w 
 
 ;f|^X^ 
 
 ■^
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 s 
 
 THE 
 
 RURAL ALBUM, 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE AND MISCELLANEOUS P(^''^,MS; 
 
 HISTOEICAL NOTICES 
 
 BarnbicU anti jFotijcrinslja^ (Cagitles, $cc. 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS BELL, 
 
 AUTHOR OK " Till! IIUINS OK I.IVKDKN." 
 
 LONDON : 
 JOSEPH MASTERS, ALDERSGATE STREET, 
 
 AND NEW BOND STREET. 
 
 MUICCI.III.
 
 LOX'llON : 
 
 PBINTiai By J. MASTKIIS AM) CO., 
 
 A l.DERS^CATH STMiCT'.
 
 
 TO 
 
 HIS GRACE 
 
 THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH AND QUEENSBERRY, K.G., 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 IS, 
 
 HY PERMISSION, 
 
 MOST IIUMHLY AND GRATEFUM-Y 
 
 INSCRIBED AND DEDICATED, 
 
 BY 
 
 HIS GRACE S 
 
 OBEDIENT AND OBMGKD SERVANT, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 852871
 
 ) 
 
 KEF ACE. 
 
 Few are the observations, and brief the remarks necessary 
 to introduce to the favourable notice of the reader, the little 
 work now offered to the public eye. 
 
 The book will speak for itself ; and while the contents of 
 its poetical pages may afford amusement and pleasure to 
 some, and its topographical information, derived from the 
 most authentic sources, present matters of interest to others, 
 it is hoped that the work will disarm criticism of its severity 
 by its lowly pretensions, and avert the stroke of censure by 
 its humility. 
 
 The poetical parts consist of a small selection from tlie 
 papers of a humble individual, who during a long life, 
 chequered -wdth a large share of the vicissitudes and trials, 
 which are the characteristic portion of his poetical brethren, 
 has from time to time endeavoured to express his thoughts, 
 and give vent to bis emotions of joy and sorrow in luinible 
 verse ; and now ventures with mucli diffidence to publisli 
 tliem, trusting to the kindly feelings, iind ])ntronage of an 
 indulgent public. 
 
 The Author lays no claim to poetical distimtioii. lie 
 ventures not, like n\any of his moi-o higlily favoured brethren, 
 upon a lofty flight, to soar over the wide expanse of nature
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 and art, to clraw from their intiuitely varied resoiirc-es sub- 
 jects to inspire, and illustrations to adorn his song, hut 
 
 Content in his own native fields to roam, 
 He culls the flow'rets of his rural home. 
 
 And as the admirer of the plumed songsters of nature 
 listens with delight to the enlivening strains of the early 
 lark, or stands entranced by the melody of the nightingale, 
 yet disdains not the feebler warblings of the more lowly 
 minstrels of the grove ; so, while the songs of those gifted 
 sons of the muses, whose works have rendered their names 
 immortal, must ever charm the heart, and claim a just pre- 
 cedence in the minds of their countrymen, yet the Author 
 hopes that his owti feeble attempts to please may not be 
 entirely overlooked and despised. 
 
 His subjects are for the most part of the simplest 
 character, scenes from the homely incidents of an English 
 village, and thoughts, suggested by the unexciting routine 
 of a country life ; yet to Englishmen these scenes, and their 
 associations, can scarcely be devoid of interest ; for there 
 are few things more striking in England, or more peculiar 
 to oiu- country, than the character of its rural life, and the 
 whole aspect of its sylvan villages. 
 
 The traveller searches in vaiii for such scenery in other 
 countries of Europe, e\er\ in those most highly favoured by 
 nature, and most abounding in temporal advantages. 
 
 He may indeed meet with towns, and cities, crowded 
 with objects of the highest interest and beauty ; he may 
 behold nature's loveliest scenes in all their majestic grandeur 
 untouched by the hand, or untrodden by the foot, of man : 
 or from time to time he may pass some stately residence, 
 standing alone in its own magnificence, and strangely con-
 
 PREFACE. VU 
 
 trasting witli tlie surrounding squalid huts of poverty ; but 
 seldom will he find any spots, whieli will recal to his mind 
 his dear English villages, with their neat and substantial 
 cottages, their homesteads, and farm-yards, clustering around 
 the ancient cluu-ch, whose lofty tower seems to stand as a 
 Christian sentinel over them ; while, at no great distance 
 perhaps, the rich man's house, embosomed in trees, hides its 
 own grandeur, lest it should contrast too strongly with the 
 neiglibouring lowly tenements of the poor. 
 
 In a village of this description, and in a cottage, endeared 
 to his heart by family associations of more than a century 
 and a half, and under the noble family of Montagu and 
 Buccleuch, the Author has spent the greater part of his 
 life ; and most of the poetical trifles contained in the fol- 
 lowing pages were vrritten in a neighbourhood, characterized 
 in a high degree, by that picturesque and peacefid landscape 
 so congenial to the English mind. 
 
 As a portion of tliis volume is devoted to some Poetical 
 Pieces, in which allusion is made to such scenes, the Author 
 hopes that the descriptive, and historical notes relating to 
 the several locahties, which have afforded subjects for his 
 muse, Avill not be deemed an misuitable, or unwelcome 
 addition to these pages. 
 
 Those at leaslt to whom these scenes are familiar, will 
 doubtless peruse with pleasure a simple account of places, 
 endeared to their recollection liy many pleasing associations, 
 while to the general reader, they will present interesting 
 points, connected with history and antiquity. 
 
 Such is tlie little work, which the Author presents to 
 tlie public, and if tliese un])i'eteuding pages shall be regarded 
 by liis subscribers, friends, and his readers in general as 
 affording agreeable anuisement, bleiuled with information
 
 Vlll PRErACE. 
 
 on some points not generally known, to employ their 
 thoughts, and while away the tedium of a vacant hour, he 
 will have reached the summit of his amhition. 
 
 lu conclusion the Author desires to express his liveliest 
 gratitude to the Nobility, and numerous subscribers, who 
 have so liberally patronized his septuagenarian efforts at 
 authorship ; and also to those personal friends, who, in con- 
 sequence of his ill-state of health, kindly volunteered their 
 valuable aid in preparing this little work for the press. 
 
 Should the present publication meet with any encourage- 
 ment from the public, the Author may be induced to string 
 together on another occasion a few historical and topo- 
 graphical notices concerning the interesting parish of Bam- 
 well more acceptable to antiquarian and archaeological 
 readers. 
 
 T. B. 
 
 Barnwell, March 9, 1853.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAr.ii 
 
 An Introductory Poem to the Descriptive and Local Pieces . 1 
 
 Barnwell Castle by Moonliglit ....... 5 
 
 Barnwell Chvu-ch on Sunday Morning ..... 8 
 
 On Parson Latham's Hospital at Barnwell 14 
 
 All Saints' Church, Barnwell 16 
 
 Armston ........... 19 
 
 On viewing the remains of the old Manor House at Hemington . 21 
 
 Wadenhoe .......... 23 
 
 Lilford Park 26 
 
 Verses written in the Garden at Farming Woods .... 30 
 
 On Fotheringhay Castle ........ 32 
 
 The Cadet's Adieu 34 
 
 The Cadet's Return 40 
 
 The Village Schoolmaster 48 
 
 The Old Arm Chair 50 
 
 Moonlight on the Sea Shore . . ..... 52 
 
 Woman's Love ......... 55 
 
 On Friendship 56 
 
 Threescore Years and Ten ....... 58 
 
 The Footstep at the Door 60 
 
 The Dream of Life ......... 64 
 
 A Fable 65 
 
 The Bridal Tear 68 
 
 Home 69 
 
 Women's Smiles or Women's Tears ? 72 
 
 Echo 74 
 
 Modern Love .......... 76
 
 X CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Historical Notices. 
 
 Barnwell Castle 79 
 
 The Church of Barnwell St. Andrew 82 
 
 Latham's Hospital, Barnwell St. Andrew ..... 85 
 
 Barnwell All Saints 86 
 
 Armston 89 
 
 Hemington .......... 91 
 
 Wadenhoe .......... 95 
 
 Lilford 97 
 
 Farming Woods ......... 98 
 
 Fotheringhay ......... 99 
 
 Liveden 101
 
 Hn Intvotructor),) Ipoem 
 
 TO THE 
 
 DESCEIPTIVE AND LOCAL PIECES. 
 
 Come, Fancy, soother of the vacant hour, 
 Whose visionary charms so oft have rais'd 
 My beating heart to bliss, as oft depress'd 
 With tales of wild imaginary woes ; 
 Come from that lofty, airy station, where 
 Thou lov'st to soar, or from the flow'ry bed, 
 Where youthfid poets feign thy sweet abode ! 
 
 Come, waft my muse, wliere never yet the step 
 Of wand'ring minstrel ever thought to tread ! 
 What though the strain be lowly, thougli no groves 
 Arcadian nod, though no delicious fruits 
 Dispense in odours sweet their fragrance round ; 
 Yet dear to me the humble scenes of home. 
 As shady bow'rs and sand-girt oases 
 To Afric's sons, when from the glowing sun 
 They panting seek their fragrant cool retreats. 
 
 n
 
 2 INTRODUCTORY POEM. 
 
 Scenes of my Youth ! How recollection loves 
 To hail once more the well remember' d hours, 
 (Those calm, delightful hours — too quickly gone !) 
 I've pass'd amid your flow'ry fields, when Hope 
 Pleld forth alluringly a boundless store 
 Of pleasures imalloy'd. With boxmding heart, 
 And nerves attun'd to rapture, have I rov'd 
 Tlirough all the varied wilds, that skirt you round, 
 Caught the first glance of morning, as it dawn'd 
 In dewy brightness over Lilford's groves : 
 Or, as the shades of eve more widely spread. 
 And threw their mantle o'er the peaceful scene, 
 I've sought thy verdant meadows, church and hill. 
 Romantic Wadenhoe ! or rambled on 
 To where, in gloom monastic buried deep, 
 Midst shady trees, and lone sequester' d fields. 
 Thy ruins, Liveden I^ still majestic stand. 
 
 Nor have my steps delighted less to stray 
 In wilder paths, midst tow' ring elms and oaks. 
 That throw their ag'd fantastic arms around, 
 To where the forest glade, expanding wide, 
 Opens to view, enchanting, peaceful, still, 
 In contrast sweet, and shows the soft retreat, 
 And fairy scenes, that shade Fitzpatrick's home. 
 
 And fvu'ther, northwards, have I bent my way. 
 In mournful mood, to whei*e the mould'ring hill 
 Frovois o'er the stream — a stern memorial 
 Of royal Fotheringhay, where history. 
 With pallid cheek, and trembling hands, unfolds 
 The blood-stain'd record of its Sovereign's shame ; 
 
 ' See note at the end of the volume.
 
 INTRODUCTORY POEM. 
 
 And tells to list'ning worlds, in horror wTapp'd, 
 The ruthless end of Mary, Scotland's Queen. 
 
 And eliief of aU and nearest to my heart, 
 Barnwell ! thy simple annals claim the lay, 
 The page historic, and the Poet's song. 
 Dear are thy castellated tow'rs and walls, 
 Crown' d o'er with ivy-leaves and waving ferns. 
 And dear to memory thy graceful spire. 
 Cleaving the sky, and guarding peacefully 
 The hallow'd turf, where rest the forms we lov'd. 
 
 Fruitful thy fields, lovely thy shelter' d walks. 
 And sweet thy groves, bedeck' d with many a flower, 
 Of woodbine, ha\\i;horn and the eglantine. 
 Here too the crowsfoot, primrose, violet. 
 And other floral beauties spread their bloom. 
 And shed their odours round thy rural paths, 
 Thy stream meand'ring, and thy lovely meads ; 
 Where oft in early, thoughtless youth I've stray'd, 
 Heedless and careless of the morrow's fate. 
 In thee the course of charity runs pure. 
 Clear and unsullied, as at first it flow'd 
 From its own fountain head, Hke some fair spring. 
 That, led by skilful hands through barren wilds, 
 Holds on its way rejoicing, clothes the earth 
 With rich, luxuriant turf of lovely hues. 
 And, by its magic, vivifying powers, 
 Converts tlie noxious weeds to fragrant flowers. 
 
 Hail ! holy Latlmm ! Thou need'st not the nuise 
 To praise thy deeds of cliarity and love, 
 Wiich clothe the young, and train them up for Hod, 
 Support the feeble in tlie wane of life. 
 And far and wide theii* blessings spread around ;
 
 IKTRODUCTOEV POEM. 
 
 For tby mucli honour' d name to all is known, 
 Is lisp'cl in infancy, in childhood's days 
 Is bless' d and cherish' d, and by crippled age 
 With prayer is mingled at the Throne of Grace ! 
 Thon centre of my hopes in manhood's pride, 
 Of many tender ties, by love endear' d, 
 Barnwell ! to me thy name will fondly cling, 
 When busier scenes, and skies of purer blue, 
 Trom mem'ry's fading tablet are eras' d! 
 
 Let Armston too the muse's song engage. 
 The quiet hamlet of the rural hills, 
 Rich in monastic lore and legends wild 
 Of other days, as wand'ring past she seeks 
 Thy shady fields, secluded Hemington, 
 And longs to wave the weird's wand, to gain 
 A magic view of thy Baronial Hall, 
 Its moated gardens, and its terrace walks ; 
 To view in visionary dreams, the arch. 
 The mantled 'scvitcheon, and the grifFen crest, 
 That crown' d the portal to its spacious courts. 
 All passed away, save one small rehc left 
 To mark the spot, and tell the rural swain. 
 Here dwelt, in olden time, a Montagu ! 
 
 Ancient thy race, as noble is thy fame, 
 Monthermer, Monteacute, and Salisbury ; 
 With added honours in the dvical crest 
 Of Douglas Scott, Buccleuch, and Queensberry. 
 
 Long may these honours last, and long remain, 
 In its own line extended and renew 'd, 
 Illnstrious and belov'd ; while in a son. 
 Or a son's son, perchance these fields may bear 
 The honour'd name of Montagu again.
 
 I. 
 
 IttSavntoell OTastle, fij) itloonliflfjt.i 
 
 Ah ! 'tis the solemn hour of midnight deep, 
 Wheu lost in deathlike silence all things sleep ; 
 Dark from the massive pile the shadows fall, 
 Scarce seen the moidd'ring arch and ivied wall, 
 Save where the pale and ftdl-orb'd queen of night 
 Steals o'er the rounded tow'rs witli silv'ry light. 
 
 Yes ! 'tis the midnight hour, when mortals sleep, 
 And birds of night alone their vigils keep. 
 The owl, snug-nestled in the ruin'd wall, 
 Breathes forth his gentle hush-, as if to call 
 On those intruding here, at hours so late, 
 Softly to tread lest they disturb his mate ; 
 Or, starting wildly from some frightfid dream, 
 High overhead poiu-s forth his wailing scream ; 
 Wliile Philomela on some shelter' d thorn 
 Rests for awhile, and waits the break of moi'n. 
 
 The world is still — the snow-white clouds above, 
 Chaotic mingling, scarcely seem to move. 
 But slowly bear their fleecy forms along, 
 A wide-spread, shapeless and fantastic throng. 
 
 ' Historical notices of the Castle, and to the other local pieces, will be 
 found at the end of the book under the number corresponding with that 
 at the head of each poem.
 
 6 DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 
 
 This is the scene for meditation's pow'r, 
 This is the muse's fascinated hour, 
 When Fancy, leaving the dull bounds of day 
 Flies off, uncheck'd, in other realms to stray- 
 
 Hark ! on the list'ning ear, the Warder's horu 
 Sovmds loud and cheerly o'er the verdant lawn ; 
 Along the ramparts swells the warlike somid. 
 And to their posts the watchful sentries bound. 
 The friendly challenge teUs no foe is near, — 
 Some midnight wand'rer claims protection here. 
 Some Pilgrim trav'Uing to a distant shrine ; 
 Or red-cross Knight, from holy Palestine ; 
 Or ancient Minstrel here, perchance, may stray 
 To tune his harp to jocund roundelay. 
 
 Now Fancy, wand'ring, paints the foe-men nigh, 
 With silken peinions floating in the sky. 
 Loud sounds again the Warder's echoing horn, 
 And loud the cry for E-egmald le Moine ! 
 " Up ! up ! Sir Knight, and leave thy 'Ladye Bower,' 
 A ruthless band assails the portal tower !" 
 The watchful Kniglit the angry summons hears, 
 Starts from his couch, and for the feud prepares ; 
 Loud clang the warrior's arms, and loud the cry, 
 As overhead the glancing arrows fly. 
 List to the echoing crash, as from the walls. 
 Prone to the earth some brave defender falls. 
 And hark ! the piercing shriek — the stifled moan — 
 The dying prayer — the agonizing groan, — 
 As on the plain the wounded warriors lie. 
 Unheeded 'midst the shouts of \dctory ! 
 
 Again can Fancy change the ideal scene ; 
 Some mounted monk comes ambling o'er the gi-een,
 
 BARNWELL CASTLE, BY MOONLiaHT. 
 
