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Bequest of
COLONEL EDWARD LINUS GAUL
of the Class of 1860
1925

FAMILY EOIANCE;

OE,

EPISODES IN THE DOMESTIC ANNALS

THE ARISTOCRACY.

BY
J. BEENAED BUEEE, ESQ.,
AUTHOB OP
' THE PEEEAOE AND BAEONETAGE," '' THE LAITDBD GEHTKT,"
"anecdotes op the ABISTOCEAOY," &a.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. L

LONDON :
HURST AND BLACKETT^ PUBLISHERS,
SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN,
13, GEEAT MAELBOKOUGH STREET,
1853.

LONDON.
M. S. MTEES, PEINTEE,
22, TA-yiSTOOK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.

i'^:

CONTENTS

THE FIRST VOLUME.

Pagk
The Heir op Thirlestane - - 1
The Beresford Ghost Story - 9
Maria Stella, Lady Newboeough 15
TiaE Story op Colonel James Roch 35
The Prehen Tragedy - 60
The True Romance op Edward Wortley
Montague - 96
Newbury and its Records - - 125
The Legend op the Angry Bear - 140
The Wynyard Ghost Story - 147
The Star op the Pretender - - 159
The Beautiful Countess op Strathmore - 170
A Tale of the House of Yvery - 182

11 CONTENTS. Page
The Curious Claim to the Crawford Peerage 193
The Twins - 207
Leaders of Fashion; from Gramont to D'Orsay 212
The Pitt Diamond 265
Westburn's Dream • . 272
The Death op Dundee - 276
The Puritan's Curse - - - 295
The Earl of Hopetoun's Dinner at Stang-Hill 307

FAMILY EOMANCE.

THE HEIR OF THIRLESTANE.
One of the most distinguished Cadets of the
great House of Buccleuch was Scott, of Thirle
stane. Some genealogists even incline to think that
the head of that branch is now also the chief of
the great Border Clan of Scott, the Duke of
Buccleuch's male descent being derived, not from
Buccleuch, but from King Charles II. Be that
as it may, the Barons of Thirlestane were among
the chief men on the Scottish Borders, and their
hereditary loyalty has been attested by the deeds
VOL. I. B

2 FAMILY KOMANCE.
of arms of ages, and was rewarded and commemo
rated by the grant of the Royal Double Tressure
of Fleurs de lis, as an honourable augmentation
to the original Arms of Scott, while the alacrity
of the Baron of Thirlestane, who was King James
the Fifth's contemporary, to hasten to the Royal
Standard, was marked by the new crest assigned
to him, of a sheaf of spears, -with the appropriate
motto " Ready, aye Ready." The last of these
stalwart border chieftains, in the direct male line,
was Sir Robert Scott, of Thirlestane, who
flourished in the time of King James the Sixth.
His first wife, a beautiful and amiable woman,
whom he tenderly loved, was a daughter of the
House of Harden, now represented by Lord
Polwarth. She died young, leaving an only son,
the catastrophe of whose untimely fate, involving
as it did, the ruin of his family, we have here to
record. Sir Robert's second wife was an unprin
cipled woman, of vindictive temper, and fierce
passions ; and by her he had several children.
This woman had all the qualities calculated to
make an oppressive and cruel step-dame ; and ac
cordingly her jealousy was excited by the fond
affection which Sir Robert displayed towards
his eldest son. She knew that his rich inheri
tance would descend to him, while her ovra sons
would receive a very slender provision ; besides,

THE HEIR OF THIRLESTANE. 3
her husband's excessive attachment to his eldest
son gave her no hope of his being persuaded to
alienate from him any portion of the family
property. Her jealousy accordingly grew into a
disease, and her mind was distracted with rage
and mortification. These feelings were still
further aggravated, when Sir Robert built the
Tower of Gamescleugh, and adorned that pro
perty with all manner of embellishments, as the
future residence of his eldest son, who was now
about to come of age, and for whom he had
arranged a suitable and advantageous matrimonial
alliance with a beautiful young lady of high birth.
The step-mother now lost all patience, and was
firmly resolved to compass the destruction of her
hated step-son. The mason-work of the new
Castle of Gamescleugh was completed on the
young Laird's twentieth birth-day, which was
held as a high festival at Thirlestane. The Lady
resolved that his hours should now be numbered ;
and she accordingly prepared, on the intended fes
tival, to execute her horrid purpose. She had
already secured in her interest the family piper,
whose name was John Lally. This man procured
three adders, from which he selected the parts
replete with the most deadly poison, and having
ground them to a fine powder. Lady Thirlestane
mixed them in a bottle of wine. Previous to

4 FAMILY ROMANCE.
the commencement of the feast at Thirlestane,
the young Laird went over the Etterick River
to Gamescleugh, to inspect the finished work,
and to regale the masons and other work
people, who had exerted themselves to have the
Castle walls completed by his birth-day. He was
attended by John Lally. In the midst of the
entertainment of the workmen, the young Laird
called for wine to drink their healths ; and John
filled his silver cup from the poisoned bottle, which
the ill-fated youth hastily drank ofi". The piper im
mediately left the castle, as if to return home.
But he was never more seen. The most diligent
search failed in discovering him ; and it is sup
posed that he escaped across the English border.
Young Thirlestane was instantaneously taken vio
lently ill, and such was the force of the poison
that he swelled and burst within an hour. The
news was immediately carried to Thirlestane,
where a large party of the kith and kin of Scott
had assembled to do honour to the festival. But
it may easily be conceived what a woeful gathering
it turned out to be. With one accord, the guests
felt and said that the young laird was poisoned,
but were unable to conceive who could have done
so foul a deed to one so universally beloved. The
old baron immediately caused a bugle to be blown,
as a signal to all the family to assemble in the

THE HEIR OF THIRLESTANE. D
castle court. He then enquired " Are we all here? "
A voice from the crowd answered, " All but the
piper, John Lally ! " This sounded like a knell
in the ears of Sir Robert. He knew the confi
dence which his lady placed in this servant. His
eyes were at once opened to the foul deed, and
the conviction that his most dear and beloved son
had been slain by the machinations of his wiie,
shocked his feelings so terribly that he was almost
deprived of reason. He stood very long in a state
of utter stupefaction, and then began to repeat
the answer which he had received. And this he
continued to do for several days. " We are all
here but John Lally, the piper ! " Sir Robert
lived in a lawless time, justice was not rightly ad
ministered, and it was difficult to punish the crimes
of the powerful and noble. Moreover, Sir Robert
could not be induced to seek to make a public
example of his own wife. However, he adopted
a singular and complete, though most unjust me
thod of vengeance. He said that the estate be
longed of right to his son, and that since he could
not bestow it upon him while living, he would, at
least, spend it upon him when dead. And he
moreover expressed great satisfaction at the idea
of depriving his lady and her ofispring of that
which she had played so foul a part to secure to
them. The body of the young laird was accord-

6 FAMILY ROMANCE.
ingly embalmed vnth the most costly drugs and
spices, and lay in state at Thirlestane for a year
and a day ; during the whole of which time Sir
Robert kept open house, welcoming and royally
feasting all who chose to come. And in this way
of reckless and wanton profusion he actually
spent or mortgaged his entire estate. While the
whole country, high and low, were thus feasting
at Thirlestane, the lady was kept shut up in a
vault of the castle, fed upon bread and water.
During the last three days of this extraordinary
feast, the crowds were immense. It was as if the
whole of the south of Scotland was assembled at
Thirlestane. Butts of the richest and rarest wine
were carried into the fields ; their ends were
knocked out with hatchets, and the liquor was
carried about in stoups. The bum of Thirlestane
literally ran red with wine. The vault where the
young laird was interred, in a leaden coffin, is under
the roof the church of Etterick, which is distant
from Thirlestane upwards of a mile ; and so nu
merous was the funeral procession, that when the
leaders had reached the church, those in the rear
had not nearly left the castle gates. Sir Robert
died soon after this, and left his family in utter
destitution. It is said that his wicked lady died in
absolute beggary. The extensive possessions of the
old Baron of Thirlestane were sold, and the name

THE HEIR OF THIRLESTANE. 7
of the family would have been swept from off the
face of the earth, if it had not been for the pru
dence and good fortune of a cousin of the old
knight, of the name of Francis Scott. He con
trived to buy up a considerable portion of the
estate and ostensibly carried on the line of the
Thirlestane family. However the elder branch
continued to exist, though in the deepest poverty.
And it is not long since, the rightful heir of Thirle
stane, nay, possibly, the chief of Buccleuch was
labouring for his daily bread, with the sweat of
his brow, as a common peasant. Between twenty-
five and thirty years ago, the nearest male descend
ant of Sir Robert Scott, the last Baron of Thirle
stane, in the direct line, was a poor man of the
name of Robert Scott, who was then old, childish,
and the last of his race. He seems to have been a
fine specimen of the Scottish peasant, intelligent,
right-minded, and with some degree of the con
scious dignity of ancient blood. Some interesting
particulars are to be found concerning him in
"Remarks on the Partition of the Lennox," a
work written with a view to set forth Lord Na
pier's claims as heir of the line of the ancient
Earls of Lennox, and in which, incidental mention
is made of his lordship's paternal ancestors of
Thirlestane. The younger branch of the Scotts continued to

8 FAMILY ROMANCE.
possess Thirlestane with credit and honor. A
baronetcy of Nova Scotia was bestowed on Sir
Francis Scott, who married a daughter of the
Marquis of Lothian. His son, Sir William Scott,
married the "mistress of Napier," that is to say,
the lady who was heir-apparent of the Napier
peerage. She was the only child of Mr. Brisbane,
who held respectable situations under government
in the reign of Charles IL, by his wife, the sister
of the third Lord Napier, who on the death of her
nephew Nicolson, Baronet of Carnock, the fourth
Lord Napier, became Baroness Napier in her own
right. Sir William Scott was the father of a son
Francis, who, on succeeding his grandmother in
the Napier peerage, became fifth Lord Napier, and
thought proper to abandon his paternal surname
for that of the title which he had inherited through
two females. By his marriage with the Ladv
Henrietta Hope, daughter of the first Earl of Hope-
toun, Francis, the fifth lord, was ancestor to the
present peer, and to the distinguished Admiral,
Sir Charles Napier, while by his second wife he
was ancestor to the no less distinguished General
Sir Charles Napier, and his brother. Sir William
Napier, the able historian of " The Peninsular
War."

THE BERESFORD GHOST STORY.
This strange and marvellous story has been
ere this, given to the world by others, but in a
shape so utterly false as regards the real agents,
and with so many absurd additions, under the idea,
no doubt, of rendering it more efiective, that we
venture to tell it here as related to us by a
descendant of the family. Even the persons of
this spectral scene have been totally mistaken.
The ghost and ghost-seer were not the individuals,
to whom the usual narrators have chosen to assign
those parts ; they were James Le Poer, third
and last Earl of Tyrone, of that name, and
Nicola, daughter and heiress of Hugh Hamilton,
Lord Glenawley. She married first Sir Tristram
Beresford, third bart., who commanded a regiment
against James the Second — and by him was
mother of Sir Marcus Beresford, created Earl of
Tyrone after his marriage with Catherine, Baroness
B 3

10 FAMILY ROMANCE.
Le Poer, heiress of James, third Earl of Tyrone.
Her husband dying. Lady Beresford next married
Lieutenant-General Gorges, of the Kilbrew family.
It has always heretofore been asserted, that Lord
Tyrone (the ghost) and Lady Beresford (the ghost-
seer) were cousins, but even this connection has
never been discovered. Without further preface,
then, we come to the true tradition : — At a very early
age. Lord Tyrone and Lady Beresford had been on
terms of intimate friendship, such as can only
exist in extreme youth, and with a romantic spirit,
not at all surprising at their age, entered into a
mutual compact that whichever of the two died
first, should, if the thing were possible, appear to
the other. Years rolled on, the lady had married
and become a widow, and had probably forgotten
her youthful promise, when she was suddenly
reminded of it in a manner, that was impressive if
not awful. It was on the 19th of August, 1704,
for tradition has preserved the day with wonder
ful exactness. Lady Beresford went to bed in full
health, as it seemed, without any one remarking,
or herself being conscious of, the slightest de
pression of spirits, or change in her usual habits.
After a time she awoke from her first sleep, and to
her infinite surprise saw Lord Tyrone standing by
her bed-side. While she yet continued to gaze
in disturbed wonder, the figure informed her that

THE BERESFORD GHOST STORY. II
she saw the ghost of Lord Tyrone, that he was
then in bliss, and had only come, in fulfilment of
the promise made in their youthful days. To
convince her that it was no dream, he wrote his
name in her pocket-book, twisted the curtains
through a great ring in the ceiling, left the print
of his hand upon a wardrobe, and finally laying
his finger upon her wrist made an indelible mark,
in further testimony of his nocturnal visit. He
then foretold that she would marry again, be
exceedingly unfortunate in her marriage, and die
at the birth of a child, in her forty-second year.
Sleep soon again came over her, but, upon
awaking in the morning, the events of the night
burst at once upon her memory. They could not
have been, as she at first imagined, the shadows of
a dream ; there were the curtains twisted through
the ring in the ceding ; there was the print of a
hand upon the wardrobe ; there was the singular
mark upon her wrist, and so indelible that she was
fain ever afterwards to hide it with a band of black
velvet. If, after such proofs, any doubt could still
have remained, it was removed at breakfast by the
arrival of a letter announcing Lord Tyrone's
death. We wiU not mar an interesting tale by
suggesting the very ob-vious modes for explaining
away all that may appear supernatural in it. Let us
rather go on to show that the ghost was a veracious

12 FAMILY ROMANCE.
ghost, and had already acquired a clear insight
into futurity. The soothsayer, who prophesied
to Julius Caesar his death at the Ides of March,
was not a truer prophet.
" It had such influence on the wido-w's mind
That she the pleasures of the -world resigned.
Young as she -was, and from the busy to'wn
Came to the quiet of a village down ;
Not as insensible to joys, but still
With a subdued but half rebellious -wiU."
So sings the poet Crabbe, who has told this tale, but
falsified the main facts without improving thera in
the telling.
In process of time, the impression made upon
the lady's mind by the appearance of the spirit,
had so much diminished that she listened to the
addresses of a General Gorges, and, after a short
delay, consented to marry him. He was somewhat
younger than herself, and though an ardent lover,
soon proved to be a very indifferent husband.
" His day of love, a brief autumnal day,
E'en in its dawning, hastened to decay."
It is now too late to ask who was in fault, nor,
indeed, would any particular end be answered, if
we could attain the knowledge. Enough, that
the disputes between them at length rau so high
as to produce a separation.

THE BERESFORD GHOST STORY. 13
It would have been well for the lady had she
remained true to this second widowhood ; but,
with a perverseness, not uncommon on such occa
sions, no sooner had the angry pair separated,
than they began to regret their quarrels. Like
the parted couple in the farce of " Matrimony,"
each forgot the previous grounds of complaint,
only remembering the good points of the other,
and thus like Adolph and Clare, they came toge
ther again with as much, if not more love, than
they had felt when first united.
Lady Beresford soon proved enceinte and was
now near the time of her confinement. Being her
birthday, she had invited a party of friends, and,
in the overflowing satisfaction of the moment,
chanced to remark, " Well, I never expected to
see this day ; I have now completed my forty-
third year." " Not so," replied the old family
clergyman, " I officiated at your ladyship's
christening, and can certify that you are to-day
only forty-two." She had not then passed the
fated and fatal limit — she might yet die, as the
ghost had predicted, at the birth of a child, and in
her forty-second year ! The shock thus occasioned
was too much for one in her delicate situation ;
she was immediately seized with the pains of pre
mature labour and died that night. Brief as the
interval was, she is yet said to have related the

14 FAMILY ROMANCE.
ghost story to her son, Sir Marcus, who after
wards so far verified it, that upon uncovering her
wrist, he found the impression of a finger.
Such are the authentic particulars of the tale as
handed down in all branches of the family. What
ever else has been advanced upon the subject must
have owed its origin purely to the luxuriant ima
ginations of the narrators, who must needs render
the romantic more romantic, and the improbable
more improbable. We have already disclaimed
all intention of attempting to solve the mysteries
of this riddle, yet we cannot help adding that it
seems to us capable of a very natural and easy
explanation, much easier at all events than under
standing how the immutable laws of Providence
should be reversed or suspended for the purpose
of telling a lady the hour of her death, with the
certainty that the information would be useless.

15

MARIA STELLA, LADY NEWBOROUGH.

Sir Thomas Wynn, Bart., descended from a
very ancient family in North Wales, was created
a Peer of Ireland in 1776, by the title of Baron
Newborough. In 1766, he married Lady Cathe
rine Perceval, daughter of John Earl of Egmont,
and by her, who died in 1782, had an only
son John, who died without issue in 1800. Some
little time previous to that date. Lord Newborough
was resident at Florence; and as he was partial
to theatrical entertainments, he had a box at the
principal Opera. Here he was very much attracted
by the grace and beauty of an extremely youthful
Ballerina, whose name was Maria Stella Petronella
Chiappini. It was not long before he sought her acquaint
ance ; and her sprightliness and charming manners
completed the conquest which her winning face and
twinkling feet had commenced. Lord Newbo-

16 FAMILY ROMANCE.
rough was a man of honour and worth ; and if he
did not, in this instance, act with the prudence
which befitted his very mature years, he could not,
at all events, be reproached with want of prin
ciple. He made the acquaintance of the father of
the fascinating dancing-girl, and found that he had
been the jailor of a country town not far from
Florence ; and that the same spirit of cupidity
which induced him to sell his pretty daughter's
talents to the master of the ballet, would induce
him to listen to the offer of a still heavier golden
bribe. A bargain was soon struck between the
peer and the jaUor, and Maria Stella was trans
ferred from the Florentine stage to the mansion of
her veteran admirer.
But the conduct of Lord Newborough towards
his prize was tender and delicate in the extreme.
Trusting that his unwearied kindness and affection
would, in due time, remove the repugnance occa
sioned by the uncommon disparity of years, he
immediately made Maria Stella his wife : and car
rying her to England, he introduced her to the
world as Lady Newborough. It was not long
before his attachment met with its due reward.
Maria Stella was deeply sensible of her husband's
kindness ; and she soon loved and honoured him,
as she was bound to do, during the years that he
was spared after their marriage. And this union.

LADY NEWBOROUGH. 17
Strange and incongruous as it at first seemed, made
the old peer very happy, and secured the transmis
sion of the title in his very ancient and noble family.
For, although, soon after his second marriage,
he lost his only son by his first wife, Maria Stella
made him the father of two sons, Thomas John,
born in 1802, successor to his father, and Spencer
Bulkeley, the present Lord Newborough, born in
1803. The old Lord died in 1807, leaving his large
fortune to his sons, with an ample provision to his
vddow. Lady Newborough soon felt a natural
desire to revisit her native land, and again see her
father and mother, from whom she had been sepa
rated at so early an age. She accordingly returned
to Italy shortly after the death of her husband, and
took with her her two boys. She seems to have
been a very kind-hearted woman, with much
genuine good feeling ; though to judge from the
memoir that she published of her life, she never
had repaired by mental culture the defects of her
imperfect education.
On arriving at Florence, her first care was to
seek out her father, whom she found settled there
in a much superior condition to that of his earlier
career. He and all the members of her family
treated her with profound respect ; but with much
distance and reserve. This distressed the affec-

18 FAMILY ROMANCE.
tionate heart of Maria Stella, who entreated them
to forget that she had, by marriage, become a
great lady, and to treat her as their daughter and
sister. The only member of her family in whose
intercourse she had any satisfaction was her father,
who seemed sincerely attached to her, and grateful
for her affection ; by all the rest she was treated
with coldness, but with the most deferential re
spect; especially by her brother, who had now settled
in Florence as a medical practitioner. This unex
pected demeanour on the part of her own family
distressed her ; and above all she was annoyed by
the constant impediments thrown in the way of all
freedom of intercourse between her and her father.
Her brother contrived that they should never be
left alone together, and when he himself was ne
cessarily absent, he always arranged to station
some one of the family near the old man, so that
Maria Stella never had a word of confidential com
munication with him.
Vexed and mortified, beyond expression, by
this restraint, she felt the immediate vicinity of her
father and his family irksome to her, and, after
many vain attempts to break through the ice of
frigid deference, she removed with her children
from Florence, and spent some time in different
parts of Italy. It is impossible not to feel a
kindly regard for Maria Stella, on account of her

LADY NEWBOROUGH. 19
unsophisticated goodness of heart. How few low
born girls there are, who, when raised to high
place by a freak of fortune, would not rather turn
coldly from their obscure and vulgar connections
than atempt to force them to associate on terms
of intimacy. But Maria Stella's was no sordid
mind ; and that, among other things, may be
taken as a collateral proof of her high lineage,
which was, at that time, so little suspected by
herself. She and her boys continued to linger on for
some years in her native Italy, when news was
brought her that old Chiappini was at the point
of death. She hastened, with the most anxious
affection, to Florence, which she reached a few
days before the old man died. She found him
perfectly sensible and apparently delighted to see
her ; but here again, all freedom of intercourse
with her father was denied to her, the brother
constantly stood in the way. And although
Chiappini most earnestly entreated to be left
alone with his child, his wishes were not attended
to. There was something very remarkable in the
anxious expression of the dying man's counte
nance. He was evidently most desirous to im
part important information to her. He sometimes
began a sentence, which was cut short by an omi
nous look from his son ; until, at length, the fatal

20 FAMILY ROMANCE.
moment arrived when old Chiappini breathed his
last, with his wish to impart some secret to his
daughter still ungratified.
This scene made a most painful impression on
the mind of Lady Newborough. She knew not
what to think or to suspect. But she saw that a
strange mystery existed, which concerned her,
which her father wished most earnestly to re
veal, but of which the rest of the family were
resolved that she should continue in ignorance.
Her affection for her father was the only link that
bound her to her family, who merited nothing but
coldness from her. Accordingly that link was no
sooner broken than she bade them farewell for
ever, departed from Florence, and ceased entirely
to correspond with them.
About six months after Chiappini's death, while
Lady Newborough and her children were residing
in a different part of Italy, a packet was mysteri
ously put into her hands, of which the superscription
made her start, as it was in the well-known hand
writing of her father. She had no sooner opened
the letter which the packet contained than her
whole attention was rivetted. This letter had been
written by Chiappini after the commencement of
his fatal illness, but before he was laid on his death
bed, and before Maria Stella returned to Flo
rence. But, foreseeing how difficult it might be

LADY NEWBOROUGH. 21
to obtain even a moment of confidential conversa
tion with her, he had taken the wise precaution
of writing that which he so much desired to com
municate to her, and he had entrusted the letter
to a friend, in the hope that after his death, it
might be permitted to reach his daughter's hands.
"But," said he, "my daughter you are not;
and this denial of a relationship which your
kindness has made me love, is the bitter portion
of this confession. But I make it, though it
covers me with shame, on account of the fraud of
my early life, tbat it may be beneficial to you.
Instead of being the child of an obscure father in
a small provincial town, you are by birth that
which a righteous Providence has made you. When
Lord Newborough married you he was little
aware that you were of a rank equal, or perhaps
superior, to his own, and it was to me in some mea
sure a salvo to my conscience when you became a
great English lady : for I had, even then, begun
deeply to repent of the evil injustice towards you,
to which I was a party. But if I was guilty, how
much greater was the guilt of your real father !
About four months before your birth a grea t foreign
nobleman and his lady arrived in our town, with a
numerous Italian retinue, and hired the principal
house from the Marchese B  , and Lord  .
It was said that they were French, and of illus-

22 FAMILY ROMANCE.
trious rank and great wealth. The French lady
was far advanced in her pregnancy, and so was my
wife.- I was much astonished by the affability of
this great foreigner, who sent for me, gave me
money, made me drink wine with him, and ex
pressed a wish to serve me in every possible way.
After repeated conversations he disclosed his pur
poses to me, with large bribes and commands to
secrecy. He told me that it was absolutely ne
cessary, on account of the weightiest family rea
sons, that the child which his countess was about
to produce, should be a son ; and therefore, he
urged me, in the event of her giving birth to a
daughter and my wife bearing a son, to allow the
children to be exchanged. It was in vain that I
attempted to dissuade him; remarking that his
countess was young and beautiful, and that he
had reason to expect yet many sons, even in the
event of her then giving birth to a daughter.
The count affirmed that it was necessary that this
child should be a son, and he succeeded in over-
persuading me, by his large bribes and great offers
of favour and protection hereafter, to consent
conditionally to the exchange. He assured me
that, in that event, my boy should be nobly
provided for, and that he would fill one of the
highest places in Europe. Every thing turned
out according to the count's precautions, His

