, and prognos- 
 ticated the greatness of his son : his noble-minded mother, 
 who breathed into his infant heart the most sublime senti- 
 ments ; his royal brothers, and his sons and daughters. 
 Here also repose Canute, who gave that immortal reproof 
 on the Southampton shore to his sycophantic courtiers, and 
 his celebrated queen Emma, so famous at once for her 
 beauty and her trials. Here is still seen the tomb of Rufns, 
 who was brought hither in a charcoal-burner's cart from the 
 New Forest, where the chance arrow of Tyrrel avenged, in 
 his last hunt, the cruelties of himself and his father on that 
 ground. But, in fact, the whole soil here seems to be com- 
 posed of the dust of kings and queens, of prelates and no- 
 bles, and every object, to have been witness to some of the 
 most signal struggles and strange histories which mark the 
 annals of the empire ; and in order to have a due idea of 
 the wealth of human interest here accumulated, it is desira- 
 ble that before we ramble through the streets and beneath 
 the crumbling ramparts of this queen of British cities, we 
 should take a rapid glance at the long line of the illustrious 
 personages who have figured within it, many of whose acts 
 
348 VISIT TO WESTCHESTER. 
 
 indeed have given an inextinguishable cast and colour to the 
 destinies of the realm. Winchester has been fortunate in 
 her historians ; and especially in her last and best, Dr. Mil- 
 ner ; and following in their track, we may confidently walk 
 over her most hallowed ground, and mount her hills, every 
 one of them rife with historic memories, and point out the 
 footsteps and the dim receding figures of crowned monarchs, 
 embattled hosts, the duels of renowned champions, or the 
 peaceful processions of mitred and cowled men, amid the 
 sound of martial or sacred music, and the hushed awe of 
 the myriad of lookers-on. 
 
 Throwing aside the fables of Nennius, and Geoffrey of 
 Monmouth, and the pedigree of King Brute, drawn from 
 Eneas of Troy, our historians claim a high antiquity for 
 Winchester, as the Caer Gwent of the Celtic and Belgic 
 Britons, the Venta Belgarum of the Romans, and the Win- 
 tanceaster of the Saxons. The history of Winchester is 
 nearly coeval with the Christian era. Julius Csesar does 
 not seem to have been here, in his invasion of Britain, but 
 some of his troops must have passed through it ; a plate from 
 one of his standards, bearing his name and profile, having 
 been found deep buried in a sand-bed in this neighbour- 
 hood ; and here, within the first half century of Christendom, 
 figured the brave descendants of Cassibelaunus, those noble 
 sons of Cunobelin or Cymbeline, Guiderius and Arviragus, 
 whom Shakspeare has so beautifully presented to us in his 
 Cymbeline ; — that Arviragus, the Cogidubnus also of his 
 countrymen, and the noble Caractacus of the Roman histo- 
 rians. Who is not acquainted with his dignified conduct at 
 Rome ? with the joy of the Emperor Claudius, and the whole 
 Roman court and people, when he was betrayed into their 
 hands? with their generous treatment of him, and with his re- 
 turn to this country to reign at Venta, with his new Roman 
 queen Gewissa ? This lady, our ancient historians do not 
 hesitate to style the daughter of Claudius himself. But both 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 349 
 
 they and the Roman poet Martial, claim Claudia the daughter 
 of Caractacus, as the wife of the noble senator Pudens, both of 
 whom are mentioned by St. Paul in his second epistle to 
 Timothy (c. iv. v. 21), as their mutual Christian friends at 
 Rome. If we are to credit the Saxon Martyrology and 
 Archbishop Usher, not only were the descendants of Clau- 
 dia and Pudens amongst the most eminent Christians of 
 Rome ; but Lucius, the great-grandson of Tiberius Claudius 
 Cogidubnus, our Arviragus or Caractacus, was the first 
 Christian king in this or any other country. Hence was he 
 called by the old historians Lever Maur, or the Great Light, 
 and hence did he take the star of Jacob for his badge, as 
 may be seen in the engraving of one of his medals in Cam- 
 den. We learn that he founded in Britain churches in each 
 of its twenty-eight cities, and built here a noble cathedral. 
 He was the last of the tributary kings ; the Roman emperors 
 afterwards holding their government in their own hands till 
 they finally withdrew from the island. 
 
 But here it was that, while Caractacus himself reigned, 
 the fate of the brave queen Boadicea was sealed. Stung 
 to the quick with the insults she had received from the 
 Romans, this noble queen of the Iceni, the Bonduca of some 
 writers, and the Boo Tika of her own coins, had sworn to 
 root out the Roman power from this country. Had she 
 succeeded, Caractacus himself had probably fallen, nor had 
 there ever been a king Lucius here. She came breathing 
 utter extermination to everything Roman or of Roman 
 alliance, at. the head of 230,000 barbarians, the most numer- 
 ous army till then ever collected by any British prince. Al- 
 ready had she visited and laid in ashes Camulodunum, 
 London, and Verulam, killing every Roman and every Ro- 
 man ally, to the amount of 70,000 souls. But in this neigh- 
 bourhood she was met by the Roman general Paulinus, and 
 her army routed with the slaughter of 80,000 of her fol- 
 lowers. In her despair at this catastrophe, she destroyed 
 
 30 
 
350 i, VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 herself, and instead of entering the city in triumph was 
 brought in a breathless corpse for burial. 
 
 Many were the stirring events which occurred here while 
 the Roman emperors, or the tyrants who rose up in Britain, 
 and assumed the purple in defiance of them, reigned ; but 
 none were so bloody as the persecution of the Christians by 
 Diocletian, in which the streets of Venta were deluged with 
 innocent blood, and the splendid minster of Lucius razed 
 to the ground ; and none so curious as that a monk of this 
 city, Constans, should go forth a warrior, assume the purple 
 and the imperial crown, and become, in that character, the 
 conqueror of Spain. It was during the dynasty of the 
 Saxon kings that Winchester was especially the seat of 
 royalty, and the scene of singular events. Before the valiant 
 Cerdic, the Saxon, the famous Uther Pendragon, the father 
 of the yet more famous king Arthur, gave ground, and left 
 Caer G went, or Venta, to become Wintanceaster, the capital 
 of the West Saxons. Here then reigned Ceaulin, who beat, 
 at Wimbledon in Surrey, Ethelbert, the first Christian king 
 of Kent ; Kinegils, the renowned king, who, victorious over 
 all his enemies, received the Christian faith from St. Birinus, 
 in 625, and began to build anew the cathedral, which his 
 son Kenewalk completed, in which the bones of Kinegils 
 are yet carefully preserved. Here, after a succession of 
 stout kings, reigned Egbert, who first united the Saxon 
 Heptarchy, and made Wintanceaster the capital of Eng- 
 land ; having in his youth lived in the capital of the Franks, 
 and formed himself on the model of the great Charlemagne, 
 of the example of whose virtues and valour he had great 
 need, for in his day the Danes rushed abroad over his 
 kingdom, and burnt towns and ravaged the country far 
 and wide. 
 
 In the cathedral of this city his son Ethel wolph, the father 
 of Alfred, signed and delivered, before the high altar, in the 
 presence of two subject kings and a great number of nobles, 
 one of the most important, and, from its consequences, most 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 351 
 
 celebrated documents, which ever issued from the hands of 
 a king — the Charter of Tithes on all the lands in England ; 
 which, says William of Malmsbury,for the greater solemnity, 
 he then placed on the altar. Here, as we have before said, 
 lived the gallant, the philosophic, and the pious Alfred, 
 whom Milner justly pronounces " the miracle of history ; a 
 prince who, having been the subject of innumerable pens, 
 has never had a defect imputed to him as a sovereign, or a 
 fault as a man !" — whom Sir Henry Spelman calls " the 
 wonder and astonishment of all ages !" — and whom Hume, 
 the historian, thus speaks of: " The merit of this prince, both 
 in private and public life, may with advantage be set in 
 opposition to that of any monarch or citizen which the 
 annals of any age or any nation can present to us. He 
 seems, indeed, to be the model of that perfect character, 
 which, under the denomination of a sage or wise man, 
 philosophers have been fond of delineating, rather as a fic- 
 tion of their imagination, than in hopes of ever seeing it 
 really existing ; so happily were all his virtues tempered 
 together, so justly were they blended, and so powerfully 
 did each prevent the other from exceeding its proper bound- 
 aries ! He knew how to reconcile the most enterprising 
 spirit with the coolest moderation ; the most obstinate per- 
 severance with the easiest flexibility ; the most severe 
 justice with the gentlest lenity ; the greatest vigour in com- 
 manding with the most perfect affability of deportment ; the 
 highest capacity and inclination for science with the most 
 shining talents for action. His civil and military virtues 
 are almost equally the objects of our admiration, excepting 
 only, that the former being more rare among princes, as 
 well as more useful, seem chiefly to challenge our applause. 
 Nature also, as if desirous that so bright a production of 
 her skill should be set in the fairest light, had bestowed on 
 him every bodily accomplishment, vigour of limbs, dignity 
 of shape and air, with a pleasing, engaging, and open 
 countenance." 
 
352 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 And what did Alfred, to win these extraordinary praises ? 
 In the short period of twenty-nine years and a half, the 
 period of his reign, he chased numerous armies of Danes 
 from his country, though beset sometimes with several of 
 them appearing in different quarters at once. Numbers of 
 them he civilized and Christianized, and planted in the parts 
 which they themselves had depopulated. He raised a na- 
 tional militia, and so trained it as to be ready to issue forth 
 at the shortest notice, and march to any point at which the 
 enemy might appear. He was the first to build and main- 
 tain a fleet, and thus avail himself of the peculiar strength 
 of our insular position. He established such a police, that 
 when he hung, as a trial, golden bracelets on trees by the 
 highways, not a man dared to take them down ; and the 
 husbandman — the mechanic — returning in security to 
 their daily tasks, England speedily assumed such an air of 
 security and prosperity as it never knew before. Though 
 Egbert, his grandfather, had united the Heptarchy under 
 one nominal crown, it was he who first really cemented 
 England into one kingdom ; the Welsh even acknowledging 
 his authority, and the whole country, from the borders of 
 Scotland to the South, submitting to his rule. Whatever 
 had been fabled of Arthur, seemed realized in Alfred. He 
 was not only the founder of the monarchy in its geographi- 
 cal extent, but in its constitution and laws. Having fought 
 fifty-six battles himself, by sea and land, he sate down to the 
 equally arduous task of framing the institutions of peace 
 and knowledge. He wrote a body of laws, which, though 
 now lost, are yet believed to be the origin of what we term 
 our Common Law. He divided the whole country into 
 tithings, hundreds, and shires, with proper magistrates in 
 each, and with appeal from the court of the tithing to that 
 of the hundred, thence to the shire ; and, finally, if necessary 
 to himself. Every man in each tithing was answerable for 
 the conduct of another, and whoever did not register him- 
 self in his tithing, was punishable as an outlaw. None 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 353 
 
 could move from his place of abode without a certificate 
 from his tithing-man, or borsholder. Besides the monthly 
 meetings of each hundred for the due administration of jus- 
 tice, there was an annual one, which has given to many 
 hundreds the name of wapentake, for to it every man came 
 armed, and then was made a stern inquiry into the conduct 
 of police and of magistrates, as well as of the people, and 
 all abuses were impartially redressed. Assizes were to 
 be held twice a year in each shire, and twice a year he 
 regularly assembled the States in the capital. No man, 
 was tried, for any offence, without twelve freeholders 
 being sworn to make due examination of his cause. Thus 
 were laid down our present plan of administrative justice, 
 trial by jury, and our parliament. If Alfred did not invent 
 these institutions — for they are of a kind which prevailed 
 amongst most of the ancient Saxon and Teutonic nations — 
 he, however, systematized and reduced them to an exact 
 practice, using great exertion to secure magistrates, sheriffs, 
 and earls of strict integrity, of the greatest intelligence ; and 
 removing rigidly all that appeared corrupt or incompetent. 
 Never was so admirable a plan of civil jurisdiction framed in 
 so rude an age ; and to remedy the very rudeness of the age, 
 he invited into his kingdom the most learned and pious men 
 from all parts. He founded and endowed the University 
 of Oxford. He may, indeed, be said to have established a 
 national system of education, for he enacted that every man 
 who possessed two hydes of land should send his children 
 to school to be educated. He himself undertook transla- 
 tions from the Greek and Latin languages ; amongst them 
 iE sop's Fables, Boethius on the Consolations of Philosophy, 
 and the histories of Orosius and Bede. He wrote stories, 
 fables and poems. He encouraged merchandise and manu- 
 factures of all kinds ; and while all this time racked by the 
 pangs of an incurable malady, he rebuilt his ruined cities, 
 and especially the cities of Winchester and London, in 
 greater magnificence than they had known before. He was 
 
 30* 
 
354 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 celebrated for having introduced a superior style of archi- 
 tecture into the kingdom, and built four noble monasteries 
 as models of tasteful magnificence, one of them being 
 the Netoart ptimstre, where his bones were laid. To crown 
 all, not contented with what he had done while living, he 
 left behind him, in his will, as an immortal legacy to his 
 country, the sentiment — how glorious from the heart of a 
 great and victorious king ! — that " it is just that the 
 English should for ever remain as free as their 
 own thoughts !" Well might Sir Henry Spelman style 
 him "the wonder and astonisment of all ages !" and add, 
 " if we reflect on his piety and religion, it would seem that 
 he had always lived in a cloister : if on his warlike exploits, 
 that he had never been out of camps : if on his learning 
 and writings, that he had spent his whole life in a college : 
 if on his wholesome laws and wise administration, that 
 these had been his whole study and employment." While 
 contemplating with speechless admiration this sublime and 
 truly godlike character, we cannot help exclaiming, Why 
 has the world been presented with such hosts of kings, and 
 but — one Alfred ? How mysterious is that Providence 
 which does not permit to suffering mankind the blessing of 
 one such perfect monarch, even in a thousand years ! 
 
 Thou hast done nobly, thou hast bravely fought ! 
 Oh ! not for kingly state or lawless sway ; 
 On Freedom's shrine thou didst thy sceptre lay ! 
 And henceforth is thine empire in the thought 
 And feelings of the Free. Power may devise 
 A throne, whose incense is the millions' sighs ; 
 But thou hast won for thee a nobler state — 
 A more enduring throne : for worthless things 
 Are crowns and sceptres, and the sway of kings, 
 Compared with the high feelings, which await 
 The givers of the gift of Liberty { 
 Hence it is that for thee the homage springs 
 Of all the great and wise ; and hence for thee 
 Breathes through all climes a noble memory. 
 
 Richard Howitt. 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 355 
 
 We might have supposed that such would have been the 
 love and veneration of Englishmen for such a man, that 
 his tomb would have been held the most sacred spot on all 
 the broad bosom of England, and that the feet of pilgrims 
 would have not merely worn down the marble steps of his 
 shrine, but have made dusty the very highways leading 
 towards it, from the most distant extremities of the empire ; 
 — but what is the fact ? A beautiful and stately abbey 
 was built to receive his remains, in Hyde Meadow, near 
 this city, and thither they were conveyed from his august 
 monastery, the Nctoacn Jttimstve, with a solemn procession, 
 and holy chantings ; but, at the dissolution of the abbeys, 
 this was pulled down, to sell the materials ; the tombs of 
 Alfred, of his queen Alswitha, of Edward the Elder, his 
 son, and many of their descendants and other illustrious 
 persons, were given up to the mercy of the destroyers. 
 What that age left undone the last completed, by building 
 a Bridewell on the very spot where this great king and 
 perpetual benefactor of his country once reposed amid his 
 kindred and his friends ! Thus, while gorgeous tombs rise 
 above the bones of many a worthless monarch, or ignoble 
 grandee, the dust of Alfred, the noblest man that ever wore 
 a crown, has been violated by the pick and spade of ruth- 
 less workmen, and his monument is — a gaol ! 
 
 But our alternate admiration of the monarch, and indig- 
 nation at the fate of his remains, have stopped us on our 
 way. The descendants of Alfred continued to sway the 
 Saxon sceptre for a hundred and sixty-five years, with the 
 interruption of the brief dynasty of Canute and his sons 
 Harold and Hardicanute ; but no other Alfred arose amongst 
 them. Valiant and great princes were some of them for 
 the times : as Athelstan the Victorious ; and Edgar the Mag- 
 nificent, who made seven kings row him in his barge on the 
 river Dee : but others, such as Ethelred the Unready, who 
 was soon compelled to fly before the Danes ; and Edmund 
 Ironside, that stout-hearted but unlucky king, who was 
 
356 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 obliged to divide his kingdom with them, showed only by 
 the retrogression of the realm under their rule, how truly 
 great had been their immortal ancestor, Alfred. 
 
 Yet during the Saxon period there is a picturesqueness of 
 history that nowhere else occurs. There is a rude simpli- 
 city of life, and a mixture of great crimes and romantic in- 
 cidents, that could only arise in such a life. The monarchs 
 hunting with few attendants, or feasting in their halls in a 
 most jovial and unguarded manner, gave occasion to events 
 that could not in any after age have happened to the most 
 ordinary noble. Into the hall of young Edmund, the suc- 
 cessor of Athelstan, walked the great outlaw Leolf, on a 
 day of high feasting, and seated himself at table. He sate 
 and caroused, spite of the king's indignant command to 
 withdraw himself, and the king instead of ordering his at- 
 tendants to expel him, jumped up, seized him by the throat, 
 and while dragging the robber out, was stabbed by him to 
 the heart. Edwy, while in company with his wife, or as 
 Milner will have it, his mistress, is dragged out by St. Dun- 
 stan, and the Archbishop of Canterbury; the queen, or 
 lady claiming to be queen, is branded in the face, and ba- 
 nished — the people rise, at the instigation of the priests, in 
 rebellion against the king, who is excommunicated and chased 
 away, so that he comes to his death a mere boy, not yet 
 eighteen years of age ; and the lady being again found in 
 England, is hamstrung by the order of the archbishop, and 
 dies in agony. Edgar his successor, a great admirer of 
 female beauty, is cheated out of the lovely Elfrida by his 
 favourite Athelwald, who being sent to see her on the king's 
 account, falls in love with her, and coming back persuades 
 the king that she is nothing particular ; marries her himself; 
 and falls the victim of the combined vengeance of the king 
 and the lady on the discovery of the truth. Edward, the 
 son and successor of Edgar, a gay and open-hearted youth 
 of nineteen, while hunting, leaves his train, rides off into 
 the forest, to see his step-mother, this fair but imperious 
 
VISIT TO WESTCHESTER. 357 
 
 Elfrida, and while drinking a cup of wine, which she pre- 
 sents him as he sits on horseback at her castle-gate, is 
 stabbed by her command. This beautiful, but haughty and 
 ambitious woman, having thus caused the murder of her 
 first husband Athelwald by Edgar, in order to win a crown, 
 and thus murdered Edgar's son by a former wife to make 
 room for her own ; now struck with incurable remorse, quits 
 her regal state, her noble castle of Corfe, builds an abbey 
 at Wherwell in the forest of Harewood near where her 
 first husband fell, and there, amid the most rigorous pe- 
 nances, fastings, prayers, wearing next her skin cloth of hair, 
 passes her whole life ; there dies and is buried. It was 
 Ethelred the Unready, the successor of Edgar, who con- 
 ceived and executed the blooody massacre of all the Danes 
 in the kingdom, whom he had not been able by arms to 
 subdue. It was he who issued secret letters, that on the 
 festival of St. Brice, which fell on a Sunday, the people 
 should suddenly everywhere rise and put every Dane to 
 death. It was in this city, in the year 1002, that this hor- 
 rid butchery began ; and what is more remarkable, it was 
 the concluding scene of the king's marriage festivities with 
 Emma the fair maid of Normandy. 
 
 From this massacre sprung one of the most remarkable 
 of our old English popular customs, that of the Hocktide mer- 
 riments ; which have been continued through every suc- 
 ceeding age, and are even yet practised, particularly in the 
 northern parts of the kingdom, where so many of the Danes 
 were located. Those who may have witnessed what is 
 called Lifting, at Easter ; that is, men being lifted in a chair 
 by the women, till they give them a tribute to be free, may 
 have never known that that merry custom commenced in 
 the city of Winchester, nearly nine hundred years ago, in 
 the bloody massacre of the Danes, when the women took an 
 active part in the affairs : hamstringing such of their victims 
 as they spared, that they might no longer be able to fight ; 
 whence in the annual rejoicings which they instituted to 
 
358 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 commemorate this tragedy, they substituted the symbolical 
 practice of tying the men down in a chair, for disabling 
 them, and demanding for their release a fee. But for this 
 bloody deed, this kingdom, and especially this city, its capi- 
 tal — speedily received sweeping vengeance. The Danes 
 under Sweyn, came hot with fury, overrun everything, and, 
 compelling the monarch to fly for his life, placed a fierce 
 Dane in every house as its keeper, and instead of Hocktide 
 sports, made the cowering Saxon bow his bare head to every 
 Lord Dane that he met ; and if he encountered him on a 
 bridge or in a narrow way, so to stand till his lordship had 
 passed, or to receive prompt chastisement at his hand. In 
 this cathedral, if we are to believe the ancient annalists and 
 the popular songs of succeeding ages, the widow of the 
 victorious Canute, the celebrated Emma, who had been 
 the wife of two kings, and was now the mother of a 
 third, passed the fiery ordeal, and walked unhurt over 
 nine red-hot ploughshares. She came thither the pre- 
 ceding day from the abbey of Wherwell, whither she had 
 retired, and spent the night before the altar in prayer. 
 When the morning broke, there came the king, the bishops, 
 and all the multitude of people, to witness this fearful 
 spectacle ; and when they saw her walk, supported by two 
 bishops, over the burning metal not merely unhurt, but un- 
 conscious of it, thus being cleared by divine power itself 
 from the breath of calumny, the thousand of spectators 
 made the vaults of the ancient mynstre, and the vaults of 
 heaven itself to ring with their acclamations. 
 