 From Ramsey's Abbot sent on special grace, 
 And known to all as " Father Boniface," 
 Fam'd for his jests, to troll the midnight glee, 
 Or touch the harp in cheerful minstrelsy. 
 I see him now the smiling Warder greet, 
 While carefid grooms replace him on his feet. 
 I hear his jokes, I mark his jovial laugh, 
 I see his lips the gen'rous liquor quaflF; 
 While crowding rovmd him, eager for his tale, 
 The list'ning household bear the cakes and ale. 
 How chang'd is all ! The merry jest is gone, 
 The laugh is o'er, and mute the Warder's horn, 
 Le Moine's proud banner floats on high no more- 
 No more the warrior steeps the soil in gore ! 
 Peace reigns around ; the placid moon on high 
 Now beams refulgent in a clearer sky. 
 The visions fade — I hear the warning bell, 
 And, half-reluctant, bid the scene farewell !
 
 II. 
 
 iSarnbjfll Otfjurci^ on Sfuntag iTOorning. 
 
 Soft is the breeze this Sabbath morn, 
 The dew drops glisten on the thorn ; 
 The lark his carol chants on high 
 In strains of wildest minstrelsy, 
 And, pouring forth his matin lays. 
 Calls me to join his hymns of praise. 
 
 Praise be to Thee, Almighty Power, 
 "Who watch' d me through the midnight hour. 
 And brought me here refreshed to seek 
 Thy blessings for another AA'eek ! 
 
 Come, Avelcome Sabbath — day of rest. 
 With calm composure fill my breast ; 
 The world's vain thoughts be far away. 
 Let holy peace attend the day ! 
 
 Wliat grateful pleasure does it yield 
 To view the church thus half conceal' d 
 By aged elms, whose branches fall. 
 And seem to brush her distant wall ! 
 Her lofty tower, and loftier spire 
 Ascend to raise our thoughts much higher ; 
 T'exalt our minds from earth's low sod, 
 And lift our soids in prayer to Gron.
 
 BARNWELL CHURCH ON SUNDAY MORNING. 
 
 How sweetly soothing 'tis to hear 
 Those chimiBg bells salute the ear, 
 And softly from their lofty seat 
 Their simple melody repeat. 
 
 Hark to the tuneful echoing sound, 
 Now feebly heard the village round, 
 Now bolder float along the vale. 
 Borne swiftly on the buoyant gale, 
 To call us to the House of Prayer, 
 And bid us come and worship there. 
 
 See, issuing from each home in view 
 Husbands and wives, and children too ; 
 Slow limping age here creeps along : 
 There walks a vig'rous manly tlui-ong : 
 On ev'ry side are stragglers seen, 
 On roads, on footpaths, on the green ; 
 While from the schools a lengthy train 
 Of happy youth the porch attain, 
 With each their Book of Common Prayer, 
 And Bible cover'd o'er with care. 
 Bless' d giddes to happiness above. 
 The kindest gifts of Christian love. 
 To train to GrOD the hearts of youth. 
 And fill their minds with heav'nly truth. 
 
 Obedient to the liallow'd soimd. 
 All seek yon consecrated ground, 
 Array 'd in garments clean and neat, 
 And kindly all their neiglibours greet ; 
 And, as the chime its warning ends, 
 Gro in the house of God as friends. 
 
 They lowly kneel in silent prayer 
 That God may bless their presence there ; 
 
 c
 
 10 DESCRIPTITE PIECES. 
 
 Then calmly wait, and rise to hear 
 Their pastor's voice, their hearts to cheer, 
 Proclaim their Maker's pard'ning grace 
 To aU within the sacred place, 
 Wlio, guided by their gracious Lord, 
 Hear and obey His holy AVord. 
 
 And now united prayers arise, 
 And waft their incense to the skies ; 
 Now thankfid voices loudly raise 
 Th' enliv'ning, heartfelt hymn of praise. 
 
 In silence all, both age and youth, 
 jSText listen to the AVord of Truth, 
 Pure, unalloy'd, as when the pen 
 Of Inspiration gave it men. 
 Their souls from sin and death to save. 
 And lead to bliss beyond the grave. 
 A gain the glowing hymn of praise 
 The Christian's warm aftections raise : 
 And humble supplications rise 
 To Him, w^ho aU our need supplies, 
 Por mercies He alone can show. 
 And 'gainst all evil man can know. 
 What holy peace and joy we find 
 In prayer with thankfidness combin'd. 
 As these by turns engage us there, 
 And form our solemn morning prayer ! 
 
 The pastor strives in his discourse 
 Th' unerring "Word of Gron t' iaforce ; 
 He warns the wicked of the end, 
 To which their sinful covirses tend : 
 The terrors of the Lord displays. 
 To t\irn them from their evil wavs ;
 
 BABNWELL CHURCH ON SUNDAY MOBNINO. 11 
 
 With promises divine lie cheers 
 The timid, fill'd with gloomy fears : 
 Eehgion's loveliness he shows, 
 The peace of soul which it bestows ; 
 And urges all to walk the way, 
 "Which leads to everlasting day. 
 
 The blessing given, his labours cease. 
 And all dispersing go in peace. 
 
 Left all alone, I walk around 
 The silent consecrated gi'ound, 
 Rais'd mtli the sleeping dust of those, 
 Whose mortal bodies here repose. 
 Whom for a thousand years ginm death 
 Has snatch' d from light, from life and breath. 
 Until th' Archangel's trump shall sound. 
 And summon from this haUow'd ground 
 The dead, who slumber here below, 
 To endless happiness or woe. 
 Oh ! startling thought ! Each lowly grave 
 Should warn us A\asely to behave, 
 To seek the mighty GrOD of love, 
 And fix our thoughts on realms above. 
 
 Eeflection ! Ah ! I prize thee most. 
 Where man so little has to boast. 
 No " storied urn," no " chisell'd bust " 
 Is here to mark the sleeping dust ; 
 But verdant alders overhead 
 Hang drooping o'er the silent dead, 
 By whose dumb eloquence we're taught 
 That Gob is AH, and man is nought. 
 How vain the pride of human life, 
 Its fleeting joy, its care, and strife !
 
 12 DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 
 
 Here rests a friend, whoin long I knew, 
 And lov'd him for his virtues too ; 
 How often in life's early day 
 Have we enjoy' d our cliildish play ! 
 How often we in manhood's years 
 Have shar'd oiu" mutual joys and fears ! 
 Here hes my friend, of life bereft. 
 While I, frail mortal, still am left ! 
 
 Ah ! here a tender mother sleeps. 
 Whose loss a loving daughter weeps, 
 As memory, with grief and pain, 
 Recalls her love to mind again. 
 Though long departed, lost to view, 
 Yet fihal tears her grave bedew. 
 
 Ton mural plate in uncouth words 
 A patriarchal age records. 
 Job Orton's " hundred years and one." 
 Two cent'ries and a half have gone. 
 Since here he lived. How great, how vast 
 The changes in that period past ! 
 These great ! these vast ! what then must be 
 That boundless space eternity ! 
 
 Eternity ! thou solemn theme ! 
 Compar'd with thee our Hfe's a dream. 
 An atom to a world — no more 
 Than is a drop to ocean's store ! 
 
 In fear and awdid wonder lost. 
 On seas of fatal errors tost, 
 Man stands dismay' d, and views with dread 
 Eternity's wide circle spread. 
 Come, Faith, and with thy cheering pow'r 
 Support me in life's trying hour !
 
 BARNWELL CHURCH ON SUNDAY MORNING. 13 
 
 And thou, with matchless glory bright, 
 Religion, wlio canst show aright 
 The path through error, doubt, and woe 
 To joys the faitliful only know, — 
 Not dress' d in superstition's cowl, 
 With stripes to terrify the soul. 
 But come, array' d in robes that flow 
 TJnsoil'd, and pure as mountain snow, 
 Safe harbinger of peace to men, 
 Ere they return to dust again — 
 Inflame my heart, inspire my breast, 
 And guide me to eternal rest !
 
 III. 
 
 ©n IParson llati)am's i^ospital at ^arntoell. 
 
 How bless' d this quiet calm retreat, 
 
 Wliere charity has fix'd her seat, 
 
 Year after year, age after age, 
 
 In works of mercy to engage ; 
 
 To clothe the old, feed the distress' d, 
 
 And soothe the troubled widow's breast. 
 
 What ! though no marble columns rise, 
 Or lofty turrets cleave the skies, 
 No gUded roof, or vaulted dome, 
 T' adorn this simple, peaceful home 
 With idle state ; yet comfort lives 
 Within these walls, and shelter gives 
 From num'rous rankling iUs of life. 
 Its wants, its sorrows, care and strife. 
 
 When time has thrown her with'ring coil 
 Of years around the man of toil, 
 And silver' d o'er his honest head 
 With wint'ry snows, and strength has fled ; 
 Here then his aged limbs repose, 
 No pining poverty he knows ; 
 Sweet Charity her hand extends, 
 And his declining years befriends ;
 
 o>' PAHSON Latham's hospital at barnwell. 15 
 
 Pours from her store a welcome share, 
 And smooths the wriiilvled brow of care. 
 
 And here the aged widow dwells 
 In peace, and oft her story tells ; 
 Of former scenes and early days 
 Her legendary lore displays, 
 AYhile grateful thanks to Heav'n arise 
 For all the good this house supplies.
 
 IV. 
 
 ail S)amts' OTfjurct, iSarnhjell. 
 
 A poem on the death of Two Sisters, who died in the prime of life, 
 within a few months of each other, and who lie interred in the churchyard 
 of this parish, in what may be called one grave : the elder leaving two 
 infant sons, and the younger two infant daughters. 
 
 Two daughters — dear to their fond parents' heart, 
 
 Two sisters — whom no jealousy could part, 
 
 Two wives — ^rvho form'd their husbands' earthly bUss, 
 
 Two mothers — whom their offspring ne'er shall kiss, 
 
 Lie near this tomb. And as twin flow'rets grow 
 
 On their proud parent's lofty stem, and show 
 
 A constant emulous desire to spread 
 
 Their floral beauty round their parent's head, 
 
 Eejoice to poiu- their odours forth to please, 
 
 T' embrace and meet each other, as the breeze 
 
 Brings them in loving contact ; when the pow'r 
 
 Of lashing tempests, in a stormy hour, 
 
 One sister blossom dashes to the ground. 
 
 And strews her mangled beauties aU around. 
 
 The relict bends her graceful neck to pour 
 
 Her bosom's grief out in a fragrant show'r,
 
 ALL saints' CHUllCH, BARNAVELL. 17 
 
 Loolfs on the sister ruiu as it lies, 
 Then droops her stricken, beauteous head, and dies, 
 Yet in tlieir fall throw fragrance o'er the scene, 
 To show the loveliness, which once had been ; 
 So these two sisters liv'd and so they died. 
 With fond united hearts, their parents' pride ; 
 Their virtues stiU exhale a sweet perfume 
 Far more deUghtfid than this sculptur'd tomb, 
 Adorn' d with flow'rs maternal sorrows place 
 With fond but mournful feelings round its base. 
 
 Ah ! woe her dark and dismal mantle throws 
 O'er parents, husbands, friends — on aU but those 
 Sweet babes, unconscious of their loss, too young 
 To have their hearts with sad bereavements vprung. 
 
 Do cumulated clouds on clouds arise. 
 And clothe with hopeless darkness aU your skies ? 
 Do no bright stars their sparkling lustre show, 
 Like eyes of Angels, looking down below ? 
 Are there no vistas iu the drear expanse 
 To glad the eye, or comfort to enhance ? 
 Are no consoling mercies to be foimd ? 
 Your hopes all buried in this haUow'd ground ? 
 
 Ah ! grieving mourucrs, listen, learn, and know 
 A God of mercy rules this world below ! 
 Think ! His compassion left not one to stay 
 In hng'ring grief, but took them both away. 
 
 Yes ! mercy to these sisters wiug'd the dart. 
 And plac'd them both in heaven, no more to part ! 
 
 This ornamented tomb shall disappear. 
 Like the old church, which once was standing here. 
 While they're in glory, free from grief and pain. 
 Say, would you wish them here on earth again ? 
 
 1)
 
 18 DK3CKIPTIVE PIECES. 
 
 Then blame uot Providence, but kiss the rod, 
 Which gave the all-wise stroke ; for has not GrOD, 
 Doubling the mercies, which you had before, 
 Claim'd, as His own, two flow'rs, but giv'n you four? 
 Two daughters, in their infant minds to trace 
 Their mother's \drtues, and their mother's grace ? 
 Two sons, your tend'rest feelings to engage. 
 And be the comforts, and supports of age ? 
 Praise GrOD, ye grieving parents, husbands, friends ! 
 Who sends affliction for the wisest ends. 
 May you, may aU for heav'n's bright world prepare. 
 And meet again those loving sisters there !
 
 V. 
 
 Written on visiting the spot, where formerly stood the Chapel of 
 
 Saint Leonard. 
 
 Haek ! 'tis the vesper bell, whose warning sound 
 Through the green vale its lengthen' d note extends, 
 
 And calls the inmates of the hamlet roimd 
 
 To join the pray'r, that now to heav'n ascends. 
 
 The peasant hears, and bows in reverent praise, 
 The out-laws tremble in their green- wood haimts, 
 
 While at Saint Mary's shrine, in solemn lays, 
 The lonely priest his pioiis requiem chants. 
 
 Thus fancy, wand' ring in excursive flight, 
 
 Recalls each object of the sacred pile ; 
 The taper glimm'ring in the ha?,e of night, 
 
 The holy altar, and the cloister'd aisle. 
 
 Thus 'twas of old ; but now how chang'd the scene ! 
 
 The peasant sleeps, where rose the michiight prayers, 
 And, where the sculptur'd arch adorn'd the green, 
 
 The humble cot its lowly head uprears.
 
 20 AEMSTOK. 
 
 Yes ! chang'd is all, nor is the change confin'd 
 To this old Chapel, and each crumbling wall ; 
 
 Long have they vanish' d, but man's darken' d mind 
 Tradition's fetters now no more enthral. 
 
 No longer wrapp'd in superstition's gloom, 
 He slave-like bends beneath monastic power ; 
 
 Or prostrate, kneeling o'er the chilling tomb. 
 In humble penance weeps at midnight hour. 
 
 But freed from errors dark, from monkish dread, 
 Prom Eomish legends, relics, pomp and strife ; 
 
 Unmix' d and pure, from the true fountain head, 
 He drinks the waters of Eternal Life. 
 
 Bright as the sun, which, at the early dawn. 
 Dispels the murky mists and gloom of night ; 
 
 So truth, from error freed, clear as the mom. 
 Now sheds o'er all its beams of saving light.
 
 VI. 
 
 <©n bielMing tfje remains of if)c olU iManor ?^ouse at 
 
 l^emfngton. 
 
 Hebe dwelt a Montagu ! So history tells, 
 And on the page imagination dwells, 
 Dwells with emotion, not unmix' d with pain, 
 That this small relic should alone remain, 
 Be left to show how vain the pride of men. 
 How to the dust their works return again. 
 How proudly once they tower' d no more avail 
 Save to the poet to " adorn his tale." 
 Baronial pow'r, the humble vassal's lot, 
 The prince's palace, and the peasant's cot. 
 All, all ahke endure their dostin'd day, 
 Bun their appointed course, then, pass away. 
 E'en man himself, the noblest work of all. 
 Proud in the castle of his strengtli, must fall. 
 Like some fair flow'i", that blossoms near the tomb. 
 To " point a moral " e'er it meets its doom. 
 Here died a Montagvi, and from that root 
 There sprang a nobler, and more favour'd shoot,
 
 22 OK TIEWINa THE OLD MAKOE HOUSE AT HEMINGTON. 
 
 That grew and blossom' d, like the flow'rs of Spring, 
 
 And grac'd the court of England's proudest king : 
 
 Sir Edward Montagu, whose spotless name 
 
 In Britain's annals is enroll' d by fame ; 
 
 Whose children's children, ia succession blessed, 
 
 Eose with new honours, till the ducal crest 
 
 Enrich' d the ancient fame of Montagu 
 
 "With thy all-honour' d, noble name, Buccleuch !
 
 VTT. 
 
 Now whilst the length'ning shades of evening fall, 
 And shroud in gathering mist yon ivied wall ; 
 And through the doubtful gloom of envious night 
 The shadowy distant spires appear in sight ; 
 And rustling trees in sombre guise are seen 
 To wave their branches o'er the dewy green ; 
 With measur'd steps, reluctant, sad and slow, 
 I leave thy fertile meadows, Wadenhoe ; 
 Yet often turn again thy charms to view, 
 And bid thy sylvan scenes a fond adieu. 
 As lovers parting oft their steps retrace 
 T' enjoy anotlier sweet and last embrace. 
 
 Plac'd on the sloping hill's romantic brow, 
 That throws a mass of deepen' d shade below. 
 Thy rustic church its humble head uprears, 
 An ag'd memorial of departed years. 
 Which silently our thoughts to heaven sends. 
 And to the landscape varied beauty lends. 
 