LADY NEWBOROUGH. 23
lady had a daughter, and my wife a son ; the
children were changed; I was made comparatively
rich; the countess speedily recovered; and she,
her husband, my boy, and their numerous Italian
suite speedily left our quiet little town, and were
never more heard of. I must bear witness to
the noble liberality with which the count, your
father, fulfilled his engagements. For the course
of seven years large sums of money were re
mitted to me, with the strictest injunctions
as to secrecy, and terrible threats were held
out to me in the event of my divulging the
strange story. I was enjoined, above all, to keep
the matter secret from you when you grew up.
My wife and my eldest son alone were admitted
to a full knowledge of the whole transaction.
And this will account for their anxiety to prevent
any intercourse between us, for they well knew
that I had long ago repented of the injury that
I had done you, and that I was anxious to make
whatever reparation to you, was yet in my power.
Truly thankful was I when the great English lord
placed you in the position to which your birth
entitled you ; and great was my anxiety, when
you returned to Italy, to throw myself at your
feet, confessing the truth, and craving your pardon.
This was denied me in life. I hope that it may
please God to cause this confession to reach you

24 FAMILY ROMANCE.
after my death ; and that you will even then
grant me your pardon. If I had it now, I should
die more contented."
Chiappini then concluded his letter by' giving
the name of the little Tuscan town where Maria
Stella had been born, together with the names
of the Marchese, its Lord, and of his steward,
who, if alive, was probably still resident there.
They two alone were acquainted with the name
of the great French nobleman, her father, which
was carefully concealed from every one else.
The towns-people only knew him and his lady
by the name of the French Count and Countess,
and all their servants were strangers to them,
hired in Florence.
It may well be imagined that Lady Newborough
lost no time in visiting the little Tuscan town
where Chiappini told her that she had been born.
On enquiring for the Steward of the Marchese, she
found him still alive. Though he was now very
aged, his memory was perfect, and he spoke of
the events which preceded Maria Stella's birth as
if they had happened yesterday. Lady New
borough was careful not to give him any reason
to believe that she took a peculiar interest
in the circumstance, and she gradually elicited
from him all the information that she required.
He told her that the French count was indeed a

LADY NEWBOROUGH. 25
man of very high rank and great wealth, and that
his name was the Comte de Joinville. Having
procured his written attestation as to the facts of
the case, as far as he possessed them, Lady New
borough proceeded to Florence, and attempted to
put herself in communication with the Marchese,
the steward's master. Him, however, she found
quite impenetrable. He affected total ignorance.
The probability is, that he knew too much, and
that if she had addressed herself to him in the first
instance, she never would have learned anything.
However, here was something gained. Maria
Stella was not the daughter of the obscure
Chiappini, but of a man of great fortune and high
rank — a French nobleman, the Comte de Joinville.
For some time she was puzzled as to the next
step she ought to take. After some con
sideration, she resolved to prosecute her search in
France. She accordingly made straight for the
town of Joinville ; and inquired who the noble
man was to whom the principal estates in the
neighbourhood belonged ; and who it was that,
properly speaking, was entitled to be called Comte
de Joinville ? It was not long before she found
that the object of her search was no less a person
than his Highness the Duke of Orleans, the first
prince of the blood of France, after the family im
mediately reigning. Astonished and delighted by
VOL. I. c

26 FAMILY ROMANCE.
this result, which opened to her prospects magnifi
cent beyond her wildest dreams, Maria Stella
hastened to Paris.
It may be proper to state that, before the
restoration of the Bourbons, (after which event
Lady Newborough arrived at Paris,) she had
contracted a second matrimonial alliance, we
believe as early as 1810, with a Livonian noble
man of very ancient and illustrious family and of
considerable fortune, the Baron Von Ungarn-
Sternberg. Note. — The family of Ungarn-Sternberg is a
widely-spread family, and is one of the noblest and
most powerful of any in the three German provinces
of Russia. Livonia, Esthonia, and Courland, were
conquered from the Pagan Wends at a very early
period by the German Knights of the Sword,
Schwerdt Ritter, an order of Spiritual chivalry, like
the Teutonic Knights, Deutsche Ritter, the con
querors of heathen Prussia. These conquering
missionaries offered to the conquered, death or
slavery. And , accordingly, they reigned over them
for many centuries with an iron rule. The Knights
of the Sword do not appear to have long preserved
the character of an ecclesiastical order of chivalry.
The sovereignty of the three provinces fell into
secular hands But the entire lands of the con-

LADY NEWBOROUGH. 27
The issue of this second marriage was a son.
After a time. Lady Newborough and the Baron
do not appear to have lived much together. He
quered countries became the possession of the
nearest heirs male of the conquering knights, so
that a noble colony of feudal lords came to be
perpetuated, all of German descent, who inter
married exclusively with one another's families,
and maintaiued themselves as a class apart from
the native population. And even now, it is be
lieved that scarcely any estate in Livonia,
Esthonia, or Courland, is held by a family of
Wendish blood, with the exception, perhaps, of
that of Prince Lieven. All are genuine German
nobles of ancient feudal descent; and all have
embraced the Lutheran faith; though they are
now the subjects of a zealous monarch of the
Greek faith.
Among the noblest of these German lords are
the Ungarn-Sternbergs, and the head of one of
the chief branches of this family, was the
husband of Lady Newborough. He was the son
of a very celebrated man, who acquired a most
villanous reputation, towards the end of the last
century, as the Lord of the island of Dago, who
acquired a large accession to his fortune by follow
ing the trade of a wrecker, as it is called in
c 2

28 FAMILY ROMANCE.
gave her no support or countenance in the prose
cution of her extraordinary claims, to which she
devoted the remainder of her life. Indeed, it
has been stated by a nephew of the Baron, that his
uncle was in receipt of a large annual allowance
from Louis Philippe, then King of the French,
to induce him' to withold his aid from his energetic,
though ill-judging, lady.
Maria Stella arrived in Paris, we know not in
what year, but during the reign of King Louis
XVIII. She established herself in a handsome
hotel, and immediately published in all the prin
cipal newspapers this advertisement — " If the
heir of the Comte de Joinville, who travelled and
resided in Italy in the year 1773, will call at the
Hotel de  rue  he will hear of some
thing greatly to his advantage."
Having laid this trap. Lady Newborough
waited at home next day to watch the result. In
Cornwall. He hung out false lights from the
rocks of Dago ; which caused the shipwreck of
many vessels, which the Baron and his followers
plundered, having murdered their crews. However,
this very singular man was, it is said, a person of
most polished manners, who had spent his early
life in courts, to which he was well entitled from
his high birth and great connexions.

LADY NEWBOROUGH. 29
the course of that morning, she heard the sound
of a heavy man and two sticks, on her stairs, and
the door of her saloon being thrown open.
Monsieur I'Abbe de  ¦ was announced. A
very corpulent clerical gentleman, supported on
crutches, advanced towards her, and addressing her
with an air of perfect good breeding, inquired
whether Miladi was the publisher of the adver
tisement in the newspaper which he held in his
hand, and to which he pointed. Maria Stella
remembered her own affiche, and answered
in the affirmative. "Eh bien, Miladi," replied
the courtly Ecclesiastic ; "je viens de la part de
Monseigneur le Due d'Orleans." Astonished
at the success of her scheme. Lady N. enquired
in what way the Duke could be interested by her
advertisement ? " Assurement, miladi, son Altesse
y'est vivement interessee, car il est I'heritier du
Comte de Joinville." " How so ?" demanded Lady
N. " Peut etre, miladi ne salt pas," replied the
Abbe, " que le pere de son Altesse, feu
Monseigneur le Due d'Orleans, etait aussi
Comte de Joinville, et prenait ce titre la
quand il etait en voyage. D'aillieurs il voyag-
ait, dans cette annee Ik, en Italie, avant la
naissance de Monseigneur le Due actuel." De
lighted at the statement, Lady N. gently ex
pressed surprise, when the Abbe rejoined, " Eh

30 FAMILY ROMANCE.
bien, Miladi, est ce qui c'est une grande heritage
que son Altesse va recevoir ? " At a question so
very characteristic, coming from an agent of the
clever, money-making, Louis Philippe, Lady New
borough had some difficulty in repressing a smile.
She, however, gave the Abbe to understand that
there was no question at issue concerning any suc
cession falling into the hands of his employer ;
but that she was anxious to discover the identity
of a birth connected with the sojourn of the late
Comte de Joinville, or as he informed her, the
late Duke of Orleans, in Italy in 1773. The
Abbe evidently perceived that he had commit
ted an egregious blunder, and made most unfor
tunate admissions. Rising rather precipitately,
he stammered something about a particular en
gagement which caused him to hurry away ; and,
protesting that he would speedily call again, when
he would be entirely at the service of Miladi, and
assist her in the prosecution of her researches, he
made a succession of profound bows, and hobbled
out of the apartment. Lady Newborough dis
covered that this polite gentleman who had shown
himself so unwary a diplomatist, was, neverthe
less, a very clever man, and the confidential agent
of the Duke of Orleans. Indeed, he was currently
said to be his illegitimate brother, and the natural
son of Egalite ! For no other than he was Count
de Joinville.

LADY NEWBOROUGH. 31
Maria Stella was now thoroughly persuaded that
she was, indeed, the eldest child of the late Duke
of Orleans ; and, in fact, along with Mademoiselle
Adelaide, his only surviving child; Louis Philippe,
the present Duke, being, in her estimate, only a
changeling, and all his younger and real sons
having died. It may be supposed that she was not
a little elated at having, as she thought, made the
certain discovery that, next to the Duchesse d' An
gouleme, she was first princess of the blood of
France, and the rightful heiress of immense wealth.
But this discovery was the ruin of her happiness,
and produced nothing to her in after-life but dis
comfort and misery ; so that it would have been
well for her, if she had ended her days in the per
suasion that she was nothing more, by birth, than
the daughter of the low-born Chiappini. The
prosecution of her princely claims caused the des
truction alike of her fortune and her peace of mind
She appears to have had no judgment, and no
knowledge of character. She allowed herself to
be imposed upon by one swindler after another.
She was betrayed and made a prey of. Her
claims never met with fair play. As to whether
they were true or whether they were false, We will
not venture to pronounce an opinion. But this
is very evident, that they n e ver received that support
or consideration to which they were entitled.

3» FAMILY ROMANCE.
Lady Newborough, Baroness Ungarn Sternberg,
from the moment that she discovered herself to
be a princess, became a most unfortunate woman,
and lived and died unhappy.
She made many attempts to bring her case
forward, unaided by husband or son, and she
became the prey of a succession of sordid and
unworthy advisers. She conceived herself to be
persecuted by the powerful influence of the Duke
of Orleans, and by the overwhelming authority of
her rival when he became King Louis Philippe. It
may, consequently, be supposed that a weak, un
friended, and injudicious woman could effect little
in opposition to a King. She has now been
removed for many years from this earth to the
land " where the wicked cease from troubling,
and where the weary are at rest."
It would be tedious to enter more at length
on this subject ; suffice it to say, that the claims.
of Maria Stella never were investigated. And
their truth or falsity will probably remain a
mystery until the time when all secrets shall be
revealed. It may be remarked, as very improbable that
a recently married and youthful pair like Egalit^
(the former Duke of Orleans) and his Duchess
should so completely have despaired of male issue as
to change their daughter for another man's son.

LADY NEWBOROUGH. 33
Moreover, after this exchange, they had se
veral sons, who grew to man's estate, though they
died in early life. On the other hand, we cannot
tell what peculiar motives, whether of family
or of politics, may have made the birth of a son
in 1773 of the utmost importance to them. Louis
Philippe undoubtedly had little of what was
princely in his appearance. With first-rate abilities,
and many excellent qualities, there was something
about him so bourgeois, that we are certainly not
reminded of a royal paternity.
Lady Newborough has put forth her claims in
a very ill-wrritten little volume, now probably
scarce. She mentions two curious facts ; the first is
— when she arrived in Paris with her little boy, she
went, as a stranger, to see the Palais Royal, then
the residence of the Due d'Orleans ; on arriving
before a large full-length portrait of him, the
child exclaimed," 0 ! mamma, here is a picture
of grandpapa ! " being struck with the remark
able resemblance of the duke to old Chiappini.
The second circumstance referred to by Lady New
borough is this : when Louis Philippe was brought
to the baptismal font, his weight, it is stated, was a
matter of astonishment to those who held him, he
being as heavy as a child of five or six months. And
this would have been about his age if he had been
c S

34 FAMILY ROMANCE.
born in the Tuscan provincial town, and secretly
smuggled to Paris.
Whatever degree of credit may be given to
this story, it is a curious one, and well worthy
of a place among " Anecdotes of the Aristocracy."
Whether Maria Stella was, or was not. Princess
of Orleans and daughter of the King of France,
she was, at all events, the wife, in the first place,
of a Welch baronet and Irish peer, and in the
second, of a great Livonian noble.

30

THE STORY OF COLONEL JAMES ROCH, THE
SWIMMER.
"Where Foyle its spreading waters
RoUs onward to the main,
There, Queen of Erin's daughters,
Fair Derry fixed her reign.
A holy temple cro-wn'd her.
And commerce grac'd her streets,
A rampart waU around her.
The river at her feet ;
And there she sate aloue, buys.
And, looking from the hiU,
Vow'd the Maiden on her throne, boys,
Should be a Maiden still."
Charlotte Elizabeth.
Who has not heard of Derry, the "Maiden
City " of Ireland, as her burghers jealously
denominate her ? Which of us has not hung en
tranced over the " wondrous tale " of her siege,
whether we read of it in the simple diary of George
Walker, or in the graphic pages of Harris and

36 FAMILY ROMANCE.
Graham ; or, touched with the light of romance,
in the glowing narrative of Charlotte Elizabeth ?
What listener to the record of its gallant defence
and the sufferings of its brave garrison, has been
unmoved ? Even if our sentiments differed from
theirs, our sympathies were not withheld. We
saw they contended for a principle ; and we re
cognised the might and sustaining influence it
afforded them, in the midst of trials almost un
paralleled.* But there was a turning point in the events of
the siege, to which our historians have hitherto
insufficiently directed attention. Like as in a
* Not to shock our readers -with the details given by
Walker, of the species of food to which the garrison were
reduced, we shall only mention that, during the siege, horse
flesh sold in the markets of Derry for Is. 8d. per pound;
" a quarter of a dog, fattened by eating the bodies of the
slain Irish" for 5s. 6d. ; a rat for Is. ; a mouse for 6d. ; " a
small flook («. e., flat-fish) taken in the river, not to be bought
for money, or purchased under the rate of a quantity of
meal ; " a pound of salted hides, Is. ; a quart of horse-blood.
Is. The statement given of the ravages of disease and
famine is appalling. Here is one leaf from the diary : —
' ' July 8. the garrison is reduced to 5520 (i. e., from 10,000)
13, „ „ „ „ 5313, loss in 5 days, 207
17, „ „ „ „ 5114, „ 4 „ 299
22, „ „ :, „ 4973, „ 5 „ 141
25, „ „ „ „ 4892, „ 3 „ 81
Total in 17 days  728

COLONEL JAMES ROCH. 37
dreadful sickness there is a crisis, so here there was
a moment when suspense was at its utmost, and
despair had well nigh blotted out every gleam
of hope. The patient endurance of death in its
ghastliest forms, the weary waiting for relief, the
long hoping against hope, all seemed to be in vain.
Human help was a mockery. Human suffering
had reached its limit. The world might be roll
ing on in its accustomed course around them, but
within their walls trouble had thickened, and was
pressing down all hearts with its intolerable bur
den. Whither now might they look for aid ? They
were forsaken. They w ere forgotten. They were
given up as a prey to their enemy's teeth.
That crisis passed away, and was succeeded by
renewed hope and more confirmed resolution to " do
or die." Tidings of approaching relief reached the
garrison by a messenger who perilled his life in
conveying the intelligence. Weak, wounded, and
bleeding, he persevered in his heroic resolution of
visiting them and bringing back an account of
their state. Had it been in the days of old
Rome, his statue would have graced the Capitol,
and his name would have been repeated by a
thousand tongues. In poor neglected Erin, his
deed of glory is but little known. Be it our office
now to lift it into light, and, we trust, to rescue it
for ever from oblivion.

38 FAMILY ROMANCE.
James Roch, whose name is at the head of our
article, had high claims to distinction on account
of hereditary descent ; and gentle blood will
oftenest do gallant deeds. His family, ennobled
in the Peerage of Ireland as Lords Roche and
Fermoy, was derived from Adam de Rupe, one
of the Anglo-Norman knights, who in 1170, ac
companied the Earl of Pembroke at the
invasion of Ireland, and from Adam de Rupe he
was himself seventeenth in lineal progression.*
His own immediate house had their chief seat at
Tourin, a castle romantically situated on the river
Blackwater, in the county of Waterford ; but his
father along with the greater part of his kin,-[-
• Burke's Landed Gentry : Article, Roch of Woodbine
Hill.
f Among these was Maurice, Lord Roche and Fermoy,
who when outlawed by the Protector, fled to Flanders,
where he obtained the command of a regiment. He here
met his Prince, for whom he had suffered so much, alpo
an exile ; and it is recorded that, along -with his kinsmen
George Roch (father of the subject of this paper), and
John Roch his brother, he daUy shared with him his
pay, remaining himself in contented poverty. The
Restoration came ; but Charles had forgotten everything.
Lord Roche's property was never restored to him. In 1667,
he was recommended by the Earl of Orrery to the Duke of
Ormonde as an object of charity ; and, but for, a scanty pen
sion he then obtained, it is probable he would have perished
of want. "It is a grief to me," Lord Orrery wrote, "to see
nobleman of so ancient a family left without any main-

COLONEL JAMES ROCH. 39
had forfeited his estates in the time of the Com
monwealth for his devoted adhesion to the fallen
cause of the Stuarts, and had died an exile in
Flanders. When the War of Succession broke
out, Mr. Roch's military talents were so well
known, that Lord Tyrconnell sent a special messen
ger, inviting him to cast in his lot with James IL,
holding forth, at the same time, as an inducement,
high promises of a speedy restoration to his lost
hereditary possessions. Remembering, however,
the faithlessness of the Stuarts, Mr. Roch not
only peremptorily refused, but directed Trant,
the officer who had come on the negociation, to
announce to Lord Tyrconnell his resolve to take
up arms immediately for the Prince of Orange".
In the WilHamite army he soon attained the rank
of Colonel, and in this capacity was attached to the
expedition under Kirke, sent for the relief of
Derry, June, 1689.
On the 7th of this month, when, from sheer
tenance ; and being able to do no more than I have done,
I not deny to do for him what I could do, to lament
his lamentable state to your grace." And if we needed
further comment on the precept — " Put not your trust in
prmces," we have it in the fact, which has been vouched for
by eye--witnesses, that a Lady Roche, of the second or
third generation from this nobleman, was seen soliciting
alms in the streets of Cork ! The peerage is now in abey
ance; and direct issue ha-ving failed, the claimants make
out their descent iu a coUateral Une.

40 FAMILY ROMANCE.
famine, the brave defenders of the beleaguered city
were daily dropping into the grave by scores,
there were seen at the entrance of the river three
large ships, whose appearance justified every ex
pectation of immediate assistance. They were
English. They were sea-borne. Their ensigns
indicated their sympathies. The vessels pressed
in under easy sail, until they reached the narrow
part of the river; and here, frightened by the
heavy batteries of the besieging army, and tbe
mighty boom which stretched from bank to bank,
they paused. To the horror of the starving towns'-
people, the crews on board, having surveyed the
difficulties, and hesitated awhile, as if uncertain in
their movements, hauled again their courses on the
opposite tack, and sailed away out of sight. A
week passed over. The Cathedral burying-ground
was gorged with four-hundred additional corpses,
when a watcher, who had climbed the tall pinna
cle of the spire, announced a forest of shipping at
the mouth of Lough Foyle ; and after some hours,
which seemed like ages, a fieet of thirty sail, the
promised succours under General Kirke, could be
seen distinctly from the town. But Kirke, who
possessed in scant degree the spirit of a British
soldier, proceeded no farther than did the former
vessels. The heavy guns of Charles' Fort, the
endless lines of musketeers on either shore, and

COLONEL JAMES ROCH. 41
more than all, the fatal boom, seemed to him im
passable. Signals were made by the town, ex
pressive of the extremity of its condition ; and
still Kirke wavered. He responded to their entrea
ties, by hanging out certain fiags, expressive of
his kind wishes to the garrison, and of his intention
to help them ; but he gave no command to his fleet
to carry out these views. At length, a resolution
was come to ; and of what nature ? That, con-
considering relief impossible by the river, he
would defer any attempt until further reinforce
ments reached him from England ; but that he
would send in a message to the towns'-people, bid
ding them keep up their spirits, and to " be good
husbands of their victuals.*" Could pusillanimity
descend to a lower depth ? Here were thirty
ships, stored with victuals, ammunition, and other
supplies, for the perishing inhabitants of Derry,
arrived at the close of a long voyage made for
this end ; and the individual entrusted with the
sacred duty of throwing in the help, falters in his
purpose — doubts its practicability — and ends all
vrith determining to leave it undone !
When Kirke's vacillating conduct became gene
rally know throughout the fleet, it created a uni
versal feeling of disgust. It was felt to be the
humiliating confession of his own incompetency.
And when his wish to despatch a letter to the
* The words of his letter to Governor Walker,

42 FAMILY ROMANCE.
Governor was declared, the want of confidence in
his administration and the little desire entertained
by any to carry out his plans, were shown in the
silence with which his proposal was received. Not
a man stepped forth to undertake the duty. With
many, no doubt, the extreme peril of the task
weighed sufficiently. The enemy were masters of
every approach by sea and land to the devoted
town, the gibbet awaited the capture of the mes
senger ; and, when the highest in command betrays
irresolution or apprehension, a panic is generated
which descends through all ranks to the humblest
serving under him. Kirke, amazed and confounded,
stormed with passion, upbraiding his men with
cowardice, (a taunt which proceeded with an ill
grace from such as himself I) ; and finally, changing
his voice to supplication and entreaty, he offered a
premium of three thousand guineas to the soldier
who was willing to become his messenger.
There was one, all this while, who stood on the
frigate's deck silent and thoughtful, apart from the
crowd, ever and anon casting wistful glances on
the distant hill, whence the booming cannonade
proclaimed that Derry was yet untaken. He had
heard with astonishment the tidings of his General's
lukewarmness and feeble purposing. He had lis
tened, with disdain, to the golden hopes held forth
for a venturesome envoy. His heart burned within
him, as he thought of brave men, helpless women.

COLONEL JAMES ROCH. 43
and innocent children, sacrificed to selfish imbeci
lity ; and a bitter smile gathered on -his lip, as he
whispered to a brother-officer near him, the over
mastering sensations of his bosom :
" Can nothing be done to save them?"
" Nothing !" was the reply.
"Then I go myself"—
And as he spoke. Colonel Roch (for it was he),
impetuously sought the General's presence ; and
in a few brave words, that thrilled all, save Kirke
himself, announced his determination to be the
bearer of despatches to the Governor of the city.
He disclaimed the reward as offered by the
General, alleging that if he failed and fell, he
could not claim it, or would not merit it ; but
that if he succeeded, the salvation of so many of
his fellow-countrymen would be its own rich re
compense. Kirke heard him graciously. His
letter, written to the heroic George Walker, was
folded in a piece of bladder, to preserve it from
the water, and to this packet a few leaden bullets
were attached, to sink it, if the bearer was about
to be made a prisoner. Colonel Roch received
many special messages for divers of the garrison ;
and amidst the prayers and blessings of his com
panions, was rowed in a small skiff down the lough,
in the direction remotest from the city, and
beyond the furthest sentinel of the enemy.