 Such were the scenes which passed in the royal city of 
 Wintanceaster during its period of Saxon glory — but the 
 Normans came, and London began to rival and eclipse it 
 as a regal seat. From the day, indeed, in which Alfred had 
 rebuilt London in so superior a style, and had ordered the 
 States to assemble there twice a year, its natural advantages 
 of situation as the capital of a great realm, began to be felt, 
 and it consequently increased rapidly in power and popula- 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 359 
 
 tion. A great river is the true seat for a great capital, and 
 the Thames was not only a noble stream, but was so located 
 in reference to the continent, that its signal superiority could 
 be no longer overlooked. While the kingdom was not suf- 
 ficiently knit together to repel readily the ravages of foreign 
 foes, a capital such as Winchester, a little removed from 
 the coast, and especially from the northern coasts of the con- 
 tinent, which poured out so many fierce barbarians, was a 
 more desirable spot ; but the Normans were a powerful 
 race, and their relative location and communication with 
 their own country, which must be kept up by ships, which 
 again must necessarily require a noble harbour — made 
 London the seat of power, but still left Winchester the seat 
 of residence and pleasure. Here the Conqueror found him- 
 self in the very paradise of his own desire. His passion for 
 dominion was not more fervent than his passion for hunting. 
 " He loved," says the Saxon chronicler, who is believed to 
 have been his cotemporary, "great deer as if he had been their 
 father." Here then was a noble old city, well fortified, the 
 seat of the kings of three preceding dynasties. So here he 
 built him a castle to hold the natives in check, and a palace, 
 thrusting it into the north end, even of the cathedral en- 
 closure, where some of its massy foundations are yet to be 
 seen ; and here soon began to toll his great even-bell of 
 Couvrefou, which was soon echoed from every parish steeple 
 throughout the kingdom, and which yet are heard ringing 
 by us at eight o'clock in an evening — the curfew-bell of 
 these peaceful days. The city stood in a lovely and fertile 
 valley, watered by one of the most wonderfully translucent 
 streams on earth ; and around it lay a delightful country — 
 to him especially delightful, for its pleasant woods of 
 Hempage, its forests of Bere and Woolmer, Chute and 
 Pamber, all within scope of an accessible variety, but espe- 
 cially his great and favourite region of Ythene, or New 
 Forest. Here he was, therefore, often to be found ; as was 
 his son Rufus, who, as we have observed, was buried here. 
 
360 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 Here the royal treasures were kept; here, and "for ages 
 after, were the royal mints; and under these kings and 
 their successors, till the time of Edward III., who con- 
 tinued to keep their court and wear their crowns here 
 at Easter annually, Winchester nourished greatly. As 
 the stream of years rolled on, Winchester witnessed many 
 a singular scene, at which we can only give a glance. 
 It saw the line of Alfred mingled with that of the Norman 
 dynasty, by the union of Maud, or Molde the Good, the 
 great granddaughter of Edmund Ironside, and Henry the 
 First. Here she was living in a monastery — here she was 
 married — and, according to Rudborne, after a life of active 
 piety, distributing alms, building hospitals and bridges, and 
 serving the infirm and diseased in person — here she was 
 buried. Here her daughter, the Empress Matilda, waged 
 the hottest part of her long warfare with Stephen, in which 
 themost populous partof the city was destroyed by Stephen's 
 party, with twenty churches, the royal palace, and the noble 
 monasteries of St. Mary and St. Grimbald ; and the Empress 
 herself was only able to escape out of the besieged castle by 
 a pretended death, and a truce obtained for the purpose 
 of her funeral, during which she was carried out of 
 the city through the midst of her besiegers on a horse- 
 litter, wrapt as a corpse in a sheet of lead. Here Coeur-de- 
 Lion, after his crusade and captivity in Germany, thinking 
 himself half unkinged by his absence and thraldom, caused 
 himself to be again crowned with great pomp and cere- 
 mony ; and here the whole country saw with indignation 
 the most contemptible act of the contemptible John. 
 
 After having here planned sundry schemes of exaction and 
 oppression — after attempting to seize one -thirteenth of all 
 the moveable property of the realm, and bearding the Pope 
 about the appointment of an archbishop — as mean as 
 obstinate, he then ran into the other extreme, on being 
 menaced with his kingdom being given to the king of 
 France. At Dover he laid his crown and treasures at the 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 361 
 
 feet of the Pope's agent, Pandulph, doing homage for them, 
 and agreeing to ratify what Matthew of Westminster justly 
 terms a treaty lamentable, and detestable, at this city. 
 Here, therefore, on the approach of the rejected Archbishop 
 Langton, and several brother prelates, he went out to meet 
 them on the downs of Magdalen-hill, where " at the sight 
 of them he fell upon his knees, and shed many tears. This 
 had the effect of melting the whole company, who mingled 
 their tears with his. The prelates, raising him from the 
 ground, now marched in mournful procession, repeating the 
 50th Psalm, to the western door of the cathedral, where a 
 great number of distinguished persons joined them in 
 weeping and praying." They did not allow him, however, 
 to enter the church, but as an excommunicated person kept 
 him standing without a good while, but finally proceeded to 
 the chapter-house, and absolved him in due form. 
 
 Most of the succeeding kings and queens were to be found 
 at one time or other at Winchester, holding festivals, or 
 parliaments, or passing to and fro in their intestine wars. 
 Henry III. was born here, and always bore the name of 
 Henry of Winchester : Henry IV. here married Joan of 
 Brittany ; Henry VI. came often hither, his first visit being 
 to study the discipline of Wykeham's college, as a model for 
 his new one at Eton to supply students to King's College, 
 at Cambridge, as Wykeham's does to his foundation of New 
 College, Oxford : and happy had it been for this unfortunate 
 monarch, had he been a simple monk in one of the monas- 
 teries of a city which he so much loved, enjoying peace, 
 learning, and piety, having bitterly to learn — 
 
 That all the rest is held at such a rate 
 
 As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep 
 
 Than in possession any jot of pleasure. 
 
 Henry VIII. made a visit with the Emperor Charles V., and 
 stayed a week examining its various antiquities and religious 
 institutions ; but he afterwards visited them in a more 
 
 31 
 
362 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 sweeping manner, by the suppression of its monasteries, 
 chantries, etc., so that, says Milner, "These being dissolved, 
 and the edifices themselves soon after pulled down, or 
 falling to decay, it must have worn the appearance of a 
 city sacked by a hostile army." Through his reign and 
 that of Edward VI. the destruction of the religious houses, 
 and the stripping of the churches, went on to a degree 
 which must have rendered Winchester an object of ghastly 
 change and desolation. " Then," says Milner, " were the 
 precious and curious monuments of piety and antiquity, the 
 presents of Egbert and Ethelwolph, Canute and Emma, 
 unrelentingly rifled and cast into the melting-pot, for the 
 mere value of the metal which composed them. Then were 
 the golden tabernacles and images of the Apostles snatched 
 from the cathedral and other altars," and not a few of the 
 less valuable sort of these sacred implements were to be seen 
 when he wrote (1798), and probably are now, in many 
 private houses of this city and neighbourhood. 
 
 The later history of this fine old city is chiefly that of 
 melancholy and havoc. A royal marriage should be a gay 
 thing ; but the marriage of Bloody Mary here to Philip of 
 Spain awakes no great delight in an English heart. Here, 
 through her reign and that of Elizabeth, the chief events 
 were persecutions for religion. James I. made Winchester 
 the scene of the disgraceful trials of Sir Walter Raleigh, 
 Lords Cobhamand Grey, and their assumed accomplices — 
 trials in which that most vain and pedantic of tyrants 
 attempted, on the ground of pretended conspiracies, to 
 wreak his personal spite on some of the best spirits of 
 England. Three of these royal victims, the Hon. George 
 Brooke, brother of Lord Cobham, and the priests Watson 
 and Clarke, were executed here on the castle-hill ; the rest 
 were reprieved after a barbarous farce of execution ; being 
 brought out, one by one, and made to face the very axe, 
 and even to prepare to feel its edge, and then remanded ; 
 Sir Walter Raleigh being sent to the Tower, and cooped up 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 363 
 
 for further mockery and final destruction. Such was the 
 treatment of the man whose genius was an honour to the 
 nation, and whose spirit and counsels had done more to 
 break the Spanish power, then the deadly foe of England, 
 than almost any person of the time, by this wretched doater 
 on the Buckinghams and Carrs. The next reign saw his 
 son Charles suffering for the base maxims of government 
 which this great pretender to " kingcraft," as he termed it, 
 had instilled into him, and brought through this very city a 
 melancholy image of fallen greatness — a prisoner and a 
 doomed man. Cromwell soon appeared here, and left those 
 traces of his presence which, as in so many other places, 
 remain to the present hour. He took the castle and blew it 
 up with gunpowder. He demolished Wolvesley Castle, the 
 bishop's palace ; battered to pieces the fortifications of the 
 city, knocking down what was called the Norman Tower 
 at the West-gate ; with several churches and other public 
 buildings; and then leaving his troopers to stable their horses 
 in the cathedral, they exercised their puritan ardour in de- 
 molishing monuments, smashing painted windows, and 
 perpetrating martyrdom on saints of stone. 
 
 Charles II. took as great a fancy to Winchester as the 
 Norman kings themselves, setting Sir Christopher Wren to 
 build a palace for him on the site of the old castle, which, 
 so far as finished, stands there now ; adding two new rooms 
 to the deanery, in which he lived, for the accommodation of 
 Nell Gwynn ; while the Duchess of Portsmouth built a 
 house for herself in St. Peter Street. But the most singular 
 fact of history connected with Winchester and its neighbour- 
 hood, in modern times, and the last which we shall men- 
 tion, is that of Richard Cromwell, Oliver's son, who re- 
 signed the Protectorate, and has been universally reproached 
 for it by the historians, as being a proof of his weakness 
 and pusillanimity. It is much more probable that it was a 
 proof of his good sense. Richard, no doubt, saw the signs 
 of the times j that a strong party was mustering for the re- 
 
364 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 turn of the Stuarts. He had evidently a keen relish for the 
 enjoyment of life, and had no desire to live as his father 
 had done, with armour under his doublet, and sheet iron on 
 his chamber door, and a brace of pistols always under his 
 pillow. He therefore resolved to retire to enjoyment with 
 the plenty which he had ; and a jolly life, it seems, he led 
 of it, at the old manor of Mardon, at Hursley, near this 
 city, which he received in marriage with Dorothy Major, 
 daughter of an alderman of Southampton. In his father's 
 lifetime, it is said, he used in his convivial hours to drink 
 the health of his father's landlord, Charles II. Charles II., 
 the landlord, it appears, on his return never molested him ; 
 and he spent a merry life in hospitable old English state to 
 the term of eighty years. Here he had a chest filled with 
 addresses of congratulation and protestations of the most 
 profound fidelity, which before his resignation he had re- 
 ceived from all the corporations and almost all public cha- 
 racters ; and on this he would often seat himself in the 
 midst of his jovial friends, and boast that he was sitting on 
 the lives and fortunes of most of the men in England. 
 
 GENERAL ASPECT OF THE CITY. 
 
 Such are some of the swarming historic recollections 
 which come crowding on the mind as you enter the ancient 
 city of Winchester, and it may be supposed, therefore, 
 with what an interest a well-informed Englishman first 
 wanders through it. As you approach it from any quarter, 
 the huge fabric of its cathedral strikes the eye with a solemn 
 and venerable air of antiquity. William of Wykeham's 
 beautiful college, the Norman hospital of St. Cross down 
 the valley, and the peeping towers of various old churches, 
 strengthen the impression. Wherever you turn, when once 
 within its streets, you encounter objects of the past ages — 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 365 
 
 the massy old gateway ; the taper cross, light as a vision of 
 fairyland ; the tall peaked roof of ancient hospital or hall, 
 and crumbling ramparts and ivy-hung ruins. Everything 
 is ancient. The houses are old and unpretending : you see 
 none of those gay resuscitations and extensions of streets 
 which mark the modern growth of many towns. There is 
 a quietness and an absence of bustle in the streets them- 
 selves. You think of such towns as Liverpool and Man- 
 chester, where the spirit of modern activity has filled their 
 huge boundaries with the din and the swarms of a restless, 
 keen, and money-getting population ; of Newcastle, which 
 has sprung up from its ancient dinginess to a splendour of 
 buildings rivaling the capital ; or of Leamington, where 
 the resort of fashion and affluent invalidism have made a 
 splendid and glittering town out of a hamlet of yesterday ; 
 and you feel that the great current of national existence has 
 turned aside, and left this capital of the olden time to muse 
 over her past greatness. As you pass on, your eye is ever and 
 anon caught by the old projecting gable, the low-pointed 
 arch leading into houses which were once conventional 
 buildings or the palaces of nobles, but are now the dim 
 abodes of the humblest citizens. Tali massy walls of gar- 
 dens and other spacious inclosures testify to their own anti- 
 quity ; niches with antique figures of saint and virgin, or 
 holy matron ; memorial stones embedded in the sides of 
 more recent buildings, arrest your eye at every brief inter- 
 val of progress. The names of St. Swithun and St. Peter 
 are inscribed on streets ; and if you lift your eye to the 
 neighbouring hills, they are those of St. Magdalen or St. 
 Catherine. Narrow passages lead you into the ancient bu- 
 rial-ground, or past the dusky receding doorways of old 
 chapels. You find those long secluded pathways between 
 old high walls, leading to retired footpaths in the outskirts, 
 and across the crofts and meadows near, that are only to be 
 found in our old unchanged country towns, and to which 
 
 31* 
 
366 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 we become so much attached when we have lived in such 
 a town for some time, and made them our daily outlets to the 
 country ; and, ever and anon, a solemn stroke of the great 
 clock-bell of the minster, or a chime from a church tower, by 
 the solemnity or the quaintness of its sound, strikes you with 
 a sense of long-passed ages. 
 
 It is but a few months ago that I once more traversed 
 this interesting city, with my brother Richard, who then 
 saw it for the first time. Bound on a voyage to the oppo- 
 site regions of the globe, and enabled by the rough blessing 
 of a storm to set foot once more on English soil, it would be 
 difficult for a less poetical person to imagine the delight 
 with which he went over every spot of this historical ground. 
 Two days of the most splendid autumnal weather we spent 
 in and around it, pacing its gothic aisles and cloisters, pon- 
 dering over its monuments, climbing its hills, and following 
 the windings of its most transparent stream, and every- 
 where re-peopling its haunts with the varied multitude of 
 its past inhabitants. We sat down on St. Giles' hill, while 
 the whole chorus of church-bells filled the air with their 
 solemn, yet rejoicing, murmur of sound ; for it was Sunday. 
 A more beautiful and interesting scene cannot readily be 
 presented to the eye than the one before us. The city lay 
 at our feet, in a fine open valley, and occupying a good 
 portion of it. All round it rose bare green downs, contrast- 
 ing in their airiness with its broad mass of houses, of a sim- 
 ple old English aspect, — red brick houses with red tiled 
 roofs, sobered to the eye with age, and mingled with fine 
 masses of trees, especially around the minster; William of 
 Wykeham's college, and Eastgate-house and grounds to the 
 right, just below us. The main street, running up straight 
 before you, direct east and west, and, at its farther end, the 
 ancient, massy Westgate, spanning it. Immediately to the 
 left of this stands, on its bold elevation, the chapel of St. 
 Stephen, the chapel of the old castle, but now used as the 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 367 
 
 county court ; a building of simple outside, but with a fine 
 interior, in which is still suspended on the wall the fabled 
 Round-table of King Arthur, who was said by the British 
 minstrels to hold his court here. But Dr. Milner has shown, 
 too clearly for the boasts of old romance, that such could 
 not be the fact, the Saxons getting possession of Winchester 
 in Uther's time. On this hill, however, were executed the 
 three gentlemen condemned by the judges of James, as par- 
 ticipators in Raleigh's conspiracy. Close on the left again, 
 stands the palace of Charles II. ; a heavy mass of Grecian 
 architecture, which bears very ill the contrast with the beau- 
 tiful gothic erections below. This stands on the site of the 
 picturesque old castle of the Conqueror, where many a bold 
 and bloody deed was done, and many a fierce beleaguering 
 sustained. There, when Queen Isabella, with her para- 
 mour Mortimer, had triumphed over her husband, Edward 
 II., the head of the old Earl of Winchester, the brave cham- 
 pion of the unfortunate king, and who had lived ninety years 
 of wisdom and virtue, was seen bleaching on the top of the 
 castle-gate at the command of the ferocious queen. But a 
 still stranger sight was it, to see Edmund of Woodstock, the 
 Earl of Kent/the king's own uncle, when condemned for 
 his adherence to his kinsman and sovereign, standing on 
 the scaffold before the castle-gate from morning till night, 
 for want of an executioner ; such being the detestation of that 
 lascivious woman and her base and murderous paramour, 
 and such the love and veneration for that worthy nobleman, 
 that not a man, of any degree whatever, either of the city 
 or neighbourhood, could be induced by rewards or menaces 
 to perform the office of headsman, till a mean wretch from 
 the Marshalsea prison, to save his own life, at length con- 
 sented to take that of the Earl of Kent. To the north of 
 the town might be seen the locality of Hyde Meadow, 
 where, the old minstrels maintain, that Guy of Warwick 
 fought and slew the Danish giant, Colbrand. The ancient 
 ballad of Sir Guy makes him say — 
 
368 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 And afterwards I offered up 
 
 The use of weapons solemnly, 
 At Winchester, whereat I fought 
 
 In sight of many far and nye. 
 
 But far more is Hyde Meadow memorable as the burial- 
 place of the immortal Alfred, the great model of kings and 
 of men. 
 
 In the centre of the town rises the venerable cathedral, 
 as its grand object; at a short distance south, Wykeham's 
 college, looking like another church, with its handsome 
 pinnacled tower and noble east window ; and down the 
 valley, still more southward, the hospital of St. Cross, a 
 miniature likeness of the cathedral, nearly buried in its sur- 
 rounding trees. The meadows between the town and St. 
 Cross show themselves very pleasantly, with their winding 
 streams, their trees, and scattered pottages. Just below you 
 to the left, between you and the cathedral, lie the extensive 
 ruins of Wolvesley Castle ; built by Henry de Blois, the 
 brother of King Stephen, and destroyed by Cromwell. De 
 Blois is said to have built Wolvesley on the site of a Saxon 
 palace, so named from the tribute of wolves' heads, levied 
 by king Edgar, being paid there. Be that as it may, it 
 became from De Blois' time the bishop's palace, and a 
 noble one it must have been. Its massy and wide-spread 
 walls overrun with a vast growth of ivy ; its still entire 
 chapel ; its green inclosure, encircled by the old city walls, 
 gray and broken, and yet carefully covered with fruit trees, 
 — have a most picturesque aspect. The town comes up 
 to the very foot of the hill, nay, its cottages and gardens 
 climb the very acclivity, and remind one of Goethe's descrip- 
 tion of his rambling round the old walls of Frankfort when 
 a boy, and looking down into such gardens, and on men 
 and women issuing like burrowing animals from their dens, 
 which are unseen and unknown to the dwellers below. To 
 our left, rose the swelling hill of St. Catherine, crowned with 
 its copse of beech and fir, and belted with the green mound 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 365 
 
 of its ancient camp, Roman or British ; and behind us, again, 
 rose the downs of St. Magdalen, where formerly stood a 
 noble hospital of that name, and where King John met and 
 humbled himself at the feet of Langton. This very hill of 
 St. Giles, on which we were, is one of the most distinguished 
 in the neighbourhood of the city. Here, for ages, was held 
 one of the greatest annual fairs in the kingdom. It was 
 first granted by the Conqueror to his cousin, the Bishop 
 Walkelin, and his successors, for a single day, and extended 
 by future monarchs to sixteen days. A gay and most 
 curious scene it must have been. Here came merchants 
 from all parts of the kingdom and from the continent too, 
 — Jews, spicers, players, jugglers, minstrels, dealers in 
 cutlery, arms, horses and cattle, mendicant friars, the tin 
 and copper merchants from Cornwall, and all the concourse 
 of picturesque characters which sped to a great occasion of 
 business and merriment in those ages. That the clergy did 
 not keep too strict a hand on its mirth and frolic may well 
 be believed, for the bishop, the priory of St. Swithun,Hyde 
 Abbey, the hospital of St. Mary Magdalen, and other cor- 
 porations, received the tolls upon every article brought to 
 the fair. For this purpose they had collectors stationed at 
 Southampton, Redbridge, and on all the great roads leading 
 to the city. During the continuance of the fair, all the shops 
 were shut up in the city, and the mayor gave up the keys 
 of the four city gates, and with them his authority, to a 
 temporary magistrate of the bishop's appointment. A sort 
 of city was erected on the hill itself. Its booths and tents 
 were arranged in whole streets, each appropriated to the 
 sale of its own peculiar commodity, and thence named, — 
 as the drapery, the spicery, the stannery, etc. The fame of 
 this fair was in every part of the kingdom ; and hence Piers 
 Plowman is introduced, saying, 
 
 To Wy* and to Winchester I went to the Fair. 
 