 But, ah ! what means that thrilling strain of woe, 
 That fills with soiuids subdued the vale below !
 
 24 DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 
 
 Methinks a soft mysterious voice declares 
 
 Its bosom's chasten' d grief in mournful prayers. 
 
 Some unseen angel seems to Lover round 
 To guard from steps profane the hallow' d ground, 
 Hallow' d by ev'ry tie to mem'ry dear, 
 That pity gives, or sympathy can share. 
 
 Ill fated Youth, and thou, the matchless Bride, 
 Thy husband's glory, and thy parent's pride ; 
 Short was thy bridal day, and short the space 
 Thy sainted virtues were allow' d to grace. 
 Euthless the deed ! but spotless was their fall, 
 Belov'd, regretted, and endear' d to all. 
 
 As long as mem'ry, long as pity lives, 
 As long as hist'ry's page the story gives ; 
 So long the feeling heart shall mourn their doom. 
 And drop a tear upon their youthful tomb.^ 
 
 Now wi'app'd in mid imaginary dream. 
 In musing mood I seek thy mazy stream, 
 Slow-pac'd meand'ring Nene, where glitt'ring far 
 Thy rippling face betrays the evening star ; 
 Scarce rviffled by the gentle breath of night. 
 Thy placid bosom heaves with silv'ry light, 
 Wliich brightly trembHng in a thousand w^ays. 
 Dazzles the gazer's eyes with countless rays. 
 
 But night advancing bids me haste away. 
 The warning gloom permits no longer stay. 
 Boldly the pheasant struts in conscious pride. 
 While hares and rabbits sport on every side. 
 
 The blue grey mists, at first but dimly seen, 
 Now fast expanding hide the meadows green ; 
 
 1 Alluding to the melancholy fate of T. W. Hunt, Esq., and his amiable 
 lady. (See note.)
 
 WADENIIOE. 25 
 
 The soaring herns their wat'ry paths forsake, 
 And timid wild ducks seek the distant lake. 
 O'er the still stream, outspreading far and wide, 
 The chilling vapours roll from side to side ; 
 Like clouds on clouds they move, a boundless sea, 
 O'ertopping distant church and hill and tree : 
 An ocean vast, in which to fancy's eyes 
 Embattled tow'rs, and warlike castles rise. 
 And mountain tops half hidden in the skies. 
 
 E
 
 VIII. 
 Etlforti mvii. 
 
 Worn with the world's distracting cares, 
 Its disappointing hopes, and fears, 
 And courting peace, this walk I prize, 
 Where Lilford's chist'ring chimneys rise, 
 And glancing with their mouldings grey, 
 Strike on the eye with golden ray, 
 Meand'ring through the meadows gi'een 
 With mazy turns, calm Nene is seen, 
 And sldrting close its Avestern side, 
 Grives to the park its bounds and pride. 
 
 Far from the busy " hum of trade," 
 My listless form I here have laid ; 
 And bending o'er the ripplmg stream. 
 Have felt the Poet's waking dream. 
 
 Delicious hour, when liopes and fears 
 Alternate rose, and smUes and tears ; 
 Gay visions never to be known, 
 And other's sorrows made his own : — 
 Oh ! yes ! the Poet's dreams are sweet 
 In rural scenes, on rustic seat, 
 Such as my walk presents me now, 
 When dew-drops spangle every bough.
 
 LILFORD PAKK. 27 
 
 What charma in nature do we find 
 To soothe the passions, calm the mind ! 
 The humblest plant, that creeps along, 
 Can claim a place in rural song 
 Equal with thee, sweet blushing rose. 
 That through the air thy fragrance throws. 
 The swelling bud, that decks the thorn. 
 The soaring lark, that gi-eets the morn. 
 The sun, that proudly fiUs the skies, 
 The moth, that lives its hour and dies. 
 In all, in every thing Ave see 
 Th' unerring hand of Deity ! 
 
 Look round, proud atheist, and say. 
 Didst ever note a summer's day ? 
 Watch early morn, with radiance bright. 
 The noon-tide hour of beaming light ? 
 Soft eve, that comes with placid mien. 
 And throws aroiuid a darker green ? 
 Watch night with all its myriad's blaze. 
 The moon's pale beams, the planet's rays ? 
 Say didst thou never look around, 
 Nor feel thy heart witli raptiu-e bovmd ? 
 
 Vile worm ! the vengeance of the Just 
 Had long since crush'd thee in the dust. 
 But that His pow'r, AYho rules the skies, 
 In all His dealings amply wise. 
 Hath said the word, " I will repay," 
 And spares thee for a future day ! 
 
 New scenes delight as on I rove, 
 Plantations rise, and shady grove ; 
 At ev'ry step we objects find 
 To please the heart, t' exalt the mind ;
 
 28 DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 
 
 The taste, whicli guiding nature's hand, 
 Makes all her beauties to expand, 
 That slopes the hills to morning's dawn, 
 That plants the flow'r and turfs the lawn. 
 That leads the winding path to stray, 
 "Where roses wild, and woodbines play. 
 As overhead their branches meet. 
 And greet me with their odours sweet. 
 
 Here too the ash and elm combine, 
 With silver beech and slender pine, 
 And lofty trees with branching arms, 
 To give the landscape varied charms. 
 
 Here young aspiring oaks are nigh, 
 As yet afraid to tempt the sky. 
 They lead my thoughts to future time. 
 When they may roam from clime to clime. 
 Form part of England's " wooden walls," 
 And float wherever honour calls ; 
 Perhaps the sons of Lilford bear. 
 Their country's glorious cause to share ; 
 Who, as they fame and honours reap, 
 And fight her battles on the deep. 
 May some day guide, unmov'd with fear. 
 The Oaks their Fathers planted here ; 
 And thus with wreaths of glory grace 
 The innate courage of their race ; 
 Like that brave youth, who earn'd a claim 
 To honour in the scroll of Fame, 
 At Badajoz, whose guarded wall 
 He nobly scal'd, alas ! to fall ! 
 And close a brief, but bright career 
 His cherish'd mem'ry to endear.
 
 LILFOBD PATIK. 29 
 
 See, dozing on the verdant lawn, 
 With half clos'd eyes the timid fawn : 
 Wliilst, starting at each step they hear. 
 Quick bound along the parent deer ; 
 Their branching antlers waving bow, 
 As through the copse they wind below ; 
 Or, herding close in wild amaze, 
 Upon the wand' ring stranger gaze ; 
 Or, darting through the distant trees, 
 Their slender, gracefid forms he sees. 
 
 Now onward still I bend my way, 
 Midst hawtliorn blossoms sweet, and gay ; 
 And soon the spacious hall is seen 
 High tow'ring o'er the sloping green ; 
 Not built for show, or idle state, 
 With pomp immeaning, falsely great ; 
 But such as rose to England's praise. 
 And deck'd her in her best of days. 
 
 Again the Nene expands to-day, 
 Extending far its sinuous way ; 
 And hills and rural hamlets rise, 
 And steeples pointing to the skies ; 
 And rustic bridges o'er the stream 
 Close the delighted Poet's theme.
 
 IX. 
 
 Vevs^B bjvitten in t\)t ©artien at ^Farming ajglootjs. 
 
 Stat, gentle Pilgrim, stay, nor farther roam, 
 Here rest content, make this sweet place thy home : 
 If peace unsullied thy worn heart woTild know, 
 Go seek it in yon hallow' d spot below : 
 There, down the slope, aloug the margin green, 
 Where smoke in wavy curls mounts o'er the scene. 
 Ilest, weary pilgrim, here in peace abide. 
 Throw thy worn scrip and rugged staff aside ; 
 Here rest content ; behold yon rustic seat 
 Invites repose ; so cool the soft retreat, 
 So calm the scene, that scarce the rippling wave 
 Can temj)t the dusky fowls their wings to lave. 
 
 If nature charms, see here in varied pride 
 Collected beauties grow on every side ; 
 Here, the meek lily with its vest of snow ; 
 There, as with Tyrian dyes the dahlias glow ; 
 Here sports the fuchsia, trembling on its stem, 
 In crimson splendour, rich as Indian gem, 
 Bending its blossom o'er the gay parterre. 
 Like pendant drops that hang from beauty's ear. 
 
 And here the rose, the loveliest of them all, 
 **' Whose scent delights, whose beauties never pall ;
 
 VEllSES WKITTE^" AT FAllMING "WOODS. 31 
 
 Here it exhales its odours to the skies, 
 In all its blushing gay varieties. 
 Sweet flower ! that rears alike its blooming head 
 For nuptial bower, or for mourner's bed ; 
 Wliich yields its charms alike for all to share, 
 To grace the cradle, or to deck the bier ; 
 T' adorn tlie noble, cheer the peasant's lot. 
 And lov'd alike in palace and in cot !^ 
 
 Rest, weary pilgrim, rest, the day is past, 
 The curfew toUs, the night is falling fast ; 
 Here rest thy head, and smooth thy hoary haii's. 
 Here give thy benediction and thy prayers : 
 Here midst these shelt'ring oaks, this fairy scene. 
 While soft devotion sheds its peace serene. 
 
 For here peace dwells, that peace the world denies, 
 That peace, which seeks reward in other skies. 
 And faith, and mercy, and compassion true. 
 That weeps, and feels, and aids the suff'rer too. 
 Ask the lone widow, or the orphan poor. 
 When driv'n in want and scorn from door to door. 
 Who gave relief ? who gave the shelt'ring roof. 
 When friends, who ought to give, have stood aloof? 
 Ask who the naked cloth' d, the hungry fed ? 
 Who nursed the sick, who gave the needy bread ? 
 The incense of the heart shall rise in flame. 
 And gild the altar with Fitz-patrick's name. 
 
 The Pilgrim paus'd, and eheck'd the starting tear, 
 Bow'd his white head, and breath'd a silent pray'r. 
 The pray'r to heav'n ascends in I'aith divine : 
 Ah ! where can Pilgrim find a ncjbler shrine ? 
 
 ' See Mrs. Hemans's beautiful poem on the Rose.
 
 X. 
 
 ©n dFotf)ertngf)ag ©astle. 
 
 An ! what is that unearthly voice ! Again 
 I hear its murmurs o'er the silent Nen ; 
 It tells a tale of woe, of cruel hate, 
 Of England's shame, and Mary's ruthful fate ! 
 
 Again I hear it, as it dies away, 
 Then louder swells, when gentle Zephyrs play. 
 And hov'ring o'er the hill, in accents clear. 
 Pours forth a mournful requiem on the ear 
 To Stuart's mem'ry, and to Stuart's fall ; 
 Kelates the horrors of the blood-stained hall, 
 Melvin's devotion,^ and the mournful train. 
 And fills the breast with sympathizing pain ; 
 Till at the visionary scene I weep, 
 And o'er my senses chilHng terrors creep. 
 
 Ah ! let the grave conceal thine errors, Queen ! 
 'Twas not thine errors, but thy charms, I ween, 
 That fir'd a cruel rival's vengeful hate 
 To spurn thy prayers, and leave thee to thy fate, 
 Who woman's tears, and kindred ties withstood, 
 And stained the annals of her reign with blood ; 
 
 1 See Bonney's History of Fotheringhay, published by the author of 
 the present work.
 
 ON FOTHEBINGHAT CASTLE. 33 
 
 For this, ill-fated Castle ! filial love 
 Struck down thy tow'rs, as vengeance from above, 
 Eaz'd tliy strong walls, from whose embattled side 
 The white rose banner wav'd in warlil^e pride, 
 And where the erook-bat-ked king his vassals met. 
 And nobles hail'd the proud Plantagenet. 
 
 Ill-omen'd spot ! where are thy glories now ? 
 "Where the gay helmet, and the plume of snow ? 
 Where no\v the train of gallant warriors ? Where 
 The royal victim, and her sable bier ? 
 
 All gone alike ; no relic left to tell 
 Here liichard dwelt, and here Queen Mary fell ! 
 
 Yet still the muse in sad historic song 
 To future ages shall the tale prolong, 
 E-e^dve the bloody deed in mournful lay ; 
 And though the sadd'ning scene has pass'd away. 
 The feeling heart shall grieve the tale to hear, 
 And Mary's cruel death shall claim a tear !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Ct)e OTatiet. 
 
 CANTO I. TUE ADIEU. 
 
 To. early days, to childhood's hours, 
 
 Remembrance fondly clings, 
 And o'er the clouds, that chequer life, 
 
 A gleam of sunshine flings. 
 I feel it now, though years have pass'd, 
 
 While time, to mem'ry true, 
 Reflects ahke ovu- joys and cares, 
 
 The meeting and " Adieu." 
 
 The hour arriv'd when duty's voice 
 Call'd me to leave my home ; 
 
 Far from a tender mother's love. 
 In foreign chmes to roam. 
 
 Ah ! never wiU that mother's tongue 
 The voice of love renew ! 
 
 She wept a long and. last farewell 
 
 • In that sad hour's " Adieu."
 
 THE cadet's adieu. ' 35 
 
 E'en now I feel her last embrace, 
 
 Her falt'ring voice is heard ; 
 My heart-strings vibrate now again 
 
 At each prophetic word ; 
 " Farewell ! my child!" she said, " I ne'er 
 
 Again thy face shall view !" 
 I see her as she swoon' d away 
 
 At that sad word "Adieu." 
 
 My father too, thrice honour' d name, 
 
 I think I see him now ; 
 I feel the pressure of his hand. 
 
 And mark his thoughtful brow. 
 I hear his blessing fondly given, 
 
 His precepts mild and true ; 
 " May GrOD preserve my boy," he cried, 
 
 And sigh'd a long " Adieu." 
 
 " Gro," then he said, " where honour calls, 
 
 And truth thy actions guide ; 
 And o'er thy heart, whate'er thy lot. 
 
 May holy faith preside : 
 Forget not Him, thy GrOD, thy Hope, 
 
 Him ever keep in view ; 
 His arm will guard, His love protect, 
 
 And soften this Adieu." 
 
 And other tongues, and other lips 
 
 Had still to say " farewell ;" 
 How that farewell oppress'd my heart. 
 
 That heart alone can tell !
 
 36 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 My brothers, sisters, Anna, friends, 
 Eemembrance brings to view ; 
 
 Though distant far, I see their tears, 
 And hear their fond " Adieu." 
 
 Ah ! well I recoUect the day, 
 
 The chaise was at the door, 
 When rovmd my neck my sisters clmig. 
 
 And begg'd for one kiss more : 
 " Oh ! one kiss more," they sobbing cried ; 
 
 And tears their cheeks bedew ; 
 I thought my throbbing heart would break 
 
 To hear their soft " Adieu." 
 
 Oiu' youtliful friends, my playmates once, 
 
 Wlio came to say " Grood-bye," 
 Show'd their affectionate regard 
 
 By many a tender sigh : 
 While older friends, to cheer our hearts, 
 
 A pleasing picture drew ; 
 Foretold my safe return again, 
 
 To sweeten this " Adieu." 
 
 Encircled next with Anna's arms 
 
 I felt her pure embrace ; 
 She press'd against my quiv'ring cheek 
 
 Her pale, but lovely face. 
 How sank the blood within my heart 
 
 Her melting tears to view ! 
 I gently tore myself away, 
 
 I could not say " Adieu."
 
 THE cadet's adieu. 87 
 
 Now swiftly borne along my way, 
 
 I snatcli'd one movirnful look, 
 And on the group around the door 
 
 A parting glance I took ; 
 And as those lov'd and loving friends 
 
 Were almost lost to view ; 
 With aching heart I wav'd my hand 
 
 In signal of " Adieu." 
 
 And when from Britain's coast I sail'd, 
 
 To tempt the ocean's wave, 
 I thought how many gallant youths 
 
 Found there a wat'ry grave. 
 And long from deck her lading coasts 
 
 I strain' d my eyes to view : 
 Land of my home, I cried, fai'ewell ! 
 
 Friends of my heart, " Adieu." 
 
 This tender parting long retain' d 
 
 Its hold upon my breast, 
 And serv'd me, in life's tr^dng hours. 
 
 To soothe my thoughts to rest. 
 I've heard it in the morning's dawn, 
 
 In evening's skies of blue ; 
 As over head the zephyrs fann'd, 
 
 I've heard their sweet " Adieu." 
 
 On distant plains, where duty led. 
 
 By Ganges' sacred shore. 
 How oft I've felt, in fancy wrapp'd, 
 
 My sisters' " one kiss more."
 
 38 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 On midnight watch, in tented field, 
 
 No cheering sight in view, 
 In fairy dreams I've sweetly heard 
 . My brothers' last " Adieu." 
 
 And what is Honovir ? what is Fame ? 
 
 And what the miser's store ? 
 " The lily, Peace, is dearer far 
 
 Than is the golden ore." 
 So says the Poet's ^ simple lay, 
 
 And, ah ! I find it true, 
 'No Avealth, no honour can erase 
 
 That cruel word " Adieu." 
 
 When borne on houdah'd elephants. 
 