44 FAMILY ROMANCE.
He stepped ashore, his life in his hand, but
willing to lay it down in the duty he had under
taken. It was summer — bright, joyous, summer !
The birds carolled on every tree. The green
sward he pressed with his foot bore a thousand
insect lives on its flowers and blossoms, and sent up
rich perfumes that thrilled his heart with rapture.
There was a silence, a hallowed peace on every
side. Derry stood eleven miles distant ; not a cry
of the combatants, not a single echo of musketry
could be heard. For a moment, it appeared as if
the scene on board the shipping he had quitted, or
the anguish of the town to which he was repairing,
was a dream. Where could such things exist,
while heavenly quietude had descended on earth ?
How could the jarring passions of men stir them
selves for misery and ruin, when the God of
nature, the Father of mercies, had poured his
blessings abroad on hill-side and dale ?
The pause lasted but a moment ; images, strong
stern images of war and its woes rose up before
him. The desolated city, with her famine-swept
streets, swam before his sight too keenly, too
clearly, to be counted as a vision ; it was all a
terrible reality. And feeling this, he nerved him
self for action, and turned precipitately away.
He had marked well the position of the town,
and resolved to avail himself to the utmost of the

COLONEL JAMES ROCH. 45
woods, which, circling the hills above him with
foliage, reached down to the margin of the lough,
and mirrored their dark masses in its clear glassy
waters. He had seen from the vessel's deck that
the trees stretched themselves in the direction of
Derry from this quarter, and grew thick and close
until they almost reached the suburbs. Perhaps,
under their friendly shadow, he might pass King
James' sentinels ; and where the forest would not
hide him, in the immediate -vicinage of the town,
he would commit himself to the water and be
swept up, at a fit time, by the current. With the
noiseless tread of an Indian hunter, Roch now
sped on his journey. Every sense seemed ab
sorbed in that of hearing. Soon, full soon, the
dull, distant note of heavy ordnance broke the still
ness, and sounded "nearer, clearer, deadlier than
before," as he painfully tracked his way through
the tangles of the wood. He often saw the light
glancing on hostile arms through vistas among the
trees. He often heard the measured tread of
soldiery passing to and fro in a road just beneath
him. He sometimes caught a glance of the white
canvas of an encampment, and could even distin
guish the refrain oi the wild songs of its inmates.
And through all he passed, unseen, unnoticed ; as
if, like the Trojan prince, some friendly divinity
had encircled him in a clouding vapour. But now

46 FAMILY ROMANCE.
the trees became thin. The axe had gone among
them. They were felled here and there, and con
cealment was impracticable. It was certain de
struction to go further. A living mass of men,
the main body of the enemy, occupied the
ground between him and the city. He must re
main in his present position until the shadows of
night. And so, burying himself anew in the forest-
brake, the intrepid soldier awaited darkness. The
elements were propitious. Heavy clouds began to
gather. The wind moaned dismally, and gradually
increased to a tempest. The sun went down in
anger. Thick drops of rain began to fall. They
thickened, until the flood-gates of heaven seemed
to open and pour down their torrents on the earth.
The sentry tightened his jerkin about him, and
ceased his methodical round. His fellows drove
down their tent-pins more tightly, straining and
fastening anew the cords ; and then, running be
neath the canvas, drew across the flapping drapery.
The dumb beasts sought the shelter of the forest.
And now, denuding himself of his heavy upper
garments, bare-headed and unbooted, Roch creeps
forth from his hiding-place. He traverses the en
campment without observation. He passes un
challenged one guard after another. He reaches
the water-side. The war of the elements forbid

COLONEL JAMES ROCH. 47
any watching ear to detect a splash. The swim
mer is strong for his purpose, although three long
miles of the river must now be gotten over. The
tide rushing up from the lough bears him onward;
and long before the sun has glittered on the thin
spire of the cathedral — long before his rays have
lighted up the enclosure of the Diamond,* a band
of the 'Prentices have admitted, through the ferry-
gate, Kirke's wearied envoy, and the tidings he has
brought are circulated far and wide through the
town. And now, one day to be with them — one day,
to meet their leaders, and take counsel together-
one day, to go among the burghers and confirm
them in their resolution — one day, to see with his
own eyes the state of the town, that he may report
it on his return — one day, and the same, to refresh
himself; and he will leave them. On the evening
after his arrival, at nightfall, Roch is again breast
ing the waters, and bears -with him Governor
Walker's reply. Again, he passes the long wind
ings of the river in safety, and reaches his lair in
the forest unharmed. But the foeman has been
there in the interval; and the clothes he had hidden
are removed. Another messenger, despatched
Boon after himself, had been taken prisoner and
* A parallelogram in the centre of the city of Derry, from
which the four principal streets radiate to the four gates.

48 FAMILY ROMANCE.
immediately gibbeted ; and the whole ofthe wood
is alive with scouts. It is not long ere pursuers
are upon his track. Like a hunted deer, he flees
away before them, his only hope being the thick
underwood. Into this he dives deeper and deeper.
The briars tear gashes in his uncovered limbs,
and send streams of gore down his person. He
has escaped ! He has left them behind ; and hark !
their voices grow fainter and fainter, as they rush
away in a wholly different quarter of the forest.
For nearly an hour the wearied one remains in
his covert, almost unbreathing ; and now he comes
forth, that he may retrace his steps. For three
miles he passes through the forest, and comes again
to the water-side. But he has lost his way. Ere
he can plunge into the river, he is in the midst of
a party of the enemy's dragoons. To their cry
" Rendez-vous," he makes a motion for escape.
Whereupon one burly trooper lifts a halbert, and
infiicts a ghastly wound on his head, breaking his
jaw-bone. The rest grasp him to make him a pri
soner; but his want of clothes saves him, and
he slips from their hold. One effort more for life!
Bloody and disfigured, Roch leaps into the river;
and none are so courageous as to follow him. But
pistols are plucked from the holsters, and instan
taneously a score of bullets plash in the water.
Three hit him, in the arm, breast and shoulder :

COLONEL JAMES ROCH. 49
and his whole frame is convulsed in agony. Still,
he strikes out ; for he will drown rather than
yield. Offers come to him, across the water, of rich
reward, if he vdll give up his letter. Life is
promised, and liberty, but all in vain. He still
persists in his effort. Shots are again discharged
at him, but happily without effect. He grows
faint in a little while from the loss of blood; and now
thinks the parting moment near. But he perceives
he is borne back again towards the town. Its fair
hilly seat again comes before him. He makes one
more gallant struggle, and it is successful. He
reaches land, and is taken up by the grateful bur
ghers, to faint and fall down before them, almost a
lifeless corpse.
How long he lay in this swoon, he could
not tell ; but kind faces were around his bed when
intellect slowly returned. The voice of prayer
was going up in his behalf. Walker, Baker, and
other gallant souls knelt in his chamber. In a few
days, he was abroad. It was no holiday time ; it
was no season for nursing wounds. Having failed
in delivering to General Kirke the governor's
letter, he will transmit some tidings at least by
telegraph ; and (according to a system he had
arranged before he quitted the fleet), he now,
signals from the steeple of the cathedral, informs
the shipping in the lo^gh of the state of the,
VOL. I. d

50 FAMILY ROMANCE.
garrison, and of his own misadventure and wounds.
The chief inhabitants, at the same time, hold a
meeting, at which they determine to bury them
selves in the ruins of their city ; and the resolution
is adopted, that any individual who makes mention
of " surrender " is to be tried by court-martial ; and
shall, on its sentence, immediately suffer death.
More than a month passed by. In the interval,
the fleet, under Kirke, left the river ; and the lines
of circumvallatien were drawn closer and closer
around the deserted town, yet the courage of its
defenders sank not. Occasional sallies were made ;
in the hope of carrying off some of the besiegers'
cattle, and were generally attended with success.
But starvation and sickness did their offices
steadily ; and miserable Derry became one huge
charnel-house. The mortality during the month of
July, exceeded 2,000. On the 28th and 29th
alone, more than 400 of the garrison perished.
On the 30th, a solemn service was performed in
the cathedral, when Walker addressed the feeble
survivors. He declared that " he felt in himself an
unshaken confidence that they could not be entirely
deserted by over-ruling Providence, and reminded
thein of the many signal mercies they had received,
and of the importance of their defence of the
Protestant religion ; and inferred from these con
siderations the inference, that when at the worst
they would obtain deliverance."

COLONEL JAMES ROCH. 51
The congregation dispersed, some to keep watch
and ward on the bastions ; some to climb the
cathedral spire, and strain their eyes towards the
river in search of help ; some to walk moodily
to lonely homes, whence " the old familiar faces "
had gone for ever. An hour had passed, when
three large vessels were espied entering the
deserted roadstead. The suspense and anguish of
the inhabitants rose to its height. They hung out
a red flag from the cathedral to signify their
mortal distress. They fired several guns. They
rushed dovni to the water-side, crying out now
OR NEVER ! They encouraged the crews on board
by every species of exclamation and entreaty.
The vessels pressed on ; and the shore on either
side became wrapped in flame. The guns on the
several redoubts forced their deadly missiles into
the ships, as they swept by ; but there were
heroes on board, who disregarded all. And now
the boom is being approached ; and one gallant
ship shoots past the rest, as if impatient to close
with it. She reaches it — she, crashes upon it ; the
shock is irresistible ; the mighty barricade heaves
and groans. It breaks in twain, and the diverging
sides are hurried open by the tide. But the
Mountjoy herself recoils from the blow ; her
sails flap idly on the masts ; she is stranded under
the enemy's guns ; they raise a shout of triumph,
d2

52 FAMILY ROMANCE.
and swarm down to board the vessel ; she fires her
broadside among them, and by the shock of her
guns is carried back into deep water, and floats
again. But her captain, the gallant Browning,
and several of his men now fall dead from the
musketry ; and the triumph of the moment is
lost in their fall, " The contest after this," writes
the Rev. James Willis,* " was quickly at an end:
the three vessels entered without any further im
pediment : they were the Phcenix and the Mount-
joy transports, commanded by Captains Douglass
and Browning, and convoyed by the Dartmouth
frigate. Captain Leake; thej'' contained a large
and needful supply of beef, meal, and other
provisions — and the heroes of Derry were saved,
just when their entire provisions was barely
enough to keep them two more days alive. At
this moment there remained alive 4,300 men, of
7,300 originally numbered within the garrison.
Their provisions consisted of nine lean horses,
and one pint of meal per man." The blockade
was at an end. The besieging army drew off to
Strabane, Of the 20,000 men, of whom it had
been composed, nearly 9,000 had fallen before the
walls, chiefly from the sallies of the garrison.
And Colonel Roch — was he forgotten ? Not
* " Lives of Illustrious fipd Distinguished Iri.shmen,"
Vol. ui. pp. 352, 353.

COLONEL JAMES ROCH. 53
so. The honourable title conferred on him by
those in whose behalf he had so perilled life and
limb, was the swimmer. By this designation he
was ever after known through life ; and by it he
is uniformly distinguished in the family records
and papers. Nor did King William, when he
ascended the throne of England, overlook his
services. In answer to a petition, declaring " that
he (Roch) was sent by Major-General Kirke into
Londonderry at the time of the siege, with notice
of the intended relief, and did, after great hazard
of his life, perform that considerable service,
swimming up the river into the town; and was
forced to stay two nights in the water, and re
ceived three wounds from the enemy's shot, which
disabled him in his body and prejudiced him in
his health ;" the King granted hira, by patent, in
fee, the moiety of the Ferry of his native town,
Kinsale, (the other moiety being in the hands of
Anthony Stowel, Esq., and William Brookes, by
title derived from the Duke of Monmouth, pre
vious to his attainder) together with all the boats,
oars, tackle, furniture, and all fees and perquisites
thereof, and the arrears of rent due to the Crown
since the forfeiture. " Two years after," says
Harris,* " his Majesty made him a grant of all
the undisposed Ferries of Ireland, reserving
* Life of WUUam IIL, pp. 209, 210. DubUn, 1749.

54 FAMILY ROMANCE.
the ancient crown-rents ; the value of which said
Ferries, are recited to be worth above £80 a-year."
This grant embroiled him in many law-suits with
persons setting up ancient titles to several of the
said Ferries, and therefore he made fresh application
to the Crown, that, upon surrendering his former
patent, he might have a grant of the forfeited
estate of James Everard, in the County of Water
ford, reported to be worth £66 a-year, together
with some few Ferries near his habitation. The
King complied with this application, and granted
to hira the said estate, amounting to 1,321 acres,
and also the several Ferries of Kingsale, Donegall,
otherwise called Passage, and Rathconray, in the
County of Cork ; the Ferries of Waterford ;
Passage, and Dungarvan, in the County of Water
ford ; the Ferries of Wexford, Carrick-upon-
Slane, and Ross, in the County of Wexford, and
the Ferry of Ballynard, leading to Bridge Island,
on the river of Rosse, in the Counties of Wex
ford and Kilkenny ; the Ferries of Strangford,
Portaferry, and Narrow Water, in the County of
Downe ; the Ferry of Lifford, in the County of
Donegall ; the Ferries of Annabegg and Longhill,
in the County of Limerick ; aud the Ferry of the
Abbey of Grange, in the County of Mayo ;
together with all the boats, oars, tackle, furniture,
fees, and perquisites, belonging to them and to

COLONEL JAMES ROCH. 55
every of them, and all arrears of rent due there
out, and the reversion or reversions of such of the
said Ferries, wherof any lease or grant for any
term of years or otherwise had been before that
time made, to be held in fee-simple at several
rents amounting in the whole to £34 2s. 11 Jd. It
appears by a subsequent application to the Crown,
that this was an unfortunate choice he made, and
that he was put to the expense of £1,680, in
disproving a pretended settlement of Everard's
estate ; and therefore the King, in the eleventh
year of his reign, made him a grant of some other
forfeited lands in the Counties of Cork and
Meath, returned to be of the clear yearly value of
£95 14s. 4d.
After the death of King William, Colonel
Roch applied to the parliament of England, in
1704, for further relief, setting forth his services,
and the full state of his case. A clause was, in
consequence, inserted in an Act then passing the
Commons, which granted him the sum of
£3,269 7s. 7d., out of certain Irish forfeitures ;
but the funds from which this grant was to be
derived fell so far short of the stipulated sum
that he did not receive above one third ofthe voted
money. In consequence, he addressed, to a sub
sequent Parliament, the following memorial,
which we here insert, as it sets forth a graphic

56 FAMILY ROMANCE.
account of his sufferings and services, and fully
confirms ali the previous statements of this paper.
"the CASE OF CAPTAIN* JAMES ROCH.
" That, in the year 1689, Major General Kirke
was sent to the relief of Londonderry.
" That, while the General lay in the Lough of
Derry, he received intelligence that the Town
was capitulating, and in three or four days was to
be surrendered.
" That all the ways to the town were blocked
up by the late King James's forces ; so that it
seemed impossible for the General to communicate
with the Town.
" That the General, considering it was a dan
gerous enterprise, offered a reward of 3,000
guineas to any person that could carry his orders
into the city ; but it being a business of such
difficulty and danger, no body would undertake it
for some time, till at last, the said Roch, out of
the zeal he had for the late King (of glorious
memory), and for the Protestant Religion, and
interest in Ireland, did undertake the same.
" That the said Roch underwent the hazard of
passing through the enemy's camps and guards,
which extended eight miles ; and when he was
got beyond them, swam down the Lough for three
* His then rank.

COLONEL JAMES ROCH. 57
miles, and by God's blessing, added to his endea-
vouirs, got safe to the town, and delivered the
general's message to the Governor.
" That, after he had so done, and refreshed
himself, but barely for one day, by the command
of Colonel Baker, the then Governor, he returned
to the general with the state of the garrison, and
took water at London-Derry, and swam back three
miles to the place where he had left his clothes.
" That, when he arrived there, he found his
clothes taken away, by which he imagined himself
to be discovered ; but, however, he was resolved to
carry back to the general the Governor's letters,
which were tied in a bladder in his hair, and accord
ingly travelled naked three miles ; but being dis
covered and pursued by the enemy, he was forced
to take shelter in a wood, where the horse could
not follow him, and passed through the wood with
such hardships and difficulty, that he was torn
by the briars, till he was gore blood.
"That, having passed the woods, which brought
him to the water-side, he was met by a party of
the enemy's dragoons, one of which broke the said
Roch's jaw-bone with a halbert, before he could
get into the water, and after he was in the water,
shot at him several times, and wounded him thrice,
in the arm, breast, and shoulder, and offered him
£10,000 in case he would deliver to them his
d3

58 FAMILY ROMANCE.
letters ; but the said Roch's zeal for his religion,
his King, and his country was such, that he chose
to die in the water (which he did expect to be his
fate) rather than betray the trust reposed in him.
"That, after all these difficulties, by God's
providence he got back to London-Derry, and by
signals delivered him by the general before he left
the fleet, gave the general notice from time to time
from the steeple of Derry, how long the town
could hold out.
" That, King William and Queen Mary, out
of a sense of his sufferings and services, did grant
to him forfeited estates in Ireland, to a very con
siderable value ; but the same have been decreed
from him by the late trustees, and he never re
ceived from the said grants more than £180 12s. 5d.,
as by a report of the said trustees may appear.
"That, in the year 1704, setting forth his case
to the Parliament, they were pleased in compassion
to grant him an Act for £3,269 7s. 7d. to be issued
out of the forfeitures in Ireland, which did but
barely re-imburse him the expense he was out of
pocket; so that the petitioner has yet received
nothing of the reward promised him for his ser
vices. " That, the funds upon which the said money
was given proving deficient, and after the expense
of four years' time and a great deal of money, he

COLONEL JAMES ROCH. 59
has only received £1,148 9s Ofd., and no more can
be expected from that fund.
" That he has spent all the small fortune he had
of his own, as well as that he had by his wife, and
both contracted great debts, which have very much
reduced him ; and, unless the honourable House
of Commons will afford him some relief he must
never expect to return to his native country, for
which he has done such signal services, but leave
his wife and children exposed to the greatest
hardships." George Roch, Esq., now of Woodbine Hill,
worthily represents his very ancient and lordly
house.

60

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY
This story, taken from the page of real life,
could hardly be made darker or more improbable
by any infusion of the ordinary elements of
romance. Indeed, the actual features of it, such
as we have them from undoubted records, require
rather to be softened than exaggerated, that the
reader may not turn away in disgust from a tale
that seems almost too atrocioiis for belief. Some
criminals may be invested with a poetic colouring,
and thus reconciled in a degree to our imagina
tions ; but our hero is a thoroughly prosaic
ruffian — he belongs to the school of George Barn
well, and is utterly incapable of being elevated
except at the expense of everything like truth.

the prehen tragedy. 61
John Macnaghton was descended from a Scotch
family, which is supposed to have come over with
King William the Third to Carrickfergus, and
to have afterwards settled at Benvarden, in the
county of Antrim, a place situated at the north
east extremity of Ireland, about six miles from
Coleraine, and two from Ballimony. They were
highly respectable, and enjoyed a considerable
hereditary estate. His father was a magistrate for
Antrim, his mother was a daughter of Henry Mac-
Manus, an alderman of Londonderry ; his uncle also
was a magistrate, and a comet on half-pay, at the
time of Thurot's landing, upon which occasion he
was the first to appear in arms against the invaders,
at the head of two hundred stout militia, whom
he had animated with his own spirit.
The time of John Macnaghton's birth cannot
be precisely ascertained, but it was somewhere
about the year 1722. When he was only six
years old, his father died; and this, which, in any
case, is a great misfortune, was doubly so with a
boy of his disposition, who, even while at school,
exhibited a strong propensity to gambling, and
was moreover a coward, a fault of all others the
least likely to find indulgence amongst his country
men. When only eighteen years of age, he was
challenged by a schoolfellow — but, wanting the
nerve to fight, he was horsewhipped and fled the

62 FAMILY romance.
field. To counterbalance these evil qualities, so
far as they could be counterbalanced, he was
shrewd, possessed undaunted assurance, a good
person, and manners so peculiarly winning, that,
in spite of his notorious character, he managed
to get into some of the first society in the king
dom. This, however, did not avail him with his
grandfather, the alderman, who was so offended
at his love of play, that he left him nothing,
but bequeathed a handsome fortune to his younger
brother. Macnaghton was now of age, and being put
into possession of his own estate, had a wider
field for the indulgence of his gambling mania.
He visited all the fashionable places of public
resort both in England and Ireland, played deep,
and with such ill success that he was obliged to
sell a part of his estate, and mortgage the re
mainder. But fortune had not entirely deserted
him : he contrived to engage the affections of Miss
Daniel, and won the consent of the lady's friends
to their union upon his binding himself by oath
never to play again. The' lady possessed in her
own right about five thousand pounds, but the
whole of this was settled beforehand upon their
younger children.
To all appearance, the gambler was now re
claimed. He treated his wife with the utmost

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY. 63
kindness, and for two years he abstained from
every game of chance. And now appears the first
contradiction in his character ; so sacred was his
oath to him, that however urged by the one
master passion of his mind, he would not on any
account violate it ; but he fully believed that the
oath was no longer binding than those who had
extorted it chose it should be so ; and he did not
hesitate to gain their dispensation of it by a
falsehood. He pretended to his wife, and to her
mother, Mrs. Daniel, that he might have won a
thousand pounds, had he not been tied up from
play, and alleging that the same chance might
again occur, he prevailed upon the ladies to
release him from his obligation. The only check
upon him being removed, he went back to the
gaming table with more zest than ever, playing so
deeply, that he soon became involved in fresh
difficulties. Several suits were commenced against
him for heavy debts, which ended in the issue of
writs, and the despatch of bailiffs to get possession
of his person, according to that wise provision of
the law which makes debt a crime, and punishes
it as such with imprisonment. Upon this occa-.
sion the bailiffs watched their intended prey to
a house where he was spending the evening, but
instead of pouncing upon him when he came out,
they allowed him to get into a sedan, and followed

64 FAMILY ROMANCE.
him to his own house. The moment the chair
stopped, they came forward and announced their
business. Macnaghton declared he would not
submit to be arrested ; the men proceeded to
force, which he as stoutly repelled. Unfortunately,
the scuffle took place beneath the bed-room win
dow of Mrs. Macnaghton, who had then lain-in
about a fortnight, and was anxiously expecting
his return home. Alarmed by the noise, she was
not long in learning what had caused it, when
the fright, together with her distress at the des
perate state of her husband's affairs, gave such
a shock to her nerves, that she fell into a sickness,
which, shortly afterwards, proved fatal.
It would seem that he was affected with genuine
remorse at the lady's death, occasioned, as he well
knew it was, by his own misconduct. So at least
the world judged at the time, and probably with
correctness, for he was yet in the novitiate of evil,
and well and wisely says the Latin proverb, —
" nemo repente fuit turpissimus " — " no one is
utterly bad all at once." But even this feeling,
good in itself, yet served as another step in his
downward course. To get rid of his grief, he
suddenly plunged again into the full vortex of
dissipation, so that in a short time, his affairs be
came more embarrassed. Yet even now, his better
genius had not altogether abandoned him. The

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY. 65
kindness of a noble friend, procured for him the
office of Collector of the King's taxes, in the
town of Coleraine, which was an addition of two
hundred a year to the remnant of his fortune. It
still, then, depended only upon himself to be
happy, if not to entirely redeem his former for
tunes, and he was now bound to abstain from play,
as much by justice, as by gratitude to the friends
who had become security for him upon his re
ceiving the coUectorship. He had pledged him
self to do so, and it was in full reliance upon his
word that they had become his bondsmen. But
even this last sense of honour had now deserted
him. He no longer felt any necessity for obtain
ing a release from his oath, but rushed headlong
back to the gaming table with increased appetite.
The consequence may be easily anticipated. He
risked the money which had come into his hands
as collector of the royal imposts, lost it, and at
the end of two years, being discovered to have
embezzled the large sum of eight hundred pounds,
he was turned out of office, and his securities had
to make good the deficiency.
It would be thought that after such an event
he must have so completely lost all character as no
longer to find acceptance in any decent society.
Such, however, was not the case. So generous is
the Irish disposition, and perhaps it must be

66 FAMILY ROMANCE.
added, so indulgent to moral delinquencies, that
he still found friends amongst the more respectable
classes, who could forgive his faults and admit
him to their intimacy. It is still more surprising
that amongst these should have been one, who had
a son of eighteen, and a daughter about fifteen,
neither of them likely to benefit by such an ac
quaintance. This generous, but ill-judging, gen
tleman was Andrew Eaiox, Esq., of Prehen, Mem
ber of Parliament for Donegal, who, as he had
known Macnaghton from infancy, must, one would
imagine, have been well acquainted with his -vices,
and aware of what such a man would be capable.
Nothing of the kind appeared in his conduct ; he
invited Macnaghton frequently to his house,
treated him as one suffering, not from vice, but
from misfortune, and seemed, in every respect, as
if he were endeavouring to repair an imaginary
injustice of the world, by an excess of hospitable
kindness. It was now that with a singular audacity and
contempt for men's opinions, the ruined gambler
offered himself as a candidate to represent Cole
raine. He failed, of course ; but so little
abashed was he by the defeat, that he next set up
for the City of Londonderry. Here too, he ex
perienced the same result, whereupon, he thought
of retrieving his desperate fortunes by marriage.
And here, properly speaking, our tale begins, all

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY. 67
this preliminary matter having been given but to
afford the reader a clearer insight into his character,
and as a key, in some sort, to what follows.
Having witnessed the growth of the tree, we shall
no longer be astonished at its crookedness.
The lady that Macnaghton pitched upon for
his matrimonial victim was no other than Miss
Knox. True it was that every consideration of
honour and gratitude forbade such scheme ; the
generous and unsuspecting confidence of the father
ought unquestionably to have exempted him, if no
one else, from an attempt to inveigle his daughter ;
but then it was this very confidence which afforded
him facilities that he was not so likely to find with
any other lady; and, as to honour, it has long
been received for a melancholy truth that nothing
deadens every feeling of the kind so readily, or so
completely, as a habit of gambling. Macnaghton
formed no exception to the rule.
To win the affections of Miss Knox was the
first essential to his scheme ; but her youth, being
then hardly sixteen, weighed against his knowledge
of the world ; and his peculiar address, so likely to
captivate a female heart, made this no very formid
able obstacle ; the greater difficulty was to woo
the lady without being discovered by either of the
parents, who, however tolerant of him in other
respects, were not likely to admit a ruined gambler
for a son-in-law. His invention and audacity

68 FAMILY ROMANCE.
suggested a plan in this dilemma, which would
hardly have occurred to any one besides himself.
He actually solicited Mr. Knox for permission to
pay his addresses to his daughter, well knowing
beforehand that he would be refused, and mean
ing to make the greatest advantage of such rejec
tion. In pursuance of this plan, he sought a
private interview with the father, whose reply was
such as to convince him, if he could ever have
doubted it, that his kind host was by no means
disposed to carry his romantic generosity so far
as to sacrifice his child to a ruined gambler. This
hint was enough. Instead of complaining, or in
any way pressing his suit, the crafty wooer pro
fessed himself to be neither hurt nor surprised at
the determination; he only begged that Mr.
Knox would not mention his request to any one,
as he was now made sensible of its impropriety,
and was anxious to avoid the mortification of its
being known to others ^that he had so asked and
been refused. This petition was too simple, and
apparently too deserving of praise, to be denied
by a good-natured man like Mr, Knox ; he wil
lingly passed his word to the effect desired, and
Macnaghton, on his part, declared, with a show of
gratitude and much afi'ected humility, that he
would abandon his suit altogether.
The first step was thus successfully taken.