 * Weyhill. 
 
370 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 Its reputation continued till the reign of Henry VI., when 
 that of St. Magdalen's hill began to eclipse it. 
 
 On this hill too, from the earliest times of Christianity, 
 stood the chapel of St. Giles, which was burnt down in 1231, 
 but rebuilt and remaining till the sweeping reign of Henry 
 VIII. Nothing now remains of it but the churchyard ; 
 which, however, is more than remains of the chapel of St. 
 Catherine, which formerly crowned her noble hill, but fell in 
 the same reign, and has- left only a bed of nettles to mark 
 its site. 
 
 On this hill was executed, and buried in its cross road, the 
 great English Earl Waltheof, by the Conqueror for an at- 
 tempt to throw off his yoke : a circumstance, from the attach- 
 ment of the people to this powerful nobleman, and from their 
 witnessing his beheading, as they stood at their own doors 
 and windows, which long made this spot a place of great 
 interest to the descendants of the Saxons in this neighbour- 
 hood. 
 
 Having now, from this elevation, taken a general survey 
 of the city, we will descend and visit some of its most strik- 
 ing objects ; and as it is impossible, in a mere passing visit, 
 to notice a tithe of its attractive antiquities, we shall confine 
 ourselves to its three grand ones — the Cathedral, the Col- 
 lege of Wykeham, and the Cross. 
 
 THE CATHEDRAL. 
 
 On entering the Cathedral inclosure on its north side from 
 High-street, you are at once struck with the venerable ma- 
 jesty and antique beauty of the fine old pile before you ; and 
 with the sacred quietude of the inclosure itself. In the heart 
 of this tranquil city it has yet a deeper tranquillity of its 
 own. Its numerous tombs and headstones, scattered over 
 its greensward, and its lofty avenues of lime-trees, seem to 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 37 1 
 
 give you a peaceful welcome to the Christian fane and rest- 
 ing-place of so many generations. If you enter at the cen- 
 tral passage, you tread at once on the eastern foundations of 
 the Conqueror's palace, and pass close to the spot on which 
 formerly rose the western towers of Alfred's Netoan pi»nstre t 
 and where lay his remains, after having been removed from 
 the old mynstre, till Hyde Abbey was built. It is impossi- 
 ble to walk over this ground, now so peaceful, without call- 
 ing to mind to what scenes of havoc and blood, of triumph 
 and ecclesiastical pomp, it has been witness, — the butchery 
 of the persecution of Dioceletian, when the Christians fell 
 here by thousands ; the repeated massacres and conflagra- 
 tions of the Danes ; the crowning of Saxon and of English 
 kings ; the proud processions of kings and queens, nobles, 
 mitred prelates, friars, and monks, to offer thanksgivings 
 for victory, or penance for sins, from age to age ; and finally, 
 the stern visitation of the Reformers and the Cromwellian 
 troopers. 
 
 The venerable minster itself bears on its aspect the testi- 
 monies of its own antiquity. The short and massy tower 
 in the centre, the work of Bishop Walkelin, the cousin of 
 the Conqueror, has the very look of that distant age, and to 
 eyes accustomed to the lofty and rich towers of some of our 
 cathedrals, has an air of meanness. Many people tell you 
 that it never was finished ;■ but besides that there is no more 
 reason that the tower should remain unfinished through so 
 many centuries than any other part of the building, we 
 know that it was the character of the time, of which the 
 tower of the Norman church of St. Cross affords another 
 instance just at hand. In fact the spire was then unknown. 
 This tower still exhibits its primitive Norman round-headed 
 windows ; in the north transept you see again other Norman 
 windows, varying from those of the simplest kind to others 
 with the round spandrel, embracing the pointed arch and 
 flowing tracery. Towards the east end, again, you catch 
 traces of round and trefoiled arch-work, supported on the 
 
372 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 short Saxon pillar borrowed by the Normans ; and then in 
 different parts of the church, every variety of lancet and 
 pointed arches, and of perpendicular and florid tracery, 
 which mark the progress of English architecture to the time 
 of Henry VIII., when it and the Catholic religion ceased 
 their career together. 
 
 Having arrived at the west front, we cannot avoid 
 pausing to survey the beauty of its workmanship, — 
 that of the great William of Wykeham ; its great central 
 doorway, with its two smaller side-doors ; the fretted gal- 
 lery over it, where the bishop in his pontificals was wont to 
 stand and bless the people, or absolve them from the cen- 
 sures of the church ; its noble window, rich with perpen- 
 dicular tracery ; its two slender lantern turrets ; its crown- 
 ing tabernacle, with its statue of the builder ; and its pin- 
 nacled side-aisles. But, to use the expressive language of 
 Dr. Milner, — " Having now entered the awful pile, by 
 that doorway, through which so many illustrious personages 
 have heretofore passed in solemn procession ; as the im- 
 patient eye shoots through the long-drawn nave to the 
 eastern window, glowing with the richest colours of enamel- 
 ling ; as it soars up to the lofty vault fretted with infinite 
 tracery ; and as it wanders below amidst the various ob- 
 jects which the first glance commands ; the most insensible 
 spectator must feel his mind arrested with a certain awe, 
 and must now experience, if he had never felt them before, 
 the mingled sensations of the sublime and beautiful." I 
 must confess that of all the cathedrals which I have entered, 
 none gave me such a sensation of surprise and pleasure. 
 The loftiness, the space, the vast length of the whole un- 
 broken roof above, I believe not exceeded by any other in 
 England ; the two rows of lofty clustered pillars ; the branch- 
 ing aisles, with their again branching and crossing tracery ; 
 the long line of the vaulted roof, embossed with armorial 
 escutcheons and religious devices of gorgeous colouring ; 
 the richly painted windows ; and below, the carved chan- 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 373 
 
 tries and mural monuments, seen amid the tempered light ; 
 and the sober, yet delicate hue of the Portland stone, with 
 which the whole noble fabric is lined, produce a tout en- 
 semble of sublime loveliness which is not easily to be rival- 
 led. I could scarcely help exclaiming in the fervid words 
 of a living poet, who, more than any other, has succeeded 
 in throwing into language the spirit and the beauty of our 
 exquisite Anglo-Gothic architecture : — 
 
 For him, ye columns, rear your brows on high ! 
 Lift up your heads, great portals of the sky ! 
 What fairer dome, save that which heaven expands, 
 What worthier seat with temples made with hands, 
 Than builders sage here pillared for his throne 1 
 For nature's God a work like nature's own : 
 Or, where unlike the forms her hands produce, 
 Still like in grace, magnificence, and use. 
 In new designs, her fair proportion shown ; 
 Her likeness traced in structures not her own; 
 Her measures followed, harmonies bestowed 
 On strange materials in an unknown mode ; 
 And half her influence o'er the mind imprest 
 By different means, and thence with livelier zest; 
 And half her charms to fascinate the heart. 
 
 O noblest work of imitative art ! 
 To pile columnar trunks from marble mines, 
 Embower their boughs, and interlace with vines ; 
 Pile higher still,, and arch a vault on high, 
 To shield the storm, and emulate the sky : 
 Cross aisles to vistas of her sylvan bower, 
 Rear for the sun in heaven a lantern-tower ; 
 Adapt each limb with various height and length, 
 And bind the whole in unity and strength; 
 Copying, abstracted in a different plan, 
 The grace'and order of the world and man : 
 And scarce with rapture less, and awe, confound, 
 And lift to God the wight who gazes round ; 
 Than who beneath a cliff sees capes and bays, 
 Far tinged with sunset's red and yellowy rays ; 
 32 
 
374 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 Or nightly wandering, hears the hills accord, 
 
 And heavens declare the glory of the Lord, 
 
 When winds and waves through shadowy woods intone, 
 
 And ghastly moonlight chills the glimmering zone. 
 
 Moile's State Trials — Anne Ayliffe for Heresy. 
 
 As the architecture of our Christian churches — the 
 architecture which men, blinded by religious prejudice and 
 classical education, have, in contempt, styled gothic — is 
 " the noblest work of imitative art," so is that passage the 
 noblest and most perfect expression of its spirit, its principles 
 and pre-eminence, which ever fell from the pen of genius ; 
 and I rejoice that we have so far recovered the use of our 
 eyes and faculties, as not only to recognise the glory of 
 these matchless old fabrics, and to endeavour to emulate 
 them — though yet in vain, — but have advanced so far as 
 to see a poet arise amongst us, penetrated so absolutely with 
 the sense of their grace and true grandeur, as to be able to 
 proclaim their triumphant beauty with the most successful 
 power. For ages these noblest works of genius were looked 
 upon as the mere monuments of the barbarism of our 
 ancestors; as wild and gothic vagaries of ignorant men, 
 groping along in the " dark ages," and devoid of any prin- 
 ciple of beauty, truth, or grandeur. Hackneyed into the 
 admiration of everything classical, men went on raving 
 about the sublimity of the Grecian architecture, and pro- 
 testing that it had exhausted every form of grace and source 
 of invention, while before their eyes rose some of the most 
 admirable monuments of grace, full of the triumphs of in- 
 vention, to the ancients altogether "in an unknown mode." 
 No one more admires the severe grace of the Grecian 
 architecture than I do ; the majesty of its towering and 
 finely proportioned columns, the sublimity of its pediments 
 and peristyles, and the inimitable and living beauty of its 
 statuary, and storied friezes ; and if one could but gaze on 
 the fair structures of Athens and the gigantic piles of Tadmor, 
 I have no doubt that we should feel and confess that nothing 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 375 
 
 in that character, and for those climates, ever could or ever 
 will surpass them while the world stands. But, if the so- 
 called Gothic architecture cannot equal the Grecian in the 
 lofty majesty of its columns, the nobility of its peristyles, or 
 the grace of its statuary, it can rival it in its capability of 
 varied form, and the endless variety of its ornaments. The 
 faults of classic architecture are monotony of structure, 
 heaviness of mass, and want of adaptability to the needs of 
 varying climate. The former defects are felt, where a 
 number of buildings in the pure Grecian style are brought 
 together ; the latter cannot be remedied without gloom 
 within, or violation of unity without. On these very needs 
 the Gothic bases some of its most triumphant beauties. In 
 that imitation of nature which the Grecian scarcely carries 
 further than its columns, the foliage of capitals and cornices, 
 the Gothic immeasurably transcends it. Here infinite 
 Nature sees — 
 
 In new designs her fair proportions shown ; 
 
 Her likeness traced to structures not her own ; 
 
 Her measures followed, harmonies bestowed > 
 
 On strange materials in an unknown mode. 
 
 She sees man, not only enabled 
 
 To pile columnar trunks from marble mines, -— 
 
 but to 
 
 Embower their boughs, and interlace with vines ; 
 Pile higher still, and arch a vault on high, 
 To shield the storm and emulate the sky. 
 
 Instead of being able only to receive light from above, 
 leaving all open to the elements, or of marring incurably 
 the exterior integrity of the structure, windows in this style 
 of architecture become one of its greatest means of beauty, 
 with their carved tracery, and gorgeous paintings of saints, 
 
376 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 martyrs, angel messengers, or the divine Saviour himself 
 amid the very light of heaven, 
 
 Whose beams, thus hallowed by the scenes they pass, 
 Tell round the floor each parable of glass. 
 
 It is true that the original defect of classic architecture 
 has been so far overcome by the genius of Anthemius, the 
 old architect of Constantinople, of Michael Angelo, and of 
 Wren, as to admit of those magnificent domes of Santa So- 
 phia, St. Peter's, and St. Paul's ; but even this is a depart- 
 ure from the strict classic model, an engrafting upon it of an 
 eastern idea ; and the splendid advantages of light, with its 
 attendant beauties of tracery, and painting, never can be 
 conferred on the classic, while it is an inherent glory of the 
 Gothic. 
 
 Pliant in its character as the very nature which it emu- 
 lates, it thus enables the throng of worshippers, careless of 
 heat or cold, to gather into the very heart of the august 
 fane, shielded and sheltered, as in a sacred solitude, to offer 
 up their thanks and prayers ; and if required by the faith of 
 the congregation, this sanctuary becomes a scene of the 
 most sumptuous splendour, and imposing spectacle. There, 
 in the hands and in the opinions of that church which 
 reared these fabrics — the choir is a spot 
 
 Where, with one heart, all ages and degrees, 
 Clothed in their pride, are mingled on their knees 
 Before an altar dowered with every worth ; 
 The gate of heaven to supplicants on earth ; 
 Where all the arts reflect their author's grace ; 
 Where priests supreme in probity and place, 
 With solemn march, in robes of radiant dyes, 
 O'er sainted relics dress the sacrifice. 
 Silence and song: the whispered prayer and spoke; 
 Flowers, banners, censers, and ascending smoke : 
 Dread pageantries, for which man's soul was made ; 
 And every charm that brings devotion aid ; 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 377 
 
 On high, in sculptured and in limned design 
 His deeds and death ; and he, the Word, in fine, 
 Unseen, yet present to ethereal sight, 
 Broods o'er the whole, and consecrates the rite. 
 
 Moile. 
 
 Gothic architecture, as we must still call it, for want of a 
 better name — the architecture of Christian Europe — is, in 
 fact, the poetry of architecture. Every great and perfect 
 cathedral is a great and perfect religious Epic. Its storied 
 windows, each of which 
 
 Shoots down a stained and shadowy stream of light, 
 
 are so many cantos of the loftiest poetry of the Christian 
 faith, the gracious triumphs of the Saviour, or a quaint tradi- 
 tionary narrative : every statue in its niche is an historic 
 episode : every exquisitely wrought canopy, every heaven- 
 seeking turret, every fair pendant, or crocketed finial, is a 
 beautiful simile, presenting, to the admiring eye, the loveliest 
 revelations of nature, 
 
 In strange materials and an unknown mode. 
 
 And the more we comprehend their real designs ; the more 
 we discover of the imaged personages in the splendid cathe- 
 drals which are scattered over Europe, but especially in 
 Germany, the Netherlands and France, — the more we find 
 that they are, in fact, actual monuments of the progress of 
 those nations ; histories in stone, and of which every indi- 
 vidual part is but the eloquent component of a glorious and 
 consistent whole. 
 
 The entrance of this fair fane, however, has carried us 
 away from our immediate purpose, though into kindred 
 regions of feeling and fancy. Let us now return to it. Let 
 us remember that we are but on a visit, and must therefore 
 walk on. Were we to linger, and say all that we feel of 
 all we see, we must write a book as large as Dr, Milner's. 
 
 32* 
 
378 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 That old font which catches the eye on our left hand is a 
 most curious piece of antiquity, respecting the date and or- 
 naments of which antiquaries have been much divided in 
 opinion. It is a heavy square mass of dark marble, sup- 
 ported on a massy central pillar and four corner ones. It 
 is wrought with carved designs of doves and groups of 
 quaint human figures, supposed by Milner to represent cer- 
 tain legendary acts of St. Nicholas. In its mass and figure 
 it strongly reminds one of an ancient cromlech. Around 
 the walls are numerous monuments of bishops, deans, no- 
 bles, and gentlemen of neighbouring families ; but we must 
 leave them to the notice of the spectator, except mentioning 
 that that of the celebrated Mrs. Montague is one of them ; 
 that Bishop Willis has a fine recumbent effigy by Cheere, an 
 artist of great ability, though of unknown name, but who, 
 having committed the error of placing the head of the figure 
 facing the west instead of the east, the universal custom, is 
 said to have suffered the circumstance to prey so strongly 
 on his spirits as to occasion his death ; that there are several 
 by Flaxman, and one of peculiar interest — that of Dr. 
 Joseph Warton, the poet, and master of Wykeham's college 
 here. He is represented in his character of schoolmaster, 
 with a group of his pupils before him, who are chiseled with 
 the most admirable truth of nature. They are genuine 
 schoolboys to the very wrinkles of their trousers. Above 
 his head are busts of Homer and Aristotle, and that monu- 
 ment is surmounted by the classic lyre. There is on the 
 same side a monument by Chantry, but not one of his best. 
 As you approach the screen of the choir, affixed to the base 
 of one of the great clustered pillars, is also a monument that 
 must not be passed by. It is that of the celebrated and 
 liberal-minded Bishop Hoadley, with a most exquisite me- 
 dallion profile of him. 
 
 But, as works of art, the most striking and beautiful 
 things of a monumental nature, are the chapels or chantries 
 containing the tombs of the great Catholic prelates of this 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 379 
 
 cathedral. Of these there are not less than half a dozen, 
 the greater part of which are of the most beautiful designs 
 and most delicate and elaborate workmanship. They stand 
 detached erections on the floor of 'this great fabric, and 
 though two of them only are in the nave, and the other in 
 the presbytery, we will here speak of them altogether, as 
 things of one character. They contain the tombs of Wyke- 
 ham, Edington, Fox, Cardinal Beaufort, Waynflete, and 
 Gardiner. The two in the nave are those of Edington and 
 William of Wykeham. They are between the great pillars 
 of the south aisle. To attempt to describe these chantries 
 would be a waste of words. They are open-work chapels, 
 chiefly of slender shafts and arches, each of their peculiar 
 date, roofed with the richest ceilings, and crowned with 
 piles of canopy-work of the most splendid description. So 
 delicately, so elaborately are they carved out, that they have 
 more the appearance of being wrought in ivory than in 
 stone. In these, on stately tombs, the sides of which are 
 figured with the richest paneling, lie the effigies of these 
 magnificent old prelates ; and here were daily masses chanted 
 for the repose of their souls, these chantries being endowed 
 with funds for the purpose. 
 
 At the remembrance of this, who is not carried back to 
 the days when they were all in full chorus ? Who does not 
 seem again to hear 
 
 litanies at noon, 
 Or hymns at complin by the rising moon, 
 When, after chimes, each chapel echoed round, 
 Like one aerial instrument of sound, 
 Some vast, harmonious fabric of the Lord's, 
 Whose vaults are shells, and pillars tuneful chords. 
 
 Moile. 
 
 They had originally each their own shrine, and were 
 adorned with abundance of images, of which the niches only 
 now remain. William of Wykeham lies on a tomb of great 
 
380 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 beauty, the sides of which are covered with panels of trefoil 
 arches, and crocketed spandrels, and emblazoned with mitres 
 and his armorial shields. His face and figure are remarka- 
 bly fine ; and at his feet are seated three little quaint figures 
 of monks in a praying attitude. They are said to be three of 
 his favourite friars. 
 
 Passing along the south aisle, we come to the chantry of 
 Bishop Fox, who was so long prime minister of England, 
 and also the patron of Wolsey. Nothing can be more ela- 
 borately wrought than this chapel ; nor more beautiful in 
 design than those of Cardinal Beaufort and Bishop Wayn- 
 flete, at which we next arrive. That of Gardiner, standing 
 on the opposite side of the Capitular Chapel to that of Fox, 
 is of far inferior merit. 
 
 Had the cathedral possessed no other monuments than 
 these it must have been an object of great interest. Their 
 singular beauty of design and workmanship, and the charac- 
 ter of the men over whose remains they were erected — men 
 who played such conspicuous parts in their day — alike con- 
 fer that interest on them. The busy and ambitious Beaufort, 
 whom Milner, as a Catholic, has naturally endeavoured to 
 exculpate, but whom both chroniclers and historians stamp 
 so clearly with dark deeds, as fully to justify the celebrated 
 scene in Shakspeare, where he " dies and makes no sign !" 
 — Wykeham, the great builder and patron of learning — 
 Waynflete and Fox ; both statesmen, and founders of col- 
 leges ; Waynflete of Magdalen, and Fox of Corpus Christi, 
 Oxford ; and the fierce Stephen Gardiner, who will be known 
 while the annals of persecution endure. 
 
 In the east part of the church there are many objects of 
 great interest. Amongst them, the marble coffin of Richard, 
 the second son of the Conqueror, in the south-east aisle, 
 who. was killed while hunting in New Forest, before his 
 brother Rufus was : the Lady Chapel, in which Bloody 
 Mary was married to Philip of Spain ; the chair on which 
 she sate on that occasion being still to be seen. In this 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 381 
 
 chapel, as also in the one to the left of it — the Chapel of 
 the Guardian Angels, are the remains of old paintings on 
 the walls and ceiling, of angels and legendary figures, that 
 are curious for their antiquity. 
 