 Or lounging palanquin, 
 Wliile natives silver maces bore, 
 
 In eastern state I've been ; 
 I've sigh'd amid this gaudy pomp. 
 
 As I a contrast drew 
 Between this gorgeous servile land. 
 
 And that I've bid " Adieu." 
 
 These tam'riud groves, these citron bow'rs, 
 
 However sweet they be, 
 Compare not with my native flow'rs. 
 
 The rose or jasmine tree ; 
 The woodbine trailing round the door. 
 
 The lowly violet's hue ! 
 How strongly faithful mem'ry clings 
 
 To Home, and Home's "Adieu!" 
 
 1 Collins.
 
 THE cadet's adieu. 30 
 
 Could I from Himalayan heights, 
 
 Where mau has never been, 
 Of my dear native land obtain 
 
 A panoramic scene : 
 As Moses climb'd on Pisgah's mount, 
 
 The promis'd land to \dew, 
 I'd brave their sternest peaks to see 
 
 The land I've bid " Adien." 
 
 Time slowly v^^ngs his flight, yet Hope 
 
 Predicts the day will come, 
 "When honour gain'd, and wealth obtain'd, 
 
 These eyes shall see that home. 
 Ah ! how 'twould cheer my care-worn heart 
 
 Those cherish'd scenes to view, 
 T' embrace again the friends I love, 
 
 No more to say " Adieu."
 
 CAKTO IT. THE RETITRK. 
 
 Time slowly roll'd and years dragg'd on. 
 
 Yea, twice seven years and more, 
 When Love and Duty summon' d me 
 
 To my dear native shore ; 
 My father-land, my British home ; 
 
 Ah ! doubly dear the name ! 
 How thrill'd my heart, when o'er the sea 
 
 The welcome summons came ! 
 
 Farewell, proud Hindostau ! who boast'st. 
 
 Of Granges holy wave. 
 Who tempt' st with visionary dreams 
 
 The sanguine and the brave. 
 Too dearly are thine honours bought, 
 
 Thy wealth, too dearly won ; 
 While sinks the heart, and droops the frame, 
 
 Beneath thy glowing sun. 
 
 Thy poison works with subtle force. 
 And spreads its tainted breath ; 
 
 And 'neath thy skies of purest blue 
 Lurk pestilence and death.
 
 THE CADET S llETUEN. 41 
 
 Thy womexi's luvc is bouglit and sold. 
 
 No tear falls o'er their graves ; 
 Thy iiieji imperious tyrants are, 
 
 Or else are crouching slaves. 
 
 Thine idol worship on the pile 
 
 The drooping widow chains ; 
 And superstition's cruel rites, 
 
 Religion's name profanes ; 
 Where Juggernaut in Demon-car 
 
 O'er prostrate victims steals, 
 And immolates unnumber'd lives 
 
 Beneath hia chariot wheels. 
 
 Thy rich Pagodas heav'nward mount, 
 
 Thy mosques'* in splendour rise, 
 The grand abodes of ignorance, 
 
 Of cruelty and lies. 
 How beats my heart with thaukfubiess 
 
 My homeward course to trace, 
 T' enjoy my humble village Church, 
 
 And all its means of Grraee ! 
 
 Thy countries teem with precious wares, 
 
 AV'ith Avealth, a countless store ; 
 But were they mine, I'd give them all 
 
 To be at home once more ! 
 Thou show'st Grolcouda's sparkling gems, 
 
 The pearls of Manaar ; 
 The daisy of my iiative fields 
 
 Would please mc; better i'av ! 
 a
 
 ■12 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Farewell ! fare\\'ell ! tlaou wondrous Land ! 
 
 I turn my back on thee : 
 Let others seek thy sickly charms, 
 
 They give no joy to me. 
 AVithout regret I leave thy climes, 
 
 My home and friends to view : 
 Nay, I rejoice to Lid farewell, 
 
 Proud Hindostan ! Adieu ! 
 
 Thus flow'd the current of my thoughts, 
 
 When to the fav'ring gales, 
 Our gallant, trim, sea-going bark 
 
 Unfurl' d her ample sails ; 
 With Providence to guide the helm, 
 
 She glided tlu-ougli the spray, 
 And, as the eagle cleaves the air, 
 
 She plough' d her trackless way. 
 
 Away, away, away, she sail'd, 
 
 Like a majestic swan, 
 Till heaven's southern jewell'd Cross 
 
 Oiu" deck look'd down upon. 
 Cape of Good Hope at length we reach' d, 
 
 On shore I went to roam, 
 Inspir'd with Hope, because it was 
 
 A station nearer Home. 
 
 Away, away, we northwards ran. 
 
 And Saint Helena near'd, 
 Kock-bound Diana's wood-crown'd peak 
 
 High o'er her cliffs appear'd.
 
 THE cadet's beturw^. 43 
 
 Restless Napoleon's resting plaoe 
 
 I lauded liere to view ; 
 And pluck' d with joy some Euglisli fruit, 
 
 Tliat by tlie way-side grew. 
 
 Away, away. Ascension's Isle 
 
 Sat on the ocean's breast, 
 As I have seen some tiny fowl 
 
 On English Avaters rest. 
 "We pass'd the Peak of Teneritfe, 
 
 High through the clouds uphurl'd, 
 Like a gigantic monument 
 
 In mem'ry of a world. 
 
 Away, away, Madeira's reach' d, 
 
 Wliose seasons only bring. 
 The youth, maturity, and age 
 
 Of never ending spring. 
 I quaff' d her luscious Malmsey wine, 
 
 Inhal'd lier balmy air ; 
 But still the dear delights of Home 
 
 And friends were wanting there. 
 
 Her flow'ring m^Ttles, jasmine, rose, 
 
 Greraniums I view'd 
 In everlasting bloom, and felt 
 
 My health and hopes renew' d. 
 Here fruit and blossoms, side by side, 
 
 We see where'er we roam. 
 Oil ! 'tis an earthly paradise, 
 
 But si ill it was not home !
 
 44 MISCELLiLNEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Away, away, a loud hurrah 
 
 Proclaim' d old England near, 
 I sprang on deck, and through the haze 
 
 I saw her cliffs appear. 
 Right welcome was that wish'd-for land, 
 
 That laud I'll leave no more. 
 Oh ! 'twas a happy, joyful day. 
 
 That set my feet on shore ! 
 
 But now on land both hope and fear 
 
 Assail' d my heart anew ; 
 And fancy fill'd my burthen' d thoughts 
 
 With home and home's adieu. 
 To one dear object, long belov'd. 
 
 My faithful passion clung, 
 And o'er each chilling doubt and fear 
 
 A gleam of sunshine flung. 
 
 I thought upon the absent maid. 
 
 My Anna kind and true, 
 I seem'd to see her sylph-like form, 
 
 And eyes of melting blue. 
 Wrapp'd in entrancing fairy dreams, 
 
 I saw her shade appear, 
 As angels seek this world below 
 
 The sons of earth to cheer. 
 
 I saw again that parting hour, 
 I bade the maid farewell ; 
 
 For on that mournful, dismal day 
 My mem'ry lov'd to dwell ;
 
 TiTE cadet's BETn^>-. 45 
 
 I heard again her whisper'd vow, 
 
 I saw her tearful eye ; 
 And fancy grasp 'd her trembling hand, 
 
 And mark'd the heart-felt sigh. 
 
 I felt th' empassion'd, thrilling kiss 
 
 She on my cheek impress' d ; 
 I felt again the beating heart, 
 
 That her pure love confess' d. 
 Ah ! ne'er covdd I this scene forget, 
 
 Though doom'd abroad to roam ; 
 In peacefid scenes, iu toils of war, 
 
 I thought of her and home. 
 
 These proofs of love, recall'd to mind, 
 
 Dispell' d the thoughts I fear'd ; 
 And now again enliv'niug Hope 
 
 My drooping spirits cheer' d : 
 She bid me seek my native vale. 
 
 The spot weU known before, 
 Wlaere stood my home, where liv'd my Fair, 
 
 And ne'er to wander more. 
 
 As seeks the dove her distant cote. 
 
 When threat'ning tempests rise. 
 And shelter' d in her peaceful nest. 
 
 The pelting storm defies ; 
 So after wand'ring o'er the world, 
 
 I sought my home for rest, 
 That liome, which bears a priceless charm, 
 
 The purest and the best.
 
 46 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Swiftly roU'd my chariot's wheels, 
 
 And swiftly sped each steed ; 
 They proudly seem'd to emulate 
 
 The magic railway speed : 
 And swiftly beat my flutt'ring heart, 
 
 As hopes aud fears grew higher ; 
 More swiftly still, when, through the trees, 
 
 I saw the village spire. 
 
 A moment more, my longing eyes 
 
 Bewilder' d with delight, 
 Cast all around an eager glance, 
 
 And home stood full in sight. 
 jMy father, brothers, sisters, all 
 
 Rush'd forth my steps to meet, 
 And Anna too, my Love, was there. 
 
 My safe return to greet. 
 
 Pale as a Parian marble bust. 
 
 The drooping beauty stands ; 
 And vainly strives her tears to hide 
 
 With wide extended hands : 
 With joyful heart I clasp the maid, 
 
 And fold her to my breast ; 
 And with a softly whisper' d word 
 
 Calm every doubt to rest. 
 
 Now bless'd -with all I priz'd on earth, 
 
 With Anna as my Bride ; 
 I view the future, void of fear. 
 
 The troubled past, mth pride.
 
 THE cadet's eetubi^. 47 
 
 With houour deck'd, with wealth enough, 
 
 No more I -wdsh to roam, 
 "Wliile love and Adrtue's wreath eutwiu'd 
 
 Adorns mv native home.
 
 E\)t Village ^cijoolmaster. 
 
 Who is he, that pacing sloM'ly 
 
 Up and down the vilhige green, 
 Folding arms, and tliinking deeply, 
 
 On a snmmer'a eve is seen ? 
 Winter's cold will find him seated. 
 
 Musing by the glimm'ring light, 
 Tliat, from lialf extinguish'd candle. 
 
 Darker makes the gloom of night. 
 With broken heart, and aching head. 
 Toiling for his daily bread. 
 
 Bright the sun shone on his childhood, 
 
 On his manhood fortune smil'd ; 
 Priends abounded, honours courted. 
 
 While the muse his hopes beguil'd. 
 Ere his harvest had been gather' d, 
 
 Storms arose to cloud the sky. 
 Leaving him with prospects blighted. 
 
 Here to weep and here to die. 
 Truly has the poet shown, 
 Hapless man A\as made to mourn.
 
 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER. 49 
 
 Bent by age, by sorrows wasted, 
 
 Worn his frame, and dim his eye ; 
 Thi'eadbare garments plainly showing 
 
 What his frugal means supply. 
 Coarse his fare, and that but scanty ; 
 
 From his fate too proud to shrink, 
 Bread his food, with little added. 
 
 Water from the spring liis drink. 
 Hope extinguish' d in his breast. 
 Longing for eternal rest. 
 
 Such the luckless lot of many, 
 
 Doom'd to teach, and doom'd to toil ; 
 AVorking harder, earlier, later, 
 
 Than the clown, that tills the sod. 
 'Tis not want that breaks the spirit ; 
 
 'Tis not toil that sinks the heart ; 
 But, to find his name forgotten, 
 
 Wings the shaft, and points the dart. 
 Is this true ? the reader cries ; 
 Too true, alas ! the muse replies.
 
 Cte (DIU iann (Effaiv. 
 
 Say, didst thou ever feel the dear delight, 
 "When cold and weary on a Avinter's night, 
 As howls the blast around, and drifting snow 
 Hides with a dazzling veil the earth below ; 
 Say, didst thou ever in a night like this. 
 Look round thy cheerful hearth, and feel the bliss 
 Of kindling warmth ? And, as the fire spread wide, 
 The old arm chair draw closer to its side ? 
 
 Oh ! chair of sweet remembrance, dear to me 
 Each nail of brass, in which the eye can see 
 Reflected back the fire's flickering blaze. 
 On which, with half-clos'd eyes, I love to gaze. 
 And, nodding, view askant the ember's glow, 
 And ruddy tint, that shines on aU below ; 
 Or, sweetly dozing, in soft slumbers feel 
 Wild fancy's visions o'er the senses steal. 
 
 Dear are thy ample arms, thy cushion'd seat, 
 Thy sloping back of crimson damask neat, 
 On which my sleepy head has oft recUn'd, 
 As now, and listen' d to the howling wind ! 
 Or, when the glowing summer's heat oppress'd, 
 I've on thy sleeky surface sunk to rest. 
 In sweet obhvion of the cares of day, 
 Listless, beneath the sun's aU-pow'rfal ray.
 
 THE OLD ARM C'HAIll. 51 
 
 Like an old frieud thou lookest in my face, 
 And coiirtest me to meet tliy soft embrace ; 
 Old-fashioned — true, but not for that less dear ; 
 I woidd not part with thee, my Old Arm Chair ! 
 For Oriental couch, however di'ess'd, 
 Or splendid ottoman, in silken vest. 
 Say, can their tinsel pomp with thee comjiare ? 
 With thy soft back, and padded sides, Old Chair ! 
 
 More than a cent'ry thou hast run thy race ; 
 In the same chimney corner held thy place ; 
 And many a merry jest, and many a tear. 
 Have pass'd before thee in that time. Old Chair! 
 May thy old limbs, with mine, still hold together, 
 Defy the summer's sun, the winter's weather ; 
 And when old age shall lay its hands on me, 
 My head, perchance, may rest at last on thee.
 
 iffiloonItQf)t on tfjc Sea Sf)ore. 
 
 Oh ! for thy pencil, Claude, to paint the beams, 
 
 That fall on yonder ocean's trembling streams ; 
 
 Angels their heav'nly drapery unfold 
 
 To fan that vivid aisle of liquid gold, 
 
 Wliere in the deep the moon's pale face appears, 
 
 Like a lone vestal bath'd in holy tears. 
 
 How solemn, yet how lovely is the scene ! 
 Hush'd as if winds and waves had never been. 
 Above, the gtiards of heav'n their vigils keep ; 
 The waters lie below outstretch' d in sleep, 
 The land around is tranquil as the grave. 
 The silver' d beach scarce rippled by the wave. 
 
 This is the time for art to try her power ; 
 This, Inspiration, is thy happiest hour ! 
 
 "Well might those gilded waves, that beaming orb 
 The soul of limner, or of bard absorb. 
 If but one moiety of their choice hues 
 He into verse, or canvass, could infuse, 
 Woidd he not pen, or pencil forth a claim 
 To skill and genius, and eternal fame ? 
 
 If men be wise, how wiser far is He, 
 Witliout whose wisdom theirs could never be ? 
 Compar'd with Him, who yonder picture drew, 
 Eaphael, and West, and Eeynolds ! what are you r
 
 MOONLIGHT ON THE SEA SHORE. 53 
 
 How easily He tempers light and shade ! 
 " Let there be light," He said, and light obey'd. 
 Mingled in chaos all the colours lay, 
 The yellow moonlight, and the twilight grey : 
 There slept the pageant of the vernal shower. 
 There the green herb, and there the painted flower ; 
 Sapphires and pearls were idly lurking there, 
 And melting eyes, and forms as iv'ry fair. 
 
 Th' Eternal Limner came His ai't to try, 
 Breathless Archangels stood expecting by ; 
 Wide as the heav'ns His canvass was unfurl' d, 
 He seiz'd His pencil, and behold, a world! 
 
 A world ! there's something in that sound, 
 Though short it be, mysterious and profoimd. 
 Name it and pause, — then o'er the heedful soul 
 What floods of thought, and silent raptures roll ! 
 
 'Tis an idea too vast, and unconfin'd 
 For any but its Master's boundless mind ! 
 But common minds, chain' d to this earth below 
 No higher than the mountains' top can go : 
 Or, if perchance they think the world is more, 
 Reason like infants at a cottage door ; 
 Eor, as the distant hedges, hills, and trees 
 The boixndary of the world appears to these, 
 So those their universe above the (mkI 
 Of naked vision never dare extend. 
 Herschel saw more, and God sees more than he ! 
 Who knows how many systems yet may be ? 
 Who knows but He, wlio made them all, svn-veys 
 Ten million solar paths, ten tliousand milky ways ? 
 
 How awful, liow sublime ! and He, how wise ! 
 AVMio, contemplating with undazzled eyes,
 
 54 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The splendour of that complicated scene, 
 Connects and regulates the whole machine ! 
 Wheels within wheels the universe appears 
 Spheres avoiding suns, suns attracting spheres ; 
 Yet He for casualties feels no concern, 
 But sees the meteor fall, the comet burn, 
 The lightning ghmmer, and the darkness frown. 
 Calm as yon orb, that on the deep looks down : 
 Like her in glory on the clouds He rides, 
 Serenely guiding all her changing tides. 
 He rules them all, and in the placid wave 
 A mirror finds, and in the storm a slave. 
 Yes ! all the universe obeys Thy nod. 
 Thou good, o'er-ruling, all-creating God !
 
 512aoman'0 Uobe. 
 