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY. 69
Having as he thought— and, as was indeed the
fact — lulled Mr. Knox into a false security, he
opened his batteries against the daughter. This
he began, by taking every opportunity of talking
of his hope, nay certainty, that his affairs would
speedily be retrieved; not that he thought to
deceive the parents by such illusive statements,
but he expected that, out of mere kindness and
compassion, they would not contradict his assertion;
and, thus, they wouldbe more likely to pass for facts
with the daughter than if he had stated them to
herself in private. At the same time he did not
neglect paying her those slight, yet marked, atteUr
tions, which, though not noticed by others, unless
previously put upon their guard, are perfectly
well understood by the person to whom they are
directed. Here then was the foundationrstone of
his building laid solidly and securely. His next
measure was one of such consummate artifice that
it rather seems to belong to the ingenious intrigue
of Spanish comedy than to the events of real life.
With the simulated confidence of the fiend, when
he whispered Eve in Paradise and tempted her
to eat of the forbidden apple, he told the young
lady — as a secret he would fain keep, but coul4
not — that he had obtained her father's consent to
their union, but that the old gentleman had resol-^
ved to hold his intentions private for a year, partly

70 FAMILY ROMANCE.
on account of his daughter's youth, and partly
because of the present unsettled state of Macnagh
ton's affairs. " He could not," he said, " deny
himself the pleasure of making to her this com
munication, but he begged that she would not
give the least intimation of it to any one, not even
to her mother, as it might mortally offend Mr.
Knox if it should ever transpire that he had re
vealed what was granted under a solemn pledge of
secrecy." The young lady, flattered, as he had expected, by
this confidence, and already most favourably in
clined towards him, gave the required promise
without hesitation. Here then was a second step
in advance, and a raost important one, if the
young lady were only as silent as she promised :
and that she might be so, he did not fail to warn
her from time to time that Mr, Knox had, in
private, repeated his injunction of secrecy, with an
intimation that his consent would be withdrawn if
the least hint were given to any one of his pur
pose. This all appeared plausible enough, and
now, being convinced that she was only acting as
her father desired, she listened readily to the suit
of her crafty wooer, who did not hesitate to press
it, when he could do so unobserved. Her illusion
was yet more confirmed by the exceeding kindness
of both her parents towards Macnaghton, kindness

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY. 71
which, in fact, proceeded from a benevolent notion
that he had been too hardly dealt with, and that
he really and truly repented of his youthful errors.
Mrs. Knox even went so far as to say, she should
be glad of so pretty a fellow for a son-in-law, and
and this, too, in her daughter's presence, although
in reality without the slightest idea of such a thing.
It was a foolish speech, uttered without considera
tion, for the mere purpose of showing the high
regard she had for him.
Under such circumstances, it cannot be a matter
of surprise that Miss Knox, listened to her lover
when he proposed by way of binding themselves,
they should solemnly read over the marriage cere
mony. She gave him the required meeting one
morning early,at the house of a Mr. Joshua Sweten-
ham, in Londonderry, where they read the matri
monial service in parts, before Mr. Andrew Hamil
ton, a young gentleman only 18 years old, but of
good connections. He even prevailed upon her to
kiss the book interchangeably with him, and swear
that she would be married to him by a clergyman on
the first opportunity. She added, however, as the
one indispensable condition of her promise — "pro
vided my father consents"~a clause which, of itself,
would have annulled the contract, had it otherwise
been binding.
The next efforts of Macnaghton were directed

72 FAMILY ROMANCE.
to the persuading her that this idle ceremony was
in truth a marriage, and that she ought to give
herself up to him accordingly, as his wife. But
the natural instinct of female delicacy foiled all
his arts, and saved her from this snare. She re
fused to listen to any such suggestions, whereupon
he determined to effect by force what he found
himself unable to accomplish by entreaties, for
not only was his state growing more and more
desperate, but he had to fear every hour, lest some
untoward chance might arise to lay bare his villany.
A man, of much less craft than he possessed, must
have been quite aware, that a web so complicated
and so finely spun, as were his schemes, must be
liable to damage from a multitude of trifies.
As some slight extenuation ofhis next measure,
we should recollect that forcible abduction of wo
men, was by no means considered in Ireland at
that time in the same light it was in other coun
tries. Neither sex in general was inclined to look
upon it as anything more than a venial offence,
and it was even asserted that the ladies were far from
being angry at a little gentle violence, which served
them as an excuse for doing, what in their secret
hearts they were well inclined to, while in appear
ance they disavowed it. At all events, such mar
riages often turned out as happy as unions inore
legitimately contracted.

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY. 73
It SO chanced that about ten days or a fortnight
after the performance of this mock ceremony. Miss
Knox set out upon a visit to William Wray's, Esq.
at Ards, nearly fifty miles from Prehen. Strange
to say, the young lady's suspicions were so little
excited by what had hitherto passed, that she
allowed him to accompany her on her journey.
The parents, on their part, made no objection, being
kept in total ignorance of every thing that could
disturb their confidence.
The distance being more than could be conve
niently accomplished in one day, according to the
then existing ideas of travelling, and the really
bad state of the Irish roads, it was agreed they
should pass the night at Strabane, at the house of
Mr. Macausland. Whether the mistress of the
mansion had been previously warned, or, from her
own observation, was led to doubt Macnaghton, she
thought fit to place her young visitor in her own
dressing-room. The precaution proved to be no
more than necessary, for in the night Macnaghton
endeavoured to get into Miss Knox's room, and
was only foiled by its situation. This discovery,
which he had every right to suppose would be re
vealed to the parents, led him to precipitate mea
sures. The next day, at an early hour, he per
suaded the young lady to walk in the garden, and
having reached a secluded spot, attempted to
VOL. I. E

74 FAMILY ROMANCE.
offer her violence. Having repelled him with
great indignation, she hurried back to the house,
and shortly afterwards resumed her journey to Mr.
Wray's. Thither he followed her, though at a
distance, hoping that some opportunity might yet
occur for accomplishing his purpose before her
friends at Prehen had taken the alarm.
There had long subsisted an intimate friendship
between Miss Knox and Miss Wray, the daughter
of the house where she was now residing, and it
was not long before the former related to her
friend the whole story of what had passed, for she
considered, with great reason, that the conduct of
Macnaghton had freed her from every obligation
of secresy. Miss Wray lost no time in communi
cating the tale to her father, who, fearing that
Macnaghton might carry her off from his house,
sent her home next day under a proper escort,
with a message explanatory of his conduct.
It was now plain to the ruffian, — for he deserves
no better name — that he could no longer wear the
mask of concealment, nor yet carry her off by force.
He therefore openly claimed her as his wife, pub
lishing paragraphs in the newspapers to that effect,
which were denied through the same channels by
Mr. Knox. Even this last extreme act of baseness
did not prevent his uncle from harbouring him in
his house at Londonderry, which being only at a

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY. 75
short distance from Prehen, Mr. Knox thought it
would be prudent to remove his daughter to his
brother's house at Sligo. Such was the state of
law and morals in Ireland ; a father could not
protect his daughter in his own mansion.
Again, Macnaghton set out in pursuit of the
lady, and, what makes the business yet blacker,
accompanied and abetted by his uncle. Alderman
Macmanus, whose patronage of such villany was,
if possible, even more atrocious than the villany
itself. If it came to a hanging matter, as in reason
it ought, there could he httle doubt which of the
two deserved the highest gallows.
It was the forenoon when uncle and nephew
arrived at their inn at Sligo. Their first business
was to enquire what company was then in the
house of Mr. James Knox, and upon learning that
John Magill, Esq., a member of parliament and
a commissioner of the board of works, was there,
Macnaghton, who had some slight acquaintance
with him, sent up his card, with a request that
they might dine together. The answer to this
was that Mr. Magill " knew not, or at least would
not know, any such scoundrel." A second de
mand by another messenger brought back the same
reply. Public as this insult was, Macnaghton
took no notice of it, but had even the audacity to
make his appearance at an assembly, which chanced
B 2

76 FAMILY ROMANCE.
to be held in the town that evening, and though
Mr. Magill and Mr. Thomas Knox were both pre
sent, he made no allusion whatever to the insulting
message of the former. This was too much for
the patience of gentlemen, and, above all, of Irish
gentlemen. Indignant at such impudent cow
ardice, and anxious, no doubt, to provoke him,
Mr. Magill exclaimed, in something louder than
a whisper, that Macnaghton was an infamous
scoundrel. But neither of this did the offended
person take any notice at the time. When, how
ever, he had gone back to his inn with a military
friend, Mr. Gethings, and his uncle, he seems to
have thought better of it, or it may be that, by
their persuasions, he was induced to send a chal
lenge to the aggressor through the medium of Mr.
Gethings. The rest is so completely Irish in the
gallantry, and even recklessness of the principal
personage, that we must needs tell it in the exact
words of the pamphlet written at the time,
" It being now resolved that he should fight
before he slept, he sat up with his company, ex
pecting Mr. Magill's return to the inn, where he
had bespoke a bed, 'till four o'clock in the morn
ing, drinking only one bottle of claret. About
this time, Mr. Magill returned, and, it being in
the month of May, the day was broke. As he
had been drinking very freely he was immediately

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY. 77
shown to his chamber, and began to prepare fo^
bed ; but before he was quite undressed, Mr.
Gethings brought him Macnaghton's challenge,
and acquainted him that he was himself to be his
second. Though a man, who had been drinking
freely till four in the morning, must certainly
engage under great disadvantage with an antagonist,
who, with a view to such an engagement, had drunk
only part of one bottle of claret ; yet, as in these
circumstances the challenge was sent, Mr. Magill
readily accepted it ; and because he would
occasion no delay by seeking at that unreasonable
hour, for a second on his own behalf, he at once
declared that he would consider Mr. Gethings,
with whom he had been sometime acquainted, and
whom he knew to be a man of honour, as their
common friend. Having made this declaration,
and again put on such part of his dress as he had
pulled off, he walked into a back-yard with Mr.
Gethings, where they were met by Macnaghton,
and having taken their ground each discharged a
pistol against the other; and both missed their
aim. They then drew and discharged, each of
them, another pistol ; Mr. Magill had the good
fortune at his second firing, to wound his
antagonist in the leg, about two inches below the
calf, where the ball passed clean through between
the Achilles tendon and the bone."

78 FAMILY ROMANCE.
This lucky wound Macnaghton thought, must be
received by the world in full acquittance of all his
past delinquencies ; and, with his usual assurance,
he addressed his late antagonist with a hope " that
he did not now think him so great a scoundrel as
he had declared he thought him in the Assembly
Room. Magill replied with equal sense and
spirit, " by God, but I do ;" and, turning his
back upon him, left him to the care of his second.
The principal belligerents had now recourse to
law, Macnaghton endeavouring to have his mock
marriage confirmed, and Mr. Knox to obtain a
decree pronouncing it altogether null and void.
The latter succeeded, and the defeated suitor
betook himself to England, to lodge an appeal, as
he pretended, in the court of delegates. His real
objects were to escape being arrested by Mr.
Knox, for the costs of the late law-suit, in which
he had been cast, and to get himself returned
Member of Parliament for Carrickfergus, as a
protection for the future. With this view, he
went to the house of a nobleman, with whom he
had a slight acquaintance, and, without any pre
vious notice, demanded to see him. Although
informed that his lordship was at dinner with
some friends, he insisted that his message, desiring
to see him upon important business, should be
instantly taken in. Hereupon, the nobleman

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY, 79
came out, and upon hearing the request of his
troublesome -visitor, declined all interference, a
repulse by which Macnaghton was so little abashed,
that a few days afterwards he sent a familiar note,
demanding a loan of eighty guineas, as he had
been disappointed in certain expected remittances
from Ireland. This was refused, and so little sense
of shame was now left to him, that, changing his
tone and story altogether, in about a week he sent
again, and in a letter dated from Kingston gaol,
requested the loan of thirty guineas, upon a plea
of abject distress occasioned by his law-suits.
We next find him playing the accomplished
sharper at the Bath gaming-tables; though how he
got out of Kingston gaol, — if he had ever been
there — is not known ; and still less is it possible
to say how he acquired the necessary funds for
such a purpose. Suddenly the scene shifts, he is
again in Ireland, and again trying to force himself
into the presence of the unfortunate Miss Knox,
who was then at Swaddlingbar, with her mother,
for the benefit of the mineral waters. There he
lurked about in the woods for several days, sleeping
at night in a poor shieling — but, being discovered,
he at once boldly avowed his real character and
purpose. In any other country such a ruffian
would have been now restrained by the strong
hand of the law; " but," says the pamphleteer, and

80 FAMILY ROMANCE.
there seems no ground for doubting him, " a
gentleman, discovered in disguise, concealed in a
cottage or a wood for the love of a young lady,
whom her parents only withhold from his wishes,
always rises into new dignity, and is regarded
with uncommon ardour of kindness, mixed with a
kind of pity and admiration by the multitude,
wherever he happens to be ; and Macnaghton
became so popular at Swaddlingbar, after his
discovery, that having told his story to the common
people, if they had not been led to doubt of its
truth by contrary reports from respectable
characters, would all of them have assisted him,
at whatever hazard, to carry off the lady."
Few decent families, we suspect, would choose
to live in so gallant a neighbourhood as that of
Swaddlingbar. We now come to the last act of this play,
which, from having been little better than a farce,
much in the style of the " Beggar's Opera" heroics,
at once deepens into tragedy. Hitherto, Mac
naghton had been kept within some bounds,
though not very strict or straight, by the hope
of inheriting his uncle's fortune. But, tolerant
as the old man had for a long time shown himself,
he was, at length, so much revolted by the infamous
career of his nephew, that he married, with the
avowed purpose, if he should have no child of

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY. 81
his own, of leaving his fortune to his young wife.
This made Macnaghton quite desperate, and he
became more resolved than ever to carry off Miss
Knox at all hazards. To effect his purpose, he
spread abroad a report that he was at Benvarden —
and then, under the name of Smith, and in the
character of a sportsman, repaired to the neigh
bourhood of Prehen. Of the twelve associates he
took with him, all deserted him but three — George
Mac Dougal, his plough-driver, James Mac Carrel,
and one Thomas Dunlop, his tenant.
It was not long before he got intimation that
Mr. Knox was to set out from Prehen with his
daughter and family, and having reconnoitred the
country around, he at length found a spot well
adapted to his purpose of intercepting them.
This was a narrow pass, with ten outlets of escape,
through which Mr. Knox's carriage must come,
between a large dunghill and a cabin belonging to
one Keys, that stood under a bank of oak. Behind
either of these, the accomplices might remain
unseen till the very last moment.
Before day-break upon the morning of the 10th
of November, he repaired with his associates to
Key's cabin, bringing with him in a sack six guns,
nine pistols, several ropes, and a long leathern
strap — the ropes and the strap being, as he said,
intended for tying Miss Knox on horseback behind
himself or one of his people. E 3

82 FAMILY ROMANCE.
It would seem that he had not kept either
himself or his intentions so secret but that Mr.
Knox had got some vague information of them.
A report had got abroad of his having declared
he would possess himself at all hazards of Miss
Knox, and that, if opposed, he would cause a
scene of blood in the family, which should, in
after-times, make the ears tingle of the child
that was yet unborn. The party, therefore, in
leaving Prehen for Dublin, being thus fore
warned, set out in sufficient numbers to be safe,
it was supposed, against the premeditated attack.
It consisted of Mr. Knox, his brother James
in a single horse chaise, with a servant riding
behind him ; young Mr. Knox, with his servant,
both of them also on horseback; a blacksmith
named Mac Cullough, armed vsith a blunder
buss and a case of pistols in his surtout-coat
pocket, and James Love, Mr. Knox's own
servant, armed with a fusee. The ladies, with
Mr. Knox, went in the coach, the two last
named forming a body-guard about them ; but,
by a strange contradiction, all the rest of the
party, who, in numbers, formed its strength,
were not armed at all ; nor did Mr. Knox, with
his servant, think it necessary to keep near the
carriage, but went considerably in advance, thus
serving as a signal for the hidden confederates to
prepare for action.

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY. 83
It was about eleven o'clock when the coach
passed the cabin. And "now," says our homely
naiTative, "Macnaghton and two of his accom
plices rushed out, each armed with pistols and a
gun. Macnaghton presented his gun at the coach
man, and threatened him with instant death if
he did not stop the horses. The coachman, thus
terrified, complied ; and Macnaghton's servant
coming up to him, presented his gun, and threat
ened that if he offered to put his horses on again
he would shoot him. The coach being thus
stopped and detained, Macnaghton hastened round
the horses' heads to the coach door, in order to
force out the lady ; but MacCullough, the black
smith, coming up to him at that instant and pre
senting his piece, Macnaghton fired "at him, and
wounded him in the hand ; the fellow, however,
snapped his blunderbuss, but it unfortunately
missed fire. Macnaghton fired a second shot at
him, and wounded him in the knee and groin, and
totally disabled him. In the meantime Mr. Knox
snapped a pistol at Macnaghton from the coach
window, but the cock flying off, that missed fire
also. While this was doing, one of Macnaghton's
accomplices was charging guns in the cabin and
handing them out; and Macnaghton having re
ceived one from him in the room of another he
had discharged, advanced upon the fore part of

84 FAMILY ROMANCE.
the dunghill opposite to the cabin, towards that
side of the coach where Miss Knox sat, and with
his gun, presented, fired into the coach, and lodged
no less than five bullets in her left side. He then
went round by the wheels on the other side of
the coach, but, as he was going about, James
Love, Mr. Knox's own servant, fired at his back
from behind a turf-stack, and lodged three swan
shot in his shoulders, Mr. Knox at the same time
firing again from the coach, but without effect.
Macnaghton, though he felt himself wounded,
got round, received another pistol from the cabin,
and fired that also into the coach, with the in
tention to kill Mr. Knox, but providentially the
shot missed him. After this, Macnaghton and
one ofhis accomplices fired each of them a random
shot through the coach, probably with a design
to kill every creature that was in it, for all the
guns were loaded with swan shot; yet, in all
these discharges, the poor young lady only was
wounded." It would seem as if revenge, and not the abduc
tion of the lady, had been the intention of this cold
blooded and cowardly miscreant ; for, having gone
thus far, he walked off, attended by his accomplices,
without the slightest apparent concern, and satis
fied no doubt that he had effected as much evil as
he could, -without too far compromising his own

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY. 85
chances of escape. No sooner was the field thus
left clear than young Mr. Knox galloped off to
Strabane, to call in the assistance of the Inniskil-
len Dragoons then quartered there, and to procure
medical aid for the wounded.
In the meanwhile Miss Knox was taken out of
the coach, deluged in her own blood, and placed
upon a rude bed in Key's cabin. The pain from
her wounds was well nigh intolerable. She was
continually crying out, " my side ! my side ! " and
calling upon God to put an end, by death, to her
sufferings. At length Dr. Law, a physician of
eminence, arrived from Strabane. Upon examina
tion he found one of the bullets had broken her
third rib, counting upwards, and buried itself in
her body ; that a second had entered her side, about
two inches below her ribs; a third nearly two
inches below that, but rather more forward ; that a
fourth had lodged in the head of her hip-bone ; and
a fifth slightly marked her groin. The doctor at
once pronounced her beyond all hope of recovery,
any one of the three last wounds being sufficient of
itself to produce a speedy death. She was, however,
removed, for more comfort, to a decent farm-house
about a hundred yards off, and placed upon an
easy bed, if any bed could be easy to one enduring
such insufferable agony. There she lay for about
four hours, piercing the ears and hearts of all

86 FAMILY ROMANCE.
around with her cries and groans, at which time
she died.
While these things were passing in the cabin
and the farm-house a party of light-horse had
arrived under the command of Sergeant Macjur-
kin, a Fermanagh man, of great boldness, and by
no means deficient in military sagacity. Following
the advice of the peasants, he took the route
of Cumbirlady and Dungiven, and scoured the
country on either side, to a considerable distance.
But neither of these ways had Macnaghton taken.
His horse, with the horses of his associates, had
been held for him in a little wood at no great
distance from Key's cabin, and, having hastily
mounted, he rode off full speed to Mr. Irwin's, the
place were he had been abiding the week before,
in the feigned character of a sportsman. He did
not, however, stop here, but passed on for about
a mile, when, finding himself alone, and, as he
thought, unobserved, he dismounted, took the
bridle and saddle from his horse, concealed them
in a ditch, and turned the animal loose. It may
here also be remarked that the horse was black,
with the exception of some white marks upon
the face, which had been coloured over to prevent
his being recognised.
Macnaghton now proceeded on foot to a little
distance, till he reached the house of one Thomas

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY. 87
Winsley, a considerable bleacher — and, without
being seen by any of the family or the servants, he
managed to conceal himself in a hay-loft. There
he hoped to remain undiscovered, until the pursuit
for the day was over, when he might escape to
some place of greater safety. Perhaps he might
have done so, but that two of the pursuing party.
Corporal Caldwell, and a private light horseman,
of the name of Reed, who were natives of the
vicinity, had, by some unexplained means, gained
intelligence of his route, and even of the place
where he lay hidden. Possessed of this information,
they made their way to the bleacher's house, and
boldly entered the hay-loft, though the place was
so dark they could see nothing in it. The mur
derer, on the contrary, saw them clearly enough
from his lurking place, as they stood against the
little light that found its way into the room.
Without uttering a word, he fired at them, and
they instantly returned the shot, directed only by
the flash and report of his pistol, but no mischief
was done on either side. The horsemen then drew
their broad -swords, and regardless ofthe additional
risk thus incurred, pressed forward to take him
alive, when the report of another pistol came from
the darkness. This, it appears, Macnaghton, hope
less now of escape, had levelled at his own head,
but the ball having dropt out, he was only scorched

ao FAMILY ROMANCE.
on the ear by the powder. At the moment, the
soldiers were not aware of this, yet still they
pressed on, although so fully sensible of their ex
treme peril, that one cried to th e other on advancing,
" Come, my lad, one of us must fall, but, by God,
we will take the villain." Macnaghton, however,
had not the means of further resistance, even if he
possessed courage enough to make use of them, and
he was now dragged from his concealment and
bound upon a car, to be secured in the nearest
gaol. Matters now proceeded rapidly ; a coroner's
inquest sat, and brought in a verdict of wilful
murder against both the principal and his accom
plices — one of whom, Dunlap, was shortly after
wards taken in a large meal-chest, belonging to a
miller, at a place called Ballyboggy. As it was
rumoured that some desperadoes meditated a
rescue, Mr. Knox procured an order from the
Lord Lieutenant for a party of horse, in whom he
placed most confidence, to do duty at the prison,
where Macnaghton was confined. A Serjeant's
guard was placed within the gaol every night, and
two men watched continually in his cell.
We must here again notice the inconsistencies
in the conduct and character of this cold-blooded
assassin, without attempting to explain or account
for them. While he utterly neglected his person.