 On the fine screen at the back of the Capitular Chapel, 
 and opposite to this chapel of the Virgin, is seen a range of 
 canopied niches, in which formerly stood statues of the most 
 eminent Saxon kings and bishops, from Kinegils to St. 
 Edward, together with Canute, Hardicanute, Queen Emma, 
 and, strangely enough, amongst them, Christ and the Virgin 
 Mary. At the foot of this screen is also the now blocked- 
 up archway, which formerly led down a stone staircase to 
 what was called the Holt Hole ; no doubt from the Saxon 
 Heilige Hohle, or Holy Cave ; in which were deposited the 
 sacred relics and remains of eminent saints, ". through whose 
 merits," says an inscription in large letters over the vault, 
 "many miracles shine forth." Going round Gardiner's 
 chantry into the north-east aisle, we soon pass the monu- 
 ment of King Hardicanute, having on it the figure of a 
 ship, like those of the old Norwegian kings at Iona. De- 
 scending a flight of steps, we find ourselves in the northern 
 transept, which has a most stern and ancient look, being no 
 other than the ponderous and lofty original Norman fabric, 
 built by Walkelin in the reign of the Conqueror. Everything 
 here denotes a rude antiquity. There is a dark chapel below 
 the organ stairs — the Chapel of the Sepulchre, whither used 
 to be great resort in Holy Week, to witness the mass of the 
 Passion of our Saviour, as yet celebrated in the Catholic 
 countries on the continent. And on the walls are discovered 
 rude paintings of the taking down from the cross, the laying 
 in the sepulchre, the descent into Limbns, and the appear- 
 ance of the Lord to Mary Magdalen, from whose lips the 
 word Rabboni is seen to proceed ; with kindred subjects. 
 In the open part of the transept, the whole of which was 
 adorned with similar paintings, some are yet visible, as a 
 colossal figure of St. Christopher carrying the child Jesus, 
 
382 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 and the Adoration of the Magi. The whole transept is 
 highly interesting, and forcibly brings to the imagination 
 the rude age in which it was raised, and the awe which 
 must there have been excited in the simple minds of the 
 half-civilized crowd of worshippers. 
 
 But we have made the circuit of the church without be- 
 holding the choir, and we must not quit its precincts without 
 entering there. Ascending the flight of steps which lead 
 to it, we front that elegant screen with which modern good 
 taste has replaced the screen of Inigo Jones, who, blind to 
 all the beauty of the Gothic architecture, not only placed 
 here a Grecian screen, but also affixed a Grecian bishop's 
 throne to the beautiful Gothic canopy-work of the choir. 
 In the niches of this screen are two bronze statues of James 
 I. and Charles I. We are now on the spot of the ancient 
 rood-loft, where formerly stood the great rood, or crucifix, 
 with the attendant figures of the Virgin and St. John, of 
 vast size and value, being of silver, which were bequeathed 
 to the minster by the notorious Archbishop Stigand, before 
 the Conquest. As we enter the choir through the door in 
 the screen, we are struck with the great beauty of the place. 
 Around us rises the rich dark woodwork of the stalls, con- 
 trasting well with the pale delicacy of the walls above. 
 Overhead swells the fine vault of the roof, with its rich 
 tracery, and its central line, and orbs at the junction of its 
 timbers, embossed with bold armorial shields of the houses 
 of Tudor, Lancaster, and Castile, as united in John of Gaunt 
 and Beaufort, with those of various episcopal sees, and 
 stretching on to the splendid east window in that direction, 
 emblazoned with "the several implements of our Saviour's 
 Passion, — the cross, crown of thorns, nails, hammer, pillar, 
 scourges, reed, sponge, lance, sword, with the ear of Mal- 
 chus upon it, lantern, ladder, cock, and dice ; also the faces 
 of Pilate and his wife, of the Jewish high-priest, with a 
 great many others, too numerous to be described, but worthy 
 pf notice for the ingenuity of design," and the richness of 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 383 
 
 their tints. They, are, indeed, emblazoned in the most 
 gorgeous colours ; scarlet, blue, and gold ; and, to a fanciful 
 eye, may resemble, many of them, huge sacred beetles of 
 lordly shapes and hues. On each side rise up into the 
 very roof, the tall pointed windows glowing with the figures 
 of saints, prophets, and apostles, who seem to be ranged on 
 either hand, in audience of the divine persons in the great 
 east window — the Saviour and the Virgin, with apostles 
 and other saints. 
 
 But what is the most striking to the eye and mind of the 
 spectator, is to behold on the floor of the sanctuary before 
 him a plain bevelled stone of dark marble — the tomb of 
 William Rufus ; and arranged on the top of the beautiful 
 stone partitions on each side of the sanctuary, dividing it 
 from the aisles, are six mortuary chests, three on a side, 
 containing the bones of many of the most eminent Saxon 
 princes. The bones which, from the repeated re-buildings 
 and alterings of the cathedral, must have been in danger of 
 being disturbed, and the places of their burial rendered 
 obscure, or lost altogether, Bishop de Blois, in the twelfth 
 century, collected and placed in coffins of lead over the Holy 
 Hole. At the rebuilding of the choir, as it was necessary 
 again to remove them, Bishop Fox had them deposited in 
 these chests, and placed in this situation. The chests are 
 carved, gilt, and surmounted with crowns, with the names 
 and epitaphs, in Latin verse and black letter, inscribed upon 
 them. Beneath them, also, the motto — Est Deo Gracia, 
 in black letter ; in Roman character In Domino confido, 
 and Sit laus Deo. The remains thus preserved, are those 
 of Kinegils, Ethelwolph, here called Jlduljjhus, the father 
 of Alfred; Kenewulch, here called Kenelph ; Egbert; 
 Rufus ; Queen Emma; Edmund,the son of Alfred; Edred, 
 the youngest son of Edward the Confessor ; with those of 
 the bishops Wina and Alwin ; and one chest contains the 
 mingled fragments of such princes and prelates as were 
 
354 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 scattered about by what is styled on the chest itself, " the 
 sacrilegious barbarism of the year 1642." 
 
 These mortal remains of persons who lived here, most of 
 them, more than a thousand years ago, thus strangely 
 preserved, realize more palpably to our minds their far-off 
 existence, than all the efforts of the most graphic history, 
 which now presents them to us as little more than the 
 figures of fiction or a dream. As we stood amid the 
 chanting of the choir, and the pealing of the organ, while 
 the morning sun threw down on them the colours of the 
 amethyst and the ruby, they seemed to the imagination like 
 the bones of the kings of old romance, to lie enshrined in 
 everlasting music and sunshine ; and gave birth to the 
 following sonnet by my companion : — 
 
 MATEST-SERVICE EST WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL. 
 
 September 22, 1839. 
 
 A sweet religious sadness, like a dove, 
 
 Broods o'er this place. The clustered pillars high 
 
 Are rosed o'er by the morning sky ; 
 
 And from the heaven-hued windows far above, 
 
 Intense as adoration, warm as love, 
 
 A purple glory deep is seen to lie, 
 
 Turn, Poet, Christian, now the serious eye, 
 
 Where in white vests, a meek and youthful band, 
 
 Chanting God's praise in graceful order stand. 
 
 O hear that music swell far up, and die ! 
 
 Old temple, thy vast centuries seem but years' — 
 
 Where sages, kings, and saints lie glorified ! 
 
 Our hearts are full, our souls are occupied, 
 
 And piety has birth in quiet tears ! 
 
 Richard Howitt. 
 
 But casting our eyes forward, they fall on the " magni- 
 ficent screen of the most exquisite workmanship in stone, 
 which," Milner justly says, " this or perhaps any other 
 nation can exhibit." The canopies and lacework on the 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 385 
 
 upper part, in fact, after examining all the other beautiful 
 stone-carving of the cathedral, fill you with equal wonder 
 and delight. The place where the high altar formerly- 
 stood is now occupied by a painting of the Raising of La- 
 zarus, by West ; but what must have been the ancient 
 splendour of that, we may learn from the words of Milner, 
 authorized by the descriptions of those chroniclers who were 
 familiar with it. " The nether part, or antependium, con- 
 sisted of plated gold, garnished with precious stones. Upon 
 it stood the tabernacle and steps of embroidered work, or- 
 namented with pearls, as also six silver candlesticks gilt, 
 intermixed with reliquaries wrought in gold and jewels. 
 Behind these was a table of small images, standing in their 
 respective niches, made of silver adorned with gold and pre- 
 cious stones. Still higher was seen a large crucifix with its 
 attendant images, those of the Blessed Virgin and St. John, 
 composed of the purest gold, garnished with jewels, the gift 
 of Henry de Blois, king Stephen's brother. Over this ap- 
 pears to have been suspended, from the exquisite stone 
 canopy, the crown of King Canute, which he placed there 
 in homage to the Lord of the Universe, after the famous 
 scene of commanding the sea to retire from his feet, which 
 took place near Southampton." 
 
 To conceive what must have been the effect of this gor- 
 geous scene, of this altar and sanctuary, thus raised and 
 adorned by all the arts, aided by the full pomp of the ritual 
 ceremony, on a Catholic audience in those ages, we have 
 only to complete the picture by one more passage from the 
 master poet of such subjects. 
 
 Thus from the altar's base intoning prayers, 
 Mid white-robed youths, then mounting up the stairs, 
 A friar of orders gray the service said : 
 Oft bent his knees, oft bowed his shaven head ; 
 Oft crossed him thrice ; now smote upon his breast* 
 Now turning, hailed the multitude, and blest, 
 33 
 
386 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 Choirs answered him with anthems soaring loud, 
 
 Incense curled up, and wreathed on high a cloud. 
 
 In choral ranks the palled procession trod, 
 
 Hymned every saint, and chanted praise to God. 
 
 While through each aisle the faithful gazing stood, 
 
 Or reading knelt, and signed the holy rood ; 
 
 Till heard the warning of a silvery bell, 
 
 To earth all prostrate, bowed the face and fell ; 
 
 The primate rose — the hierarchy up, — 
 
 The priest thrice offered Heaven the host and cup ; 
 
 And all tongues quired, adoring cup and host, 
 
 " Glory to Father, Son and Holy Ghost ! 
 
 We laud, we love, we magnify thy name, 
 
 Thou, who for human sins the Lamb became ! 
 
 Thou, with whose presence heaven and earth are filled ! 
 
 Have mercy, Christ !" They paused : the fane was stilled. 
 
 Alone the friar in accents clear and lowly 
 
 Pursued the chaunt, ' For only thou art holy, 
 
 Thou only wise, thou only the most high !' 
 
 " Lord God of Sabaoth !" burst the fane's reply. 
 
 Then pealed Hosannahs, Hallelujah rung, 
 
 Deep organs shouted with a trumpet's tongue ; 
 
 Through nave and transept rolled the billowy sound, 
 
 And swelled and flooded aisles and arches round; 
 
 Each pillar trembles, kneeling statues nod, 
 
 And walls with men re-echo — thanks to God. 
 
 Moile. 
 
 If even I, bom and educated in that religious body which 
 has, more than all others, stripped from worship every ex- 
 ternal sign — who feel that true worship is a thing entirely 
 spiritual, an elevation of the soul alone towards its Creator, 
 and who am deeply sensible of the fearful end to which the 
 fascinations of Catholic worship and the pomp of its hier- 
 archy were made a means — that of treading on the neck 
 of the people with the feet of papal and regal tyranny — if 
 even I am almost ready with the poet, under their imme- 
 diate influence, to ask 
 
 Oh ! like these moments what in human time 1 
 What grander scene 1 What drama more sublime ! 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 3S7 
 
 If even Milton, the stern republican an anti-hierarchist, 
 could not help exclaiming — 
 
 O let my due feet never fall 
 
 To walk the studious cloisters pale, 
 
 And love the high, embowered roof, 
 
 With antique pillars massy proof, 
 
 And storied windows, richly dight, 
 
 Casting a dim religious light. 
 
 There let the pealing organ blow 
 
 To the full-voiced quire below, 
 
 In service high and anthems clear, 
 
 As may with sweetness through mine ear, 
 
 Dissolve me into ecstasies, 
 
 And bring all heaven before mine eyes : — 
 
 we must confess that if there be not much abiding religion 
 in all this, there is, at least, great poetry. It was to this that 
 we owe the inimitable works of the old painters. Catholics 
 in spirit, heart and imagination, they have thrown the fer- 
 vour of their souls into their works ; and there they remain, 
 bidding defiance to all the efforts of modern pencils, which, 
 if they are guided by the most perfect art, are yet not dipped 
 into the warm fountain of love, and of the old intense 
 devotion. When, therefore, we walk in a fabric like this, 
 venerable with the flight of nearly a thousand years, and 
 build up again in imagination its jewelled shrines, rear aloft 
 its glittering rood, replace all its statues of gold, and silver, 
 and chiselled stone, and see once more with the mind's eye 
 there assembled the stately king's and queens, mitred pre- 
 lates, and throngs of proud warriors and nobles of past times, 
 amidst the magic tide of music, and the imposing drama of 
 high mass, we must prepare to confess that, if the people 
 were superstitious, it was not without great temptation ; for 
 never did human wit achieve so fair temples, or animate 
 them with a pageantry of worship so seducing to the imagi- 
 nation. Having awarded these, its peculiar merits, to that 
 church which, on the other hand, 
 
388 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 Yoked mankind and trod, 
 With prostrate neck while bowed before his God — 
 
 we now may bid adieu to the cathedral — its most venera- 
 ble work in our island. 
 
 But if we had quitted Winchester cathedral without pay- 
 ing a visit to the grave of one of the best and most cheerful- 
 hearted old men who lie in it, we should have committed a 
 great fault. No, we stood on the stone in the floor of Prior 
 Silkstede's chapel in the old Norman south transept, which 
 is inscribed with the name of Izaak Walton. There lies 
 that prince of fishermen, who, when Milner wrote his his- 
 tory of this city, was so little thought of that he is not once 
 mentioned in the whole huge quarto ! But the restored taste 
 of these better times has reinstated the fine old fellow in his 
 just niche of public regard. And if the whole kingdom had 
 been sought for the most fitting spot of burial for him, none 
 could have been found more fitting than this. It is not in 
 the neighbourhood of that beautiful river Ichen, whose 
 water is so transparent that it looks rather like condensed 
 air, and in which his beloved trouts sail about as plain to 
 the eye as the birds are on the boughs that overhang it ? It 
 is not by that sweetvalleyin which he delighted,and in that 
 solemn minster that he loved, and by that daughter whom 
 he loved still more, and amid the haunts of those bishops 
 and pious men whom he venerated, that the good old disci- 
 ple, not only of Christ, but of Andrew and Peter, and of all 
 sacred fishermen lies ? — Peace and lasting honour to him ! 
 and great thanks should we owe him, had he never left us 
 any other sentiment than that which he penned down when 
 he heard the nightingales singing, as he sate angling — 
 " Lord, what music hast thou provided for the saints in 
 Heaven, when thou affordest bad men such musicon Earth !" 
 — Co7nplete Angler, p. 10, Majors edition. 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 389 
 
 WYKEHAM'S COLLEGE. 
 
 The most interesting thing in Winchester, which yet re- 
 mains in its antiquity, next to the cathedral, is Wykeham's 
 College. Those old grammar-schools which are scattered 
 over this country, and so many of which have now become 
 vitiated in their management, or nullified in their original 
 intentions of good, but into which circumstance it is not our 
 present province to enter, have a great deal that is most 
 deeply interesting connected with their origin and earlier 
 course. In pursuing the object of this work in a future 
 volume, we. shall probably have a good deal to say on this 
 subject, which our present limits will not allow us to ven- 
 ture on. But in the early days of our history, five or six 
 centuries ago, when the feudal system was in its strength ; 
 when the barriers of temporal rank were as fixed and im- 
 passable as gates of adamant ; when the growth of com- 
 merce and the spread of literature had not opened so many 
 avenues to distinction — the Church was the only path from 
 the lower walk of life to eminence, and the old endowed 
 grammar-school the sole narrow gate by which genius born 
 in the cabin of poverty could emerge from its obscurity, and 
 assert its celestial origin in the face of day. There was no 
 rising from the clod to the command of armies, for even the 
 common soldiers of the army were of the rank of gentle- 
 men. There was no great highway of law then to the 
 order of nobility, the judges were of the privileged class, 
 and the great offices of state were commonly in the hands of 
 churchmen. But every now and then, spite of all these bar- 
 riers, there arose from the forest or the hamlet the possessor 
 of the divine power of genius, who made his way to the 
 councils of kings and the arbitrium of nations. The herd- 
 boy, or the son of the ranger, with his bright face and pass- 
 ing bow, graceful as if dictated by gentlest blood and the 
 sweet tuition of a high-born and high-minded mother, 
 
 33* 
 
390 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 attracted the eye of the lord of the soil — and was placed 
 on the foundation of the old grammar-school. Once there, 
 the wings of native and irrepressible genius bore him above 
 the heads of all competitors, and above every barred portal 
 on the road to fame. He became the statesman, the influ- 
 ential prelate, whose eloquence and sagacity were more 
 powerful than all the rank and wealth of the mightiest 
 temporal barons ; whose barest word bore down spears and 
 shields, and laid the subtlest schemes of policy in the dust ; 
 and far beyond that, he became the builder of palaces and 
 founders of colleges, which were to remain for thousands 
 of years, and serve as models of architectural designs, and 
 lamps of intellectual light to this nation and its future gene- 
 rations, influencing them more or less for ever. 
 
 One, and a single instance, of this nature, was William 
 of Wykeham himself. He was a poor boy of the neigh- 
 bouring town of Wickham, whose father was a person so 
 obscure that his name is even a matter of dispute. William, 
 however, attracted the regard of Nicholas Uvedall, the lord 
 of the manor, who sent him to the old grammar-school in 
 Winchester, which stood on the very spot on which his 
 college now stands. With that fine sensibility which is one 
 of the essential qualities of genius, William of Wykeham 
 seems to have been vividly impressed with the circum- 
 stances of his boyish life. His grateful attachment to the 
 place of his education, no doubt led him, in the after period 
 of his power and fame, to build this beautiful school on its 
 site, and to confer on it far ampler advantages. The piety 
 of his heart led him every morning to attend the mass per- 
 formed by an old monk of the name of Pekis, before an 
 image of the Blessed Virgin in the cathedral ; and such were 
 the impressions, however fixed on his mind, that he not only 
 regarded the Virgin through life as his peculiar patroness, 
 embellishing his sacred buildings with multiplied images of 
 her, but had his tomb placed on the very site of her chapel, 
 where he was wont to attend her orisons with Pekis. 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 391 
 
 There is a great resemblance between the careers of 
 Wykeham and Wolsey, save that Wykeham displayed a 
 far higher conscientiousness of character. Wykeham was 
 distinguished, like Wolsey, for his princely love of archi- 
 tecture, and by that was first recommended to his great 
 patron, Edward III. For him he pulled down the greater 
 part of the old castle of Windsor, and rebuilt it in a much 
 more magnificent style. It was said that he caused to be 
 inscribed on the round tower at Win !sof, when he had 
 finished it, the equivocal sentence : ffljis matte OTnfteljam : but 
 it was his transcendent genius, in fact, which " made Wyke- 
 ham." His architectural works at Dover, Queenborough, 
 Windsor, and other castles for the king ; the building of his 
 two colleges — this, and New College, Oxford — and his 
 rebuilding the nave of his cathedral, mark him as the great- 
 est architectural genius of the age. But he also, like 
 Wolsey, became the king's chief minister, being succes- 
 sively secretary of state, keeper of the privy seal, chan- 
 cellor, and most confidential counsellor of the crown. As 
 in Wolsey's case, his sovereign heaped on him ecclesiastical 
 preferments most lavishly, and all these honours brought 
 upon him the envy of the courtiers. When the king be- 
 came old and inert, his enemies prevailed by charges of 
 embezzlement, which they would not allow him to answer, 
 to get him disgraced. Being then satiated with court life, 
 he retired to his diocese, and employed himself in those 
 great designs which have covered his name with so much 
 honour ; showing himself the friend as well of his country 
 as of the poor, twenty of whom he regularly supported as 
 part of his family. Had his ambition been as lawless, and 
 his fall as signal as that of Wolsey, he would have figured 
 largely in the hands of the historians ; as it is, he has been 
 passed over by many without a tithe of his true fame, and 
 it is remarkable that his name is not once mentioned in 
 Hume's account of the reign of Edward III. 
 
 This old college is the more interesting: as being " the 
 
392 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 parent of Eton, and the model of Westminster." The build- 
 ing of it was begun in the year 1387, and when completed, 
 at the end of six years, it was incorporated and endowed 
 for the teaching of seventy poor scholars in grammatical 
 learning : and over it were appointed a warden ; ten secu- 
 lar priests, perpetual fellows ; three priests' chaplains ; 
 three clerks and sixteen choristers : and for the instruction 
 of the scholars, a schoolmaster and an undermaster — which 
 are supposed to represent so many scriptural characters : — 
 the warden and ten priests, the Apostles, Judas being 
 omitted ; the seventy scholars and two masters, the seventy- 
 two disciples ; three chaplains and three clerks, the six 
 fathful deacons ; and the sixteen choristers, the four greater 
 and twelve lesser prophets. 
 