 AVhen fortune frown'd and friends forsook me ; 
 
 When the world look'd cold and shy : 
 And when the man, I plac'd my trnst in, 
 
 Show'd a proud and scornful eye : 
 When broken-hearted, faint, dejected, 
 
 (Life a blank, no hope in view) 
 A woman's love alone was left me ! 
 
 Woman's faith alone was true ! 
 
 Oh ! 'tis in want, and in affliction. 
 
 That a woman's love is known ! 
 Her husband's sorrows softly soothing, 
 
 She makes all his cares her own. 
 With her entrancing smiles she clieers liim, 
 
 With her tongue she pleads his cause ! 
 Is not woman then the Angel, 
 
 Whom the Poet's fancy draws ? 
 
 When rack'd with pain, with tlirobbing bosom, 
 
 Man in vain attempts repose, 
 Tlien o'er him, like some charm from heaven. 
 
 Woman's faith its blessing throws. 
 Oil ! woman's love, (as ivy twining 
 
 Shields from storms the crumbling wall,) 
 Clings closer round him, when the tempest 
 
 Threatens liim with mourn fiil fall !
 
 ©n dFricntJSijip. 
 
 Written in a Young Lady's Album. 
 
 AVhat can I write, when Friendship is the tlieme, 
 That gentle poets have not penu'd before ? 
 Say, shall I paint her as a flitting dream, 
 A moment blessing, and then seen no more, 
 Leaving the heart more destitnte and poor, 
 Than if it never knew, nor felt its power ; 
 Deceitful, flatt'rmg, vain, the vision of an hour ? 
 
 I have not fovind her so in sorrows past : 
 As long as life, or memory shall last, 
 I'll own her as the dearest boon, that's given 
 To suff''ring man, the sweetest gift of heaven. 
 
 Next to my God, to whom with lowly head 
 I humbly bow, — Hail, Friendship, thou art dear ! 
 I've prov'd thy faith, and in the hour of need 
 Thy counsel sought, and found that faith sincere. 
 Thou balm of woe, that dry'st the moiu-ner's tear ! 
 Oh ! where can man, heart-broken, find relief. 
 Where soothe his sorrows, where repose his grief, 
 But in the breast of him he calls a friend ? 
 May she be with thee, Mary, to the end. 
 And as I've found her, may'st thou find her too, 
 A blessing uncorrupted, pure and true.
 
 ON rBIEKDSIIIP. 57 
 
 But thou, tlirice happy, hast not far to roam, 
 This troasui'e's found in thine own peaceful home ; 
 And doubly dear this treasure, shar'd as tliine, 
 "Where thy fond parent's hands the flow'rs entwine 
 To form the wreath. May it unfading bloom, 
 And shed its grateful fragrance till the tomb 
 Closes the scene ; and then to mem'ry jnst. 
 Bloom oil renew'd, and flourish in the dust.
 
 C^veescove Years antf Cen. 
 
 In threescore years and ten, alas ! 
 
 What changes men may see, 
 Wealth, honour, fame, enliv'ning hope, 
 
 And cheerless poverty. 
 Sunshine and clouds in rapid turns 
 
 Make np the life of men ; 
 But, ah ! too often clouds prevail 
 
 At threescore years and ten ! 
 
 In youth's gay hours he heeds them not, 
 
 Hope cheers him with her smile ; 
 Holds out, in visionary dreams, 
 
 Reward for all his toil. 
 Still struggling on for those he loves, 
 
 He gains the age of men ; 
 And then he learns, and mourns the truth 
 
 At threescore years and ten. 
 
 Such are the chequer' d scenes of life. 
 
 Its pleasures, and its cares ; 
 Grrief, joy, the aching head and heart, 
 
 Gay smiles, and bitter tears.
 
 THEEESCOEE TEAES AND TEN. 59 
 
 Nor are the poor alone condemn' d 
 
 To mourn the troubled past ; 
 The rich, the powerful and great 
 
 To this may come at last. 
 
 Such is the portion of the Bard, 
 
 Who pens these humble lines ; 
 His course is clouded ; o'er his head 
 
 The sun but seldom shines. 
 Trusting on Him, whose A;\asdom wiU'd 
 
 The fate of fallen men, 
 He bows submissive, and resign' d, 
 
 At threescore years and ten. 
 
 Ah ! say when man shall cease from toil, 
 
 Or where repose from grief; 
 Or where, at threescore years and teu. 
 
 Heart-broken, find reHef ? 
 Where — but in death ! To Heav'n alone 
 
 The fainting spirit turns ; 
 'Tis in the dark and silent grave. 
 
 That man no longer moiu-ns !
 
 ^i)e dFoofstfp at tije Boor. 
 
 A Ballad, in which a few Scotch words familiarly used are introduced, 
 
 A HAKD was on the cottage latcli, 
 
 A footstep at the door ; 
 I felt my heart to beat as it 
 
 Had never done before. 
 I knew it was my Willie's step, 
 
 Who came from Grarrie's side, 
 To ask my good old mother's leave 
 
 To take me for his bride. 
 
 The wind blew roughly o'er the thatch ; 
 
 The night was dark and gloar,^ 
 My mother pnt her wheel away, 
 
 And hasten' d to the door. 
 " What's brought thee, Willie, here," she said, 
 
 " 'Tis well no iU befal ; 
 Oh ! tell me why art come so late, 
 
 Or why art come at all ?" 
 
 ' Gloar, to look threatening.
 
 THE FOOTSTEP AT TUE DOOR. 61 
 
 My Willie euter'd — who but he, 
 
 Dress' d in his Sunday best ; 
 A braw new bonnet on his head, 
 
 Blue coat and tartan vest. 
 His bonny hair curl'd o'er his brow, 
 
 His eyes, they sparkled bright, 
 Like jewels on fair ladies' hands, 
 
 Or stars in \\dnter's night. 
 
 My mother guess' d his errand well, 
 
 And felt a mother's pride ; 
 I knew it long had been her hope 
 
 To see me "Willie's bride. 
 For Willie was a rich man's bairn 
 
 Had flocks and herds in store ; 
 And I but a poor cottage maid. 
 
 That dwelt on Garrie Moor. 
 
 " What's brought thee here, my laddie gay, 
 
 Through bog, and brake, and briar ? 
 Come, Willie, take the good man's chair, 
 
 And warm thee by the fire." 
 " I heed not cold," my Willie said, 
 
 " Nor bog, nor brake, nor briar ; 
 Nor do I need the winter's log, 
 
 Thou'rt putting on the fire." 
 
 My Willie had a winsome way, 
 
 That few folk could withstand ; 
 He look'd my mother in the face, 
 
 And gently kiss'd her hand.
 
 (52 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 " I love my Jeannie here," he said, 
 " Her heart is kind and true ; 
 
 I've lov'd her long with love sincere, 
 And Jeannie loves nie too. 
 
 •' My own kind mother gives consent, 
 
 She knows my Jeannie well ; 
 And thou must leave thy cottage here, 
 
 On Garrie's banks to dwell. 
 My father, he said at the door, 
 
 Gro, Willie, for thy bride ; 
 And bring her good old mother too. 
 
 She's welcome here to bide." 
 
 I hid my face, my heart beat qnick 
 
 To hear my Willie speak ; 
 My tongue seem'd tied, I don't know how, 
 
 And tears stood on my cheek. 
 I lov'd my mother, ah ! how dear, 
 
 I lov'd my Willie too : 
 What could, alas, in such a strait, 
 
 A simple maiden do. 
 
 My mother kiss'd the tear away. 
 
 And plac'd his hand in mine; 
 " Here, Willie, to thy care," she said, 
 
 " My Jeannie I resign : 
 The only hope now left on earth 
 
 I freely give to thee ; 
 And may she prove as good a wife, 
 
 As bairn she's been to me."
 
 THE FOOTSTEP AT THE DOOR. 63 
 
 My Willie took her at her word, 
 
 And press' d me to his breast ; 
 Whilst ev'ry look and ev'ry smile 
 
 His love for me confess' d. 
 And soon the merry bells proclaim 'd 
 
 That I was Willie's bride : 
 The happiest wife, that ever trod 
 
 The winding Garrie's side. 
 
 Yes ! often still I love to dwell 
 
 On scenes to mem'ry dear ; 
 How Willie came one night to woo. 
 
 And sat in father's chair. 
 And though I've been my WilHe's wife 
 
 Twice twenty years and more, 
 Yet wen I recollect the " latch," 
 
 And " footstep at the door."
 
 Ci)f HBvcam of ilife. 
 
 Sweet is the dream of cliildbood's early days, 
 As pure, as bright as heav'n's ethereal bow ; 
 
 Wlien school-boy fancies, pleasure's simny rays, 
 Stream through the soul, and brighten all below. 
 
 Sweet is the dream of manhood, — sweet, oh ! sweet 
 Its fairy visions, and its golden hom-s ; 
 
 When love and hope in magic union meet, 
 
 And friendship, smiling, strews the path with flow'rs. 
 
 The dream has fled ! thrice twenty years and more 
 Have pass'd, since first the dream of life began ; 
 
 And fifty siimmers' svuis have flitted o'er. 
 Since first I felt and call'd myself a man. 
 
 Wliat have I gain'd ? I ask myself, what won ? 
 
 In all the varied scenes my life has toil'd ; 
 To-day's hard gains the morrow hath undone, 
 
 And one year's hopes the next imtimely foil'd. 
 
 Yet stni my shatter' d bark sails boldly on. 
 
 Near many a dangerous reef, and rocky shore, 
 
 And hopes to anchor, when her course is run. 
 Where dreams illusive can deceive no more.
 
 Addressed to u Youtig Lady. 
 
 A NEW fledg'd limiet yoimg and gay, 
 That lightly hopp'd from spray to spray, 
 Not quite contented with her nest. 
 Her bosom's sorrow thus express'd. 
 
 " Ah ! why, kind heav'n, on me bestow 
 The choicest gifts, that birds can know ? 
 Safe from the snares of men I rove 
 Tlu'ough verdant fields and shady grove : 
 No cares oppress, no want assails, 
 Nor e'er maternal kindness fails. 
 With bliss itself tlie heart is cloy'd. 
 But yet my bosom feels a void, 
 An aching void, tliat still must be, 
 Tlie doom of sensibility." 
 
 The feather'd mourner droop'd her head, 
 " How bless'd is she," she sigliing said, 
 " How doubly bless'd, that freely shai-es 
 Tlie joys or griefs, that friendship bears ; 
 Whilst I, alone, without a friend, 
 As a recluse must meet my end." 
 
 K
 
 6(3 MISClELLANEOrS POEMS. 
 
 Her tender mother, who had long 
 In secret listen' d to her song, 
 Advanc'd, and nestling by her side, 
 Thus to her daughter's plaints replied : 
 
 " My child ! your portion may be worse ; 
 Tlie bliss you seek may prove a curse. 
 A heart, susceptible as thine, 
 Should ne'er at Providence repine : 
 His shelt'ring arm, though hid from sight. 
 Can guard us in the darkest night ; 
 Protect us wheresoe'er we go. 
 And His o'erruling wisdom show. 
 Perhaps the Providence you blame 
 Now shields thee from incurring shame ; 
 Or wards thy bosom from the fate. 
 That disappointed hopes await ; 
 But if you wish this truth to prove, 
 And wander from a Parent's love, 
 Gro, — my consent's in sorroAv given ; 
 Defend my child, all-righteous Heav'n !" 
 
 Linetta heard, as children hear, 
 Too soon forgot her mother's prayer : 
 Pleas' d with her liberty, she flew, 
 And perch'd upon a neighb'ring yew, 
 Fresh plum'd the feathers of her face. 
 And shone the gayest of the place. 
 
 A gaudy goldfinch heard her song, 
 Press'd her to join the flippant throng : 
 With smiles and soothing voice profess' d 
 A sudden friendship in lier breast : 
 
 " A voice like thine, my dear Linettc, 
 Was never meant to mope ;mtl fret ;
 
 A FABLE. 67 
 
 Eujoy the world," the flatt'rcr said, 
 " Nor hide thy beauties in the shade." 
 
 Enchanted with this soft address. 
 Her joy no words can e'er express, 
 And tripping from the tree, she thought 
 Tliat here was found the friend she sought. 
 Together thus away they rove. 
 Attend each concert in the grove. 
 And ev'ry bird their friendship knew 
 And chii^'d a welcome as they flew. 
 
 But vain is ev'ry earthly bliss ! 
 Say, what could part a pair like this ? 
 Envy, the bane of female lile, 
 Sow'd the first seeds of bitter strife. 
 They parted, fill'd with sad regret 
 That they, as friends, had ever met ; 
 And poor Linetta found too late 
 Wliat 'twas to bear a captious hate. 
 "With humbled heart, and rufiled breast. 
 She sought again her peaceful nest ; 
 Nor ever after wisli'd to roam, 
 But all her pleasiu'es found at Home.
 
 E\)t Brttial Wtav. 
 
 Down the cheeks of my bride as the dewy drops roll'd, 
 And oppress' d my fond bosom with care, 
 
 I clasp'd tlie sweet mourner, and anxiously ask'd 
 "What could cause at that moment a tear. 
 
 Thus slie answer'd my fears, as she, blushing, replied : 
 
 " From thy breast let aU jealousy go ; 
 Por the love, that my tongue is afraid to express, 
 
 Makes these emblems of sorrow to flow." 
 
 Ah ! bless' d be the bridal tear timidly shed, 
 'Tis the gem, that decks beauty the best, 
 
 'Tis the " pearl above price," that so fondly retains 
 Its magical sway o'er the breast.
 
 ?Qoine. 
 
 Illustrating Shakspeare's Seven Ages of Man. 
 
 " And one man in his time, plays many parts 
 His acts being seven ages." — As you like it. 
 
 On, Home ! thou sweet endearing tie, 
 
 With flow'ry wreaths entwin'd, 
 That closer knits the bonds of love, 
 
 Tliat bind man to his kind : 
 From infancy to age, alike. 
 
 Thy magic truth's confess' d ; 
 And man, in ev'ry stage of life. 
 
 To thee still turns for rest. 
 
 The Infant, first, in nurse's arms 
 
 By stranger's gaze oppress' d, 
 Looks round with wand'ring eyes to find 
 
 The Home it loves the best. 
 That home is near, a mother's smile 
 
 The restless bantling calms ; 
 Its heaven is that mother's breast, 
 
 Its Home that mother's arms.
 
 70 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The School-boy "with his " shmmg face " 
 
 Betrays its secret powers, 
 And on his notched stick each night 
 
 Counts off the days and hours. 
 But one nick left, — oh ! happy mark ! 
 
 Farewell to care and sorrow ! 
 He dreams all night of those he hopes 
 
 To meet at Home to-morrow ! 
 
 The Lover next, to manhood grown, 
 
 "Wakes through the live-long night ; 
 Makes sonnets on his charmer's eyes 
 
 Or on her forehead white. 
 " I ask not state," he sighing rhymes ; 
 
 " No dame with wealthy dower ; 
 G-rant me, kind Heav'u, but Anna's love ! 
 
 My Home some sylvan bower !" 
 
 The Soldier, " bearded like the pard," 
 
 Return' d from distant wars, 
 Whose talk is of the " deadly breach," 
 
 Of blood, and wounds, and scars ! 
 With honoiu's pluck' d from battle-field. 
 
 No more he seeks to roam ; 
 Grives up his sword to rusty sleep, 
 
 To die in peace at Home. 
 
 The Justice, wise in self-conceit, 
 And " with fat capon lin'd," 
 
 With musty proverbs, and old saws, 
 Acts well the part assign' d.
 
 HOME. 71 
 
 He pats liis sides, and chuckles loud ; 
 
 No trouble feels, nor care ; 
 His thoughts are on the venison haunch, 
 
 His Home the elbow chair. 
 
 Next comes " the slipper'd Pantaloon," 
 
 " With spectacles on nose ;" 
 His shrivell'd limbs too lank to fill 
 
 His wide migarter'd hose. 
 No wdfe's, no children's love he knows ; 
 
 Unbless'd he sinks to rest ; 
 His mortgage bonds his only joy, 
 
 His Home his iron chest. 
 
 And last of all, to close the scene 
 
 On life's eventful stage. 
 Comes Second Childhood's falt'ring tongue, 
 
 The crutch and palsied age. 
 Each year rolls on the former year, 
 
 Like wave propelling wave ; 
 And Man's last hope must rest on heaven, 
 
 His last Home be the grave.
 
 asaomen's Smiles or aSUomen's STears 
 
 Written on being asked by a Lady, which made the greatest impression 
 on a man's heart, Women's smiles or women's tears ? 
 
 Sat, which makes the most impression, 
 Say, which most the heart endears. 
 
 Say, which most awakes love's passion. 
 Woman's smiles, or woman's tears. 
 
 Beauty's tears are summer showers, 
 Glitt'ring on the budding May : 
 
 Beauty's smiles the simshine powers, 
 That drive the trembling drops away. 
 
 When we meet in youth's gay morning. 
 And the smile plays o'er the clieek, 
 
 Like the sun the skies adorning. 
 Love would sure no further seek. 
 