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY. 89
he paid the utmost attention to his wounds, al
though with the certainty of an ignominious death
before his eyes. With this conviction — and how
could he fail of it ? — such a desire to get healed
could not proceed from a love of life ; and just as
little could it be attributed to any religious feel
ing ; nothing, indeed, could be more remarkable
than his utter want of remorse for what he had
done, and his total indifference to the death of one
whom he professed to have loved, and whom he
had so cruelly murdered. Well might the Rosi
crucian, Comte de Gabalis, exclaim, " Le coeur
humain est un abime ! qui pourra le connoitre ? "
On Monday, the seventh of December, he was
summoned to take his trial at Strabane, but his
brother did not desert him in the hour of distress,
guilty as he was in the eyes of all reasonable
beings — of all, indeed, who can distinguish between
right and wrong, between black and white,
although this would not seem to be a common
quality amongst the warm-hearted and impetuous
Irish, who are much too apt to let feeling outweigh
judgment. Counsel, learned in the law, was pro
cured to defend the criminal, and a motion was
made to put off the trial, under pretence that he
had been hindered by wounds and close confine
ment from making the necessary preparations for
his defence. Upon this, the Honourable Mr.

90 FAMILY ROMANCE.
Baron Mountney, Mr. Justice Scott, and Mr.
Justice Smith, who were upon the bench at the
time, granted him a respite until the following
Friday. Upon Friday then, he was again brought into
court on a bed, dressed in a white flannel waist
coat, with black buttons and holes, a black crape
about his arm, a dirty, parti-coloured night-cap
upon his head, and a beard of a month's growth.
Every indulgence was extended to him that could
be, with propriety, nor was he in the least wanting
in himself. He is described as having made his
defence with so much eloquence and feeling as
to draw tears from many of the spectators. He
stated, and the judges listened to him with
patience — that " no man ever loved a woman
better than he loved Miss Knox, and that he had
no intention to kill any body, much less that
young lady ; but that he came with a party to
carry off one whom he considered as his wife, and
had armed himself and his companions, only that
they might be able to oppose force by force, if
he should be resisted in his attempt. He declared
also that he did not fire at the coach till he felt
himself wounded, and that, in the agony caused by
his wound, he neither knew nor cared what he did.
But these declarations, he said, were not intended
to obtain a verdict which might give him life — his

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY. 91
only wish being now to die— but to clear his cha
racter from the imputation of murder. He was
also very importunate with the court to consider
Dunlop, his accomplice, as acting wholly under
his infiuence in what he did ; and said, that as he
did not commit any act of violence himself, but
was only present at the action, he hoped they
would spare his life."
These few sentences, it must be owned, com
bine all that the utmost ingenuity could devise to
soften the harsher features of his crime, and to
excite the sympathies of his audience, unless he
had set up a plea of actual madness at the time.
This generous care for his accomplice, his indif
ference to life himself, and his having fired at his
victims only while smarting under the agony of
his wounds — all these might be, and probably
were, no more than pretences, but they were such,
as if believed, must have gone far to enlist the
feelings of an Irish jury in his favour.
The most important change in his character is
now to appear. That he was constitutionally
timid must be evident to every one ; and it was
natural to expect that the near approach of death,
together with the depression arising from wounds
and imprisonment would have made him yet more
pusillaniraous, or else would have given him the
courage of desperation. Neither of these was the

92 FAMILY ROMANCE.
case. The bravest could not have shown him
self more calm or less shaken by the prospect
before him. From the moment that his doom
was fixed, he showed no signs of fiinching, but, at
the same time, this show of courage continued
unmingled with that recklessness which, to the
common observer, will often supply the place of
real spirit.
In a reHgious point of view his character also
underwent a total change ; but this, of course,
cannot be considered as anything surprising ; most
men are content to fly to religion for consolation
when all earthly hope has left them. Although
he had repulsed the services of the attendant
clergyman with contempt, he now had the sacra
ment administered to him at his own request, and
received it with every appearance of devotion.
Incredible as it may seem, Macnaghton was, to
the last, a great favourite amongst the people. "He
had," says the old pamphleteer, " many popular
good qualities, which, with the advantage of his
person and address, gained him the general good
will of the lower sort of people, which was not
lessened, even by the crime for which he died. They
were wholly ignorant of the ingratitude and dissi
mulation of his devices to seduce the young lady
into that contract which, he pretended, gave him a
right to her person. They considered his endea-

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY. 93
vour to get her into his possession as a gallant
and spirited attempt to do himself a justice ; and
the death of the young lady as an accidental effect
of an unjust resistance made against that attempt
by those, who by superior power and influence
would have overborne right. These notions, how
ever erroneous and extravagant, had taken such
possession of their minds, that there was not a
carpenter to be found in the country about Stra
bane that would erect a gallows for his execution ;
nor could any person be procured to undertake it
for hire. The sheriff, therefore, was obliged to
look out for a tree which might serve for the pur
pose ; and upon a tree he must at last have been
executed, if the uncle of the unhappy young lady,
and a party of gentlemen, who were moved -with
a just indignation at the thought of being reduced
to the necessity of such an expedient, to execute
a wretch who had committed a murder with every
possible aggravation, had not themselves made a
gallows and set it up. It was erected on a plain
between Strabane and Lifford; and on the 15th of
December, about one o'clock in the morning,
Macnaghton, who had been fettered upon his con
demnation, was brought down from his room in
the prison, in order to have his fetters taken off;
but there was not a smith to be found that would
do it ; and if one of those who had refused the

94 FAMILY ROMANCE.
office had not been compelled by a party of the
light-horse to perform it, the criminal must, con
trary to law, have been executed with his fetters
on ; and the sheriff was obliged to send for the
executioner, a very old man, from Cavan. Every
thing, however, being at last ready, he was carried
to the place of execution, dressed in a very slo
venly manner, and in the very coat which he wore
when he committed the murder ; declaring, but
for what reason cannot be known, that " he would
wear no other."
Even at this last trying moment, his courage did
not fail him, only he asked if his head was to be
stuck upon the gaol, and seemed much pleased
when the sheriff replied in the negative. He re
fused to address the public, but assured some of
his prosecutors then present, that he forgave them
his death, although he himself did not ask forgive
ness of any one. Ascending the" ladder with a
firm step, he placed the rope about his own neck,
and threw himself off with great violence, in hope
to break the vertebrae, and thus ensure a speedy
and less painful death. The force, however, was
such that the rope gave way, and he fell to the
ground. Thereupon the sympathising crowd made
an opening in their ranks that he might escape ;
but the executioner, and those determined that
justice should be done, closed around, when, not-

THE PREHEN TRAGEDY. 95
withstanding the pain he must have suffered, he
remounted the gallows as calm as ever, declaring
that Lord Ferrers was quite right in saying, the
anticipation of death was much worse than death
itself. He was again thrown off, and this time so
effectually, that in a few minutes, he ceased to
struggle. Such was the fate of John Macnaghton, a man
designed by nature for better things, but in whose
mind the seeds of goodness were destroyed at an
early period of life by a passion for gambling.

96

THE TRUE ^ROMANCE OP EDWARD WORTLEY
MONTAGUE.
It is a somewhat hacknied saying, that truth
is often-times more wonderful than fiction ; and
of this, Edward Wortley Montague affords a very
complete illustration. From his early days he
was ever at tilt with the world's opinions; and,
but that sufficient documents are at hand to prove
the reality of our narrative, we might well expect
to be set down amongst those who, to borrow
Shakspeare's censure of certain players, " imitate
nature most abominably." Certes, there is many
a romance that less oversteps the modesty of
nature than the simple reality of our chronicle,
and yet more care has been taken to soften down,
than to aggravate, the features in our hero's
character.

EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGUE. 97
Edward Wortley Montague was the son of the
highly gifted but eccentric Lady Mary Wortley
Montague, and while yet an infant was taken by
her to Constantinople, whither her husband had
been sent as ambassador from England. The
child was then only three years old, and, it is very
possible, may have imbibed the roving propensities
of his manhood, from being thus early accustomed
to travel. With a boldness that few mothers be
sides herself would have evinced, she tried upon
him the experimentofinoculation for the small-pox,
he being the first English child that had ever been
subjected to it ; and, luckily for the European
world, the practice in this instance turned out so
successful, that Lady Mary was afterwards enabled
to introduce it amongst her own countrymen with
a confidence that finally subdued all the opposition
of prejudice and ignorance. The following ac
count is given of this matter by Mr. Maitland,
who attended the embassy to Constantinople in
the capacity of surgeon.
" About this time the ambassador's ingenious
lady, who had been at some pains to satisfy her
curiosity in this matter, and had made some useful
observations on the practice, was so thoroughly
convinced of the safety of it, that she resolved to
submit her only son to it, a very hopeful boy of
about six years of age. She first of all ordered
VOL. I. F

98 FAMILY ROMANCE.
me to find out a fit subject to take the matter
from, and then sent for an old Greek woman who
had practised this a great many years. After a
good deal of trouble and pains I found a proper
subject, and then the good woman went to work ;
but so awkwardly, by the shakiijg of her hand,
and put the boy to so much torture with her
blunt and rusty needle, that I pitied his cries,
who had ever been of such spirit and courage
that hardly anything of pain could make him cry
before ; and therefore inoculated the other arm
with my own instrument, and with so little pain
to him that he did not in the least complain of
it. The operation took in both arms, and suc
ceeded perfectly well. This operation was per
formed at Pera, near Constantinople, in the month
of March, 1717."
Two years afterwards, the family returned to
England, when the young Edward was sent to
Westminster School. And now it was he began
to show, that if he had inherited the talents ofhis
mother, he had also imbibed her eccentricity;
but in his case, so much aggravated, as at times
almost to assume a tinge of madness.
The boy had not been long at school before he
began to grow weary of its trammels. Perhaps
too, like Milton, he found
" Cceteraque ingenio non sub eunda meo, — "

EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGTTE. 99
which some learned interpreters have construed
to signify a certain unpleasant acquaintance with
the nature and properties of birch. Whatever
may have been the cause, he fled from the West
minster cloisters, managing the affair with so
much adroitness as to baffle every effort made to
discover him. Handbills and advertisements were
repeatedly issued, but to no purpose ; the pur
lieus of Covent Garden and the recesses of St.
Giles's were searched from one end to the other,
and under every stimulus of high rewards, yet still
they found not a vestige of the truant. It seemed
as if he were lost to his family for ever, no un-
unlikely thing, if we consider the state of the
metropolis in those days.
It so happened that a friend of the family, Mr.
Forster, had some business to transact with the
captain of a ship then lying at Blackwall, for
which place he set out, attended by one of the
domestics of old Mr. Wortley Montague. They
had not gone far in Blackwall, when their attention
was caught by the sound of a familiar voice
crying fish. Both at the same time exclaimed,
" how like the voice of young Montague !" and
immediately they despatched a sailor after the
boy, under pretence of a wish to deal with him.
Unsuspecting any snare of this kind, the young
itinerant came back with the sailor, carrying upon
F 2

100 FAMILY ROMANCE.
his head a basket of plaice, flounders, and other
small fish. With them, to see, was to be assured,
in spite of all the boy's coolness in denying him
self. When, however, he found that he was
discovered beyond any chance of concealment he
flung down his basket and ran away. This it was
that betrayed him. It was soon discovered to
whom the basket belonged, and with this clue
they had no difficulty in finding out where the
boy had taken up his abode, and it now appeared
that he had been regularly bound by indentures
of apprenticeship, to a poor but honest fisherman,
whom, it appeared, he had served with equal
diligence and fidelity for upwards of a twelve
month. His master indeed was enthusiastic in his
praise ; he cried his fish with energy, made his
bargains with shrewdness, and, what might seem
yet more wonderful, was punctual in bringing
home the produce to the old fisherman. Notwith
standing the reluctance of the master and his
apprentice to partj with each other, the boy was
taken home, and a second time sent to school at
Westminster. " One man may take a horse to the water, but
a dozen cannot make him drink," says an ancient
English proverb. So too, Mr. Foster, aided by the
servant, might bring master Edward home again,
and his father might send him to school once more,

EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGUE. 101
but it was soon found that to make him stay there
was quite another matter. In a very short time
he gave them the slip, as he had done before, and
bound himself to the master of a ship, then sailing
for Oporto. This man was a Quaker, and a con
scientious one, who, believing young Montague
to be a poor, deserted, friendless creature, treated
him with much kindness. He clothed him de
cently, supplied him with good and wholesome
food, and made a sea-life as pleasant as it could be
made to one in his situation. Still there was re
straint, and restraint was a thing most alien to his
nature ; so, the moment the vessel reached Oporto,
he started off again, totally forgetful of the good
Quaker's kindness to him ; and, although ignorant
of the language, he ventured a considerable dis
tance up the country. It was the vintage-season.
He offered his services, was put upon a brief trial,
and was found useful enough to be retained.
In this way, two or three years passed in the
interior of Portugal, without his making the least
attempt to improve his situation ; till one day he
was ordered to drive some asses to the factory.
The commission was entrusted to him on account
of some business, which could not be transacted
vrithout a knowledge of the English language.
But no sooner had he arrived there, his good — or
as he probably would have termed it, his bad, —

102 FAMILY ROMANCE.
Stars, caused him to be recognised by the EngHsh
consul, the moment he arrived there ; or, if he
could have had any doubt upon the subject, it was
fully confirmed by his former master — the old
Quaker, whose vessel happened to be lying in the
harbour. Thereupon, the young wanderer was
consigned to proper keeping, and brought home,
where by the mediation of Mr. Forster with his
parents, he was again received into grace and fa
vour. To this gentleman, was thenceforth en
trusted the care of his education, a duty he
discharged with so much zeal and judgment, that
though the pupil had lost much ground by his late
wandering habits, he was not long in regaining it,
and making considerable advances beyond the point
attained, when he ran away from Westminster.
But well and truly sings the old Epicurean poet —
" Quo semel est imbuta recens servabit odorem,
Testa diu."
And deeply was young Edward imbued -with the
spirit of vagabondizing; or, as phrenologists would
more delicately term it, the organ of locomotive-
ness was singularly predominant with him. He
ran away a third time, and entered as a fore-mast
man aboard a ship, bound for the Mediterranean,
to the great vexation of his father, whose patience
seemed at last exhausted. He absolutely refused
any further interference in his favour, declaring

EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGUE, 103
that, as he had made his bed, so he must lie. But
Mr. Forster again played the part of mediator, and
after much argument prevailed so far upon old
Montague, that he allowed him, if he would take
the trouble, to go in search of the prodigal, and
bring him home again.
So determined a friend was not Hkely to fail in
his mission. In a short time he had tracked out
the fugitive, and once more restored him to his
father, who was even brought to consent that he
should now go abroad, under the direction of his
kind mediator. The West Indies was chosen for
the place of his retreat during the next few years,
and an ample stipend was allotted for his support.
It would appear that this singular plan, like
many other empirical remedies, succeeded in effect-
inga temporary cure, at least, when more legitimate
remedies had failed. He studied so as to obtain a
t
competent knowledge of the classics, and what
was of much more importance to his future
welfare than all the learning of a Porson, he
had acquired so much apparent steadiness, that
his father now sent for him home, and ventured to
place him in one of the public offices. There, for
a time, he kept up the same appearances, and in
1747, was returned one of the knights of the shire
for the county of Huntingdon. It soon, however,
became manifest that consideration had not, in his

104 FAMILY ROMANCE.
case, as in that of Henry the Fifth, completely
done its work ; it had not " whipped the offending
Adam out of him," for it was not long before he
had deeply involved himself in debt ; and, towards
the latter end of the year 1751, he was fain once
more to set out upon his travels,
Paris, unfortunately, was the place of his first
excursion, and here his extraordinary passion for
gambling betrayed him into an affair which, to say
the least of it, had a very suspicious appearance
at the time, and which has left a stain upon his
name, that has never been completely obHterated,
As the matter is one of so equivocal a nature, it
is but fair to give his o-wn account of it, and nearly
as may be in his own words.
" On Sunday, the 31st of October, 1751, when it
was near one in the morning, as I was undressed
and going to bed, I heard a person enter my room;
and upon turning round and seeing a man I did not
know, I asked him calmly what he wanted? His
answer was that I must put on my clothes.
I began to expostulate upon the motives of his
apparition, when a commissary instantly entered
the room with a pretty numerous attendance ; and
told me with great gravity, that he was come, by
virtue of a warrant for my imprisonment, to carry
me to the Grand Chatelet. I requested him again
and again to inform me of the crime laid to my

EDWARD V?0RTLEY MONTAGUE. 105
charge ; but all his answer was, that I must follow
him. I begged him to give me leave to write to
Lord Albemarle, the English Ambassador;
promising to obey the warrant, if his Excellency
was not pleased to answer for my forthcoming.
But the Commissary refused me the use of pen
and ink, though he consented that I should send a
verbal message to his Excellency, telling me at
the same time that he would not wait the retnrn
of the messenger, because his orders were to carry
me instantly to prison. As resistance under such
circumstances must have been unavailable, and
might have been blameable, I obeyed the warrant
by following the Commissary, after ordering one
of my domestics to inform my Lord Albemarle of
the treatment I underwent.
I was carried to the Chatelet, where the jailors,
hardened by their profession, and brutal for their
profit, fastened upon me, as upon one of those
guilty objects whom they lock up to be reserved
for public punishment ; and though neither my
looks nor my behaviour betrayed the least symptom
of guilt, yet I was treated as a condemned criminal.
I was thrown into prison, and committed to a set
of wretches, who bore no character of humanitp
but its form.
My residence — to speak in the jail dialect — was
in the secret, which is no other than the dungeon
F 3

106 FAMILY ROMANCE.
of the prison, where all the furniture was a
wretched mattrass and a crazy chair. The weather
was cold, and I called for a fire ; but I was told I
could have none. I was thirsty, and called for
some wine and water, or even a draught of water
by itself, but was denied it. All the favour I
could obtain was a promise to be waited on in the
morning ; and then was left by myself under a
hundred locks and bolts, with a bit of candle, after
finding that the words of my jailor were few, their
orders peremptory, and their favours unattainable.
After a few moments o'f solitary reflection, I
perceived myself shut up in a dungeon destined
for the vilest malefactors ; the walls were scrawled
all over with their vows and prayers to Heaven
before they were carried to the gibbet or the wheel.
Amongst other notable inscriptions, I found one
with the following note underneath, viz. : — These
verses were written hy the priest who was hanged
and burned in the year 1717, for stealing a chalice
of the Holy Sacrament. At the same time I
observed the floors were studded with iron staples,
either to secure the prisoners, or to prevent the
effects of their despair.
I continued in this dismal dungeon till the 2nd
of November, entirely ignorant of the crime I
was accused of ; but at nine in the morning of
that day, I was carried before a magistrate, where

EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGUE. 107
I underwent an examination, by which I under
stood the heads of the charge against me, and
which I answered in a manner that ought to have
cleared my own innocence.
He then goes on to explain the nature of the
charge in the following words : —
" Abraham Payba, a Jew, under the name of
Roberts, gives an account of his leaving England
¦with Miss Rose, intending to make the tour both
of France and Italy, being provided with bills for
considerable sums upon the Bank of England and
several eminent bankers in London. He then sets
forth that, coming to lodge at the Hotel d'Orleans,
he was greatly surprised by my pretending to
visit him, as he had no manner of acquaintance
with me. That next day he set out for the
country, from whence, returning on the 23rd of
September, he found a card from me, inviting him
to dine, which he was polite enough to comply
with ; and that at my lodgings he dined with a
large company of English. That I forced him to
drink, till I perceived he was fuddled, of several
sorts of wines and other liqueurs during dinner,
which was not over till about six in the evening,
when the company retired to my apartment to
drink coffee. That after this, all the company
went away, excepting Mr. Taafe, my Lord South
well, and myself; and that Mr, Taafe took a

108 FAMILY ROMANCE.
pair of dice, and, throwing them upon the table,
asked, who would play ? That the complainant,
Roberts, at first excused himself because he had
no more than two crowns about him ; upon which
the other said, that he had no occasion for money,
for he might play upon his word of honour. That
he (Roberts) still excused himself, alleging that
he had occasion for all his money for a journey,
on which he was to set out on the Wednesday
following. But that Mr. Taafe, Lord Southwell,
and I, insisted so strongly on his playing, that,
being flustered with wine, and not knowing what
he did, he at last yielded ; and that, taking advantage
of his situation, we made him lose in less than an
hour, 870 louis-d'ors, and that we then suffered
him to go about his business. That, next day, Mr.
Taafe sent him a card, inviting him to supper,
but he excused himself; and on Sunday, the 26th
of September, he received a letter from the same
gentleman desiring him to send the 400 louis-
d'ors he had won of him ; and that he (Roberts)
wrote him in answer that he would pay him a visit
on the Thursday following. But that, on the 27th
of September, between eleven and twelve at night,
Mr. Taafe, Lord Southwell, and I, knocked with
great violence, menaces, and imprecations, at his
gate, where, getting admittance, we informed him
that if he did not give to each of us a draught for

EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGUE. 109
the several sums we had won of him, we would
carry him instantly to the Bastile — the archers,
with the governor of the Bastile, waiting below
for that purpose. That we told him it was a
maxim in France, that all gaming-debts should be
paid within twenty -four hours after they were con
tracted; and at the same time we threatened to cut
him across the face with our swords if he should
refuse to give us the drafts we demanded. That,
being intimidated with our menaces, and ignorant
of the customs of France, he gave us drafts for
our several sums upon Mr. Walters, the younger,
banker in Paris, though he had no money of his
in his hands. That the complainant well knowing
the drafts would be refused, and thinking his life
in danger, resolved next day, being the 28th, to set
out for Lyons ; that there, and since his return to
Paris, he understood that Mr. Taafe, Lord South
well, and I, on the very day of his leaving Paris,
came early to his lodging, where, meeting only
with Miss Rose and her sister, Mr. Taafe per
suaded the former to leave the complainant and to
go with him to the Hotel de Peron, promising to
send her over to England, in a short time. After
this, that he searched all the trunks, portmanteaus
and drawers belonging to the complainant, from
whence he took out in one bag 400 Louis-d'ors,
and out of another, to the value of 300 Louis-

110 FAMILY ROMANCE.
d'ors in French and ' Portuguese silver ; from
another bag, 1,200 livres in crown pieces, a pair
of brilliant diamond buckles, for which the com
plainant paid 8,020 livres to the Sieur Pierre ; his
own picture set round with diamonds to the
amount of 1,200 livres, beside the value of the
picture, which cost him 10 livres to the Sieur
Marolles ; a shirt buckle set with diamonds, ru
bies, and emeralds, which cost him 650 livres, to
the Sieur Pierre ; laces to the amount of 3,000
livres ; seven or eight women's robes, or gowns ;
two brilliant diamond rings, several gold snuff
boxes, a travelling chest containing his plate and
china, and divers other effects, which he cannot
call to mind ; all which Mr. Taafe packed up in
one box, and by the help of his footman, carried
in a coach, which waited for him at the corner of
the street of the little Augustiues, to his own
apartment. That afterwards, Mr. Taafe carried
Miss Rose and her sister in another coach to his
lodgings, where they remained three days, and
then sent them to London, under the care of one
of his friends."
The accusation, it must be allowed, carries upon
the face of it many improbabilities. In the first
place, the Jew does not make his complaint till
a full month after the date of the supposed trans
action. Secondly, it does not seem very likely

EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGUE. Ill
that this Payba or Roberts should have gone off
quietly to Lyons, leaving such large sums of
money in his lodging on the very day when his
fonnidable enemies must have been most incensed
against him by the non-payment of his drafts,
and were, according to his own estimate of them,
capable of any daring attempt to right themselves.
Then again, the character of the Jew must be
weighed against that of the accused. Wortley
Montague was no doubt a wild daring, spirit,capable
of many strange things, but nothing in his pre
vious or subsequent career would induce a beHef
that he was capable of robbery. Now the Jew
was notoriously a fraudulent bankrupt, who sought
shelter in France from the penalties he had in
curred in England. Then, again, it is not easy
to understand how a cunning Jew should have been
so simple as to believe, or Mr. Montague so
absurd as to assert, that he had brought with him
the archers and the Governor of the Bastile.
Lastly,upon the examination of Payba's witnesses,
they all contradicted each other to such an extent
as to be unworthy of belief.
The result of the whole was that the court, in
the first instance, pronounced the innocence of
the accused, and condemned the Jew to pay all
costs and make reparation of honour in the pre
sence of twelve persons elected by the injured

112 FAMILY ROMANCE.
party. From this sentence, Payba appealed to the
High Court of La Tournelle in Paris, when the
judgment was reversed, and the parties definitively
dismissed the court. Hereupon Montague ap
pealed in his turn, but we are left totally in the
dark as to the termination of this matter, which
appears to have been a gambling transaction of
no very honourable nature to any of the parties
implicated. The Jew, it would seem, having lost
his money by one fraud, was willing to regain it
by another of a yet worse description ; and such,
it would seem, must have been the opinion of the
higher court.
Having, as he says of himself, played the petit
maitre at Paris for a season, he returned to Eng
land, and in 1754 was returned member for
Bossiney. The duties, however, of a Member of
Parliament were by no means sufficient to occupy
the time of a mind so active and so intelHgent.
He tells us, " that to search out and adore the
Creator through his works is our primary duty,
and claims the first place in every rational mind.
To promote the public good of the community of
which we are born members, in proportion to our
situation and abilities, is our secondary duty as
men and citizens. I judged, therefore, a close
attention to the study of history the most useful
way of employing that time which my country

EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGUE. 113
recess afforded, as it would enable me to fulfil
this obligation ; and, upon this principle, I take
the liberty of offering these papers as my mite
towards the pubHc good." He alludes to a work
called " Reflections on the Rise and Fall of the
Ancient RepubHcs, adapted to the present state
of Great Britain," a work he unquestionably
wrote, but the authority of which was much dis
puted by some, who, in defiance of the contra
dictory evidence of dates that made the thing
impossible, would persist in beHeving the claim
set up to it by his former friend and tutor, Mr.
Forster. It is said that the success of this work greatly
propitiated his father. However this may be,
the old man's will evinced no particular confidence
in his moral merits. It bequeathed him an
annuity of one thousand a-year to be paid him dur
ing the joint lives of himself and his mother.
Lady Mary ; and after her death, an annuity of
two thousand a-year during the joint Hves of
himself and his sister. Lady Bute. By the same
will he was empowered to make a settlement on
any woman he might marry not exceeding eight
hundred a-year ; and to any son of such marriage
he devised a considerable estate in the West
Riding of Yorkshire. This last clause led to an
action, not the least singular in his singular

114 FAMILY ROMANCE.
career, which will be recorded in its proper time
and place.
He now resolved to travel again, previous to
which, however, he contrived to give some mortal
offence to his mother — of what kind is not known,
and perhaps, after all, it was nothing more than
that she was too eccentric herself to put up with
any eccentricities in another, although the deceased
parent might truly have said of his son's pecu
liarity, —
" He had it not from me, but from his mother."
In 1762 we find our traveller at Tiurin. But
he did not waste his time here as he had done in
Paris, in frivolity and vice ; or, if sorae leaven of
his former wildness remained it was in great
measure redeemed, by his love of literature and
science. It was here that he wrote two letters
to the Earl of Macclesfield, which were read be
fore the Royal Society, and afterwards published
in a quarto pamphlet, entitled " Observations on
a supposed Bust at Turin."
In the same year his mother died, and, like so
many other parents, retaining the ruling passion
strong in death, bequeathed him a solitary guinea,
with the sarcastic observation that, "his father
had amply provided for him." In consequence of
this will an enormous property devolved to the
Earl of Bute, who had married his sister, but who.

EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGUE. 115
with a generosity very unusual in such cases,
bestowed upon the disinherited a con.siderable por
tion of what he had thus lost. Nor does he appear
to have taken much to heart this disappointment
of his natural expectations. The maternal bequest
was brought to him while he was on his travels,
and he presented it, as the tale goes, vnth much
gaiety of heart to his companion, Mr. Davison —
" They manage these things better in France," says
Mr, Shandy, though with reference to other
matters. He now set out for the East, where he remained
for three years, and though we have no account
of much of the time spent there, still one im
portant portion of his travels has been preserved
to us in a letter written by himself to his friend.
Dr. Watson, detaiHng a journey from Cairo in
Egypt, to the Written Mountain in Sinai.
Of the events of Wortley Montague's residence
in the East Httle more is known than an adventure
in which he was implicated while at Alexandria,
and which will hardly find grace from any but
those who adopt, in its widest extent, the code of
Ovid, " Jupiter ex alto perjuria ridet amantum."
The tale is told by Abbe Winkelman, in his
letters, according to whom, Mr. Montague got

116 FAMILY ROMANCE.
acquainted with the Danish ambassador, who had
the misfortune, as it proved in his case, to possess
a handsome wife. Under various pretences our
traveller persuaded the consul to go to Holland,
and some time afterwards showed a feigned letter
to the lady, containing an account of her husband's
death, whereupon she was induced to marry him.
Not long afterwards the Danish resident at Con
stantinople received from the Texal, advices of the
supposed dead consul ; but the catastrophe of this
unpleasant affair is not given. The Abbe only
tells us that the seducer carried his victim with
him into Syria, and that he was not safe in any of
tlie Grand Seignor's dominions when the cheat was
discovered. We next find him performing quarantine at
Venice, a perfect Asiatic in dress as well as
manners ; his beard, which he had suffered to
grow for two years and a half, reached down to
his breast, his head-gear was Armenian, his bed
the ground, his food rice, his drink water or coffee,
and his greatest luxury a pipe. All the English
at Venice made a point of visiting him, an atten
tion which gratified him highly, and which he
repaid by the narration of the different wonders
he had met with. Of the Arabs and their country
he spoke in glowing terms, declaring that if a man
were to drop his cloak in the highway, he would

EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGUE. 117
find it there six months afterwards, an Arab being
too honest to pick up what belongs to another ;
and were you to offer money for the provision
you met with, the Arab would demand why you
had so mean an opinion of his benevolence as to
suppose him capable of accepting a gratification.
From Venice it would seem that he went to Pisa.
The account he gives of himself in a letter dated
from this city, and addressed to the learned Father
Lami at Florence, is highly characteristic of the
man, and shows at the same time how little we
know of his foreign travels. In this letter he
says, " I have been making some trials that have
not a little contributed to the improvement of my
organic system. I have conversed with the nobles
in Germany, and served my apprenticeship in the
science of horsemanship at their country-seats.
I have been a labourer in the fields of Switzerland
and Holland, and have not disdained the humble
profession of postilHon and ploughman. I as
sumed at Paris the ridiculous character of a petit
maitre. I was an abbe at Rome. I put on, at
Hamburgh, the Lutheran ruff, and with a triple
chin and a formal countenance I dealt about me
the word of God so as to excite the envy of the
clergy. I acted successively all the parts that
Fielding has described in his Julian, My fate
was similar to that of a guinea, which at one time

118 FAMILY ROMANCE.
is in the hands of a queen, and at another is in
the fob of a greasy Israelite."
Notwithstanding the Abbe Winkelman's state
ment of our traveller not being safe in any part
of the Grand Seignor's dominions, we find it
stated in the public papers of 1766, that he had
been received with uncommon respect at Con
stantinople, after having passed through Salonica,
and having visited the islands in the Archipelago.
In the beginning of the year 1773 he was
at Rosetta, in Egypt, as appears from a letter to
a medical friend in London ; and which, from its
graphical account both of himself and of the
country, is well worth that we should make a few
brief extracts from it. " I am much obliged," he
says, " for the compliment that you pay my beard ;
and to my good friend. Dr. Mackenzie, for having
given you an account of its advantages enough to
merit the panegyric. I have followed Ulysses
and jEneas — I have seen all they are said to have
visited, the territories of the allies of the Greeks,
as well as those of old Priam, with less ease,
though with more pleasure, than most of our
travellers traverse France and Italy. I have had
many a weary step, but never a tiresome hour ;
and however disagreeable and dangerous adven
tures I may have had, none could ever deter me
from my point ; but, on the contrary, they were

EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGUE. 119
only stimuli. I have certainly many materials,
and classical ones too, but I am always a bad
workman ; and a sexagenary one is, of all work
men, the worst — as perhaps with truth the fair
sex say. This is very true ; but the Patriarchs
only began life at that time of the day ; and I
find that I have a patriarchal constitution. I
Hve as hardly and simply as they did. Enured to
hardship, I despise luxury ; my only luxury is
coffee and the concomitant of claret, exceptis
excipiendis. I stayed a considerable time at
Epirus and Thessalia, theatres on which the fate
of the world was the drama. I took exact plans
of Actium and Pharsalia. ... I am totally
taken up vrith the study of the Arabic language."
In the June of this year he quitted Rosetta, and
in the same month we find him in the Lazaretto,
off Leghorn, From that place he went to Venice,
where he stayed two years, but more than ever
enamoured of oriental customs, and fully pur
posing a journey to Mecca and Medina. During
his residence at Venice he was visited by the
Duke of Hamilton and Dr. Moore, the latter of
whom has left us a singular account of his habits
and appearance, " He met his Grace," says Dr.
Moore, "at the stair-head, and led us through some
apartments fumished in the Venetian manner, into
an inner room quite in a different style. There

120 FAMILY ROMANCE.
were no chairs, but he desired us to seat ourselves
on a sofa, while he placed himself on a cushion on
the floor, with his legs crossed, in the Turkish
fashion. A young black slave sate by hira ; and a
venerable old man, with a long beard served us
with coffee. After this collation, some aromatic
gums were brought and burnt in a Httle silver
vessel. Mr. Montague held his nose over the
steam for some minutes, and snuffed up the per
fume with peculiar satisfaction ; he afterwards
endeavoured to collect the smoke with his hands,
spreading and rubbing it carefully along his beard,
which hung in hoary ringlets to his girdle. This
manner of perfuming the beard seems more
cleanly, and rather an improvement upon that
used by the Jews in ancient times. We had a
great deal of conversation with this venerable-
looking person, who is, to the last degree, acute,
communicative and entertaining, and in whose dis
course and manners are blended the vivacity of a
Frenchman with, the gravity of a Turk. We
found hira, however, wonderfully prejudiced in
favour of the Turkish characters and manners,
which he thinks infinitely preferable to the Euro
pean, or those of any other nation. He describes
the Turks in general as a people of great sense
and integrity ; the most hospitable, generous, and
the happiest of mankind. He talks of returning

EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGUE. 121
as soon as possible to Egypt, which he paints as a
perfect paradise. Though Mr. Montague hardly
ever stirs abroad, he returned the Duke's visit, and
as we were not provided with cushions, he sate,
while he stayed, upon a sofa, with his legs under
him, as he had done at his own house. This
posture, by long habit, has become the raost
agreeable to him, and he insists upon its
being by far the most natural and convenient : but
indeed, he seems to cherish the same opinion with
regard to all customs which prevail among the
Turks. I could not help mentioning one which I
suspected would be thought both unnatural and
inconvenient by at least one half ofthe huraan race,
that ofthe men being allowed to engross as many
women as they can maintain, and confining them
to the most insipid of aU lives within their harems.
" No doubt," he repHed, " the women are all ene
mies to polygamy and concubinage ; and there is
reason to imagine that this aversion of theirs,
joined to the great influence they have in all Chris
tian countries, has prevented Mahometanism from
making any progress in Europe. The Turkish
men, on the other hand, have an aversion to Chris
tianity equal to that which the Christian women
have to the religion of Mahomet. Auricular con
fession is perfectly horrible to their imagination •
no Turk of any delicacy would ever allow his wife,
VOL. I. G

122 FAMILY ROMANCE.
particularly if he had but one, to hold private con
ference with a man an any pretext whatever. I
took notice that this aversion to auricular confes
sion could not be a reason for the Turk's disHke
to tbe Protestant religion. That is true, said he,
but you have other tenets in common with the
Catholics, which render your religion odious to
them. You forbid polygamy and concubinage,
which, in the eyes of the Turks, is an intolerable
hardship. Lastly, the Christian reHgion considers
women as creatures upon a level with men, and
equally entitled to every enjoyment, both here
and hereafter. When the Turks are told this,
they are not surprised also at being informed that
women in general are better Christians than men ;
but they are perfectly astonished that an opinion,
which they think so contrary to common sense,
should subsist among the rational, that is to say,
the male part of Christians."
The best, and indeed the only comment requi
site, upon these doctrines, is what Mr. Montague
said of himself, "that he had never once been
guilty of a small folly in the whole course of his
life." Nor will it surprise any one to be told that
from the Protestant religion he went over to the
faith of Rome, and, from that again deserted, to
Mahomedanism, strictly maintaining all its obser
vances, except in the one article of circumcision.

EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGUE. 123
A neglect of this ceremony, upon one occasion,
nearly cost him his life.
Amongst other singularities he was anxious that
the Turks should believe he was a son of the
Grand Seignor, and many were credulous enough
to receive him for that which he pretended to be.
But the head of all his offences against the usages
of life, was the following* advertisement, intended
to defeat one of the absurd conditions of his
father's will, mentioned in the commencement of
our narrative. It ran thus —
" MATRIMONY.
"A gentleman, who hath filled two succeeding
seats in parliament, is near sixty years of age, Hves
in great splendour and hospitality, and from whom
a considerable estate must pass, if he dies vrithout
issue ; hath no objection to raarry any widow, or
single lady, provided the party be of genteel birth,
polished manners, and five, six, seven, or eight
months gone in her pregnancy. Letters directed
to  Brecknock, Esq., at Will's coffee-house,
facing the Admiralty, will be honoured with due
attention, secrecy, and every possible mark of
respect," It is said that a lady was actually found to
answer the terms of this advertisement, but the
termination of this extraordinary man's career was
rapidly approaching. While dining at Padua,
G 2

124 FAMILY ROMANCE.
with the artist Romney, a partridge-bone stuck in
his throat. His attendants, thinking he was about
to expire, called in a priest, at which he was
highly indignant, and being asked in what faith he
would leave the world, he replied, " I hope a
good Mussulman."
Inflammation supervened, and in a few days he
died, leaving a son, Edward Wortley Montague,
then in the East Indies, a daughter Mary, who
was a nun, in the Ursuline convent at Rome, and
a reputed son, Fortunatus, otherwise Massond, a
black boy, thirteen years old, whom we have
already noticed as liring with him both at Venice
and Rosetta.
The remains of our eccentric traveller were de
posited under a plain slab, in the cloisters of the
Hermitants at Padua.

125

NEWBURY AND ITS RECORDS.

Situated midway on the great high-road between
London and Bristol, which cities, for centuries, were
thegreat emporiums of British commerce. Newbury
is familiar to every traveller, and has shared largely
in the vicissitudes of the times. It is situated in
a fertile valley, watered by the river Kennet. At
the period of the Norman survey, it was a town of
some importance, and was known by the Saxon
name of Ulwardetone, from Ulward, who possessed
it in the reign of Edward the Confessor. The
Bishop of Chalons, heir of Thomas, Earl of
Perche, sold the manor in 1216, to William Mar
shall, Earl of Pembroke. It afterwards reverted
to the Crown, and was occasionally assigned as a
jointure to the Queens of England. Henry the
Eighth conferred it upon the Lady Jane Seymour,

126 FAMILY ROMANCE.
and James the First upon his Queen, Anne
of Denmark. In the first year of his son, Charles*
it was granted to the corporation, in which body
the manor remains to the present day. The Earls
of Perche had a castle at Newbury, which was
mentioned as of considerable strength in the
reign of Stephen. This warlike monarch in 1152,
attacked the town and castle, which he took after
a vigorous defence, and from that period till the
civil wars in the seventeenth century, Newbury
appears to have been rather famous for its com
mercial prosperity than its military importance.
Several names of eminence are connected with
the history of this town and these we propose to
glance at, seriatim.
John Winchcombe, alias Smallwoode, flourished
in the reigns of Henry the Seventh and Henry
the Eighth. The clothiers of Newbury were,
about this period, esteemed amongst the wealthiest
tradesmen and merchants of the country, and
several of thera became possessors of large landed
property in the county. Among these, the most
remarkable were John Winchcombe and Sir
Thomas Dolman. The traditionary stories relating
to the former, who was best known under the
familiar appellation of " Jack of Newbury," are
strange indeed, if true. Rejecting, however, the
many improbable statements forged by falsehood.

NEWBURY AND ITS RECORDS. 127
and fostered by ignorant credulity, we believe the
few particulars we have culled from a vast mass of
absurdity are correct. John Winchcombe, early
in the reign of Henry the Seventh, was bound
apprentice to a wealthy clothier of Newbury, and
by his readiness and good conduct was at length
entrusted with the management of his master's
affairs. Hogarth might almost have taken the
hint of his story of the two apprentices from the
career of this good man. His master dying be
queathed to his only child, a daughter, a con
siderable fortune and a lucrative business, and
Hke another Penelope, she wanted not suitors
to superintend the labours of the loom, and to
claim for themselves the rare mental and personal
endowments of the fair heiress. Great was their
importunity and equally great her reluctance to
select, till, at length, being warned that so much
beauty and so much wealth would be summarily
disposed of by higher authority if she did not
speedily decide for herself, she called a meeting
of her suitors, and after a handsome entertain
ment, introduced her foreman, John Winchcombe,
whom, in spite of their entreaties, remonstrances,
and threats, she named as the husband of her
choice, and the possessor of her hand and fortune.
And well and wisely did Jack of Newbury
demean himself in his new position ; he increased

128 FAMILY ROMANCE.
his business and his means — is said to have had
a hundred looms at work in his house, and to have
sent a hundred of his own dependents " as well
armed and better clothed than any," to assist the
King in Scotland, at the fight of Flodden field.
An ancient ballad is still recited, alluding to
the part the Newbury men took in this fatal
battle : — The Chesshyre lads were brisk and brave
And the Kendal lads as free,
But none surpassed, or I'm a knave,
The lads of Newberrie.
Awaie they sent the grey goose -wynge,
Each killed his two or three,
Bnt none so loud -with fayme did r3Tige,
As the lads of Newberrie.
Remnants of his house and extensive workshops
are still to be seen, and A'ery ancient carvings in
oak have been preserved as having been the
decorations to his numerous apartments.
Early in the reign of Henry the Eighth, Jack
of Newbury had the honour of entertaining that
bluff monarch and his Queen, Catherine of
Arragon. Indeed he had now risen to such
eminence that he may fairly rank among the
famous men of his time. It is to be presumed
that he early adopted the principles of the Refor
mation, as we find him in possession of the Manor

NEWBURY AND ITS RECORDS. 129
of Bucklebury, in 1539, subsequent to the
dissolution of the monasteries, and he obtained
also other extensive grants from the vast estates of
the Abbey of Reading. At Bucklebury he
built a large mansion in the peculiar style of that
age, which has, however, been pulled down by the
present possessor of the manor, Winchcombe
Henry Howard Hartley, Esq., and it has not yet
been replaced. The celebrated St. John, the
friend of Swift, who had interraarried with a
descendant of Winchcombe, resided in this
mansion. There Swift visited him, and his
account of the place, in a letter to Stella, dated
July 19th, 1711, is so characteristic that we ex
tract it : —
" Mr. Secretary was a perfect country gentle
man at Bucklebury. He smoked tobacco with
one or two neighbours, he enquired after the
wheat in such a field, he went to -risit |his hounds,
and he knew all their names ; he and his lady saw
me to my chamber just in the country fashion.
His house is in the midst of near three thousand
pounds a year he had by his lady, who is descended
from Jack of Newbury, of whom books and
ballads are written, and there is an old picture of
him in the room."
After the decease of Jack of Newbury — who, in
his will, was a considerable benefactor to his native
G 3

130 FAMILY ROMANCE.
town, his descendants maintained a high position
in the county. In 1643, Henry Winchcombe died,
possessed of the Manor and Castle of Donnington.
He married the Lady Frances Howard, eldest
daughter of Thomas Howard, Earl of Berkshire.
His c-ly son by this marriage was created a
baronet by Charles the Second, in 1661,
Elizabeth, the second daughter of the baronet,
having fallen prematurely a victim to some
epidemic disease, is thus lauded by Phillips, in his
poem entitled " Cider: —
" Such heats prevailed when fair Eliza, last
Of Winchcombe's name, (next thee in blood and worth,
O, fairest St. John) left this toilsome world
In beauty's prime, and saddened all the year :
Nor could her virtues nor repeated vows
Of thousand lovers, the relentless hand
Of death arrest — she with the vulgar fell,
Only distinguished by this humble verse."
Frances, the elder sister, married 1700, the well
known Henry St. John, Viscount Bolingbroke :
it was not a happy connection ; she turned devotee,
and died in France, without leaving any issue.
From the third sister is the present representative
of Jack of Newbury descended, by her marriage
with Robert Packer, Esq., of Shillingford.
To the historian the name of Newbury is familiar
as having been the scene of important operations

NEWBURY AND ITS RECORDS. 131
in the civil wars of the reign of Charles the First.
Perhaps one of the most fiercely contested battles
fought between the King and his rebellious sub
jects, was that known as the first battle of New
bury. On the 18th of September the Earl of
Essex drew out his army, the King having posted
his on a hill near the town, and on a plain con
siderably elevated, known as the Wash Common
and Eborne Heath. This " battle," to adopt the
words of Clarendon, " was disputed on aU points
with great fierceness and courage. The King's
horse, with a kind of contempt of the enemy,
charged with wonderful boldness on all grounds of
inequality, and were so far too hard for the troops
on the other side, that they routed them in most
places, till they had left the greatest part of their
foot without any guard at all of horse. But then
the foot behaved themselves admirably on the
enemies' part, and gave their scattered horse time
to rally. The London trained bands behaved
themselves to wonder, and were, in truth, the pre
servation of the army on that day." The engage
ment is said to have lasted the whole day. It was
in this battle that the King and the nation lost one
of the greatest and best men of his times, Lucius
Cary, Viscount Falkland, who was Secretary of
State. This accomplished nobleman, it is well
known, reluctantly, and only from a generous

132 FAMILY ROMANCE.
sense of duty, consented to take office and to share
in the events of this unnatural and disastrous war.
It is said, that previous to the fight on Eborne
Heath, he had a presentiment that he should fall
there. He lodged with a respectable tradesman
of the name of Head, in the Market-place, and as
if to be fully prepared for an event which he knew
was certain, very early on the morning of the
battle, he desired the clergyman of Newbury to
administer to him, as well as to Mr. Head and his
whole family, the sacrament of the Lord's supper.
In preparing and arranging his apparel he exhi
bited more than usual care, assigning as a reason
that the enemy should not find his body in a
slovenly condition. " I am weary," added he, " of
the times, and foresee much misery to my country,
but believe I shall be out of it ere night." Tra
dition says that his body was found on the North
edge of Wash Common, where two tall poplars
now stand, which might have been purposely
planted to indicate the spot. In a few brief hours
after he had left Mr. Head's house his corpse was
brought back again, slung across a horse, and was
finally removed from the Town Hall for interment.
He was a loss to both parties ; for, though steady
in his loyalty to his sovereign, he was a man of
enlarged and Hberal views, and might, had he
been spared, have softened down on convenient