 Such continues the establishment; though there are taught 
 a considerable number of youths besides, who are not on 
 the foundation. The college is built round two courts, with 
 towers over each gateway. As you enter the first, you ob- 
 serve a figure of the Virgin in a niche ; again, on the tower 
 facing you, leading into the second court, you observe 
 three niches with rich canopies, occupied by the Virgin, 
 the angel Gabriel, and the founder himself. Wykeham is 
 in the attitude of invoking the blessing of the Virgin, while 
 she again is evidently in the act of sending Gabriel to ac- 
 complish his prayer. On reaching the other side of the 
 tower, that is, in the second court, you find the same figures 
 there too, as well as another statue of the Virgin on the 
 east end of the church. AH this bears testimony to Wyke- 
 ham's profound veneration for his patroness, to whom, 
 indeed, he dedicated both his colleges. This second court, 
 with its noble chapel and tower, one of the most elegant 
 objects in the general view of the city, is strikingly beauti- 
 ful : but we have gone at such length into the description 
 of the cathedra], that we must not here allow ourselves to 
 dwell on architectural particulars. The chapel is lofty, 
 finely roofed, and the large windows richly emblazoned with 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 393 
 
 figures of prophets, apostles, kings, and saints male and 
 female. The large east window is occupied with the 
 genealogical tree of our Saviour. At the bottom you see 
 Jesse lying, and the tree taking root in him, spread itself 
 upwards full of kings and sages, having the Crucifixion in 
 the centre, and the Resurrection at the top. There is also 
 an altar-piece by a French artist, of considerable merit, — 
 the Salutation of the Virgin. But perhaps the most curious 
 things about the chapel are the ancient stall-seats now affixed 
 to the wall of the ante-chapel. These have their seats so 
 fixed upon hinges that those who sit in them can only 
 maintain their position by balancing themselves with care, 
 and resting their elbows on the seat-arms ; so that if the 
 monks who used them dropped asleep during divine service, 
 the seats came forward and pitched them headlong upon 
 the floor, — nay, if they only dozed and nodded the least in 
 the world, the hard oaken seat clapped against the hard 
 oaken back, and made a noise loud enough to attract the 
 attention of the whole audience. Nothing ever was more 
 cleverly contrived to keep people awake at church or chapel; 
 and, no doubt, most of us know where they would be es- 
 pecially useful now. 
 
 At the corner of this quadrangle, west of the chapel, a 
 flight of steps leads up to the Refectory. In ascending to 
 this we pass the Lavatory, with which all the old convents 
 and colleges were furnished, and so placed thatall might wash 
 before meals. The Refectory, or dining-hall itself, takes us at 
 once back to the old times, being furnished with its dais at the 
 head end, its screen at the entrance ; and its lofty groined roof, 
 with its large coloured busts of kings and bishops for corbels; 
 having a lantern in its centre to admit of the escape both of 
 the effluvia from the table, and of the smoke from the fire 
 in the centre. Here the scholars take their meals ; their 
 dinners every day consisting of mutton, except on Wednes- 
 days, when they have roast and boiled beef. One hogshead 
 of beer per day is allowed to the school. The scholars give 
 
394 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 the name of dispers to their breakfasts, suppers, and lun- 
 cheons. At the lower end of the hall stands a massy octa- 
 gon chest of oak, furnished with a lid and padlock, into 
 which is daily thrown all the broken meat, which is given 
 to twenty-four poor women, eight of whom receive day by 
 day in rotation. In a chamber adjoining the kitchen is one 
 of the most singular spectacles imaginable, and which 
 speaks forcibly to the imagination of the olden times, and 
 their quaint modes of admonition. This is a memento ad- 
 dressed to the servants of the establishment, in the shape of 
 a large painting on the wall, a bircocervus or man-animal ; 
 styled The Trusty Servant, and having its virtues ex- 
 plained in the following Latin and English lines : — 
 
 EFFIGIUM SERVI SI VIS SrECTARE PROBATI, 
 QlJISQUIS ES HJEC OCULOS PASCAT IMAGO TUOS. 
 PORCINUM OS QUOCUNQUE CIBO JEJUNIA SEDAT. 
 
 H.EC SERA consilium ne fluat, arcta premit: 
 
 Dat patientiem asinus dominis jurgantibus AUREM : 
 
 CERVUS HABET CELERES IRE, REDIRE PEDES, 
 
 LiEVA DOCET MULTUM TOT REBUS ONUSTA LABOREM. 
 
 VESTIS munditiam: DEXTERA operta fidem: 
 Accinctus GLADIO; CLYPEO munitus : et inde 
 
 VeL SE, VEL DOMINUM, QUO TUEATUR, HABET. 
 
 A TRUSTY SERVANT'S portrait would you see, 
 This EMBLEMATIC FIGURE well survey : 
 The PORKER'S SNOUT not nice in diet shows. 
 The PADLOCK SHUT no secrets he'll disclose. 
 PATIENT the ASS his master's wrath will bear, 
 swiftness in errand the STAGG'S FEET DECLARE : 
 Loaded his LEFT HAND apt to labour saith : 
 The VEST his neatness, OPEN HAND his faith. 
 Girt with his SWORD, his SHIELD upon his arm, 
 Himself and master he'll protect from harm. 
 
 The school, which stands a detached building in the in- 
 ciosure of the play-ground, though itself a comparatively 
 modern erection, being built in 1687, yet it is fitted up in 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 395 
 
 the simple style of the old times, and gives you all the 
 feeling of them. The school-room is lofty, and ninety feet 
 long by thirty-six wide. Over the door without, is a fine 
 metal statue of Wykeham, cast and presented to the college 
 by Caius Gabriel Cibber, whose wife the inscription states 
 to have been a relation of the founder. Within, everything 
 is of the most primitive character. At each end of the 
 school stands an old-fashioned chair, one for the master, 
 and one for the second master — with their crimson cush- 
 ions ; and on the floor, instead of that succession of desks 
 and benches, which is found in modern schools, there 
 is here and there, a sort of massy square frame-work 
 of oak, raised on as massy square posts about a foot, or 
 something more, from the ground. This serves the scho- 
 lars for seats, every one having on this rude kind of frame 
 his school box standing by him, which, having an inner lid, 
 supplies him at once with a reading desk and a depository 
 for his books. These boxes are termed Scobs. And in this 
 primitive style, no doubt, studied the scholars of Wyke- 
 ham's own times, and also Wykeham himself. On one end 
 of the school-room, in unical letters, are the following pithy 
 orders, with significant symbols opposite — 
 
 AUT DISCE (either learn) . S A ™tre and crosier, as the expected 
 
 *■ ' £ reward 01 learning. 
 
 ATT m nicnnnn / j n C An inkhorn to sign, and a sword 
 
 AUT DISCEDE (or depart) . > . c , b . 
 
 v r J £ to enforce expulsion. 
 
 MANET SORS TERTIA CLEDI, C A gcour 
 (the third choice is, to be flogged). £ ° 
 
 4 
 
 At the other end are inscribed the rules, in Latin, for the 
 conduct of the scholars in church, at school, in the hall, in 
 the court, or play-ground, in the chambers, and in the town, 
 going to the hill. 
 
 In the school it is directed, — " Let each one repeat his 
 lesson in an under-tone to himself, in a clear voice to the 
 master." From this too, we may infer that the old-fashioned 
 plan of murmuring over tasks to themselves, whence you 
 
396 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 still hear such a hum in a village school, is allowed to the 
 boys. The next rule, however, adds, " Let no one molest 
 his neighbour," which it must be rather difficult to avoid, 
 if humming lessons be permitted. In the hall, he that says 
 grace, is to repeat it distinctly ; all the rest standing upright 
 in their places and answering him. In the court, the old 
 propensity to cutting and carving names and initials on the 
 building, is made strictly illegal. In the chambers each one 
 is to study in the evening, and on going to the hill they are 
 to observe prescribed limits. These rules are all flavoured 
 with antiquity. Twice a week, from time immemorial, it 
 has been the practice of the scholars to go to the hill, that 
 is, St. Catherine's Hill, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, for two 
 hours each time ; which is a fine place for air and exercise. 
 Their bed-rooms are on the ground-floor ; each scholar has 
 a separate bed of the simplest construction, and by his bed 
 stands a tall slender kind of desk, which probably serves 
 him both as desk and wardrobe ; but here, as the rule indi- 
 cates, it is evident that he is expected to spend his evening 
 in study ; and here, during play-hours, the scholars also can 
 retire for the same purpose. Two or three bed-rooms ac- 
 commodate all the scholars on the foundation, and on the 
 walls are inscribed in white letters on a black ground, the 
 names of those boys who have gone hence to New College, 
 Oxford ; many of them having been prefects, or senior boys. 
 Such is the school which Wykeham founded, and which, 
 in his day, Joseph Warton taught ; and from which have 
 gone forth, besides a multitude of archbishops, bishops, and^ 
 other eminent men — the learned Groeyn, and Udal, Sir 
 Thomas Brown, the antiquary, Lowth, the poet and divine, 
 Joseph Warton, as scholar as well as master, and his bro- 
 ther Thomas Warton, a far greater poet, full of the spirit of 
 nature and of chivalry, whose lays furnished no slight in- 
 spiration to Sir Walter Scott ; Sir Henry Wotton ; Otway 
 Sommerville, Pitt, Philips, Young, and Collins ! As I be- 
 held the fine set of lads eager at their game of cricket in 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 397 
 
 their playground, I wondered whether any of them would 
 rival the fame of their predecessors. 
 
 One of the most delightful places in this college we have 
 not yet spoken of, and that is the cloisters. These lie on 
 the south-side of the chapel, and form one of the most deli- 
 cious seclusions imaginable. They inclose a quadrangle of 
 one hundred and thirty-two feet square, upon which they 
 open with elegant Gothic mullions ; and are roofed with 
 Irish oak, the rafters of which form a circular vault, and 
 we were positively assured by the porter, that no spider 
 was ever known to weave its web upon them ; that they 
 were never swept, and yet were perfectly free from cob- 
 webs, as we might see, though the spiders had freely stretch- 
 ed their lines from one mullion to another of the cloister 
 front. The least that can be said is, that it is curious if 
 true. Under foot, the pavement. is covered with ancient 
 monumental brasses, and " forlorn hie jacets," being the 
 burying place of the fellows and scholars of the institution 
 for four centuries. The whole quadrangle is filled with the 
 most velvet turf, forming a refreshing contrast with the gray 
 walls around, while before the open gallery of the cloisters 
 grows up sweet bays and jasmines, and in the midst of the 
 green area rises one of the most perfect little Gothic chapels 
 imaginable ! It was built for a chantry, where a monk 
 used to perform a daily mass for the dead; but is now the 
 library of the establishment. It has all the attributes of a 
 chapel in miniature — the groined roof — the emblazoned 
 window, and besides that now, a glorious array of most 
 valuable old works. What would one not give for such a 
 perfect place of meditation, and such a fairy study! 
 Amongst the curious contents of this unique library, is the 
 pedigree of Wykeham, on a long roll of vellum, traced up 
 to Adam ! 
 
 A robin-redbreast was the only musing monk which we 
 found in these cloisters. He went with us all round, hop- 
 
 34 
 
398 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 ping from opening to opening, or perching on the bushes 
 near us. " Ay," said the porter, " that is the chapel robin, 
 it regularly attends service." — The robin is a monk indeed. 
 
 THE HOSPITAL OF ST. CROSS. 
 
 Following the banks of the river, we strolled down the 
 meadows to St. Cross. We made a divergence to the left 
 to climb the bold down of St. Catherine, attracted by the 
 outline of its ancient camp, and taking a view of the city 
 and country far round from thence, again plunged into the 
 Valley, and following a pleasant footpath, soon stood at the 
 gates of St. Cross. It is impossible to go over the different 
 objects of antiquity at Winchester, without beginning to be- 
 lieve that you are gone back into antiquity itself. The 
 cathedral with all its Saxon monuments and memorials ; 
 the college with its primitive air and habits ; and then this 
 hospital, built in the days of King Stephen — a hospital 
 still, with living brethren, and its fabric as entire as in the 
 day of Henry de Blois. We passed on our left the old re- 
 fectory, called "$luntrreTi:=J&cnnes==?»aU," because there a hun- 
 dred poor men were daily entertained ; on our right having 
 the kitchen where the cookery was done for such a com- 
 pany ; and if the hundred men were there no longer, we 
 had no sooner presented ourselves at the porter's lodge 
 than we found the porter still at his post ; and, as bound by 
 the rules of De Blois, and just as was the wont of the olden 
 time, he immediately craved us to partake of the hospitality 
 of the house. 
 
 Not a stranger, from the days of King Stephen to the 
 present hour, on presenting himself at that wicket, but was, 
 and is, entitled to receive bread and beer. Accordingly the 
 horn, a genuine vessel of the good old times, no glass or 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 399 
 
 crockery of these artificial days, was produced, and the 
 eleemosynary bread ; and we ate and drank, and praised 
 great Henry de Blois, and the porter, that the bread they 
 gave us was good bread, and the beer was good beer, for, 
 sober itself, it would keep all who drank it sober, so that 
 even a teetotaller, though a kind of creature unknown to 
 De Blois and his times, might taste it with a conscience, and 
 no weary wayfarer need dread its bewildering him on his 
 journey. Two gallons of beer and two loaves of bread are 
 daily distributed to those who seek relief; another fact tes- 
 tifying to the wisdom of the brewer, and the moderation of 
 the poor, who scorn to take undue advantage of such 
 generous hospitality. 
 
 This celebrated hospital was, like all ancient buildings, 
 of a quadrangular form inclosing a court. Three sides of 
 the square are yet complete ; the fourth being removed, has 
 opened a cheerful prospect into the green fields. The re- 
 maining buildings are of the most venerable description. A 
 strong gateway tower gives entrance to the court, and on 
 its outer front aloft, in a fair niche kneels, not De Blois, but the 
 second founder of this hospital and builder of this tower, the 
 notorious Cardinal Beaufort, in his cardinal's hat and robes. 
 Two other niches in a line with this are now empty, but it 
 is supposed that the one towards which Beaufort is kneel- 
 ing contained the Holy Cross, the original object of devotion 
 here ; and the other a statue of St. John, the great patron of 
 hospitalers. Milner says, " in the cornice over the gateway 
 of this tower we behold the cardinal's hat displayed ; to- 
 gether with the busts of his father John of Gaunt, of his 
 royal nephews Henry IV. and V., and of his predecessor 
 Wykeham. In the spandrels on each side appear the 
 founder's arms, viz., France and England quarterly. The 
 centre boss in the groining of the gateway is carved into a 
 curious cross, composed of leaves and surrounded with a 
 crown of thorns." 
 
 Stepping into the court, we see on our left a cloister por- 
 
400 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 tico, or ambulatory, where the brethren could take exercise 
 in bad weather, while its open front freely admitted the air 
 and gave them a view of the whole quadrangle. In the 
 centre of this is a projecting recess, in which stands an old 
 table, said to have been used by Charles II. when encamped 
 on St. Catherine's Hill. This cloister is terminated by the 
 church, which we shall visit presently ; and over it are the 
 rooms called the Nuns' Rooms, formerly occupied by the 
 three hospital sisters who attended the sick ; and also the 
 rooms where the sick brethren themselves were lodged. 
 At the east end of these apartments is seen a window open- 
 ing into the church, so that the sick brethren might attend 
 to the service as they lay in their beds. The opposite side 
 of the court consists of the houses of the brethren, who have 
 three small chambers each and a garden. The brethren 
 are single men (or if married men, their families are not 
 admitted), and wear a blaek gown with a silver cross on 
 the breast. The porter, who is one of the brethren, is 
 allowed to have his wife, so that she may act as cook to the 
 brethren. 
 
 The third side of the court, being that in a line with the 
 entrance tower, consists of the brethren's hall, and the 
 master's residence. This wing has altogether a great air 
 of picturesque antiquity. The keep-like gateway tower, 
 the old Gothic porch and flight of steps ascending to the 
 hall door ; the buttresses and chimneys of the master's house 
 running up the outside. The present master is the Earl of 
 Guildford, and the house is occupied by the chaplain. 
 
 Bishop De Blois, Wykeham, and Beaufort, were the 
 grand founders and benefactors of St. Cross. Wykeham in 
 his time found the institution much plundered, and manfully 
 and with infinite pains, by processes both in the spiritual 
 and temporal courts, compelled the guilty to restore its 
 rightful funds. So that at one time it not only maintained 
 in the house seventy persons, clergy and laity together, but 
 also one hundred out-members, who receive daily their 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 401 
 
 meat and drink, and on the anniversary of the founder three 
 hundred. Like many other charitable institutions, how- 
 ever, in Henry VIIl.'s day, it was ruthlessly stripped of 
 much of its income ; and now whatever may be its re- 
 venues, it supports only these thirteen brethren, and gives 
 away the small doles already mentioned. By the ancient 
 rule, the brethren received daily a loaf of good wheaten 
 bread of three pounds four ounces weight, and a gallon and 
 a half of good beer ; a pottage called Mortrel, made of 
 milk, and Wastelbread ; a dish of flesh or fish, as the 
 day should require, with a pittance for their dinner ; like- 
 wise one dish for their supper. 
 
 This, it must be confessed, was a bountiful dealing ; and 
 compared with which, the present allowance of the brethren 
 appears but meager, — three quarts of beer per day each 
 man, and five small loaves of twenty-two ounces each in 
 six days. Every Saturday one hundred pounds of meat 
 are taken in for the following week's consumption ; that 
 is, reckoning fourteen persons, the porter's wife being one, 
 seven pounds per week, or a pound per day each individual. 
 Then, there are five gaudy days in the year, on each of 
 which a sirloin of sixty pounds is cooked, and mince-pies 
 and plum-porridge. On ordinary days the brethren cook 
 their own provisions at their houses, but on gaudy days the 
 cooking is done in the old kitchen attached to the hall ; and 
 the roast is then divided amongst them, each taking his 
 portion to his own house. Thus it appears there is now no 
 dining in the hall whatever. The hall and kitchen, how- 
 ever, would befit the feast-day of a feudal baron. They 
 are of the most substantial and ancient aspect. The kitchen, 
 with its huge fire-grate, and spit turned by its huge smoke- 
 jack; its massy dresser and other apparatus in accordance. 
 The hall of the genuine old fashion, with its dais and screen, 
 and music-gallery over it ; tables of ponderous character, 
 and its groined roof, which, like the roof of the cloisters of 
 Wykeham's College, the porter's wife assured us was of 
 
 34* 
 
402 "VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 Irish oak, and never was touched by a brush or defiled by 
 a single cobweb. 
 
 At the head of the hall is, what is, however, not often 
 found in our English halls, though common in religious 
 houses on the continent, — a portable shrine, which, when 
 closed, has the appearance of a cupboard, but, when 
 opened, reveals the Virgin and Child and other holy per- 
 sonages. 
 
 But, after all, the church is the glory of St. Cross, and is, 
 indeed, one of the most interesting monuments of architec- 
 tural antiquity in the kingdom. With the exception of the 
 front and upper story of the west end, which are supposed 
 to be the work of Wykeham and Beaufort, the Avhole is the 
 work of Henry de Blois, " and seems," says Milner, " to 
 have been an effort of that great encourager of the arts to 
 produce a style of architecture more excellent, and better 
 adapted to ecclesiastical purposes, than had hitherto been 
 known. This style, accordingly, soon after made its ap- 
 pearance in a regular shape. The building before us seems 
 to be a collection of architectural essays, with respect to 
 the disposition and form, both of the essential parts, and of 
 the subordinate ornaments. Here we find the ponderous 
 Saxon pillar, of equal dimensions in its circumference and 
 in its length, which, however, supports an incipient pointed 
 arch. The windows and arches are some of them short, 
 with semicircular heads, and some of them immoderately 
 long, and terminating like a lance. Others are in the horse- 
 shoe form; of which the entrance into the north poreh is the 
 most unique specimen. In one place we have a curious 
 triangular arch. The capitals and bases of the columns 
 alternately vary in their form, as well as in their ornaments. 
 The same circumstance is observable in the ribs of the 
 arches, especially in the north and south aisles ; some of 
 them being plain, and others profusely embellished, and in 
 different styles, even within the same arch. Here we view 
 almost every kind of Saxon and Norman ornament ; the 
 
VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 403 
 
 chevron, the billet, the hatched, the pellet, the fret, the 
 indented, the nebule, the wavy, all superiorly executed. 
 But what is chiefly deserving of attention in this ancient 
 church is what may perhaps be considered as the first 
 regular step to the introduction of that beautiful style of 
 architecture properly called the Pointed, and abusively the 
 Gothic:' 
 
 Milner here alludes to the first apparent discovery of the 
 pointed arch, by observation of the effect of round arches 
 intersecting each other — an effect made conspicuous by the 
 rows of intersecting arches on these walls. When Milner 
 says, " and, accordingly this style soon made its appearance 
 in a regular shape," he does not mean the style of this 
 church, but the one indicated by this effect ; that is, the 
 pointed style ; for the general style of this church itself is 
 Saxon, or rather that adoption of the Saxon by the Normans, 
 into which they introduced their own varieties. It is a 
 mixed or transition style, containing the rudiments of those 
 future orders which gradually developed themselves into the 
 simple pointed, or Early English, the Perpendicular or the 
 Florid. 
 