 When we part, — oh ! grief and horror ! 
 
 And the tear bedews the eye ; 
 When the sob betrays lier sorrow, 
 
 And the lieaving breast the sigh ;
 
 WOMEN S SMILES OR. WOMEN's TEARS? 
 
 When the fond adieu is mutter' d, 
 When tlie pressure soft is felt ; 
 
 When love's vows are faintly utter' d, 
 And the o'ervNTought feelings melt ; 
 
 Where's the heart, that can withstand it, 
 
 Or the eye unmoved see ? 
 Let the smile to heav'n wend it, 
 
 But [lie tf'nv roninin witli nu'.
 
 As mueing by the tow'ring cliffs, 
 
 That guard old ocean's side, 
 Methought I heard a gentle sigh. 
 
 Borne o'er the ebbing tide. 
 I listen' d, and the still small voice 
 
 Of Echo softly feU, 
 Like some prophetic strain, that rose 
 
 Prom worlds where fairies dwell. 
 
 I thought I'd ask the voice, if truth 
 
 The moralists had said, 
 That man was never satisfied, 
 
 AVliatever wealth he made ; 
 However full his cup might be, 
 
 However large his store : 
 Say, Echo, if he had all this. 
 
 Would he stiU wish for more ? 
 I listen' d, and the gentle voice 
 
 Of Echo answer' d, " More !" 
 
 Pshaw ! Echo, tell me then, if man 
 Will richer be with more ? 
 
 Wliat is enough to make a man 
 Be richer than before ?
 
 Ecuu. 75 
 
 What does he want ? what does lie ask ? 
 
 Thy answer I implore ; 
 Say what will make mankind content, 
 
 And cease to covet more ? 
 T listen'd, and the gentle voice 
 
 Of Echo answer'd, " More !" 
 
 It is a libel false, I cried ; 
 
 I'll ask thee once again, 
 For if thy boding voice be true, 
 
 Man ever toils in vain. 
 Now teU me. Echo, and forget 
 
 What thou hast said before. 
 Is man that discontented wretch, 
 
 " For ever craving more ?" 
 I listen' d, and the gentle voice 
 
 Of Echo answer'd, " More." 
 
 Farewell then, Echo, I replied, 
 
 Thy voice, though soft, is wrong ; 
 " Man wants but little here below, 
 
 Nor wants that little long." 
 I tum'd my steps, and as I pac'd 
 
 Along the winding shore, 
 I ask'd, " if man possess'd the world, 
 
 WoiJd he still wish for more ?" 
 I listen' d, and the gentle voice 
 
 Of Echo answer'd, " More !"
 
 iMotiern ILobe. 
 
 Oil ! tell me aiucerely, ye Bachelors round me, 
 
 Oh ! say, " What is Love ?" in this new fashion'd day ; 
 
 Is it stiU found on earth, or has some ugly demon 
 
 From the breasts of our Beaux scar'd the stranger away ? 
 
 Let virtue, let beauty, each charm that in woman 
 Is cherish' d, when man seeks a partner for life ; 
 
 Let her smile be of heaven, let her own aU the graces. 
 These charms must he gilt too, or she'U ne'er be a wife. 
 
 Oh ! mammon, thou god of the cold-hearted lover ! 
 
 May thy altar of gold be the Bachelor's curse ; 
 May he ne'er know the rapture, that rises from beauty. 
 
 Who would weigh woman's love by the weight of her piu'se!
 
 HISTORICAL NOTICES. 
 
 " Out of monuments, words, proverbs, traditions, private records and 
 evidences, fragments of stories, passages of books, and the like, we do 
 save and recover somewhat from the deluge of time." 
 
 Bacon on Learning.
 
 BARNAVELL CASTLE. 
 
 Among the few castellated rums still remaining in the county of 
 Northampton, Barnwell Castle stands pre-eminently the finest and 
 the most interesting. From the Hundred Rolls it appears that 
 this fortress was originally built by Reginald le Moyne or Moygne 
 in the reign of Henry the First, a.d. 1132. 
 
 It is much to be regretted that so few records of this ancient 
 Castle have been preserved from the devouring ravages of time ; 
 and though its lofty and massive walls, the loopholes in its strong 
 towers, the entrance gate with its portcullis, all evidence the tur- 
 bulent state of the age in which they were erected, and the pi'o- 
 visions made for safety and defence : yet history has not preserved 
 any details on Mhich to found a shadow of romance. How this 
 family acquired influence in this county is nowhere recorded. 
 The Le Moynes appear to have come and gone almost without 
 leaving any trace behind, save the massive I'emnant of their strong 
 hold, which still, and must as long as it exists, afford an interest- 
 ing subject of speculation to the antiquarian. Historical records 
 however, afford us here and there a glimpse of this ancient and 
 influential family. The Doomsday Survey informs us that this 
 Manor of Barnwell St. Andrew, in which the castle stands, was at 
 that time in the possession of the Abbot of Ramsey, and from an 
 account, taken in the reign of Henry the Second, we learn that it 
 was then in the hands of the abovementioned Reginald le 
 Moyne, who " held it of the fee of Rammcseye." 
 
 We read also that Berengarius le Moyne, the Lord of this 
 Castle and Manor, succeeded, in the reign of Henry the Third, 
 A.D. 1270, in obtaining the privilege of a market on Monday and 
 Friday in each week, and also a yearly fair for eight days, be- 
 ginning on the eve of St. Michael's day ; and tliat in 1276 this
 
 80 HISTORICAL NOTICES. 
 
 market (and probably the fair also) was suppressed at the suit of 
 the Abbot of Bury (Peterborough) as injurious to his market at 
 Oundle. Berengarius appears also to have felt secure in the 
 strength of his fortifications, for we read of a complaint made that 
 " for the last three years Berengarius le Moygne had ceased to do 
 suit of court at the Hundred Court for himself, and his men of 
 Hemington, being worth seven and fourpence a-year, and guard at 
 Rockingham Castle, worth twentypence a-year." The latter ob- 
 servation derives more significance from the circumstance that 
 Rockingham Castle was in the hands of the Crown, and that our 
 early Sovereigns frequently honoured it by their residence. 
 
 In the same year in which the market was suppressed Berengarius 
 sold the Castle and Manor to the Abbot and Convent of Ramsey, 
 who, A.D. 1278, obtained a licence from Edward the First for 
 restoring the markets and fair as before, which however have been 
 so long disused as almost to be forgotten, though the market cross 
 stood till it was demolished in the civil wars of Charles the First. 
 
 The descendants of Le Moyne made an ineffectual attempt to 
 regain by law the possession of this estate in the reign of Edward 
 the Third, A.D. 1330, they then passed from the scene, and the 
 monastery continued to hold possession till the general suppression 
 of religious establishments in the reign of Henry the Eighth. 
 
 This monarch sold the Castle and Manoi', together with others, 
 to Sir Edward Montague, Knt., Lord Chief Justice of the King's 
 Bench, and they have continued ever since in the possession of 
 this family, and thus have descended to their present possessor, the 
 Duke of Buccleuch. 
 
 How or when Barnwell Castle was dismantled we are not in- 
 formed, but in the year 1540 Leland, the industrious traveller and 
 antiquary, notices it as then a ruin. " At this village," says he, 
 "remaine 4 strong towres, part of Berengarius' Castel, after 
 'longing to Ramesay Abbey, and now to Monteacute. Within 
 the mines of this castel is a mean house for a fermar." 
 
 The general appearance of the ruin, no doubt, remains much 
 the same as in the time of Leland, but the house within has 
 long since disappeared. It still consists of four massive round 
 towers, which with their connecting walls, about thirty feet high, 
 form a spacious quadrangular court. The grand gateway still
 
 BARNWELL CASTLE. 81 
 
 remains on the east side, and is also flanked with two circular 
 bastion towers. The north-western tower appears to have been 
 the chief residence within the court. It is to be regretted that the 
 wanton hand of man has caused more destruction to the inner 
 parts of some of the towers than time itself would have been able 
 to effect by removing the casings of the loopholes and Avindows, 
 pulling down the groined stone roofs and demolishing staircases 
 for materials for other buildings. Some of the ancient walls and 
 works are however almost as perfect and fresh as when they were 
 first built, particularly the entrance gate, and some of the vaulted 
 rooms connected with it; and the gratitude of the antiquary is 
 due to the late and present proprietor for the care which has for 
 some years been taken to preserve from the further ravages of 
 time, or the more desolating hand of carelessness, this noble relic 
 of former days. A more commodious residence, and more suited 
 to the peaceful character of the times, was built by the Montagu 
 family, and much enlarged as a residence for H. H. Oddie, Esq., 
 of Carey Street, London, who resided here with his family for 
 many years, as auditor of flie estates of the late Lord Montagu ; 
 and whose liberality to the needy and afflicted, and general kind- 
 ness and urbanity to all will ever endear them to the recollection 
 of those, who had the pleasure of knowing them. This house 
 still continues to be one of the chief ornaments of this interesting 
 village. Nothing can be more picturesque than the front of this 
 comparatively modern house, now facing in harmless rivalry the 
 east front of the castle, surrounded as it is by old and stately elms. 
 In short, the ruin, the house, its gardens and grounds, &c. kept 
 as they all are in such excellent order under the able and judicious 
 management of Mr. Tate, the resident bailiff of the noble owner, 
 together form a scene not easily to be obliterated from the 
 mind of a visitor. 
 
 A view of Barnwell Castle may be found in vol. vii. p. 72, of a 
 work entitled " A Description of England and Wales. " London : 
 Newberry and Carman, St. Paul's Churchyard. Printed in 1709. 
 
 M
 
 II. 
 
 THE CHURCH OF BARNWELL ST. ANDREW. 
 
 This parish was anciently called Bernewell le Moyne, from its 
 former owner. 
 
 The Church of Barnwell St. Andrew is situated on a gentle 
 eminence immediately above the village. On this spot prayer 
 and praise have probably never ceased to be offered to Almighty 
 God for more than eight hundred years. It appears from the 
 Doomsday Survey (a.d. 1080) that there was here at that time a 
 priest, and we may therefore fairly infer that there was also a 
 Church. Thus the mind is carried back to remote antiquity, and 
 yet the link connecting us with our forefathers is never broken. 
 Christ's Word and Sacraments, although at times much obscured 
 and mutilated in the Church of England, were never entirely lost, 
 but have been handed down to us in their ancient purity. 
 
 The first incumbent of Barnwell, whose name is recorded, was 
 AVilliam de KIrkham, from 1248 to 1260, and many parts of the 
 present church may have been built about that time. We probably 
 owe much of the beauty, observable in its architectural details, as 
 well as the ancient and curious stone tombs, found in this parish, 
 and now restored to the churchyard, to the connection of this 
 church with Ramsey Abbey, to the Abbots of which the advowson 
 of this living passed, together with the manor, as related in the 
 notice of the castle, and afterwards to the family of Montagu. 
 
 This church at present consists of a nave, with aisles and 
 chancel, together with a tower and spire, and is built partly in 
 the Early English, and partly in the Perpendicular style. The 
 windows of the north aisle are enriched with tracery of peculiar 
 beauty, the sedilia, the two niches in the south aisle, and some 
 carved stone work, now forming part of the seat occupied by the 
 inmates of the hospital, are Avorthy of notice. The chancel has 
 lately been partly renovated. A fine new east window, filled with
 
 THE CHUECll OF BARNWELL ST. ANDREAV. 83 
 
 Powell's stained quarries has been put up, a reredos of Minton's 
 tiles has been erected, some lofty pews have been removed, and 
 their places supplied with carved oak seats, placed stallwise along 
 the walls, but still much remains to be done. 
 
 There are but few monuments in this church, deserving atten- 
 tion, but there is one which it would be unpardonable to pass 
 over without notice, and the author regrets that the limits of this 
 work prevent him giving the inscription entire. It is to the 
 memory of Nicholas Latham, who became Rector of this church 
 in the eleventh year of Elizabeth (a.d. 1569,) whose munificence 
 and noble liberality to this parish, and to other places also, de- 
 serves to be recorded. The inscription on this monument informs 
 us that he was born at Brigstock, and that he was the son of John 
 Latham, gentleman, keeper of the park. He was a bright and 
 shining ornament of our Church in the careless and worldly age 
 in which he lived. Sad indeed is it to think that the ages, which 
 succeeded the Reformation of our Church, were by no means dis- 
 tinguished by that general improvement, which a return to the 
 primitive purity, and apostolic usages, would have warranted us 
 in expecting. " It is confessed," as Fuller observes, " immediately 
 after the Reformation, Protestant religion stood in amaze, and 
 was but barren of good works." The stream of charity appears to 
 have run more sluggishly, the poor were less cared for, churches 
 were seldom built, and if they were, too frequently with a grudg- 
 ing hand, or restored in a manner unworthy of the house of GoD, 
 but bright examples there were, even in those times, to prove that 
 the Church of England was not dead. Such was Nicholas Latham, 
 who for more than half a century, that is, from the times im- 
 mediately subsequent to the Reformation, from 15G9 to 1620, was 
 the Rector of this parish, and " diligently fed his flock both with 
 spiritual and bodily food." 
 
 He built and endoAved hospitals at Barnwell and at Oundle, and 
 free schools at the same places, besides giving endowments for 
 free schools at Brigstock, Weekly, and Hemington, and for 
 many other useful and charitable purposes which cannot here be 
 detailed. Suffice it here to say that, although he had no lands 
 or goods, left him by his ancestors, he gave to posterity benefac- 
 tions " to the value of three hundred pounds in the year for ever."
 
 84 HISTORICAL TvOTTCES. 
 
 All these acts of charity arose solely from the Kectoi'y of Barn- 
 Avell St. Andrew, then about the value of £160 jier annum. He 
 moreover, performed all this in his lifetime. He saw them per- 
 fected and finished, and the people settled in the hospitals, and 
 his schools in operation ; and from that day to the present, the 
 former have afforded comfort and repose to the aged, and. in the 
 latter successive generations have been instructed through his 
 liberality. " Being dead he yet speaketh," and warns us prac- 
 tically hoAv little we can hope for success in any efforts to amelio- 
 rate the condition of our fellow-countrymen, unless our first efforts 
 are directed to their education in the faith of Chmst. Such was 
 Pai'son Latham, who died full of years, (aged seventy-two) in 1620.* 
 
 Another monument deserves a passing notice both as recording 
 the death of the first warden of Latham's Hospital, and the great 
 age to which he lived. His name was Job Orton, "who died the 
 25th of July, 1607, in the year of his age 101." 
 
 It is but justice also to remark that this liberality of Parson 
 Latham has also been the means of confei'ring other important 
 benefits on this highly favoured parish. A poor boy of the name 
 of William Bigley, after being educated in Latham's charity 
 school, was apprenticed, by the funds of this charity, with a baker 
 at Oundle. He afterwards went to London, where by a diligent 
 attention to business he acquired a considerable fortune, and 
 gratefully bearing in mind the benefits he had derived from the 
 charities of his native parish, left by will £4000, for building and 
 endowing a free school for girls in this place, for the instruction of 
 more boys at Latham's school, for increasing the income of the 
 master, and the weekly payments, made to the aged people in the 
 hospital. He died in the year 1824, and was buried in this 
 church, where there is a tablet to his memory. 
 
 In this church there is also a monument to the memory of the 
 late H. H. Oddie, Esq., and other branches of that respected 
 family. 
 
 A new schoolroom for girls, and a house for the mistress under 
 
 1 It is an interesting fact, that that holy man Nicholas Ferrar was a 
 coiitemporary as well as a neighboui of Parson Latham ; Little Gidding 
 being only bix miles distant from Barnwell,
 
 Latham's hospital, babnwell st. andeew. 85 
 
 the same roof has been built, with the funds |n-ovide(l by this 
 benefactor to this parish, on the south side of the churchyard, 
 and forms one of the ornaments of the village ; while lower down 
 in the main street may still be seen Parson Latham's original 
 school-room in perfect repair, with this simple and appropriate 
 inscription chosen by the founder over the entrance door, 
 
 INSTRVCT • ME • O ■ LORD • THAT • I • MAY • KEEP • THY • LAW 
 
 with the date 1604. 
 
 The Rev. R. M. Boultbee, B.D., is the present rector of this 
 parish, as well as of the adjoining and now consolidated living of 
 Barnwell All Saints', to which he was instituted in the year 1829, 
 on the presentation of the late Lord Montagu. The llev. G. R. 
 Mackarness, M.A., is curate. 
 
 IIL 
 
 LATHAM'S HOSPITAL, BARN^^^i;LL ST. ANDREW. 
 
 Parson Latham's Hospital, of M'hich mention has already been 
 made, is a plain, unpretending, but substantial stone building, con- 
 sisting of two quadrangles, or courts, divided by the common 
 hall. It contains separate and comfortable apartments for each 
 pensioner, and has also a garden and orchard for the use of the 
 Society in common. Over the gateway are these words : 
 
 CAST THY BREAD VPON THE WATERS 
 and the date 1601. 
 