NEWBURY AND ITS BECORDS. 133
occasions, those bitter feelings of animosity which
produced such general misery and ruin through
the country and ended in so fatal a result. His
enconium is thus well pronounced by Pope :
"See Falkland dies, the virtuous and the just."
In this well-contested fight the King lost also
other noble and valiant supporters. Henry
Spencer, Earl of Sunderland, was killed by a
cannon ball while standing close to his Majesty at
the commencement of the engagement. Robert
Dormer, Earl of Carnarvon, son-in-law to Philip,
Earl of Pembroke and Montgomery, after he had
charged and routed a party of the enemy's horse,
was run through the body by one of the scattered
troopers who knew him, as he was carelessly
returning. This promising young nobleman is
highly commended by Clarendon. He had tra
velled through Spain, Portugal, France, and
Italy, had spent a considerable time in Turkey
and the East, with an observant eye on their
manners and customs, and though he indulged in
those pleasures, such as hunting, hawking, and the
like in which the nobility of those times loved to
excel, yet, after he had taken a command in the
king's service, no man more diligently obeyed, or
more dexterously commanded. His death was a

134 FAMILY ROMANCE.
great loss to the royal cause. The Earls of Holland,
Bedford, and Clare, were also present in this
battle, but the king prudently declined trusting
these noblemen with any command. Among the
aristocracy wounded, we find the names of the
Earls of Carlisle and Peterborough, Lord
Andover and Lord Chandos. When the latter
fell, the King, thinking him slain, exclaimed,
" Let Chandos alone, his errors are safe." The
meaning of this allusion is not known. This
nobleman was ancestor of the Dukes of Chandos.
Donnington Castle, the ruins of which still
crown the summit of a hill to the north-west of
Newbury, was also the scene of many a severe
contest during this fierce war of opposing prin
ciples. The name of the gallant governor. Sir
John Boys, is as well worthy of being handed
down to the admiration of posterity as any other
of those loyal men who hazarded their lives, and
impaired their fortunes in the cause of their un
fortunate sovereign.
Waller, after his defeat at Cropedy bridge, sent
General Middleton with a body of 3,000 horse
for the purpose of following the King into the
west, and ordered him to take Donnington Castle
in his way. This castle was thought an easy
conquest, as being of no considerable strength.
But it was so well defended by Colonel Boys,

NEWBURY AND ITS RECORDS. 135
that the Parliamentarians, after losing 300 officers
and soldiers, were obliged to send for an additional
force from Abingdon, and having made their
approaches, summoned the Governor to surrender
on honourable terms. The answer of Colonel Boys
was as follows : —
" Sir, — 1 am entrusted by his Majesty's express
command, and have not learned yet to obey any
other than my sovereign. To spare blood do as
you please, but myself and those that are with me,
are fully resolved to venture ours in maintaining
what we are entrusted with, which is the answer
of  John Boys."
Middleton immediately commenced the attack,
and advanced against it with foot and scaling
ladders in three places. But the small band of
brave men within compelled him to retire with
the loss of 100 men, a colonel, a major, and other
officers. He raised the seige and inarched to join
the Earl of Essex in the West. For this act of
successful bravery Colonel Boys was knighted.
After the second battle of Newbury, and when
the King had withdrawn his forces. Colonel Hurry
was deputed to make large offers for the surrender
of Donnington Castle, These were rejected with
indignation. The next day the ParHamentarians
drew up their whole array before the castle, and

136 FAMILY ROMANCE.
suramoned Sir John Boys " to deliver it to them
or else they would not leave one stone upon
another." To this, the Governor replied " that
he was not bound to repair it, but, however, he
would, by God's help, keep the ground afterwards."
The Parliamentarians then resolved upon an
assault, but the officer comraanding the party, and
some soldiers being killed, they retired and did
not venture on any further attempt.
It will be thus seen that the enrirons of New
bury are full of interesting reminiscences of the
past, indeed few places offer more ample materials
for the historian or the antiquary. Many
mansions in the vicinity have been famous in their
day, among which we may mention Sandleford
Priory, once a Preceptory of the Knights
Templars, and in after times the residence of
Mrs. Montague, so well known as a clever and
accomplished writer. Highclere too, the property,
even so early as the Saxon tiines, of the Bishops
of Winchester, stands unrivalled for the architec
tural beauty of its castle and the wild magnificence
of its domain. It has long been the property of
the noble family of Herbert, and its late possessor
and the builder of the castle, the third Earl of
Carnarvon, was a man, alike distinguished for his
great literary attainments, his high bearing, and
his moral qualities. His lordship — like hisprede-

NEWBURY AND ITS RECORDS. 137
cesser of the same name, who fell in Newbury
fight — was an accomplished traveller, and his
" Travels in Portugal and Spain," is a work which
will hand down his name to posterity as a
distinguished and enlightened author. Hampsted
Marshall has long been the seat of the Craven
family. The mansion was twice burned down, but
an irregular building, much added too at various
times, is now the residence of the Countess Craven.
On the opposite bank of the river Kennet is
Benham House, once the favourite abode of that
eccentric lady, the Margravine of Anspach, whose
varied and somewhat chequered career may be
best gathered from Memoirs written by herself.
On the Hampshire side of Newbury, the
country is particularly wild and picturesque, and
as the spectator stands on the battle-field, the eye
wanders over a fine expanse of country boldly
undulated and lovely in every variation of waste
and fertility. To the north is the fine vale of the
Kennet, and the town of Newbury reposing in its
bosom, while beyond are seen the village of Speen,
(the Spinas of the Romans) and the in teresting ruins
of Donnington Castle, once the property and abode
of Chaucer. To the south, the heathery heights, of
the Wash-common, slope into a broad and thickly
wooded valley, bounded to the southward by the
lofty downs of North Hants, rising bare and

138 FAMILY ROMANCE.
abrupt, except whelre the dense woods of Highclere
clothe the Siddown hill to its very summit. To
the east, rises in solitary grandeur that remarkable
land-mark called Beacon Hill, its bold apex
exhibiting the deep vallum and lofty agger of an
ancient British encampment. A great portion of
this valley consists of the Parish of East Wood-
hay, which extends from the weU-known coverts
of Penwood, almost to the borders of Wiltshire.
This forms a portion of the vast free Warren,
which was once the property of the see of
Winchester, but which was bought by the first
Earl of Carnarvon, under the provisions of the
Land-tax Act. Five-and-twenty years ago this was .
as wild andlawless a district as any in the South of
England, but the energy of a resident gentleman*
distinguished alike by his high Hterary acquire
ments and his unceasing efforts to promote
the welfare of all who come within the
sphere of his influence, has converted this
wilderness into a garden ; and that parish which
was once a bye-word and a proverb, is now re
garded as offering every inducement to residence,
its disadvantages having been corrected, and its
many capabilities fully and wonderfully developed.
A great portion of the parish has passed through
the hands of this gentleman, (the Rev. John Harvey
Ashworth) who, as the various lands came into

NEWBURY AND ITS RECORDS. 139
his possession, built houses, improved, planted,
and laid out domains, till no less than seven or
eight proprietors of fortune are now resident
therein, spreading happiness and contentment
around them, and benefiting, in no small degree,
the commerce of the neighbouring town of
Newbury. How true a patriot is he who thus
spends his fortune and energies in employing the
poor, in fostering trade, and in developing the
resources and capabilities of the land he Hves in 1
Among the residences in this parish, we may
enumerate Enbridge Lodge, Hollington, Burlyns,
Oakhurst, Malverleys, Burley Wood, and
Hazelby, all beautifully situated, and several
possessing more than ordinary architectural
pretensions.

140

THE LEGEND OF THE ANGRY BEAR.
Many were the tears and sighs which sur
rounded Coeur de Leon, and his brave companions
as they sailed from Acre, on the feast of St.
Dionysius, in Oct., 1192.
A light seemed to hang about them — it -was not
from gorgeous trappings. Alas, how different now
to the brilliant army they had hailed the year
before! But their battered panoply told of a
higher glory. Their wounds proclaimed that the
painted cross had sunk beyond the steel, and
marked its impress on the dauntless hearts
within. And religion, however rude may be its
tenets, however mistaken its zeal, sheds a calm,
rich lustre round those who practice it.
And the people wept when they thought how
brave they had been to help the weak. They

THE ANGRY BEAR. 141
knew that a tale of pity could melt those hearts
which all the steel of Saladin had failed to touch.
They loved the pilgrims from a far-off land, and
the fleet was wafted from the harbour amid cries
and blessings, and many a mournful thought — " Oh
Jerusalem ! who will protect thee now ? for King
Richard is gone !"
And the warriors sailed on their way, thinking
how many brave companions they had left on the
Saracens' land.
For two days all was bright, and happy were
those hearts at the prospect of return. The
Curfew nightly rang in their dreams ; and the
war-worn man, an in his youthful days, played
by the woodland cot, whose hallowed name was
home. Little they thought that the clear blue sky
would lower into blackening clouds, and another
day would arise to find the pilgrims scattered still
further from the longed-for place. And spirits
would be ffitting there — pilgrims whose only
emblem was the cross, suffered to see that land
because of the valiant deeds they had done
for their Sariour's sake ! But soon the storm
arose, and the fieet was scattered wide upon the
sea. Many were wrecked on the coasts of Egypt
and Barbary, where those who were saved, falling

142 FAMILY ROMANCE.
into the hands of the Infidel, passed the remainder
of their Hves in slavery. One of the ships, help
less on the waters, dashed at a headlong pace ;
whither, the mariners knew not, for darkness
covered the deep. And the vessel went careering
on, urged by the roaring gale. And veteran hearts
quailed, for they thought their God was in
anger. ***** Of all in this ship the Lord of Geresbroke alone
survived. In the wars he had been known by the
sobriquet of the Angry Bear, from the cog
nizance borne on his pear-shaped shield, and many
a Paynim had fallen beneath his hand.
Senseless he lay on the beach, clothed in his
leathern jerkin, and grasping the trusty sword
which had served the cause so well. His com
panion knights had all sunk down from the weight
of their armour ; and the common soldiers wore
hauberks of padded cloth, which, soaked with the
water, precluded all chance of escape.
For long he was shut up in prison ; but a friend
was there to help, and the tinkling notes of a lute
came to break the silence of confinement. And
there were sweet songs, sung in a soft, sweet voice,
which spoke of joy and hope. No wonder that
the prisoner drank in the precious sounds, and
learned to love what soothed him ; and he climbed

THE .INGRY BEAR. 143
to the grated window, to see whence his pleasure
came. The Emir had a daughter, fair as the clouds of
the morning, and she it was who sang for the
lonely captive. She had seen him when he knew
not, and love gently filled her heart.
No wonder that she came near to the barred
window — no wonder that love-words were spoken,
and loring tokens exchanged, for the knight had
worshipped his unseen soother, and thought her
an angel of Hght sent to comfort him in his misery.
And who could look upon a face like his and
not be moved ! He might well look noble, for
the blood of Alfred flushed on that manly brow !
And yet at first she thought it pity.
Months rolled on, and the prisoner almost loved
the cell where such sweet things were spoken.
At length a plan was formed, and they fled from
the place together, and a short month found them
at Rome ; short, for joy indeed was there : but oh!
how long, they were not married yet! and the
maiden lay on her death-bed. Her plighted
husband watched and whispered rough words of
religion ; and the priest was there with the cross,
for the fairest daughter of Allah now leant on the
cursed tree ; she believed in a Saviour's love.
And then the marriage was made on earth, so
they would be one in heaven ; for she knew she

144 FAMILY ROMANCE.
could not Hve. The ring was placed on her hand,
and the maiden wife was gone, leaving her hus
band behind. *****
For months he seemed amazed, each day wiped
away a hope, and still he could not think that
she had left him. And so he hung around her
tomb, stunned by his blighted love.
The fathers let him mourn, for they too mourned
his loss, and gently, in time, they taught him to
look to that heaven where she had but gone be
fore, and waited for him to arrive.
And so the years sped on, and people ceased to
notice the poor pilgrim who so often lingered in
the lonely church.
Many tongues told the glorious deeds Richard
was performing, how mightily he fought in Nor
mandy ; and the pilgrim's eye grew bright, but
he could not leave the place where all his joys
were set. At last came a Norman who sang
that the arrow was making in Limousin by
which King Richard should be slain. This was
early in 1199 and the next day the pilgrim was
gone. It was a weary journey home, for it had to be
done on foot ; and still there was much to perform
when he heard of his sovereign's death.
The spell was broken which had bound him so

THE ANGRY BEAR. 145
long to his woe, so he went on, and his reverence
for Richard was still continued to John.
By the end of May he was again in England.
He heard of disaffection, and many abused their
king ; but de Geresbroke heeded not, he loved
him for his brother's sake. So changing his pil
grim's garb, he went to the sovereign's court.
They knew the Angry Bear, and welcomed him
home from his trials ; and John was rejoiced to
to see one whose arm would be useful.
The assemblage of knights was small, and they
looked coldly on their king, and De Geresbroke
flushed with anger when he thought how changed
it was to the noble Richard's court — for all men
loved him, and those who did not, feared. At
last came one whose language and look were in
sulting to the king. Trembling with rage, De
Geresbroke strode across the hall : with mailed
hand he struck the offender down, and when the
attendants raised him, he was dead !
* » * * «
It was a great offence, and severely punished
by the law thus to strike in the royal presence,
and so the king called out in his Norman French,
to " muzzle the bear,"
But he was soon again set at liberty, as John
would but seemingly punish such zeal for him
self. VOL I. H

146 FAMILY ROMANCE.
The Angry Bear did not live to reap his favour
— he died shortly afterwards, probably before
1200; some said by poison from the enmity of
the dead man's friends, but others thought he did
but go to join his maiden wife. However that
may be, his name still lives, for ever after, his
descendants, in remembrance of that deed, have
borne as their badge, a muzzle on the angry bear.

The unfortunate loss of papers has deprived
the Grazebrook family of the name of this noble
knight. In narrating the legend he is called the
" Angry Bear " and " The Lord of Geresbroke "
(«. e. Lord of the Manor of Geresbroke), but his
position in the pedigree was ; son of Roger de
de Gresebrok, and great uncle to Bartholomew
de Gresebrok, who left their original manor, and
was the first who resided at Greysbrooke Hall.
The present Michael Grazebrook, Esq., of
Audnam, co. Stafford, being nineteenth in lineal
descent from Bartholomew de Gresebrok, is thus
twenty-first in collateral descent from the Angry
Bear.

147

THE WYNYARD GHOST STORY.
There ever has been, and probably ever will be,
an irreconciliable feud between human reason and
human testimony in the matter of the supernatural.
All reason is decidedly opposed to the reality of
apparitions, but it is no less certain that there are
many tales of such things supported by as clear
and strong eridence as ever was produced in a court
of justice to convict or acquit a prisoner. Of this
kind is our present story, which can be solved only
in one of four ways : Either we must suppose that
two high-minded and gaUant officers concocted a
childish falsehood, for which|they had no possible in
ducement; or secondly, that they were the dupes of
a trick played upon them by their brother officers ;
or thirdly, that they did actually see what they
fancied they saw ; which would at once establish
the possibility of supernatural appearances, and
H 2

148 FAMILY ROMANCE.
give confirmation to many a tale which is at present
staggering ; or lastly, thai in the light of day, and
at the same moment they both became subject to
a similar illusion.
The first of these hypotheses cannot stand for a
moment, being completely nulHfied by the high
character of the parties concerned. The second
supposition, as will presently be seen, is rendered,
by circumstances, impossible. It is therefore by
one of the two last theories that the problera must
be solved, and we cannot help thinking that when
our tale has been told, the most ingenious reader
will be somewhat puzzled in coming to a satis
factory conclusion.
Sir John Sherbroke and General Wynyard —
dignities to which they afterwards arrived — were,
at the period of our narrative, young officers in the
same regiment, then employed on foreign serrice
in Nova Scotia. It was the general habit of mili
tary men of those times to indulge largely in the
pleasures of the table, as well as in other excesses,
and to do so was considered less a fault than the
sign of a bold dashing soldier. This, however,
was an error into which the subjects of our story
had not fallen. They were both of a studious
turn, and this similarity of tastes produced a
friendship between them, all the dearer and the
more intimate, as it afforded to either a refuge from

WYNYARD GHOST STORY. 149
the whirl of dissipation that was going on around
them. It was their common habit to retire from the
mess room immediately after dinner, and betake
themselves to the apartments of one or other of
them, where they would sit together for hours,
each employed upon his own studies. Such was
the case ou the day of our story, when they met
in the rooms belonging to Wynyard. It was
about four o'clock, the afternoon bright and clear,
with far too much of dayHght remaining to veil
any spectral illusions. Both, too, had abstained
entirely from wine, a circumstance of some im
portance in regard to what is to follow, as is also
the arrangement of Wynyard's chamber. It had
only two doors, one of them leading into the
outer passage, the other into the bed-room, from
which there was no second way of egress ; or, in
other words — for this matter cannot be made too
clear, — it was impossible to go in or out of the bed
chamber, except by passing through the sitting
room. They were both placed at the same table, occu
pied as usual, when Sherbroke happening to look
up from his book, was surprised to see a tall
emaciated youth, of about twenty years of age,
standing beside the door that opened into the
passage. There was something — it might be

150 FAMILY ROMANCE.
difficult t^ say what— so striking, or so unusual, in
the stranger's appearance, that he almost invo
luntarily called the attention of his friend to him
by slightly touching his arm; and pointing with
his finger to where the figure stood. But no
sooner had Wynyard raised his eyes and fixed
them upon the strange visitant than he became
agitated in a most extraordinary manner — " I
have heard," says Sir John Sherbroke, " of a
man's being as pale as death, but I never saw a
living face assume the appearance of a corpse
except Wynyard's at that moment."
Both for awhile remained silent; the one under
the influence of some untold, but powerful feeling;
the other, from surprise at his friend's profound
emotion, which, in some degree, became communi
cated to himself, and made him also regard their
strange visitant, if not with awe, with something
very much akin to it. Is it not Fielding who tells
us Partridge was not so much frightened at the
actual ghost in Hamlet as at the alarm expressed
by Garrick at its appearance ? He could not help
believing in the reality of the spectre when he saw
another so violently agitated by its appearance,
and became infected with his terrors.
While the two friends continued to gaze, unable
to speak or move, the apparition, — if it were an
apparition — began to glide slowly and noiselessly

VnfNYARD GHOST STORY. 151
across the chamber. In passing them, it cast a
melancholy look upon young Wynyard, and im
mediately afterwards seemed to enter the bed
room, where it was lost to sight. No sooner were
they relieved from the oppression produced by
this extraordinary presence, than Wynyard, as if
again restored to the power of breathing, drew a
heavy sigh, and murmured, as it seemed. Uncon
sciously, " Great God ! my brother !
" Your brother ? " repeated Sherbroke ; " what
can you mean, Wynyard ? There must be some
deception ; but follow rae, and we' 11 soon know
the truth of it."
In saying this he caught his friend's hand, and
preceded him into the bed-room, from which, as
we have already observed all egress was impossible.
Great therefore was the surprise, — of Sherbroke,
at least — upon finding, after the narrowest search,
that the room was absolutely untenanted, though
he still believed they had been mocked by some
illusion. Wynyard, on the contrary, was now
confirmed in his first impression that he had ac
tually seen the spirit of his brother. Neither of
them perhaps was whoUy satisfied with his own
opinion in a case where the reason and the senses
were so much at variance, but in the hope that
time might, one way or the other, afford a clue to
the mystery, they took a note of the day and

152 FAMILY ROMANCE.
hour, resolving, however, not to mention the oc
currence to any of their brother officers.
As the impression of this strange event grew
fainter upon the minds of the two ghost-seers, not
only did Sherbroke become more confirmed in his
idea, that some trick had been played upon them,
but even Wynyard was strongly inclined to agree
with him. At no time does it seem to have en
tered into the head of either, that the whole might
be the illusion of their own senses, and not the
practice of others. Taking it for granted that
they had actually seen a something, the only ques
tion was, as to what that something might be — a
real spirit, or a deception ? And they now adopted
the opinion in spite of all the improbabilities con
nected with it, for it certainly was difficult to un
derstand how a human being could have escaped
frora a roora, that, upon the narrowest search, had
no outlet, and, not less so, to comprehend by what
means any one could have so closely personated
the absent brother, as to deceive Wynyard him
self ; yet both these difficulties must be removed
before the fact of human agency could be admitted.
Butler tells us with no less wit than truth : —
" The man convinced against his -will,
Is of the same opinion still."
And so it proved with Wynyard. Convinced as
he now was, that the whole had been a deception

VTYNYARD GHOST STORY. 153
of some kind, he yet could not help feeling the
greatest anxiety with regard to his brother. His
soHcitude to hear from England increased every
day, and at length attained such a pitch, that it
attracted the attention of his brother officers, who,
by their importunate sympathy, wormed from him
a secret, that was, no doubt, all the greater burthen
to him, from its being locked up in the depths of
his own bosom. From one, the story quickly
spread to another, till it became a matter of
almost as much general interest as it was to
the parties principally concerned. Few indeed of
them, but enquired for Wynyard's letters, before
asking for their own, ' so eager were they, for the
most part, to obtain a clue to this strange mystery.
Had the apparition showed itself only to one in
dividual at the time, this might not have been the
case, for it was easy to understand how one person,
by himself, should have been the dupe of his own
imagination, but it seemed to them absolutely
impossible for two pair of eyes to have been de
ceived precisely in the same way, at the same
moment. The first ships reaching Nova Scotia, could bring
no intelligence of the kind desired, inasmuch as
they had sailed from England a little before the
appearance of the real or supposed spirit. At length,
however, the vessel, so long and anxiously ex-

154 FAMILY ROMANCE.
pected, did arrive, and the letters, that came in
her, were delivered to their respective owners,
while sitting in the mess-room at supper. No
letter for Wynyard ! the disappointment was
general. The newspapers were eagerly searced,
but nothing appeared in the obituaries, nothing
in any part, or in any way connected with the
family, that could supply a solution of the ghost-
story. All had read their letters except Sher
broke, who had yet one remaining unopened. It
almost seemed for a moment as if he hesitated to
break the seal ; but he did break it ; and a hasty
glance at the contents was quite enough. With
a look of much pain and surprise, he started up,
and beckoning his friend to follow him, left the
mess-room. The officers at the supper-table,
looked at each other without saying a word, though
it was plain to see that every one had jumped to
the same conclusion, of the letter having some
relation to the event, about which all were so cu
rious. But what relation ? This, in a few minutes,
when it was found that Sherbroke did not return,
became a subject of eager discussion, the greater
part of the mess agreeing the brother would turn
out to have died at the time indicated by the
appearance of the spirit. After the lapse of an
hour, Sherbroke again made his appearance
amongst them, his mind evidently full of thoughts

WYNYARD GHOST STORY. 155
that bewildered and oppressed him. Instead of
seating himself at the mess-table, he went up to
the fixe, where he leaned his head against the man
tel-piece, without noticing any one ; and, bent as
all were upon learning something more of the
mystery, none liked to question him. At last,
after a long and painful silence, he said in a low
voice, " Wynyard's brother is no more. He died,
as I learn from the letter you saw me open, on the
very day, and at the very hour, his spirit appe&red
or seemed to appear to us."
The letter had in fact begun thus — " Dear John,
break to your friend, Wynyard, the death of his
favourite brother." It then went on to detail par
ticulars, which, as regarded time, perfectly agreed
with their memoranda, a coincidence that per
suaded many into a full belief in the apparition.
Such, however, was not the case with Sherbroke
himself. He still believed that be had been de
ceived by mere human agency, and that the coin
cidence of the real death with the supposed appa
rition, was nothing but accidental. Beyond doubt,
coincidences, not less extraordinary, had happened
in other matters before, and may as certainly hap
pen again ; still it was passing strange.
Time went on, years rolled away, and Sherbroke
returned to England. The apparition of Wyn
yard's brother, though not totally forgotten, had

156 FAMILY ROMANCE.
become a dim speck, as it were, in his memory,
when it was revived once more in all its strength,
by an apparition of another kind. He was one
day walking with two friends in Piccadilly, when,
lo and behold ! on the opposite side of the street,
appeared the perfect image of his Nova Scotia
spirit, except that it was neither so pale nor so
emaciated. " Now then," said he to himself, "we shall have
that singular affair unravelled."
And forthwith he darted across the way, and at
once accosted the stranger, excusing the Hberty
he was taking by a hasty narrative of the circum
stances which had led to it, and dwelHng not a
little upon his close resemblance to the supposed
phantom. The gentleman accepted his apology
with polite frankness, but declared that he had
never been out of England, and therefore, could
have been no party to any deception, such as that
implied, even had he been so incHned. " For the
likeness," he added, " you will no longer be sur
prised at it, when I tell you, I am the twin brother
of him, whose spirit you imagine to have seen in
Nova Scotia. While he was living, we were
always considered to bear an extraordinary resem
blance to each other."
From what has been said in the course of this
narrative, the reader wiU be at no loss to under-

WYNYARD GHOST STORY. 157
stand that we attribute the whole affair to self-
illusion, produced by a certain diseased state of
mind; for the mind, sometimes with, andsometimes
without, the influence of the body, has many
shades of disease besides actual insanity. If it be
asked, how could two spirited young men, under
the ordinary circumstances of life, and in plain
daylight, be impressed by the same illusion, we
reply that this is by no means wonderful. We
have instances of many thousands labouring at the
sarae moment under an identical deception of the
visual organs. Did not the Roman hosts see, as
one man, the Gods, Castor and Pollux, fighting,
upon more than one occasion, for their encourage
ment ? Did not the Scandinavian champions agree
in seeing the chusers of the slain, selecting their
intended rictims on the day of battle ? And
lastly, as perhaps coming nearer to the present
matter, have not thousands of Christian warriors
concurred iu having been eye-witnesses how St.
George and St. James fought in the van, for the
encouragement of their mortal followers ? Now
in all these cases we have not two individuals only,
but thousands, fancying they saw the sarae vision ;
yet who will beHeve that it was, or could be, any
thing more than fancying? Imaginations, like
epileptic fits, are very apt to communicate them
selves from one to another by a sort of mysterious

158 FAMILY ROMANCE.
sympathy, which we may not comprehend, but
which is not the less real. In this particular instance
the story has never undergone a thorough sifting.
Is it Hkely that two such intimate friends could
have been constantly together without the favourite
brother becoming the constant theme of conversa
tion ? and might not Wynyard have been more or
less of an hypochondriac ? The bravest men have
been liable to this malady — as witness, the iron-
nerved CromweH. Grant but these two data, and
it is not merely possible, but highly probable, Sir
John may have been deluded into the fancy that
he saw the subject of their frequent conversations,
and that the hypochondriac brother took from him
the infection. 'The coincidence between the death
and the appearance of the supposed spirit, though
at first it may startle us, has too many parallels to
surprise us upon reflection. Then, too, the extra
ordinary emaciation is a very useful hint in the
solution of this riddle ; it shows that the absent
brother must have been long ill, and that his death
was a thing of expectation.
Such appears to be a not unreasonable expla
nation of this celebrated ghost-story ; yet after all
we should recollect that
" There are more thmgs in Heaven and earth,
Than are dreamt of in oui- philosophy.''