 The great and predominant character of the style of this 
 church, therefore, is the Saxon — the massy round pillars, 
 round arches, with the billet and zigzag moulding, mixed 
 with that variety of ornament which it seems capable of ad- 
 mitting without, violation of its unity. Thus we have 
 scarcely two pillars, two basis, two capitals, two corbels, or 
 two arches alike. There is introduced that variety, of which 
 nature exhibits the beauty, without any discordance, but, on 
 the contrary, a heightened effect of pleasure. It is wonder- 
 ful in what a perfect condition the noble old fabric is brought 
 down to us, enabling us to see in the stern and plain cha- 
 racter of this church the character of the age. Here, we 
 have not those comparatively modern embellishments which 
 we find in the choir and nave of the cathedral, but a stern- 
 ness, a nakedness, and a solidity, more allied to the tran- 
 
404 VISIT TO WINCHESTER. 
 
 septs of the Norman Walkelin. We see the naked rope 
 depending from the belfry into the church below ; beneath 
 our feet are tiles, no doubt originally imitated from the Ro- 
 man ones, but bearing the figures of quaint lions and other 
 animals, and sundry Saxon zigzags and wavings, and on 
 some the old English words, yjjabe J&outie, or Remember ! 
 that is, most probably, the care of your own soul, or to pray 
 for those of others. 
 
 Here we bid adieu to Winchester. Long as its historic 
 ground and beautiful antiquities have been overlooked by 
 the multitude, I imagine they will hereafter become much 
 more known, and afford a great degree of pleasure to our 
 countrymen. Steam, which is laying open the beauties and 
 the historic treasures of the kingdom to its inhabitants, has 
 taken its way through Winchester, and brought it within 
 little more than two hours' distance of the metropolis. 
 What is more, it has laid it in the direct line of what will be 
 one of the most attractive routes to our summer tourists — 
 to Southampton, the Isle of Wight, and back to town by 
 Portsmouth. Who, therefore, on this round of enjoyment, 
 will not drop down at Winchester, where so much of high 
 interest may be seen in a single day, or even in a few hours ? 
 As I sat on St. Giles's Hill, pondering on all the past history 
 of the place, suddenly came the steam-engine with its train, 
 fuming and flying through the quiet district. The effect was 
 startling. The two extremes of English history were brought 
 suddenly and unexpectedly together ; and I could almost 
 imagine the old Saxon kings, upspringing from their sleep 
 in the cathedral, to inquire what new and strange power 
 had burst into their dreamy and so long undisturbed domi- 
 nion. The restless spirit of the new has, indeed, broken in ; 
 — it cannot wake the dead, but it will bring to the living a 
 better knowledge of the old ! 
 
VISIT TO WOTTON HALL, STAFFORDSHIRE. 
 
 ALFIERI AND ROUSSEAU IN ENGLAND. 
 
 It would be curious to bring into one view the visits to 
 England of those foreigners who have exercised a signal in- 
 fluence on the destinies of their own nation, and thence on 
 those of mankind in general, and to take a glance at their 
 places of abode while here. It would be surprising how 
 little in accordance would frequently be found to be their 
 haunts and habits, with the character which they have left 
 indelibly stamped on the annals of their time. The Empe- 
 ror Charles V. feteing and frolicking with Henry VIII. at 
 Whitehall, Hampton Court, Greenwich, or Winchester ; Peter 
 the Great of Russia, driving his sledge through the fine old 
 holly hedges of John Evelyn's house at Woolwich, as his re- 
 laxation from the fatigues of ship-carpentering in the dock- 
 yards, which he was there practically learning ; Marat, the 
 bloody Marat, the friend of the ferocious Robespierre, who fell 
 by the hand of Charlotte Corday, teaching French at adissent- 
 ing academy at Warrington in Lancashire, intimate with all 
 the AikinsandBarbaulds, and some of whose pupils are yet 
 living, of the most opposite characters, both to their tutor 
 and to another of his pupils, the famous fighting Fitzger- 
 ald of duelling notoriety. Louis Philippe pursuing the 
 same humble vocation at Richmond : Dr. Franklin busy in 
 London as a journeyman printer; La Mennais seeking em- 
 ployment in London, and refused as stupid-looking ; or 
 Mina, or Miguel, the lions of London drawing-rooms, sur- 
 prising all the young ladies with their meekness and gentle- 
 
406 VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 
 
 ness, the more to surprise them afterwards with the news 
 of their bloody deeds. Two of the most extraordinary men, 
 however, of the last century who have made any consider- 
 able sojourn in this country, are Alfieri and Rousseau. 
 They were both the apostles of change ; the effect of whose 
 writings have been, as in the case of Rousseau, too obvious 
 to need comment, and which in neither case have yet ceased 
 to operate. It may be said that the spirit of the dramas of 
 Alfieri is, indeed, the spirit of modern Italy, and will, unless 
 all ordinary prognostics fail, yet show itself in events that 
 will agitate all Europe. Like the volcanic fires of that 
 country, it is burning on, and, though it only shows itself 
 now and then, in fugitive scintillations and abortive flashes, 
 it is still accumulating for a grand explosion, which will 
 either annihilate the oppressors or the oppressed. When- 
 ever that day arrives, the name of Alfieri will be the watch- 
 word, as his works have long been the food, of liberty. 
 
 Yet how few in England who are ardent admirers of 
 Alfieri's impassioned tragedies, reflect how much of his his- 
 tory and his fortunes were mixed up with this country. His 
 exploits here in his early youth made noise enough at the 
 time, but that time is gone by ; and we read his works, 
 treading on the very ground on which he then trod, yet 
 thinking of him only as the fiery Italian poet in his own Italy. 
 
 Alfieri made no less than three visits to England, the first 
 and second of which were of many months each ; in fact, 
 he spent altogether little less than two years here, and has 
 left the following testimony of his attachment to the country. 
 " England, and especially the metropolis, highly delighted 
 me at first sight. The roads, the females, the absence of 
 mendicity, the neatness and convenience of the houses, the 
 incessant bustle in the suburbs as well as in the capital, all 
 conspired to fill my mind with delight. In my future visits 
 - to England, I never found any reason to change this favour- 
 able opinion. ... In fact, after much travelling and ob- 
 servation, the only two countries of Europe in which I have 
 
VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 407 
 
 uniformly wished to fix my residence, are England and 
 Italy ; because in the former art has everywhere changed 
 and subjugated nature ; and because in the latter, nature 
 always appears predominant, and in its pristine force and 
 vigour." — Autobiography of A Ifieri, vol. i. pp. 161-164. 
 
 A great similarity has been traced betwixt the character 
 and fortunes of Alfieri and those of Lord Byron, and cer- 
 tainly the parallel is not a little curious. By following the 
 lines of Alfieri's existence, we cannot avoid seeing the cor- 
 respondent one of Lord Byron. Alfieri was of noble birth, 
 and by the death of the immediate heir (his elder brother) 
 became the head of his family and possessor of the paternal 
 estates. His father died in his infancy ; and he fell into 
 the hands of a guardian, who kept him at the public school 
 at Milan. Here he grew up amongst the other children of 
 the aristocracy, with little care for his advance in his studies 
 — impatient of classical fagging, but fond of horses and 
 riding, and all the sports of young men of property. He 
 had one sister, to whom he was always extremely attached, 
 so much so as eventually to make over the bulk of his 
 property to her. During his minority he exhibited the 
 most passionate temperament, and on any opposition to his 
 will, fell into the most moody and obstinate fits. Because 
 his tutor put some restraint on him, he shut himself up for 
 six months in his rooms ; abandoned his fashionable and 
 expensive dress, and fine clean linen, of which he was very 
 fond ; allowed his hair to grow ; lay in bed till noon, and 
 then, dragging his bed to the side of the fire, there crouched 
 on it for the rest of the day, smoking and gazing fixedly on 
 the flame. The moment he became liberated from his 
 tutelage, he set off on his travels, and went over the whole 
 of Europe, from Norway and Russia, to Spain and Portugal. 
 In these journeys he appeared delighted to show his con- 
 tempt for kings and tyrants. In all of them he was attended 
 by his faithful servant Elias. At his first visit to England 
 he was only nineteen, and vied with the young nobles in 
 
408 VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 
 
 their passion for horses,* and driving of coaches, and boasts 
 that in the crush of carriages and battle of coach-poles at 
 Ranelagh he always came off conqueror; and always with- 
 out injury to horses or vehicle. In England, in Holland, 
 in Spain, in Italy, everywhere he fell into most desperate 
 love affairs. Lady Morgan has justly said that in even 
 such affairs he displayed his pride ; " he chose the wife of 
 a British peer for his mistress, and the widow of a legitimate 
 king for his reputed consort." 
 
 This mistress was the beautiful but licentious Lady 
 Ligonier. Alfieri was then only two-and-twenty — the 
 empty, fashionable, dissipated Count Alfieri. For this lady 
 he committed the greatest extravagances ; dislocated his 
 collar-bone, with leaping a fiery horse at a gate in mere 
 wantonness of excitement ; disguised himself in a post-boy's 
 dress, and scaled the walls of Cobham Park with his left 
 arm in a sling, and his naked sword in his right hand; 
 fought a few days afterwards, and in the same condition, a 
 sword-duel with Lord Ligonier in the Green Park, and 
 after receiving a thrust in the arm, bound it up and went 
 to the opera. The trial and divorce of Lady Ligonier oc- 
 casioned him to leave the country, and he returned to Italy, 
 taking with him a number of the finest English horses, 
 which he got across the Alps with about as much trouble 
 as Hannibal passed them with his army ; though he had 
 two men to look after each horse. At one time he sported 
 sixteen most splendid horses. 
 
 The "reputed consort" was the widow of no other per- 
 son than " Prince Charlie," the hero of the Rebellion of 
 forty-five — the last Pretender. This lady, styled the Coun- 
 tess of Albany, who was only about twenty-five when he 
 
 * " I have got my saddle-horses here, and have ridden and am riding 
 all about the country." — Byron, in life, vol. iv. p. 14. All through 
 Lord Byron's journal and letters, we find him talking of his saddle-horses 
 and riding exploits. 
 
VISIT TO WOTTON HALL, 409 
 
 fell in love with her at the age of twenty-eight, and with 
 whom he spent the remainder of his life, was not only a 
 very beautiful, but most superior and excellent woman. 
 That passion for fame which the sight of the tomb of Michael 
 Angelo had first inspired him with, she continued to cherish 
 and direct ; and to her, Italy and the world owe much of 
 whatever glory and spirit of freedom Alfieri has left in his 
 writings. 
 
 In all this, who does not see the great resemblance be- 
 tween the Italian and the English poet ? But it did not 
 end here. Alfieri, like Lord Byron, though the zealous 
 companion of liberalism, was prouder of his birth than of 
 his genius, — and as he has been exactly described — " was 
 an abstraction of pure isolated aristocracy." He denounced 
 kings because he hated all tyrants ; but he abhorred the 
 French Revolution, because it was entirely democratic. He 
 proclaimed the law of liberty, but his indomitable pride 
 made him hold himself aloof from its plebeian labourers. 
 He was proud to show the nobles that he could win honours 
 beyond his hereditary ones ; but the order of patrician rank 
 was still more flattering to him than even the " Order of 
 Homer," which he instituted, and in which he enrolled 
 himself a member. Finally, Alfieri was proud of his abilities 
 as a swimmer ; and so similar were their habits in this re- 
 spect, that Moore in his life of Byron has actually stated of 
 him what Alfieri states of himself — that in Italy, during 
 the summer, it was one of his grand pleasures to resort to 
 a solitary spot on the coast, and after bathing in the sea, 
 throw himself at the foot of a rock, and lie for hours look- 
 ing into the sky, indulging in the most delicious reveries. — 
 See Alfieri' s Autobiography , and Byron's Life and Works, 
 vol. viii. p. 77. 
 
 Old people are yet living who recollect the noise made by 
 the affair of the Count Alfieri and Lady Ligonier. A friend 
 of mine informs me that near Warrington is a humble farm- 
 house where the Count lodged for some time when in that 
 
 35 
 
410 VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 
 
 neighbourhood, to be near Lady Ligonier, and that the old 
 man will talk by the hour of Maester Alfieri. And in this 
 retired spot, where I now reside — having on one hand 
 Esher-Place, where Wolsey passed his first months of dis- 
 grace ; on the other Claremont, where the Princess Charlotte 
 died; on a third, the house of Lilly the astrologer, and 
 where Paine wrote a part, if not the whole of his Rights of 
 Man ; and on the fourth, the parsonage where Gibbon in his 
 youth was domiciled with Philip Francis, the translator of 
 Horace — almost every object seems to stand as it stood 
 when Alfieri played his wild vagaries. The Griffin Inn at 
 Kingston, from which he took a post-chaise, and proceeded 
 to Cobham, disguised in "an old blue great-coat and a round 
 post-boy's hat, but having under his old great-coat a very 
 handsome coat, and particularly smart about his legs and 
 feet, having clean white silk stockings, and neat shoes and 
 buckles on ;" the Tartar public-house near Cobham, where 
 he left his chaise, and took across the foot-road towards 
 Church-Cobham ; the little garden-gate at Cobham Park, 
 where Lady Ligonier waited for him; the George Inn at 
 Cobham, where Lady Ligonier went, and getting pen and 
 paper, wrote the letter to the Count, beginning — " Mi 
 Lord sait tout;" and bidding him avoid him, and with 
 which she sent off a messenger on horseback to London ; all 
 appear at this day just as described then, and remind us of 
 Alfieri at an age when he seemed likely to win the reputation 
 of a most profligate rake, but as little likely to become the 
 great tragic poet and father of an Italian regeneration, as to 
 become Pope. Yet, let none despair of reclaiming the most 
 erring — let none despair of themselves ; this ill-educated, 
 corrupted, wilful, and reckless young man — struck by the 
 contemplation of the tomb of Michael Angelo — made to 
 pause a moment, and feel how noble is the life, how glorious 
 is the memory of the intellectually great, and how vile and 
 worthless his own career — burst the fetters of guilty habit, 
 ay, though it were with tears and howls of agony, and not 
 
VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 411 
 
 without cutting his hair from his head, and binding himself 
 with a chord to his chair, wearing his mantle that it might 
 not be seen — and now, his tomb, carved by the hand of 
 Canova, his friend, stands beneath the splendid dome of 
 Santa Croce in Florence, with that of Michael Angelo, 
 before which he had groaned in shame, and those of Galileo 
 and of Machiavelli.* 
 
 In Santa Croce's holy precincts lie 
 Ashes which make it holier, dust which is 
 Even in itself an immortality, 
 Though there were nothing save the past and this, 
 The particle of those sublimities 
 Which have relapsed to chaos: — here repose 
 Angelo's, Alfieri's bones, and his, 
 The starry Galileo with his woes; 
 Here Machiavelli's earth returned to whence it rose. 
 
 These are four minds, which, like the elements, 
 Might furnish forth creation : — Italy ! 
 Time, which hath wronged thee with ten thousand rents 
 Of thine imperial garment, shall deny, 
 And hath denied, to every other sky, 
 Spirits which soar from ruin : — thy decay 
 Is still impregnate with divinity, 
 Which gilds it with revivifying ray; 
 Such as the great of old, Canova is to-day. 
 
 Alfieri visited England in his youth, and in pursuit of 
 pleasure. Jean Jaques Rousseau came hither in age, and 
 driven by necessity. The man who, risen from the humble 
 station of a clock-maker to the first rank of literary distinc- 
 tion, to be the associate of princes, to alarm kings, popes, 
 and stern presbyters, and to scatter the seeds of change 
 wide through the ancient soil of society, was now haunted 
 
 * Exactly twenty years after these events Alfieri, now become famous, 
 had the chance to meet with Lady Ligonier, just as he was embarking 
 after a third visit to England, and had the satisfaction to find that she had 
 shrunk from fashionable life, married an untitled person, and expressed 
 herself as perfectly happy. 
 
412 VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 
 
 with a fatal frenzy, which alienated his friends, and pur- 
 sued him with imaginary foes and terrors. No character 
 was ever more justly and perfectly drawn than that of 
 Rousseau by Lord Byron. 
 
 One, whose dust was once all fire, 
 
 A native of the land where I respire 
 The clear air for a while — a passing guest, 
 Where he became a being, — whose desire 
 Was to be glorious ; 'twas a foolish quest, 
 The which to gain and keep he sacrificed all rest. 
 
 Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau, 
 The apostle of affliction, he who threw 
 Enchantment over passion, and from wq 
 Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew 
 The breath which made him wretched ; yet he knew 
 How to make madness beautiful, and cast 
 O'er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue 
 Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they past 
 The eyes which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast. 
 
 His love was passion's essence — as a tree 
 On fire by lightning; with ethereal flame 
 Kindled he w 7 as, and blasted ; for to be 
 Thus, and enamoured were in him the same. 
 But his was not the love of living dame, 
 Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams, 
 But of ideal beauty, which became 
 In him existence, and o'erflowing teems 
 Along his burning page, distempered though it seems. 
 
 This breathed itself to life in Julie, this 
 Invested her with all that's wild and sweet ; 
 This hallowed too, the memorable kiss 
 Which every morn his feeble lip would greet, 
 From hers, who but with friendship his would meet ; 
 But to that gentle touch, through brain and breast, 
 Flashed the thrilled spirit's love-devouring heat ; 
 In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest 
 Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek possessed. 
 
VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 413 
 
 His life was one long war with self-sought foes, 
 Or friends by him self-banished ; for his mind 
 Had grown suspicion's sanctuary, and chose, 
 For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind, 
 'Gainst whom he raged with fury strong and blind. 
 But he was phrensied — wherefore who may know 1 
 Since cause might be which skill could never find ; 
 But he was phrensied by disease, or wo, 
 To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show. 
 
 For then he was inspired, and from him came, 
 As from the Pythian's mystic cave of yore, 
 Those oracles which set the world in flame, 
 Nor ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more : 
 Did he not this for France 1 which lay before 
 Bowed to the inborn tyranny of years? 
 Broken and trembling to the yoke she bore, 
 Till by the voice of him and his compeers 
 Roused up to too much wrath, which follows o'ergrown fears'? 
 
 They made themselves a fearful monument ! 
 The wreck of old opinions — things which grew, 
 Breathed from the birth of time: the veil they rent, 
 And what behind it lay all earth shall view. 
 But good with ill they also overthrew, 
 Leaving but ruins wherewith to rebuild 
 Upon the same foundation, and renew 
 Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour refilled, 
 As heretofore, because ambition was self-willed. 
 
 Childe Harold, Canto iii. 166-9. 
 
 We need not trace the history of this wonderful but un- 
 happy man ; it is embodied in these stanzas. The author 
 of the Eloise, the Social Contract, the Emilius, and of many 
 other fervent compositions which had already filled the 
 civilized world with their fame, and were destined to work 
 out mighty consequences, when- he himself was laid in the 
 dust, had now in that " worst pitch of phrensy which wears 
 a reasoning show,"* scattered from him nearly all his 
 
 ' Spite of all Rousseau's errors and eccentricities, he was the first to 
 see the necessity of a total change in the principle and practice of popular 
 
 35* 
 
414 VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 
 
 friends ; and surely no man ever found so many or so de- 
 voted. Palaces were opened, houses built for him, his tastes 
 consulted, solitudes created for his study, and society se- 
 lected for his honour and refreshment ; but the demon of 
 suspicion always attended him • and poisoned everything 
 around — his food, his drink, his vision, and the very flowers 
 beneath his feet. Admiring men and loving women were re- 
 pulsed as the most base conspirators against his peace and 
 honour. Madame D'Epinay, the Countess D'Houdetot, 
 D'Alembert, Grimm, Diderot, Voltaire, all were flung from 
 him as wretches filled with the most horrible and treacherous 
 designs. He fled from the house of the Prince of Conti, and 
 successively sought a spot of peace and security in vain in 
 France, Switzerland, and Prussia, he imagined that England 
 alone could afford him an asylum. He believed that all the 
 kings and priests of the continent of Europe were leagued 
 to destroy him, and all the literary men to betray him into 
 their hands. There was yet one free country, — England, 
 and one honest philosopher, — David Hume, which he deem- 
 ed were happily left him, and in their arms he determined 
 to seek repose. David Hume soon assured him of his most 
 cordial assistance, and announced to him that he had a friend, 
 Mr. Davenport, a gentleman of Staffordshire, whose family 
 seat at Wotton would furnish that profound retreat from 
 the world and his persecutors which he so ardently de- 
 sired ; and that this was most heartily placed at his service. 
 The heart of Rousseau kindled at the prospect. David 
 Hume was ready to attend him from Paris to London, 
 and consign him to the generous care of his friend, Mr. 
 Davenport, who would conduct him to Wotton ; for Rous- 
 seau could speak scarcely a syllable of English. Accordingly, 
 
 education, and notwithstanding the impracticability of his own theory, 
 from his original ideas sprung the views and experiments of Pestalozzi, 
 Fellenberg, and others, which are perhaps destined, beyond all other 
 means, really to civilize and christianize the multitudes of Europe, and 
 thence of the world. 
 
VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 415 
 
 as the newspapers of the times record, on" Jan. 13th, 1766, 
 the celebrated Jean Jaques Rousseau arrived in London ; 
 and he was soon afterwards set safely down at Wotton." 
 
 Here, if peace and security were what he really needed, 
 he might have found them, if they were to be found on earth. 
 In the heart of free England who should dare to molest him ? 
 In this sylvan solitude, far from the great towns and beaten 
 tracks of travel, who, indeed, should find him ? And, for 
 a time, he appeared to have reached the long-sought bourne 
 of his rest. All things seemed to conspire to his satisfac- 
 tion. He declared that he had discovered the spot he 
 sought, and that there he would live and die. His devoted 
 companion of many years, Theresa le Vasseur, had joined 
 him ; his host, a gentleman of enlightened mind and gener- 
 ous disposition, who, both on account of his own fame, and 
 of his friendship for Hume, was desirous to render his abode 
 entirely agreeable, was occasionally there with his family, 
 and occasionally at his house in town, leaving Wotton then 
 to his sole use, with a couple of old tried servants to wait 
 on him. To a person like Rousseau, sensitively alive to the 
 beauties of nature, the country must have been charming. 
 It could not give him, it is true, the climate of France,* nor 
 present him with the Alpine sublimities of Switzerland, but 
 yet it was lovely. There was a solemn beauty about it. 
 
 * Nor even of the south of England. So far as climate was concerned 
 Wotton was ill chosen. The south of England could have furnished him 
 with solitudes deep enough and a much more genial atmosphere. I was 
 struck with the difference between even Surrey and this elevated region. 
 I was there at the latter end of June. The woods were full of blue- 
 bells, there were still primroses to be seen, in the garden tulips and 
 labernums were in full blossom, all of which had long disappeared in 
 Surrey. With us the wild-rose and elder-flower, the signs of confirmed 
 summer, were in blow in the hedges ; here not one was to be seen open ; 
 but the hawthorn, which had faded a month before in the south, cast its 
 fragrance around you, and the foliage everywhere had all the freshness 
 and delicacy of spring. 
 
416 VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 
 
 Green hills, deep woods, rich views into a champaign coun- 
 try, rich meadows scattered with noble trees, and winding 
 dells were around him. At hand, also, were the fairyland 
 dales of the Peak — Dovedale's picturesque loveliness, and 
 the pleasant slopes of Ham and Ashborne. For his favourite 
 pursuit of botany he was in a very paradise. A greater 
 variety of vegetable habitats, and therefore of plants and 
 flowers, could scarcely be met with. A number of old and 
 highly respectable families were scattered through the neigh- 
 bourhood, and, had he desired to cultivate their acquaint- 
 ance, it is clear that he might have found himself in the 
 midst of a most select and delightful society. He said at 
 that time in his letters : — " The place in which I reside is 
 much to my liking. The master of the house is a very 
 worthy man, in whose favour, the three weeks' residence 
 he has made here, with his family, have cemented the 
 friendship his good services had made me conceive for him. 
 He does everything in his power to make his house agree- 
 able to me. Had I again to fix my place of abode, this 
 is the only habitation I could make choice of in England." 
 He tells us that " all the gentlemen of the environs, all 
 the ministers of the neighbouring parishes, have the good- 
 ness to show me civilities of which I am extremely sensible, 
 as this is the general disposition of the country. Even the 
 common people, notwithstanding my dress, forget, in my 
 favour, their usual rudeness to strangers. Madame de Luze 
 will tell you what the country is. In short, I should find 
 in it that which would make me forget any other, were it 
 nearer the sun and my friends." He adds, in June, that he 
 had had visiters from London, both ladies and gentlemen, 
 who were witnesses of his happiness, and that, in fact, he 
 had never lived more at his ease, nor more uninterruptedly 
 followed his inclinations from morning till night. At a short 
 distance from him stood Calwich Abbey, the beautiful resi- 
 dence of Mr. Granville. This gentleman had shown him 
 the most hospitable attentions, and for him he appeared to 
 
VISIT TO WOTTOST HALL. 417 
 
 acquire a strong regard. Mr. Granville had two sisters, 
 the elder of whom was the celebrated Mrs. Delany, for 
 many years the intimate friend of George III. and Queen 
 Charlotte. She was a lady of fine literary taste and the 
 most amiable disposition, as any one will believe who has 
 seen the excellent portrait of her by Opie, at Hampton 
 Court. This lady, after the age of seventy-five, made her 
 celebrated Hortus Siccus, now in the possession of her niece 
 Mrs. Waddington, the whole amounting to ten immense 
 folios, each containing one hundred floral plants, repre- 
 senting in cut paper of infinitely various dyes, the finest 
 flowers of our own and every other climate, from the best 
 specimens that the field, the garden, the green-house, and 
 the conservatory could furnish ; and with a fidelity and 
 vividness of colouring, says Anna Seward, who saw the 
 volumes at Dr. Parr's, which shame the needle and the 
 pencil ; the moss, the films, the farina, every minutest part, 
 being represented with matchless delicacy.* This lady — the 
 
 * Always a fine painter, and not ignorant of chemistry, she herself 
 dyed her papers from whence the new creation arose. Of this astonish- 
 ing work Dr. Darwin has given a most erroneous description in his 
 splendid poem. He ought not to have taken such a liberty. It repre- 
 sents Mrs. Delany as a mere artificial flower-maker, using wires, and 
 wax, and moss, etc. ; though writing-paper was her sole material — her 
 scissors her only implement. The former, previously coloured by her- 
 self, in complete shades of every tint, was never retouched by the pencil 
 after the flower was cut out ; nor did she ever make a drawing : but, as 
 the specimen lay before her, she cut from the eye. The easy flowing 
 grace of the stalks, the happiness with which the flower or flowers, their 
 leaves and buds, are disposed upon those stalks, is exquisite; while the 
 degree of real relief which they possess, besides that which arises from 
 the skilful deception produced by light and shade, has a richness and 
 natural effect, which the finest pencil cannot hope to attain. What a 
 lesson of exertion does the invention and completion of such a work, 
 after seventy-five, give to that hopeless languor which people are so 
 prone to indulge in the decline of life? — Anna Seward's Letters, vol. 
 iii., p. 195-6. 
 
 What a lesson, we may add, not to the old, but to thousands of the 
 
418 VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 
 
 intimate friend of Swift, Horace Walpole, Dr. Burney, 
 Anna Seward, and the Duchess of Portland ; her sister, 
 Mrs. Dewes ; the Dewes family altogether, and the Poots 
 of Ham, their relatives, were most disposed to cultivate the 
 friendship of Rousseau. 
 
 Mr. Fitzherbert, I suppose of Norbury, the father-in-law 
 of the late celebrated Mrs. Fitzherbert, and the Earl of Har- 
 court, are named amongst his correspondents and friends. 
 The Duchess of Portland, the daughter of the Duke of De- 
 vonshire, and therefore intimately connected with that part 
 of the country, as well as being the intimate friend of Mrs. 
 Delany, was then a young woman ; in fact, just married. 
 She was introduced to him by Mr. Granville, and, besides 
 that, both herself and the duke were most amiable and in- 
 teresting people ; she was an enthusiastic botanist, and, as 
 was certain, won wonderfully on Rousseau. She ranged 
 the rocks and dales of the Peak with him, and he speaks of 
 her in his letters as climbing crags in the pursuit of plants, 
 which would have struck his French acquaintance, and es- 
 pecially the ladies, with astonishment. Mr. Davenport, it 
 may be discovered from Jean Jaques' letters, was always 
 on the look out to contribute to his comfort and amusement. 
 He was now sending him substantial luxuries, such as tea 
 and other things from town ; now books and news ; now 
 coming down expressly to see him, and that all was 
 as he wished it about him. To crown all, without any 
 solicitation on his part, but through means which could be 
 no mystery when he had such friends at court as Mrs. 
 Delany, the Duke and Duchess of Portland, and Mr. Daven- 
 port, the friend of General Conway, secretary of state, the 
 king granted him a pension of one hundred pounds a year. 
 
 rich and luxurious young of this age ! If a lady past seventy-five could 
 execute as her amusement so splendid and extensive a work of taste, what 
 may not the young of the present day perform, with all their leisure and 
 their accomplishments, for the adornment of existence, or the benefit of 
 their fellow-creatures 1 
 
VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 41 9 
 
 Here were ample materials for happiness, if happiness 
 was possible to him ; but his mind, too securely the prey 
 of melancholy and suspicion, soon put to flight his tem- 
 porary contentment. We find him writing, that he hears 
 with astonishment of the manner in which they treat him 
 in London ; that it would be far better to refuse the unfor- 
 tunate an asylum, than to receive and insult them ; that he 
 knows that everything that passes with respect to him is 
 not natural ; that a whole nation does not change from 
 white to black in a moment without a cause, and that this 
 secret cause is the more dangerous as it is less apprehended, 
 and so on. His phrenzied and restless mind instantly con- 
 jured up the most disgraceful conspiracy against him to 
 drive him from the nation ; and, as was always the case, on 
 those who had been his most zealous friends fell the weight 
 of his resentment. David Hume was charged by him with 
 being at the bottom of the whole, and Voltaire with blow- 
 ing the flame by a published letter. Hume, of course, 
 highly indignant, repelled the charge, called for an expla- 
 nation, and the whole affair spread through the newspa- 
 pers, and may there be read, as well as Hume's statement 
 in his works. But it was in vain to expostulate with a 
 madman ; and to that character Rousseau had had a good 
 claim, more or less, for many years. The mischief was, that 
 his friends, as he successively quarrelled with them, did not 
 see this, but looked upon him as sane, but irritable and un- 
 generous. His mind however was now so confirmedly 
 under the influence of its malady, that the possibility of his 
 having another moment's rest at Wotton was gone ; he 
 therefore suddenly took his departure, and we find him ad- 
 dressing a letter from Calais in May, 1767; having been 
 about a year and four months at Wotton.* 
 
 * The alleged cause of his sudden flight from Wotton is in complete 
 keeping with his suspicious temperament. The tradition is that Theresa 
 either grown suspicious herself, or, as has been supposed, desirous to get 
 back to France, told Rousseau one day that she had, unobserved, watched 
 
420 VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 
 
 The remainder of his life was of the same tissue ; his fever- 
 ish mind, always seeking for that spot of repose which he 
 was not destined to find till he found his grave. His let- 
 ters, to the very close of his existence, at Ermonville, in 
 17 r ,* re full of speculations on finding that ardently de- 
 
 r i terra incognita. Wherever he pitched, filled with hope 
 for the " moment, it was still flitting before him. Now it 
 was Amiens, then successively Fleury, the country-house 
 of Mirabeau ; Trie le Chateau, the house of the Prince of 
 Conti ; Bourgoin : America sometimes loomed large and 
 invitingly in his imagination, but too distant ; then the isles 
 of the Grecian Archipelago, and particularly Cyprus, " or 
 some corner of Greece, no matter where, with a soil fertile 
 in plants, a fine climate, and no Christian charity to inter- 
 fere with him." He even made application to the English 
 government to grant him protection to live and botanize in 
 the Isles of Greece. Receiving no assurance on this head, 
 his mind immediately reverted again to England and Wot- 
 ton, — he would go and end his days there. Savoy, for 
 which he actually procured a passport, the castle of La- 
 vagnac, Minorca, Monquin, and other places, till the day of 
 his death, flitted alluringly through his unreposable mind. 
 
 Last June, being in Staffordshire, I determined to visit 
 Wotton. 1 was curious to see the haunts of Rousseau ; to 
 see if any relics of him remained there yet, which had been 
 handed down in the family which is still in possession of 
 the estate, respecting him, and what was the tradition of 
 the country-people of him ; for it was certain that a fo- 
 reigner coming into that secluded place, and living retiredly 
 at the Hall, having with him only a lady who bore a name 
 
 the cook putting something into his soup, which she feared was with de- 
 sign to poison him. The very idea of such a thing was enough for his 
 ilffitable mind. He rushed out of the house, sent off Theresa with all 
 speed to Ashborne for a chaise, and continuing to walk about in the open 
 air till she returned with it, he refused to enter the house again, but the 
 moment his luggage was ready, posted off with indignant velocity. 
 
VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 421 
 
 different to his own, and therefore could not be supposed to 
 be either wife or sister, must have amazingly excited their 
 curiosity, and left a vivid impression on their minds. No- 
 thing is more curious than the shape which such a thing 
 often takes in the mind of the populace, and espec-i- 1 -r a 
 simple and thoroughly rustic populace, living as the ' 
 lagers of Wotton did, cut off almost from the rest of uie 
 world. The circumstances too of Rousseau's al. le here 
 must have been the more piquantly stimulant to their cu- 
 riosity from his sudden appearance there, and his sudden 
 departure, from his wearing his Armenian dress, a furred 
 cap, and caftan, or long striped robe with a belt. Besides 
 this, his ignorance of English would cut off communication, 
 and make him more mysterious in their eyes. He says 
 himself that he knew only about thirty English words be- 
 fore he came to England, and that they, owing to the bar- 
 barous gibberish of the place, the Staffordshire dialect, had 
 been of no use to him ; and that Theresa knew literally not 
 a word when she arrived. 
 
 Wotton lies at the feet of the Weaver hills, about six 
 miles from Ashborne, and that, or something more, from 
 Cheadle. From the latter place I walked through a bold, 
 wild country to it. My idea was that the retreat of Rous- 
 seau had been at Wotton Lodge, a mile nearer on my way 
 than Wotton Hall. Here I arrived, and found the lodge ; 
 a fine old Elizabethan house, situated in as solemnly strik- 
 ing a solitude as one can well conceive. It stood up aloft, 
 on a natural terrace overlooking a deep winding glen, and 
 surrounded by sloping uplands, deep masses of wood, and 
 the green heights of Weaver, in a situation of solitary 
 beauty which extremely delighted me. Not a person was 
 visible throughout the profoundly silent scene, scarcely a 
 house was within view. I ascended to the front of the 
 lodge, and stood in admiration of its aspect. Its tall square 
 bulk of dark-gray stone, with its turreted front, full of large 
 square mullioned windows ; its paved court, and ample 
 
 36 
 
422 VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 
 
 flight of steps ascending to its porched door ; its old garden, 
 with terraces and pleached hedges on the south slope below 
 it, and deep again below that, dark ponds visible amongst 
 the wild growth of trees. The house stood, without a 
 smoke, without a sign of life, or movement about it, in the 
 broad sunshine of noon. I advanced and rung the bell in 
 the porch, but no one answered it. It was, for all the 
 world, like a hall of old romance laid under an enchanted 
 spell. I rung again, but all was silent. I descended the 
 flight of steps, and paced the gray pavement of the court, 
 and was about to withdraw, when an old woman opened a 
 casement in the highest story, and said, in a slow, dreamy 
 voice, ". I am coming down." 
 
 I found that this old dame was the sole inhabitant. The 
 house was only partially furnished, and the proprietor abroad. 
 There were a few paintings, and amongst them an old sea- 
 captain, the former possessor of the place, who, she said, 
 was lost at sea, and the estate gone into another line. Bat 
 no such a man as Rousseau, she protested, had ever been 
 there ; nor had it been the property of the Davenports. I 
 was, therefore, satisfied that his retreat was Wotton Hall, 
 and thither I walked. It too is a sufficiently solitary lo- 
 cality, though it has the village of Wotton a little above it, 
 and that of Ellaston about half a mile below. It stands 
 like the Lodge, on a fine natural terrace overlooking a deep 
 glen surrounded with wood, and with here and there huge 
 masses of dark-red rocks showing themselves in its sides. 
 It is a glade* which would have delighted Poussin or Claude, 
 with masses of oak trees overhanging its rocky sides, and 
 long lines of honeysuckle and ivy dangling down them, and 
 its upper end filled with wood, in a manner to please even 
 Salvator. At some little distance north of the house and 
 village swells up the green bulk of Weaver, giving wide 
 prospect on one hand over the country, with the distant 
 town of Uttoxeter seen smoking in the plain, the church 
 towers of Cheadle and Ashborne, Alton Abbey, the seat of 
 
VTSIT TO WOTTON HALL. 423 
 
 the Earl of Shrewsbury not far off, and, it is said, on clear 
 days the spire of Lichfield, and the Shropshire hills. Be 
 that as it may, on the other hand, northward, are discerned 
 the blue and misty tops of the Peak hills. When I mounted 
 on the riclge of the Weaver, and saw around this vast, but 
 silent expanse, and in the nearer scene only moorland 
 wastes, long lines of stone walls, two or three ancient cairns, 
 and a few grazing cattle ; and perceived as the only sounds, 
 the bleat of a sheep, or the hoarse cry of the carrion crow, 
 the only cheerful note being that of the lark overhead, I 
 could not help feeling, for 
 
 Quiet to quick bosom is a hell — 
 
 that the very recurring depth of this solitude, as Rousseau 
 pursued his botanical rambles, was enough to rouse in his 
 distempered fancy all the phantasms of this foes and machina- 
 tions. 
 
 I found the family of Mr. Bromley from home, and the house 
 undergoing alteration and enlargement. The steward in- 
 formed me that there was nothing remaining which belonged 
 to Rousseau, and that the rooms usually occupied by him 
 were now destroyed in a great measure, to make way for the 
 entrance hall. A grotto near the house is still remaining 
 which goes by his name, and where he is said to have spent 
 much time. 
 
 But on inquiry after the remembrance of him in the vil- 
 lage, I was more successful. I asked the first man I en- 
 countered, whether he had heard of a Frenchman ever 
 having lived at the Hall ? " A Frenchmon ? Ay, to be 
 sure ! yo meanen owd Boss HalV That is the man, I re- 
 plied ; seeing how the simple people had converted his name 
 into so odd a one. In their dialect, as in the Scotch, hall is 
 pronounced ha' — Rousseau, would thus be, in their fathers' 
 mouths, Ross Ha' ; but the present generation, something 
 educated, would endeavour to give ha' the full sound to a 
 stranger, which in their dialect it represents, and ha' would 
 
424 VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 
 
 become hall. However I found Rousseau here known to 
 all the villagers as Ross Hall, except to one or two, who 
 called him Dross Hall ; having corrupted the name into this 
 by the prefix of old, or owd, which they apply to almost 
 everybody and everything. Owd Ross Hall thus became 
 owd Dross Hall ; the sound of the d in owd, being carried 
 on to Ross. 
 
 "And when," I asked, "did this gentleman live here?" 
 "0," said the man, "before my time; but there are owd people 
 in the village who were children then, and they remembern 
 him. He war mighty curious in yarbs,* and ah've heered 
 see, war skilled to cure welly ony disease wi' em. Owd 
 James Robinson a'th top o'th town, and Farmer Burton 
 here, and owd Missis Saut,t of Ellaston, they know'd him, 
 an' can tell ya au about him." I walked up and found 
 this James Robinson, a blithe old fellow of about ninety. 
 When I asked if he knew the Frenchman who once lived 
 at the Hall, he replied, " What, owd Ross Hall ? Ay, 
 know him did I, well enough. Ah've seen him monny an' 
 monny a time, every dee welly, coming and going in's 
 comical cap an' ploddyj gown, a'gethering his yarbs." I 
 asked him if he ever had any talk with him. " No, he could 
 na speak no English, nubbut a wod or two." " And was 
 there anybody here with him ?" " Yes, there war a lady 
 — they cawd her Madam Zell, but whether how war his 
 wife or not ah dunna know. Folks said how warna." 
 
 But this old man, as well as Farmer Burton and Mrs. 
 Salt, described him as walking out almost every day, and 
 coming back with great handfuls of plants. They described 
 him, exactly as he describes himself, in his Armenian dress, 
 only they called his striped caftan a plaid. Mademoiselle 
 le Vasseur, they all called Madam Zell ; and Mrs. Salt said 
 how much afraid she and her brother, children of about ten 
 years old, used to be when they met him in the lanes on 
 
 * Herbs. t Salt. \ Plaid. 
 
VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 425 
 
 their way to school. His long gown and belt, and his black 
 velvet cap with its gold tassel and pendent top, made him 
 a most awful figure to them, especially as they used to see 
 him poring on the park wall for moss, or growing in some 
 lonely nook after plants. As he could not address them in 
 English to dissipate their fears, they used to run off, if 
 possible, at the very first glimpse of the terrible outlandish 
 man. 
 
 They all agreed in saying that both Ross Hall and Madam 
 Zell were very good folks, — very kind to the poor; and 
 one of them mentioned a fact which, as the villagers actually 
 knew nothing of Rousseau's history, is very characteristic. 
 The old man, who used to remain at the house during the 
 absence of the family in town, one day beat his wife, the 
 housekeeper; and Madam Zell, on some of the villagers 
 flocking in at the outcry, in a state of great excitement, said 
 in her few words of English to some young women, — 
 " Never marry ! never marry ! You see ! you see !" 
 
 Old Farmer Burton said " it was thought he was some 
 king who had been driven from his dominions." 
 