 It is built very near the entrance to the south gate of the 
 churchyard, Avith the special object that its aged inmates might be 
 better enabled to attend Divine Service, whenever the church was 
 opened for that purpose. 
 
 This hospital is a corporation, consisting of twelve poor persons 
 belonging to the parish of Barnwell St. Andrew and All Saints', 
 who must be upwards of til'ty years of ago at the time of their elec- 
 tion, one of whom is chosen warden, and another is by him appointed
 
 86 HISTORICAL NOTICES. 
 
 sub-warden. The management of the property belonging to 
 the hospital is intrusted to three bailiffs, residents in the parish : 
 the pensioners are elected by the Rector and Churchwardens, 
 and the supreme visitorial power is in the hands of the Noble 
 Duke who is the owner of the Lordship. Nor is he, in the midst 
 of the numerous avocations, which necessarily devolve upon him, 
 unmindful of this responsibility, but has manifested on all 
 occasions the liveliest interest in the general management of the 
 affairs of the hospital, as well as in the welfare, both temporal and 
 spiritual, of the inmates. 
 
 The weekly sum allowed to each from the funds of the hospital 
 as now increased by William Bigley's Charity is as follows : 
 
 s. d. 
 
 To the warden 6 
 
 " Subwarden . . . . .58 
 To eight others of the corporation, each . 5 6 
 
 " Two juniors 5 2 
 
 " Two nurses to attend the sick . . 3 6. 
 
 Besides these weekly payments there is allowed to each man a 
 black cloak, and to each woman a black gown every two years, 
 and two pounds each yearly for fuel and washing. Such is this 
 useful charity, which for two centuries and a half has been a 
 blessing to the aged and infirm in this parish. 
 
 IV. 
 BARNWELL ALL SAINTS'. 
 
 Barnwell All Saints' was anciently called by the name of 
 King's Bernewell, because at the time of the general survey this 
 lordship was in the hands of the Crown, and it retained this name
 
 BABIfWELL ALL SAIXTS 
 
 87 
 
 after it came into tlie possession of others, and was so called in 
 the reign of Henry the Third, and perhaps to a later period. 
 
 There were originally two manors in this parish, of which the 
 principal Avas purchased by Sir Edward Montagu, Lord Chief 
 Justice of the King's Bench in the second year of Edward the 
 Sixth (a.d. 1549.) 
 
 The other was sold by Sir William Dudley to Edward, Lord 
 Montagu in the twenty-fourth of Charles the Second, (a.d. 1684,) 
 and thus this property has descended to the present Duke of 
 Buccleuch. 
 
 Here stood a fair Church, in no respect inferior to that of the 
 sister parish of St. Andrew, to which it is now united. It is how- 
 ever much to be regretted that on the consolidation of the two 
 livings in the year 1821, the nave and tower were demolished, and 
 the chancel only preserved as a burial place for the noble family 
 of Sandwich, who are also Montagus. 
 
 The Priors of St. Neot's in Hunts, appear to have been patrons 
 of this Church in early times, but, if possible, still less is known of 
 it than of the neighbouring Church. The advowson at length 
 passed to the family of Montagu, of whose mansion in this 
 parish, which immediately adjoined the churchyard, no trace re- 
 mains, save that the terraces of the garden, covered with grass 
 attest the changes which have taken place in this locality. 
 
 Among the different tablets and monuments to be seen in this 
 chancel, there is one which is sure to arrest the attention of the 
 visitor, and which forms altogether a touching record of parental 
 grief. It is a lofty pyramidal monument of alabaster, having at 
 the summit the arms of iMontagu. 
 
 It records the accidental death by drowning of Henry Montagu, 
 Esq., the only son of Sir Sidney Montagu, Kt., one of the Masters 
 of Requests in the reigns of James and Charles. 
 
 In connection with this interesting memorial, there is on the 
 right-hand side of the communion tabic, a door, which, as it forms 
 one of the panels of the oak wainscoting, would escape notice 
 unless pointed out. This door, when opened, discloses to view a 
 recess in the wall, with folding doors, on which are painted the 
 words " Post-eris." On opening these doors, a beautifully en- 
 grossed sheet of parchment is seen, on each side of which are
 
 88 irTSTOTlTCAL NOTICES. 
 
 emblazoned tlie arms of the family, and in the centre in old 
 English character is written, 
 
 " Upon the Birth and 
 Death of his deere sonne Henry 
 Montagu Sir Sidney 
 Montagu Knight 
 Anno Dm' 1627. 
 Midd May brought thee to a land of flowers 
 But Aprill drown'd thee w"' to many showers 
 Ascension Day baptis'd thee Christian 
 Thursday rewash'd thee to ascend again."' 
 
 And on the left hand of the above, 
 
 " Thursday 16th May 1622 Borne 
 Much rain falling Aprill 1625 filled a pond w''' 
 w"' a scoopet lieing by was supposed y'^ occasion of his end 
 
 Thursday Ascension Day Christened 
 
 Thursday 28th Aprill 1625 dyed." 
 
 Then follows a long genealogical account, showing the connec- 
 tion of the two branches of the Montagu family. 
 
 On the inside of the left-hand door of the recess is a represen- 
 tation of a mantle, which is described on the parchment to be, 
 ' " the sheet set with true love knotts, which covered the child's 
 hearse at his funerall, being the same, which covered him at his 
 christening, and was set with true love knotts of black ribbins, 
 made by divers of his friends." 
 
 This chancel is paved with black and white marble, and was re- 
 paired" at the expense of the late Duke of Montagu. 
 
 On the steep bank, which descends frpm the churchyard are two 
 wells ; one of them, close under the churchyard wall, is shallow, 
 and the vater nearly level with the surface. A few feet lower 
 down the bank is the second well, which is large, square, and 
 deep ; the water is eight or nine feet lower than the surface of the 
 upper well. 
 
 Of these wells, tradition relates that in the age of ignorance and 
 superstition, they were widely famed for the miraculous cures they
 
 ARMSTON. 89 
 
 performed in the diseases of children, who were here dipped on 
 the Eve of St. John the Baptist's Day, and it is said that at length 
 sacred veneration was paid to them, and that pilgrims from distant 
 parts resorted hither. From these wells, including perhaps 
 a fine spring in the adjoining parish of Barnwell St. Andrew, 
 called Cross well or Holy well, and which still gives its name 
 to the field in which it rises, many have derived the name 
 of these parishes, Bernewell or Bairnwell ; the word Bairn being 
 still commonly used in the more northern counties for the word 
 child. 
 
 This belief and custom had probably long ceased before the time 
 of Leland, the great antiquarian and traveller, who writes thus: — 
 " Barnwell — Fontes puerorum eo tempore appellati, eo quod pueri, 
 et adolescentes semel per annum, in vigilia scilicet Nativitatis S. 
 Johan. Bap. illuc convenientes more Anglicano luctamina, et alia 
 ludicra exercebant puerilia." 
 
 In these words he tells us that they were so called because boys 
 and young men, assembling together once a year, viz., on the Eve 
 of John the Baptist's day practised wrestling and other youthful 
 sports according to the English custom ; but makes no mention of 
 the healing properties of these wells. 
 
 Whatever may have been the real or supposed medicinal pro- 
 perties of these springs for the sick in former days, it is certain 
 that the water from them is now very pui-e, clear and most salu- 
 brious to the healthy. 
 
 V. 
 
 ARMSTON, 
 
 This Lordship, adjoining the east side of Barnwell is a hamlet to 
 the parish of Polebrook, and at present consists of two farm houses 
 and one cottage only, though formerly it must have been a place 
 of considerable note, as the records still extant of its ancient 
 Chapel and Hospital suliiciently prove. To this Lordship belongs 
 Kingsthorpe adjoining Armston on tlie norlli, and Hemington on 
 
 N
 
 90 HISTOEICAL KOTICES. 
 
 the south, and in it are several moats, and foundations of buildings 
 still to be traced, though they are more discernible in Armston, 
 where paved causeways, and other marks of a considerable village 
 may yet be traced in various directions, though all memory of it 
 has passed away, and its existence almost forgotten. 
 
 Here, as has been already observed, was anciently a chapel, 
 dedicated to St. Leonard, of which Ralph de Troubleville and 
 Alice, his wife, who founded the Hospital abovementioned in 1232, 
 were patrons. By a deed without date they gave up to Rohesia, 
 patroness of the church of Polebrook, and her heirs, the advowson 
 of this chapel ; and this lady gave to the chapel the privilege of a 
 font for the baptism of infants, and for a resident chaplain, who 
 should daily perform full service in it for ever. To this chapel 
 belonged a chantry, dedicated to St. Mary Magdalen, founded by 
 a person unknoAvn for a priest to sing and pray there, as tradition 
 adds, for the soul of some one murdered by outlaws, who at that 
 period infested the neighbouring country. Of this chapel there 
 are now no certain remains. In the time of Bridges, the county 
 historian, who died in 1724, one of the farm houses, supposed to 
 be that on the eastern side of the green, where still may be seen a 
 niche or two, is described as having " four large windows, resem- 
 bling chapel windows, and a high arched roof within : without, two 
 columns, one of which is entire, having a broad capital, like a 
 pedestal for a statue." These however, as well as all remains of 
 the Hospital, have long since disappeared, and not a single remnant 
 of the original building is now to be seen, and Armston at this 
 time only presents a pleasing picture of rural retirement. The 
 poet's beautiful description of a village green 
 
 " Deeply embow'r'd in shadowing oak and ash, 
 And from the world shut out," 
 
 might have been taken from this spot, whose green before the 
 houses in the old English style of village hamlets, forms its prin- 
 cipal distinguishing feature. 
 
 The lordships of Armston and Kingsthorpe were granted after 
 the dissolution of Thorney Abbey, by Henry the Eighth, to Sir 
 Edward Montagu, (a.D. 1545) and have thus descended to its 
 present noble proprietor, the Duke of Buccleuch.
 
 VI. 
 
 HEMINGTON. 
 
 This small and retired village is worthy of notice as being the 
 place, in which the ancestor of the noble family of Montagu, so 
 distinguished for its wealth and influence in this country, lived 
 and died. It appears that so far back as the fourth year of Henry 
 the Seventh (a.D. 1489) Thomas Mountagu, gentleman, of Clapton, 
 Northamptonshire, purchased the manor of Hemington. This 
 Thomas Mountagu Avas lineally descended from Sir Simon de 
 Monteague of Hanging Houghton (grandson of William de Mon- 
 teacute, created Earl of Salisbury in the eleventh year of Edward 
 the Third,) by Margaret, daughter and heiress of Sir Thomas de 
 Monthermer, son of Kalph de Monthermer, Earl of Gloucester and 
 Hertford. He married Agnes, daughter of William Dudley, Esq., 
 of Clapton, resided in tlie Manor House at Hemington, and 
 together with his wife Avere buried in Hemington Church, where a 
 monument to their memory remains unmutilated. It consists of a 
 iiat grey stone, with brass figures of himself and wife, in the cos- 
 tume of the age in which they lived, in the middle of the stone. 
 At their feet is an inscription on a brass plate—" Of your charitie 
 pray for the soules of Thomas Mountagu, gent, and Agnes his Wiff, 
 which Thomas decessed y'' 5th day of September y' yer of our 
 Lord 1517. On whose soules J hu have mercy." On the corners 
 of the stone are four escutcheons of arms. On the top, 
 
 1st, Montagu quartering a griffin scssant. 2nd, the same 
 quartcrings empaling Dudley. A choveron between three lions' 
 heads erased. And at the bottom, 3rd same as 2nd. 4th empaled 
 coats of 2nd. 
 
 This Thomas Mountagu previously to his death settled divers 
 lands in Hemington upon his son and successor Edward Moun- 
 tagu; and by iiis will, the manor of Hemington, not included in
 
 92 UlSTORICAL NOTICES. 
 
 the settlement, with several messuages and parcels of land and 
 ■wood in Hemington, Kingsthorpe, Polebrook, and elsewhere, was 
 also given to his son Edward in tail, with remainder to John his 
 brother, with remainder in tail to Elizabeth Warner, his sister. 
 
 Edward Montagu entered the Middle Temple, attained to a 
 great knowledge and proficiency in the law, and as a Member of 
 Parliament possessed much influence in the House of Commons. 
 In the twenty-third year of Henry the Eighth (a.d. 1532) he was 
 admitted a Sergeant-at-Law, and with others, then elected, kept 
 so sumptuous a feast at Ely House for five days, the King, Queen, 
 and the whole Court honouring him with their presence, that it 
 almost equalled the magnificence of a Coronation dinner. In the 
 year 1538 he was appointed the King's Sergeant, and received the 
 honour of knighthood, and the next year was advanced to the 
 office of Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench. Enjoying 
 largely the favour of his Sovereign, Henry the Eighth, he was re- 
 warded by that monarch with princely munificence, which the 
 general dissolution of monasteries gave him the opportunity of 
 doing. In the thirty-first year of his reign (a.d. 1540) he granted 
 to him for a certain payment, the lands formerly belonging to the 
 Abbeys of Ramsey and Thorney, in Hemington and Luddington. 
 
 In short, this king's liberality made him very wealthy. His 
 possessions and influence extended over the greater part of his 
 native county, to which he seemed particularly attached, and to 
 which he delighted to devote his riches, so that there is scarcely a 
 town, village, or hamlet in Northamptonshire, but the name of 
 Montagu is recorded in its annals. 
 
 In the year 1546 he resigned the oflSce of Chief Justice of the 
 King's Bench, and was appointed Lord Chief Justice of the Court 
 of Common Pleas. Henry the Eighth placed so much confidence 
 in the honour and integrity of Sir Edward Montagu, that he 
 appointed him one of the sixteen executors of his will, who by 
 their counsels were to assist his son Edward the Sixth, both in his 
 public and private afi'airs. 
 
 On the accession of Queen Mary he was removed from his office 
 and committed to the Tower, because he had been engaged with 
 Dudley, Earl of Northumberland, in drawing up the will of 
 Edward the Sixth, which settled the crown on the beautiful, ac-
 
 IIEMINGTON. 93 
 
 complished, but unfortunate Lady Jane Grey, at his decease. Sir 
 Edward left behind him a written document, stating tlie reasons 
 for his conduct and a vindication of it, which is published at large 
 in " Fuller's Church History." After six weeks' confinement in 
 the Tower, he was set at liberty, and retired to his seat at Bough- 
 ton, where he died A.D. 1556, and was buried, not as Strype has 
 recorded at Hemington, but at "Weekly where may still be seen an 
 altar-tomb to his memory. 
 
 At his death, his son and heir, Edward Montagu, was twentj'- 
 four years of age, and he was one of the representatives of the 
 county of Northampton, in the first parliament of Elizabeth. He 
 was knighted in 1567, and in 1570 was appointed Sheriff of the 
 same county. He was a gentleman of strict justice and piety, 
 entirely devoted to the service of his country, and in every relation 
 of life an exemplary pattern of wisdom and virtue. He died at 
 Boughton, A.D. 1601, was buried at Weekly, where there is an 
 altar-monument to his memory, and to that of his wife, Elizabeth, 
 eldest daughter of Sir James Harrington, of Exton, in the county 
 of Rutland. 
 
 After his death it appears that his relict, Elizabeth, (commonly 
 called " the blind Lady Montague,") resided in the Manor House 
 at Hemington, and probably died here, on the 19th of May, 1618, 
 leaving an annual charity to the widows of Hemington and Lud- 
 dington. This lady appears to have been the last of this family, 
 who resided in this house. 
 
 Her son, Edward, created first Lord Montagu, of Boughton, in 
 the nineteenth year of James the First, (a.d. 1627,) let this resi- 
 dence to Sir John Hewit, Bart, under very peculiar circumstances. 
 
 Sir John had given, it is said, offence to some one high in 
 favour at the Court of Charles the First, and as a punishment, he 
 was appointed (A.D. 1632) Sheriff of Northamptonshire, although 
 several statutes had provided that the sheriff should have sufficient 
 lands in the same shire to answer the king and his people. He 
 however, had no land in that county, and tlierefore hired this 
 Manor House, during the time he was compelled to serve this 
 office. 
 
 The imposition of the sheriffalty upon him under such circum- 
 stances, and for such a cause, was generally looked upon as a
 
 94 HISTORICAL NOTICES. 
 
 hardship upon Sir John, and as an unlawful and arbitrary stretch 
 of power. 
 
 In the year 1666, the old church of Hemington becoming much 
 dilapidated, the abovementioned Lord Montagu undertook to re- 
 build it, and at that time pulled down the greater part of the old 
 family mansion, and with its materials, tradition asserts, rebuilt 
 the church, with the exception of the tower, which still remains, 
 much smaller than before and without a chancel : and the windows, 
 by their resemblance to those in the part of the house left stand- 
 ing, attest the truth of this tradition. 
 