 The fact that a gentleman was inquiring about old Ross 
 Hall, roused the wonder of the whole village. The people 
 turned out in groups from the top of the hamlet to the 
 bottom, and when they saw the steward proceeding with 
 me towards the Hall, their curiosity became intense. They 
 could not have an idea that the mere gratification of my 
 curiosity had led me there ; there must, they thought, be 
 something of high moment in agitation. Several of them 
 came with very serious faces, and asked, " What it was 
 about? whether government was making inquiry about 
 Ross Hall ? or whether some property was consarned ?" 
 
 I learned that several caps and a handsome pipe, belong- 
 ing to Rousseau, had been in the village till recently, and 
 they believed Farmer Gallimore had a cap and pipe now 
 It was droll to see the caution of Farmer Gallimore when I 
 went and asked about them. "What is it about?" he 
 
 36* 
 
426 YISIT T0 WOTTON HALL. 
 
 asked, " What's your object, sir ?" « 0, merely curiosity !" 
 He looked incredulous, shaking his head and smiling ; and 
 nothing could be got out of him but, " It's an old affair, sir ; 
 it's quite an old affair now." His wife, however, beckoned 
 me into the next room, and said she should be obliged if I 
 would tell her why it was that so many people came inquir- 
 ing about Ross Hall ? I told her it was because he had 
 been a great writer. The woman not having so enormous 
 a bump of caution as her husband, then told me that there 
 had been a black velvet cap, with gold tassels, in their 
 house till a short time ago, as well as a pipe ; but the cap 
 being brought down from the shelf on which it used to lie, 
 to show it to some gentlemen who had called to see it, it 
 was soon afterwards missed, and they supposed that some 
 workmen who were in the house when the gentlemen saw 
 it, had stolen it. The pipe also was gone. She added, that 
 a farmer at some distance, whose father was a servant at 
 the Hall at that time, had a cap which Ross Hall gave him. 
 To this farmer I proceeded, and there I saw it. It was of 
 grayish drab woollen stuff, with silver braid and tassel. It 
 had lain in a drawer of the kitchen dresser, however, till it 
 was considerably moth-eaten. I offered to purchase it, but 
 the man said, " Nay, I canna part wi' it, becos it's an owd 
 keepsake o' my feyther's." 
 
 Such is the curious impression which Rousseau has left 
 at Wotton ; and, as Lord Byron said of himself, on hearing 
 of some of the opinions of the Italians regarding him,— 
 " Such is fame !" I know not whether there be any truth 
 in the story, or on what authority it is given, that Dr. Dar- 
 win was very anxious to be introduced to Rousseau here, 
 and that he would not see him, whereupon Darwin fixed 
 himself in his way as he issued forth on one of his botanical 
 excursions, intently gazing on a plant ; on which Rousseau 
 came up to him and asked, " Etes-vous un botanist, Mon- 
 sieur ?" to which replying in the affirmative, they walked 
 on together, and botanized the whole day to their great 
 
VISIT TO WOTTON HALL. 427 
 
 mutual pleasure ; but on parting at eve, Rousseau begged 
 to -know the name of his companion, and on hearing it, ex- 
 claimed, " Ha ! a concerted plan !" and never would see 
 him again. 
 
 It is the common report that Dovedale was his favourite 
 resort, and that there he sowed the seeds of various plants 
 amongst the rocks, of which the mezereons there yet to be 
 seen, are part of the results. The most amusing thing, 
 however, is the awful character which his strange dress, 
 his taciturnity, and his solitary wanderings on the moor- 
 lands and the hills gave him. The simple people seem 
 almost to imagine that he held communication with super- 
 natural beings. One man gravely said "He had heard that 
 he used to think nothing of going over Weaver when the 
 feeris* were out daunting a nights ; and to my thinking," 
 he added, " feeries can be nowt but lost sperrits." 
 
 I have since learned from the Rev. Walter Davenport 
 Bromley, the present worthy proprietor of Wotton, that no 
 memorial of Rousseau remains at the Hall, and that little is 
 known of his acts or habits while there, more than has been 
 made public ; for his father, having been educated on Rous- 
 seau's system, and feeling the deficiencies of it, never liked 
 to hear him mentioned. Mr. Granville, of Calwich, has, 
 however, some of his letters, chiefly filled with complaints 
 of the climate, and probably the originals of those already 
 published. 
 
 * Faeries. 
 
SACRAMENT SUNDAY AT KILMORAC. 
 
 Much has been said and written about the camp-meetings 
 of America and England, but the sober Scotch have shown 
 by the recent Revivals, as they are called amongst them, 
 that the same species of religious excitement can agitate 
 them ; and, indeed, they have had, from the earliest days of 
 the Reformation, scenes of most picturesque religious exhi- 
 bition amongst them, — of which, however, little is known 
 in England. Their annual administration of the sacrament, 
 which in the Highlands often occurs in the open air, is a 
 most singular and novel sight. Logan of Leith, better 
 known to English readers as Logan the poet, in his sermons, 
 describes in detail the ceremony. He tells us that "the 
 people are prepared by their ministers in their respective 
 parishes for this great occasion, with much seriousness, and 
 that it generally occupies four days, including the Sunday 
 fixed for this solemnity." On the Thursday and Saturday 
 before it, and on the Monday after it, there is public 
 worship, and sermons are preached upon subjects suitable 
 to the occasion. The Thursday is particularly set apart for 
 solemn fasting, and no labour is that day permitted in the 
 parish. The greater part of persons of all ranks in the 
 parish, who have arrived at the years of discretion, join in 
 celebrating this ordinance, which, partly from this cause, 
 and partly from its taking place but once or twice a year, 
 is performed in a manner that is very solemn and devout. 
 
 " The service begins with the singing of a psalm, which 
 the minister reads out immediately on ascending the pulpit. 
 The choice of the psalms is in all cases at the minister's discre- 
 tion ; and, to give the sacrament service more completely, some 
 portions, which are often sung on such occasions, are inserted 
 here in their places. The music is entirely vocal. In a few 
 congregations there is music in parts, but in general the whole 
 
SACRAMENT SUNDAY AT KELMORAC. 439 
 
 congregation sing in unison. The psalms tunesare set to slow 
 time ; the melody is simple, grave, and often very affecting." 
 
 John Wesley, on his religious journeys into Scotland, was 
 surprised to find that on the fast-day the people did not fast 
 at all, but regularly eat their three meals. He also, in his 
 Journal of the date of Sunday the 17th, 1764, gives us 
 this pretty accurate description of the ceremony, as cele- 
 brated in the West Kirk in Edinburgh. 
 
 " After the usual morning service, the minister enumer- 
 ated several sorts of sinners whom he forbade to approach. 
 Two long tables were set on the sides of one aisle, covered 
 with table-cloths. On each side of them a bench was placed 
 for the people. Each table held four or five and thirty. 
 Three ministers sate at the top, behind a cross table ; one of 
 whom made a long exhortation, closed with the words of 
 our Lord, and then, breaking the bread, gave it to him who 
 sate on each side of him. A piece of bread was then given 
 to him who sate first on each side of the four benches. He 
 broke off a little piece and gave the bread to the next. So 
 it went on, the deacons giving more when wanted. A cup 
 was then given to the first person on each bench, and so by 
 one to another. The minister continued his exhortation all 
 the time they were receiving. Then four verses of the 
 twenty-second psalm were sung, while new persons sate 
 down at the tables. A second minister then prayed, conse- 
 crated, and exhorted. I was informed the service usually 
 lasted till five in the evening. How much more simple, as 
 well as more solemn," adds worthy John Wesley, " is the 
 service of the Church of England." Solemn enough I think 
 most English people, however, would consider it, and not a 
 little impressive ; but what English congregation could en- 
 dure a service of four days, continuing each day from ten 
 in the morning to five in the evening ? And who would 
 identify this serious Ceremony with the Holy-Fair of Burns ? 
 And yet it is no other. But, whatever John Wesley might 
 think of the ceremony as seen in Edinburgh, or however it 
 
430 SACRAMENT SUNDAY AT KILMORAC. 
 
 might be enacted in the west of Scotland, and have pre- 
 sented itself to the eyes of the random and waggish Robin 
 Burns, nothing can be more striking, serious, and picturesque, 
 than the same ceremony seen in the Highlands, in the open 
 air, at the feet of the wild mountains, and amid a simple 
 and uncorrupted population. It is there celebrated mostly 
 in the finest season of their year, in the interval between 
 the hay and corn harvests, as a time of the most general 
 leisure during the summer. Two or three ministers of ad- 
 joining parishes commonly unite to assist each other, and 
 administer the sacrament in each successively, which thus 
 runs in the whole through as many weeks. 
 
 As Logan states, in each parish the occasion occupies four 
 days, Thursday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. We 
 thought ourselves fortunate, in August, 1836, that we hap- 
 pened to fall in with the celebration of this annual ordinance 
 in the Highlands. We were at Beaulev, about a dozen miles 
 west of Inverness, on a Sunday morning, and were inquiring 
 of the landlady of our excellent inn how far it was to the 
 celebrated falls of Kilmorac. " !" said she, " it is a bare 
 two miles, and you will just be there in the nick of time to 
 see the sacrament administered to the Gaelic population in 
 the open air. The English congregation will receive it in 
 the kirk." This was brave news, and away we posted. 
 It was a delicious morning. One of those clear, warm, yet 
 not oppressive days, that August often presents us. The 
 sky over head was studded with light and loftly little masses 
 of what the German meteorologists so expressively call 
 siachen clouds, that appear on the summer's morning amid 
 the sunny azure in small lumps all round the horizon, and 
 gradually grow, and stack, and pile themselves up into snowy 
 mountains, and regions of cloud-land most lustrous and beau- 
 tiful. A gentle breeze went puffing and frolicking amongst 
 the hedge-rows, wafting to us deliciously the odour of the 
 sweetbriar, which abounds there ; the level rich fields are full 
 of corn already " white unto the harvest ;" and from all 
 
SACRAMENT SUNDAY AT KILMORAC. 43 1 
 
 quarters we saw the people streaming along the highways 
 and the foot-paths towards the hills that lay westward. 
 The roads were clad frae side to side 
 Wi' monie a wearie body, 
 
 In droves that day. 
 
 Not, however, exactly as Burns describes the folk of Ay reshire: 
 Here farmers gash in rid in graith 
 
 Gaed hoddin by their cotters ; 
 There swankies young, in braw braid-claith, 
 
 Are springin o'er the gutters. 
 The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, 
 
 In silks an' scarlet glitter; 
 Wi' sweet milk-cheese, in monie a whang, 
 An' f'arls bak'd wi' butter 
 
 Fu crump that day. 
 Most here were on foot ; none were barefooted ; on the 
 week days we saw scarcely a woman with shoes or stock- 
 ings on, but to-day none were without. With the exception 
 that hardly one had a bonnet on, the young women were 
 not much to be distinguished from those of our smartest 
 towns. They all had their hair neatly braided, and adorned 
 with a tall comb of tortoise-shell. Many of them had silk 
 gowns, and handsome worked muslin collars ; and others 
 were dressed in white. Every one carried on her arm a 
 shawl, often of tartan, ready in case of rain to throw over 
 her head. The married women wore no bonnets, but had 
 caps supported by a sort of inner frame of stiff calico ; and 
 smart coloured ribbons, often pink, and as often gay tartan, 
 showing through the cap. The old women, again, had 
 large mob-caps. In this style they were moving towards 
 the place of meeting ; many of them came thus unbonneted 
 perhaps from a distance of seven or eight miles, for some of 
 these Highland parishes are of vast extent. As we drew 
 nearer Kilmorac, the numbers were seen gathering from all 
 quarters, men and women, from the open plain, up the glens, 
 and down from the mountains. Presently we came in 
 view of the assembled multitude, and a most novel and 
 striking scene it was. 
 
432 SACRAMENT SUNDAY AT KILMORAC. 
 
 The situation is one of great beauty ; perhaps a finer for 
 such an occasion could not be found. The river which, 
 with its tributary streams, has traversed from its western 
 sources in the far lochs of Monar, Moyley, and Affaric, some 
 of the most enchanting scenery in the empire, especially in 
 Strath Affaric and Strath Glass, here comes rushing on be- 
 tween perpendicular cliffs, from which the spectator looks 
 down, and sees it at perhaps two hundred feet below him 
 foaming through its narrow passage in a similar manner 
 to the Strid at Bolton ; and then spreading itself out in a 
 wider space, forms a fine salmon leap, and afterwards hur- 
 ries merrily on its' way to the Murray Frith. Just where 
 the river issues from the cliffs, and overlooking the salmon 
 leap, juts out a lofty piece of table-land. That is the bu- 
 rial-ground of Kilmorac ; and there, as we approached, we 
 beheld upwards of a thousand people collected, conspicu- 
 ous in the bright and varied hues of Highland costume. 
 The sound of their hymn — a sound wild, pensive and pe- 
 culiar, as if it were modulated by the mountain breeze, 
 came mingled with the solemn roar of the waters. We 
 stood, and for a moment almost imagined we were come 
 upon a band of the ancient Covenanters. A more striking 
 picture we never saw. They stood aloft, on that elevated 
 plateau — yet, high on either hands swelled up the rocky 
 hills, crimson with the heather bloom, then in its full glory, 
 and scattered with birch-trees ; and below them thundered, 
 and leaped, and hurried away, the agitated waters. 
 
 We entered the burial-ground through the dense crowd, 
 and seated ourselves on the low wall built on the edge of 
 the precipice over the river, so that we had the preacher 
 and his audience, and the surrounding hills all before us. 
 Nothing but the pencil could convey to an English mind 
 how different to anything seen in England was the scene. The 
 burial-ground was inclosed on two sides with high walls — 
 the wall of the Manse garden running from the high road to 
 the precipice in one direction, and the wall which shuts out 
 
SACRAMENT SUNDAY AT KILMORAC. 433 
 
 the highway running from the garden to the precipice at 
 a right angle in the other — the waving line of the wall on 
 the precipice forming the remaining boundary. Beneath a 
 spreading tree near the garden wall, stood a sort of movable 
 booth of wood, open in front, sufficiently to form a con- 
 venient pulpit by a sort of shutter, which being hinged on 
 its bottom edge, was let down on the lower half of the 
 front, and thus obstructed no part of the preacher's view of 
 his people. From this booth the minister was now address- 
 ing the congregation, while two other ministers occupied a 
 seat in the booth behind him, ready to assist in the progress 
 of the offices of the day. If a magnificent position in the 
 great temple of nature could have kindled the imagination 
 of the preacher, and inspired him with unusual eloquence, 
 that surely might have done ; for on his right rose the rocky 
 hills beyond the falls, glowing to their very summits with 
 the crimson heath, and feathered with the gracefully scat- 
 tered birches ; on his left stood his little kirk, and on the 
 green knolls above, his manse and a few Highland huts; 
 and before him, the rapid waters of the river — the deep 
 woods of Beaufort, once the abode of old Simon Frazer, 
 Lord Lovat, and still that of his descendants — and far and 
 wide a splendid expanse of rich fields, and brown heaths, 
 dark pine forest, and blue distant hills. 
 
 The preacher and the place brought forcibly to my mind 
 our missionaries, who, on the same day in many a distant 
 region, were addressing their savage audiences. The booth 
 under the spreading tree — the crowd congregated on the 
 grassy foreground, seated on the graves and tombstones, or 
 rude benches constructed for the occasion, and on the walls 
 all around, many of them concealed from our sight by the 
 overhanging trees, their rows of dangling legs only being 
 visible ; but above all, the language in which the minister 
 was addressing his hearers, which for anything that we un- 
 derstood of it might have been Malay or Otaheitan, gave 
 the scene a missionary air. The people themselves had 
 
 37 
 
434 ^SACRAMENT SUNDAY AT KILMORAC. 
 
 enough of English look and costume to dispel the mo- 
 mentary illusion — fair hair, fair complexions, and a great 
 portion of English dress. The group, nevertheless, was a 
 very motley one. The young damsels, with their bare 
 heads, and bright tartan shawls on their arms ; the matrons, 
 with their peculiar caps with coloured linings ; the old wo- 
 men with large mob-caps ; and sturdy shepherds, with sun- 
 burnt features, and their plaids wrapped round them ; and 
 gay fellows in full Highland costume, mingled with the 
 throng in a more English garb, reminded one at once of the 
 prevalence of English rule and influence, and the remains 
 of the ancient habits and customs of the Gael. A more 
 serious and decorous congregation never was seen. Burns 
 would have found no "rows of tittlin jades," nor "batch of 
 wabster lads blackguarding' 7 — and as to " Change House," 
 there was none. We observed great numbers flock during 
 the heat of the day to a beautiful spring in the thicket just by, 
 whose margin of shadowy greensward offered a delightful 
 place of rest and refreshment, after a walk of probably six 
 or eight miles through the hills. Here they drew forth 
 their simple cates, and with fresh draughts from the spring 
 fortified themselves for the long services of the day. 
 
 Across the burial-ground, in front of the preaching -booth, 
 was placed a long table, covered with a clean white table- 
 cloth, and furnished with a bench on each side. The main 
 part of the congregation sate on other benches on each side 
 of the table, while the table itself remained unoccupied. At 
 a certain part of the service, though we could not under- 
 stand what was said, we could see what Logan thus 
 describes exactly, take place — " Upon the giving out of a 
 psalm, the minister desires the elders to bring forward the . 
 Sacramental Elements, and the communicants to take their 
 seats at the communion-table. The elders consist of several 
 of the most respectable and exemplary persons of the parish, 
 and who are regularly ordained to their office, which has a 
 considerable resemblance to that of Church- War den in 
 
SACRAMENT SUNDAY AT KILMORAC. 435 
 
 England. The senior elder generally carries the Bread, and 
 the rest follow him with the Wine cups and other utensils, 
 which for the most part are of silver. These are placed at the 
 head of the communion-table, which corresponds to the Altar 
 in the Church of England. The communicants, agreeably to 
 directions given them on a previous day, approach the 
 tables, and after communicating, retire from them in such 
 a manner as to avoid any confusion." Thus, while the 
 singing was going on, we observed a number of people ad- 
 vance from the crowd and seat themselves at the table. 
 We observed that they were all old, and some of them very 
 old people, and that the women, before advancing to the 
 table, drew the hood of their cloaks, or shawl in fashion of 
 a hood, over their heads ; and that both men and women 
 took their seats with bowed heads, and with an air of 
 solemn reverence. The minister, as we learn from Logan, 
 had, before their approaching the table, addressed them in 
 an awful discourse, called the " Fencing of the Tables," in 
 which he had pointed out the character of those who are fit 
 to sit down at the Sacrament Supper ; and added, " Let him 
 whose character is opposite forbear to approach unto this 
 table: stand back, thou profane! But let him who imi- 
 tates and who loves this character, come forward; sit d&wn, 
 thou blessed of the Lord !** 
 
 When the communicants were seated, we observed the 
 elders go behind them, and receive something from each of 
 them, which we afterwards learned was a token of fitness 
 given to such individual by the minister on a previous oc- 
 casion. On the ceasing of the psalm the minister descended 
 from his pulpit, and presented himself at the head of the 
 table. He then offered up the prayer of consecration, and, 
 again addressing the communicants in what is called " the 
 Service of the Tables," handed the cup and the bread to 
 the two communicants nearest him on each hand ; the elders 
 attending, and presenting them in succession to all at the 
 table. When all had communicated the minister again ad- 
 
436 SACRAMENT SUNDAY AT KILMORAC. 
 
 dressed them, when they retired from the table, and a fresh 
 company took their place. Another minister then came 
 forward, and a new succession of psalms, prayers, and 
 addresses took place. Such was the order and sacred busi- 
 ness of the day, till the whole body of candidates had par- 
 taken of the sacrament. We left about three o'clock, but 
 we were told that the service would not close till six. Dur- 
 ing the time that we stayed, we observed that no young 
 people communicated, and we were afterwards told that 
 few or none probably would, for that such was the general 
 sense of the sacredness of the ordinance that few young peo- 
 ple deemed themselves sufficiently "worthy to sit down." 
 After leaving the burial-ground, we wandered some time 
 through the woods of birch and the spreading junipers 
 which skirted the river, now lying amid the crimson cushions 
 of heath and the fragrance of the moorland thyme, and gaz- 
 ing on the tumultuous floods raving and roaring far below 
 us. It was a splendid day, and the whole was one enchant- 
 ing fairy-land around us. The distant voice of the minister, 
 and the wild cadence of the Gaelic psalm, like the breezy 
 music of an Eolean harp, ever and anon reaching us in our 
 verdant hiding-place, reminded us that it was the sacred 
 anniversary of a grave and religious people. How unlike 
 to the knowing and corrupt population of our own towns ! 
 Where but in these rocky wilds could such simple piety 
 and such patience of instruction remain ? It was, no doubt, 
 the singular novelty of the spectacle, and the sense of the 
 hallowed and uncorrupted faith still abiding with a patri- 
 archal simplicity amongst these hills and moors, that gave 
 an additional charm to the place, the people, and even the 
 bright beauty of the day; and have thus fixed that Sacra- 
 ment Sunday at Kilmorac with a peculiar sense of enjoy- 
 ment in our memories. 
 
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