 The following literal extract transcribed from the parish register, 
 and recording an accident at the Hall, may prove interesting to 
 some readers : — 
 
 1568 Francis Cooke was buried ^ All these fyve were 
 
 the xij"' of march 1568 killed with a 
 
 John Timbowson ^ were bu [ dampe in one 
 
 Thomas Gauge I ried y^ ( night in a ncAve 
 
 Thomas Wherrington ^same 
 William Skinner J Day 
 
 '6' 
 lodginge at the 
 
 haule 
 
 The remaining part of this ancestral residence of this celebrated 
 family, situated about a quarter of a mile eastward of the church, 
 is built of stone, and from its appearance and lofty dimensions 
 seems to have been the hall of the mansion, but is now divided 
 into two tenements. In one of them, there still remains the 
 original chimney j^iece of fine freestone, about nine feet wide and 
 reaching to the ceiling, with fluted columns, and of an elegant 
 and elaborate design. It has fortunately escaped serious injury, 
 though much disfigured with successive coats of whitewash ; 
 it is a fine specimen of the age in wh: "h it was ei'ected, most 
 inobably in the latter part of the fifteenth century. 
 
 The house was formerly surrounded by a moat, which inclosed 
 about eight acres within its bounds, and which is now easily 
 traceable, especially on the east and south sides. On the south 
 are the fish ponds, about 170 yards in length, now dry; beyond 
 that the terrace about twehe yards in width, bounded by the
 
 WADENHOE. 95 
 
 moat, Avhile the fields around, though inclosed more than 200 years, 
 are still called parks. 
 
 This parish in the year 1849 was united with the adjoining 
 parish of Luddington, and at that time the present noble and 
 munificent proprietor of the estate, the Duke of Buccleuch, built a 
 handsome and commodious parsonage, on the south side of and 
 adjoining the church yard, which not only aftbrds to his tenantry 
 at Hemington the advantage of a resident clergyman, but is also 
 an ornament to this retired village. 
 
 The Rev. Fred. Johnson is the incumbent of this parish and of 
 Luddington, to which he was presented by his Grace the iJuke of 
 Buccleuch. 
 
 VII. 
 WADENHOE. 
 
 This small but pleasantly situated village derives its name from 
 the Saxon words, " Waden," a ford, and " hoe," a hill, a designa- 
 tion, which very aptly describes its situation, as on a rising ground 
 on the margin of the river Nen. 
 
 This manor, before the time of William the Conqueror, was 
 held by Albericus, of the Bishop of Constance in Switzerland. 
 After passing in succession through various hands, it was forfeited 
 to the Crown by the attainder of the Eai-1 of Lancaster, who came 
 into possession of it, by his marriage with Alice, the only daughter 
 of William Longspe ; but on his death, it was granted again by 
 Edward the Second (a.d. 1323) to his widow, Alice, who after- 
 wards married Ebulo Strange, a younger son of Lord Strange of 
 Knokyn, and in this fomily it continued for several generations. 
 In the reign of Henry the Eighth this manor passed to Sir I'owlctt, 
 Knt. Again reverting to the Crown it was granted by Edward 
 the Sixth (a.d. 1551) to Sir Walter IMildinay, Knt., whose son 
 Antony succeeded to the property. Mary, the only daughter of 
 Sir Antony Mildmay, married Sir Francis Fane, who was created 
 bv King James the First, Baron Burghersh and Earl of West-
 
 96 UISTOIUCAL NOTICES. 
 
 morelancl (a.d. 1625) to whom this estate came on the death of Sir 
 Antony, and in that family it continued for a long period, and 
 eventually came into the possession of Thomas Welch Hunt, Esq., 
 whose melancholy end, and that of his respected bride, so soon 
 after their marriage, cast a sorrowful gloom over the neigh- 
 bourhood, and elicited the greatest sympathy and mournful 
 interest from all to whom the circumstances were known. Taking 
 a tour of pleasure into Italy, their carriage was stopped by robbers, 
 and a single shot from one of them mortally wounded both the 
 husband and the wife. The Banditti were afterwards appre- 
 hended, and proved to be four gamekeepers who had been dis- 
 charged from the service of the King of Naples. They were 
 convicted on their own confession, and shot for this and other 
 crimes. The following inscription, copied from a tablet, erected 
 to their memory in the Church of Wadenhoe, will tell the melan- 
 choly story better than a more detailed account : — 
 
 " Sacred to the memory of 
 
 Thomas "Welch Hunt, Esq., 
 
 Late Proprietor of the estate and Manor of Wadenhoe, 
 
 And of Caroline his Wife, 
 
 Eldest daughter of the Rev. Charles Euseby Isham, 
 
 Hector of Polebrook in this county, 
 
 Who M'ere both cruelly shot by Banditti, 
 
 Near Psestum in Italy, 
 
 On Friday the 3d of December, 1824. 
 
 He died on the evening of the same day. 
 
 Having nearly completed his 2Sth year. 
 
 She died on the morning of the following Sunday, 
 
 In the 23d year of her age. 
 
 After a union of scarcely ten months; 
 
 Affording an impressive and mournful instance 
 
 Of the instability of human happiness. 
 
 Their remains were interred in one grave at Naples. 
 
 ' They were lovely and pleasant in their lives, 
 And in their death they were not divided." 
 
 II Sam., 1 ch. 23 verse.
 
 HLFORD. 97 
 
 On his death this estate became the property of his aunt, and 
 next of his nephew, the Rev. Geo. Hunt, of Buckhurst, near 
 Sunning Hill, Berkshire, in whose hands it now remains. 
 
 vin. 
 
 LILFORI). 
 
 LiLFORD House, the seat of the Right Honourable Lord Lilford, 
 is situated on a gentle eminence, rising from the banks of the 
 Nene, and in a beautiful park. It is a very handsome and exten- 
 sive building in the Elizabethan style of architecture, and makes a 
 very striking appearance, Avith its square-headed windows, clus- 
 tered chimneys, and ornamented gables. It was originally built 
 by the family of Elmes (a.d. 1635) but has been much enlarged 
 and improved by the late, as well as the present noble proprietor, 
 and a fine terrace and pleasure grounds have lately been added. 
 
 The park is pleasantly diversified, is bounded by the river Nene 
 on the west, and the stone bridge over it, with its fluted pilasters 
 forms a very prominent and pleasing object in the view from the 
 hall ; while over the river is seen the little village of Pilton, the 
 church, and the old manor house, now the rectory, but formerly 
 belonging to the family of Tresham. There is from this house a 
 fine rural landscape over the meadows and surrounding country, 
 bounded in the distance by the picturesque church of Wadcnhoe, 
 the still more distant spire of Aldwinkle St. Peter's and the 
 tower and pinnacles of Aldwinkle All Saints'. Lilford is about 
 one mile and a half from Barnwell, and a walk from thence to 
 Lilford House affords many charming rural scenes, and subjects 
 suitable for the pencil of the artist, or the pen of the poet. 
 
 It is worthy of record here that this noble family lost two dis- 
 tinguished scions, the fifth and sixth sons of the first Lord Lilford, 
 during the present century, in the service of their country. 
 
 The Hon. Charles Powys attained at an early age the rank and 
 command of Captain in the Navy, and his conduct, ability, and 
 zeal in his profession augured well for his future success, had he
 
 98 HISTORICAL NOTICES. 
 
 not at the age of twenty-one been cut off in the midst of a very 
 promising and prosperous career by fever in the West Indies in 
 the year 1804. 
 
 The next, the Hon. Henry Powys, while commanding a com- 
 pany in the 83rd Regiment of Foot died the death of a hero at 
 Badajoz in Spain, when that fortress was besieged a second time 
 in the spring of the year 1812, and taken by the late Duke of 
 Wellington, with the heavy loss to the British of 3860 men, and 
 1010 Portuguese, and to the enemy of 1200 men, besides those 
 killed during the siege, and 4000 men with Philippon, their general, 
 taken prisoners of war. During this memorable siege the Hon. 
 Henry Powys, being chosen leader of a forlorn hope against the 
 outworks of that fortress, gallantly headed his storming party on 
 this dangerous service, was the ttrst to scale the walls, and the 
 first cut down by the enemy. Thus he fell gloriously in his 
 country's cause, much lamented by the army in which he served, 
 and by his friends at home, in the twenty-fifth year of his age. 
 
 A tablet to the memory of these honoured sons of Lilford is 
 erected in the church of Achurch. 
 
 IX. 
 
 FARMING WOODS. 
 
 Farming Woods, the seat of the Right Honourable Vernon 
 Smith, M.P., who came into possession of this property on the 
 deaths of the Ladies Fitzpatrick, whose virtues, benevolence and 
 charity, endeared them to the hearts of all to whom they were 
 known, and whose memory will long survive in the neigh- 
 bourhood. This estate was formerly a part of the ancient forest 
 of Rockingham, but now forms a private chase of considerable ex- 
 tent, abounding in deer and game. The mansion was originally 
 one of the forest lodges, but very great improvements and impor- 
 tant additions were made by the late noble Ladies, and more ex- 
 tensive still by its present proprietor, so that it is now a residence 
 of considerable pretensions, and to the admirers of rural and wood- 
 land scenery the estate ofi'ers many charming and secluded views
 
 FOTHEBINGHAT. 99 
 
 among its ancient trees and " wild fantastic thorns " of singular 
 and romantic beauty. The pleasure grounds and gardens, in the 
 time of the lamented Ladies Fitzpatrick, were not so much to be 
 admired for their extent, as for their elegant simplicity and neat- 
 ness, their lovely show of roses and cottage flowers ; but since their 
 death these have been much enlarged by the present proprietor. 
 
 X. 
 
 FOTHERINGHAY. 
 
 Simon St. Liz, second Earl of Northampton, into whose hands 
 the manor of Fotheringhay came by his marriage with Maud, 
 daughter of Judith, niece of William the Conqueror, fost built the 
 Castle of Fotheringhay. After his death, Maud married David 
 the First, King of Scotland, whose successors Malcolm and William 
 the First thus became the owners of this Castle and Lordship. 
 William conveyed them to David, his brother. Earl of Huntingdon. 
 His son John le Scot possessed them at his death, but dying with- 
 out issue, they fell to two of his nieces, and at length into the 
 iiands of the English crown. The Castle and estate were next 
 granted to John de Britain Earl of Richmond and nephew of 
 Edward the First ; but this Earl dying without male issue, they 
 were granted to his granddaughter, Mary de St. Paul, whose 
 husband Aylmer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, was accidentally 
 killed in a tournament on the day of their marriage.* 
 
 In her time, this fortress was described as built of stone, walled, 
 embattled, moated, and containing ten acres within its bounds. 
 
 At the death of Mary de Valence, Countess of Pembroke, this 
 manor was granted by Edward the Third to his fifth son, Edmund 
 Langley, then a minor, and afterwards Duke of York, who rebuilt 
 
 I This incident induced his widow to renounce the world, and devote 
 her large possessions to acts of piety and beaevolence. In pursuance of 
 this design she founded Pembroke Hall, at Cambridge, obtaining a 
 Charter of Incorporation from Edward the Third, and endowed it for a 
 Master and six Fellows, &c., &c.
 
 100 IIISTOEICAL NOTICES. 
 
 the greater part of the Castle, particularly the keep in the form of 
 a fetter-lock, which with a falcon in the centre became the favourite 
 emblem of the House of York. From him, his son Edward, Earl 
 of Rutland, inherited this lordship, but, being killed at the battle 
 of Agincourt, and leaving no issue, the castle and manor fell to 
 his nephew, Richard, Duke of York, son of Richard Plantagenet, 
 Earl of Cambridge, and second son of Edmund Langley, who re- 
 built the Castle. This Richard married Cecilia Nevill, commonly 
 called the Rose of Raby, daughter of Ralph Nevill, first Earl of 
 Westmoreland, and here his son Richard, Duke of Gloucester, 
 afterwards Richard the Third, was born. 
 
 After the death of Richard, Duke of York, in the battle of 
 Wakefield in 1460, Edward, Earl of March, his son, succeeded to 
 his titles and estates; and this Castle seems to have been the 
 favourite residence of that celebrated family. 
 
 Here the Duchess Cicely spent the greater part of her life after 
 her husband's death, and here Edward the Fourth came by water 
 from Croydon, after quelling the insurrection of the Northmen, to 
 meet his Queen, and take up his residence, when Alexander, who 
 styled himself King of Scotland, swore to do fealty and homage to 
 Edward within six months of his obtaining the Scottish Crown. 
 This Castle was settled by Henry the Seventh on his Queen 
 Elizabeth, the only representative of the house of York ; and after- 
 wards given as a dowry by Henry the Eighth to Catharine of 
 Arragon, who was much attached to it as a residence. 
 
 After her death the Castle ceased to be the abode of royalty, 
 and was converted into a state prison in the reign of Mary, when 
 Edward Courtney, Earl of Devonshire, was confined here a short 
 time on suspicion of being concerned in Wyatt's rebellion. 
 
 But the event, which will long render this spot interesting to 
 the student of history is its connection with the melancholy fate of 
 the beautiful, and unfortunate Mary, Queen of Scots, who after 
 being imprisoned in various castles for eighteen years, was at last 
 closely confined here under the custody of Sir William Fitzwilliam 
 of Milton, during the last six months of her life. In this castle 
 was she tried and beheaded in its great hall on the 18th of Feb. 
 1587, and her remains were first interred on the following 1st of 
 August, in Peterborough Minster, but removed by her son James
 
 LIVEDEN. 101 
 
 the First, on Oct. 11th, 1612, to the chapel of Henry the Seventh 
 at Westminster. 
 
 Elizabeth's treatment of this accomplished Princess, her cousin, 
 and a fugitive, who sought her protection, must ever be considered 
 as the foulest blot on the annals of her reign. 
 
 It has been said that James the First ordered the demolition of 
 this castle, but whether this was so or not, it is certain that in the 
 last year of King James' reign, it was surveyed, and its condition 
 fully reported, and that soon after it was consigned to ruin. The 
 great hall was purchased by Sir Robert Cotton, and the beautiful 
 arches and columns which adorn his seat, at Conington, Hunts, 
 now the residence of John Heathcote, Esq., were most pro- 
 bably those, which divided the hall at Fotheringhay into three 
 aisles. And the fine old oak arm chair now preserved in the 
 church at Conington, is supposed by some to have been one, 
 which once formed a part of the furniture of the castle. Other 
 materials were purchased by Robert Kirkham, Esq. to build a 
 chapel in his residence at Fineshead, and almost the last remains 
 of the castle were used during the last century for repairing the 
 navigation of the Nene ; so that now scarcely a vestige remains, but 
 the mound, on which this castle, so celebrated in the annals of this 
 country, was built. 
 
 This manor was granted by James the First to Lord Mountjoy, 
 Sir Edward Blount, Knt., and Joseph Earth, Esq., and the two 
 latter on the death of his lordship conveyed the estate to his lord- 
 ship's natural son, afterwards created Earl of Newport. After 
 passing through various hands it became the property of Thomas 
 Belsey, Esq., and at a recent period was purchased by the present 
 Lord Overstone, in whose hands it remains. 
 
 XI. 
 LIVEDEN. 
 
 Of this interesting ruin we subjoin the following extract from a 
 publication by the author of the present work : — 
 
 "This noble edifice was erected by Sir Thomas Tresham, of
 
 102 HISTORICAL NOTICES. 
 
 Rushden, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and is a splendid monu- 
 ment of his taste, and one of the finest specimens of the decorated 
 style of architecture of that age. It is built of freestone, of ex- 
 traordinary close texture, and the masonry is so admirably exe- 
 cuted, as to seem but the work of yesterday : the edges of the 
 cornices, and of the different sculptures still retaining all their 
 sharpness, freshness, and beauty, and the cement is as strong and 
 hard as the stones themselves. It is in the form of a Grecian cross, 
 with a projection of windows at each end, of four angles, and five 
 squares, of very singular appearance. The building consists of 
 three stories, of which the lower is half under ground. The grand 
 entrance was undoubtedly from the north, on the second story, 
 where a beautifully executed doorway still remains, and the ascent 
 to which was to be by a flight of steps no doubt of some noble design. 
 That this was the original intention is plain, as the plinth and cor- 
 nices, &c. are not at this point carried round the building but ter- 
 minate abruptly. The archways in the interior are uniform 
 throughout, and of the same design, and are seen through this 
 doorway with much effect. Above the first story without, is stone 
 work, in the form of escutcheons running along the whole of the 
 building, some quite finished — some in a half-finished state, and 
 others with their outline barely traced — plainly proving how sud- 
 den and unexpected was the blow that occasioned the suspension of 
 the work. These shields or escutcheons are in compartments of 
 three, between each angle, &c. Upon the second story, in stone 
 compartments, also running throughout the building, are singular 
 sculptures, executed with much care, emblematical of the sufi"er- 
 ings and crucifixion of our Saviour."— See pages 32, 33, of a 
 work entitled " The Ruins of Liveden, Avith Historical Notices of 
 the Family of Tresham, and of its Connection with the Gunpowder 
 Plot." Bv T. Bell. 4to. Plates. Masters, Bond Street, London. 
 
 JOSKPH MASTKRS AND CO., PRINTERS, ALDEBSGATE STllEBT, LONDON.
 
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