159

THE STAR OP THE PRETENDER.
We do not use the word Pretender in an evil
sense, but merely as being the well-known de
signation of the descendant of a line of kings,
the use of which can no longer affect any one,
to whatever class of politicians he may belong.
Besides, there are just, as well as false, pretensions,
and our immediate object is to afford, if we can,
amusement, and not to discuss politics.
The Pretender was about to make his long-
threatened attempt for the recovery of the throne
which had been lost or forfeited by the unlucky
James the Second ; but before setting out upon
the expedition, he invited to a ball the most dis
tinguished of his friends and partisans, who then
happened to be resident in Paris. Amongst the
favoured visitors, appeared Lady Mary Touchet,

160 FAMILY ROMANCE.
a young Englishwoman, distinguished at the time
for her pre-eminent attractions, both of mind and
person. The prince himself was so much struck
by her beauty, that he immediately enquired her
name of a gentleman in waiting ; and being in
formed that she was the sister of a Catholic peer,
he went up to her, and solicited the honour of
her hand for the approaching dance. Long ere
the evening was over, it was plain enough to be
seen that he had become deeply enamoured of his
fair partner, and, in the ardour of his sudden
passion, he communicated to her, as a secret not
as yet publicly known, his intention of attacking
the dynasty that then possessed the throne of
England. Her reply was too gentle to be over
heard, and the less so, as the rest of the company,
from respect to the prince, kept at some little dis
tance ; but its general tenor may be inferred from
what followed. Taking out a penknife, the prince
ripped the star from his breast, and presented it
to her in token of regard or love, and probably
the latter.
It is needless to repeat here the oft-told
story bow Charles Edward landed in Scotland,
defeated the armies sent against hira, marched
into England, and yet after all, was forced to
fly, aud with difficulty escaped from his pur
suers. Time rolled on ; though Charles found

THE STAR OF THE PRETENDER. 161
a safe asylum in a foreign land, it seemed
that all hope of regaining the lost crown of his
ancestors was farther off than ever. Ill success had
probably alienated the hearts of many of his old ad
herents ; it certainly had the effect of discouraging
other courts from lending any effectual aid to his
designs. In this state of abandonment he resolved
to fight his own battles, and devised a scheme
which, however bold — nay, even desperate — was
by no means so impracticable, as at first sight, it
may appear to be. This was to seize the person
of King George the Second, as he returned from
the play, by the help of a body of chairmen, who
were to knock off the servants from behind his
coach, extinguish the lights, and get up a mock
quarrel amongst themselves, during which another
party was to hurry him to the water-side, and
carry him off to France. This plan was favoured
by several circumstances : by the king's habit of
visiting the theatre in a private manner, and pro
tracting his stay there till eleven o'clock, by the
imperfect lighting of the whole metropolis, and
by the total insufficiency of watchmen to guard
the streets. Ten minutes' start would have been
enough for the purpose of the conspirators, and
they would hardly have failed to gain a much
longer limit. That such a plan was feasible, we
might prove by many similar attempts made, and

162 FAMILY ROMANCE.
successfully made, upon others ; but we will not
impede the cause of our narrative by instancing
any. In the present case, the enterprise was
carefully planned ; in addition to those employed
in the attack upon the coach, there was a second
party of more than fifteen hundred, who were to as
semble opposite the Duke of Newcastle's house
in Lincoln's Inn Fields, the instant they heard
any particular news relative to the Pretender,
their object, of course, being to direct attention
from the real purpose of the conspiracy, by raising
a disturbance in another quarter, or perhaps to
support it in case of need.
While this scheme was ripening, the Prince was
liring, not with his fair confidante of the ball,
but in the house of a friend of her's, in Essex
Street, to whose care she had commended him.
His principal ally — the prime agent, indeed,
in the business, was Mr. Seagrave, an Irish officer,
who, in the course of his military service, had
lost an arm ; and so well had the matter been
conducted hitherto, that the government had not
1;he least suspicion of its existence. The day for
carrying it into effect was fixed : it was close at
hand ; but a slight mischance acted like the single
spark applied to gunpowder, and blew up the
whole scheme. The Prince, with a temerity that,
in such a case, seems hardly consistent with com-

STAR OF THE PRETENDER. 163
mon sense, must needs amuse himself by walking,
at noon-day, in Hyde Park, when the place was
thronged with its usual visitors. Here he was
met and recognised by one of his ancient partisans,
who, in his fulness of heart, at the sudden and
unexpected meeting, attempted to kneel and kiss
the royal hand. To escape the attention excited
by an act so ill-timed, the Prince hastily left the
park, but on his return to Essex Street, the lady
at whose house he was living became so alarmed
that she declared he was not safe with her
a single instant. That very night, in conse
quence, a boat was procured, and he returned at
once to France, too happy to escape thus easily
from the imminent danger he had so foolishly
provoked. The death of Lady Mary Touchet was sudden
and without any previous warning. On the Friday
night she was dancing at a ball, the gayest of the
gay, on the Sunday following she was a corpse, but
still so beautiful, and so like to life, that those who
assisted in laying her out could scarcely believe
that she was really dead. Upon the death of thi*
lovely lady, the star given to her by the Pretender,
fell into the lap of her sister, who, as Philip
Thicknesse quaintly oberves, afterwards, " fell
into his lap." It is to be hoped that he showed
himself more worthy of possessing the lady than

164 FAMILY ROMANCE.
he did of possessing the relique. Let the reader
take his own story.
" I became possessed." (by my marriage) " of
that inestimable badge of distinction, together
with a fine portrait of the Prince, by Hussey.
Being a Whig and a military man, I did not think
it right to keep either of them in my possession ;
and a simple old Jacobite lady offered me a con
siderable sum of money for them ; but having
three nieces, whose father had lived in intimacy
with the late Sir John Dolben, I presented both
to thera, and I believe that valuable relique of the
departed Prince Charles is now in the possession
of Mrs. Lloyd, his eldest niece, and wife of the
Dean of Norwich."
The fact of the Pretender's having visited
England in 1753, is raentioned in the following
curious letter of David Hume, the historian, to Sir
John Pringle, M.D.
" St. Andrew's Square, Edinburgh, Feb. 10, 1773.
" My Dear Sir, — That the present Pretender
was in London in the year 1753, I know with the
greatest certainty, because I had it from Lord
Marechal, who said it consisted with his certain
knowledge. Two or three days after his lordship
gave me this information, he told me, that, the
evening before, he had learned several curious par-

STAR OF THE PRETENDER. 165
ticulars from a lady (who I imagined to be Lady
Primrose,) though my lord refused to name her.
The Pretender came to her house in the evening,
without giving her any preparatory information,
and entered the room when she had a pretty large
company with her, and was herself playing at
cards. He was announced by the servant under
another name : she thought the cards would have
dropped from her hands on seeing him ; but she
had presence enough of mind to call him by the
name he assumed, to ask him when he came to
England, and how long he intended to stay there.
After he and all the company went away, the
servants remarked how wonderfully like the
strange gentleman was to the prince's picture
which hung on the chimney-piece in the very
room in which he entered. My lord added, (I
think, from the authority of the same lady,) that
he used so little precaution, that he went abroad
openly in day- Hght in his own dress, only laying
aside his blue riband and star ; walked once
through St. James's, and took a turn in the
Mall.
" About five years ago, I told this story to Lord
Holderness, who was Secretary of State in the
year 1753 ; and I added, that I supposed this
piece of intelHgence had at that time escaped his
lordship. By no means, said he ; and who do you

166 family ROMANCE.
think first told it me ? It was the king himself;
who subjoined, 'And what do you think, my
lord, I should do with him ?' Lord Holderness
owned that he was puzzled how to reply, for if
he declared his real sentiments, they might savour
of indifference to the royal family. The king
perceived his embarrassment, and extricated him
from it by adding, ' My lord, I shall just do
nothing at all ; and when he is tired of England,
he will go abroad again.' ' I think this story, for
the honour of the late king, ought to be more
generally known.'
" But what will surprise you more — Lord
Marechal, a few days after the coronation of
George III., told me that he believed the young
Pretender was at that time in London, or had been
so very lately, and had come over to see the show
of the coronation, and had actually seen it. I
asked my lord the reason for this strange fact.
Why, says he, a gentleman told me so that saw him
there, and that he even spoke to him, and
whispered in his ears these words : ' Your Royal
Highness is the last of all mortals whom I should
expect to see here.' ' It was curiosity that led me,'
said the other ; ' but I assure you,' added he,
' that the person who is the object of all this pomp
and magnificence, is the man I envy the least.'
You see this story is so near traced from the

STAR OF THE PRETENDER. 167
fountain-head, as to wear a great face of
probability. Query — what if the Pretender had
taken up Dymock's gauntlet ?
" I find that the Pretender's visit in England
in the year 1753, was known to all the Jacobites ;
and sorae of them have assured me that he took
the opportunity of formally renouncing the Roman
Catholic religion, under his own name of Charles
Stuart, in the New Church in the Strand ! and
that this is the reason of the bad treatment he
met with at the court of Rome. 1 own that I
am a sceptic with regard to the last particulars.
" Lord Marechal had a very bad opinion of this
unfortunate prince, and thought there was no
rice so mean or atrocious of which he was not
capable; of which he gave several instances. My
lord, though a man of great honour, may be
thought a discontented courtier ; but what quite
confirmed me in that idea of that prince, was a
conversation 1 had with Helvetius at Paris, which
I believe I have told you. In case I have not,
I shall mention a few particulars. That gentle
man told me that he had no acquaintance with the
Pretender ; but some time after that prince was
chased out of France, a letter, said he, was brought
me from him, in which he told me, that the
necessity of his affairs obliged him to be at Paris ;
and, as he knew me by character to be a man of

168 family ROMANCE.
the greatest probity and honour in France, he
would trust himself to me if I would promise to
conceal and protect him. I own, added Helvetius
to me, although I knew the danger to be greater
of harbouring at Paris than at London; and
although I thought the family of Hanover not
only the lawful sovereigns in England, but the
only lawful sovereigns in Europe, as having the
free consent of the people ; yet was I such a dupe
to his flattery, that I invited him to my house,
concealed him there, going and coming, near two
years, had all his correspondence pass through my
hands, met with his partisans upon Pont Neuf,
and found at last that I had incurred all this
danger and trouble for the most unworthy of all
mortals ; insomuch that I have been assured,
when he went down to Nantz to embark on his
expedition to Scotland, he took fright, and refused
to go on board ; and his attendants, thinking the
matter gone too far, and that they would be
affronted for his cowardice, carried hira in the
night-time into the ship, pied et mains lies. I asked
him if he meant literally. Yes, said he, literally ;
they tied him, and carried him by main force.
What think you now of this hero and conqueror ?
" Both Lord Marechal and Helvetius agree, that
with all this strange character, he was no bigot,
but rather had learned the philosophers at Paris

THE STAR OF THE PRETENDER. 169
to affect a contempt of aU religion. You must
know that both these persons thought they were
ascribing to him an excellent quaHty. Indeed,
you ought to laugh at me for my narrow
way of thinking in those particulars. However,
my dear Sir John, I hope you will do me the
justice to acquit me.
I doubt not that these circumstances will appear
curious to Lord Hardwicke, to whom you will
please to present my respects. I suppose his
lordship will think this unaccountable mixture of
temerity and timidity in the same character, not
a little singular. " I am, yours very sincerely,
"1788, May. "David Hume.

VOL. I.

170

THE BEAUTIFUL COUNTESS OF STRATHMORE.
As the object of this paper is to show the
strange ricissitudes of life, as exemplified in the
fortunes of the beautiful Countess of Strathmore,
it may be as well to preface our tale by an account
of her family connections. The extent and
brilliancy of them will make the result more
striking from the contrast of the brightest light
with the deepest shadow.
John Lyon, fourth Earl of Stratmore, was
married, at an early age, to Lady Elizabeth
Stanhope, only child of PhiHp, second Earl of
Chesterfield, and grand-daughter of the Duke of
Ormonde, by whom he had a numerous family.
They had, besides two daughters, six sons, who
all succeeded each other in the family estates.
Two of these died as Lords Glamis, and four

THE COUNTESS OF STRATHMORE. 171
became successively Earls of Stra thmore. Charles,
the fourth of these sons, was sixth Earl of
Strathmore. He succeeded his elder brother in
1715, and in the year 1725, married one of the
most beautiful women in Scotland, who was also
one of the most highly born, and nobly allied,
the Lady Susanna Cochrane, second daughter of
John, fourth Earl of Dundonald. The paternal
ancestry of this young lady was among the most
ancient in the land, and the alliances which had
been formed from generation to generation, added
fresh lustre to her old family tree. Her grand
mother, the wife ofthe second Earl of Dundonald,
after whom she was named, was the Lady Susanna
Hamilton, second daughter of William and Anne,
Duke and Duchess of Hamilton, and her mother
was the Lady Anne Murray, second daughter of
Charles, first Earl of Dunmore, and grand-daughter
of the Duke of Athol. Lady Dundonald was a
rirtuous and charming woman, whose early dealh
was the cause of much grief to her numerous
relations. She died in 1711, leaving her children
very young ; her eldest girl, Lady Anne, being
only in her fifth year. Her husband married again
in 1715, his second wife, being the Dowager
Duchess of Beaufort, who died in 1722, having
survived Lord Dundonald two 'years. Thus the
three celebrated beauties, Anne, Susanna, and
I 2

172 FAMILY ROMANCE.
Catherine, were left early without a parent's
guidance, and yet they succeeded in attaining to
glittering honours. The life of the eldest was
short, but brilHant ; when only sixteen, she became
the wife of James, fifth Duke of Hamilton, but
died before she had corapleted her eighteenth
year. She left an only son, the sixth Duke of
Hamilton, who, by the lovely Miss Gunning, was
father of two Dukes of Hamilton and of the
Countess of Derby, the grandmother of the
present Earl of Derby, who is heir-of-line of the
house of Hamilton, and entitled to the crown of
Scotland, failing the numerous progeny of King
James the First of Great Britain.
Lady Catherine, the third daughter, married in
1729, Alexander, sixth Earl of Galloway, and
died at a good old age in 1786, universally loved
and lamented, and was the ancestress of a
numerous and distinguished progeny ; among
whom we may raention the Earls of Galloway, the
Dukes of Marlborough, the Grahams, of Netherby,
Stewart — Mackenzie of Seaforth, the Dukes of
Sutherland, the Marquesses of Huntley, and the
Dukes of Hamilton, of the present line.
We now come, after these necessary prelimi
naries, to the real object of our story. No union
could promise fairer and better than that of Lord
Strathmore and his beautiful Countess. But it

THE COUNTESS OF STRATHMORE. 173
was cut short too soon by sudden and violent
death. On Thursday the 9th of May, 1728, the
Earl came to Forfar, in order to be present at the
funeral of a young lady, the daughter of a friend.
And as the custom was in those days, the principal
persons who attended the funeral were entertained
at a feast, in the house of mourning. Among the
guests, were two Forfarshire gentlemen of family
and consideration, the one a namesake of the
Earl, Mr. Lyon, of Brigton, the other James
Carnegie, of Finhaven. According to the
barbarous practice of the times, they sat drinking
after dinner, in the house of death, until they
were rather intoxicated, when they adjourned to
a tavern in Forfar, and continued their debauch.
They were now completely drunk, and in this
state they went from the tavern to visit a lady of
station and character, who was then living in
Forfar — the Lady Aucherhouse, a sister of
Carnegie of Finhaven.
Here Lyon of Brigton became very rude and
violent, using insulting language to Finhaven, and
presuming to dictate to him as to the disposal of
his daughters in marriage, he haring no sons. He
tauntingly adrised him to let one of them marry
Lord Rosehill, son of the Earl of Northesk, which
Finhaven declined. Lyon next began to pinch
Lady Aucherhouse's arms, on which the Earl had

174 FAMILY ROMANCE.
sense enough to see that their visit had better be
curtailed, and had sufficient influence with his
more turbulent companion to make him quit the
house. But no sooner were they in the street
than Brigton continued his persecution of Fin
haven, tumbling him overhead into the dirty
kennel, two feet deep, out of which he scrambled,
covered with mud from head to foot. Resolved
to bear this treatment no longer, he rushed, with
his sword drawn, upon Brigton, who was in the
act of pulling out Lord Strathmore's sword in
order to defend himself, when the Earl, coming
forward, as it would appear, to avert the blow of
Finhaven, and possibly to separate the antagonists,
received the weapon in his own body. It entered
the abdomen, passed through his bowels, and came
out at his back. The unfortunate nobleman died
in two days, and Finhaven was tried for murder.
The wish of the court evidently was to condemn
him, if possible — witnesses being admitted who had
expressed the raost deadly enmity towards him.
The jury, brow-beaten by the judges, were on the
point of returning a verdict of proven as to the
facts, which would have been fatal to the prisoner,
as, in that case, he would have been condemned
to death, — but his counsel, Robert Dundas, of
Arniston, sprung from a family that seemed to
give its descendant an hereditary title to talent.

THE COUNTESS OF STRATHMORE. 175
took his measures no less boldly than wisely ; he
assured the jury that they were judges of law as
well as of fact ; and, by this decisive step, had the
double merit of saring his client and rescuing the
rights of jurymen in Scotland from the grasp of
tyranny. The jury, by a plurality of voices,
found Carnegie of Finhaven not guilty.
Thus, at an early age, the beautiful Susanna
was left a widow, with an ample dower. The
earldom went to the next brother of the murdered
lord, their union haring been childless. From the
year 1728 until the 2nd of April, 1745, the fair
Countess continued a widow. During these
eighteen years she had frequent suitors, but still
remained faithful to the memory of her departed
husband, though some of these were of high rank
and distinguished station. The same propriety
of conduct distinguished her now in the widowed
as before in the married state, and she continued
for many years respected and admired.
At length, when she was about thirty-six years
of age, and still in the height of her charms, and
vrith everything which rank, wealth, and popularity
could give her ; what think you, reader ? did she
marry wealth and rank ? or did she, wearying of
the world — as so many others have done — retire
to a nunnery ? Nothing of the kind, — she married
her groom, George Forbes. To be sure, he was a

176 FAMILY ROMANCE.
remarkably handsome young fellow, and was,
besides, many years younger than herself, having
been admitted, when a little boy, into the service
of her late lord. He was also considered a clever
young man, and had always behaved with modesty
and propriety.
The progress of this ill-fated passion is easily
traced. Forbes being an excellent horseman, the
Countess placed him over her stud, and always
had him with her when she rode out Hence, in
time, arose a familiarity ; this, we may suppose,
ripened into affection, till, at length, one day, she
summoned George into her presence, and plainly
told him that she was, and long had been despe
rately in love with him ; that her fortune was
very large, her charms not yet quite faded, and
that if he only liked her she would immediately
marry him ! The man at first was frightened and
thought she was gone crazy, and seems to
have argued the point with his mistress more like
a philosopher than a groom. He allowed that
beauty, rank and wealth were temptations which
he could not merit, but begged to remind her that
unequal marriages were seldom happy, that he
could not rise to nobility, and that it would be
painful for her to sink down to his condition.
However, she persisted, telHng him that she looked
to the beauty of his face and forra, and the warmth

THE COUNTESS OF STRATHMORE. 177
of his heart, and not to his pedigree ; and that
she could be made happy by nothing except the
possession of himself. All else was valueless in
her eyes. After such a declaration, what could
the groom do, but embrace the good fortune thus
strangely thrown in his way. He became the
husband of the beautiful Countess, the
marriage ceremony being performed at Castle
Lyon, on the 2nd of April, 1745. In the best
edition of Douglas's Peerage of Scotland, (that
by Wood), Mr. George Forbes is dressed up so as
to appear as decent as possible. He is styled her
ladyship's factor, and master of the horse to the
Chevalier de St. George. She possibly may
have appointed him her factor, as a transition state
from groom to lord and master, and she may have
used some Jacobite infiuence, in order to procure for
him some titular office about the person of the
Pretender. But the facts are as they have been here
stated ; the Countess of Strathmore married her
groom. The union was, as might be expected, very
unhappy — despised in her own country, turned out
ofthe society of her equals, Lady Strathmore soon
found that the presence of her handsome husband
could not atone for the social loss which she had
sustained for his sake. All her own family re
nounced her, and she was glad to escape from Great
Britain to seek the distraction of continental travel.
I 3

178 FAMILY ROMANCE.
Though she had no children by Lord Strath
more, her union with her groom unfortunately
was fruitful. A daughter was born to them
in HoUand, on the 17th of May, 1746, and
was christened Susan- Janet-Emilia. Nothwith-
standing this event. Lady Strathmore very
soon became disgusted with her low-born
husband, and she determined on a separation.
This, of course, was easily effected, and what
followed ? after wandering about on the
Continent, leading a miserable life, for nine years,
she died at Paris, on the 24th of June, 1754,
having previously made profession of the CathoHc
faith. Her daughter had received but little
attention from her. She was heartily ashamed of
the poor child, regarded her as a fatal pledge of
dishonour, and while, therefore, seeking for
amusement in such society as was open to her in
Paris, she boarded her child in a convent at
Rouen, where she remained until after her un
fortunate mother's death. The abbess and
nuns seem to have behaved with much cha
rity towards the deserted one, for they kept
her for some years after the Countess's death,
though they received very irregular and scanty
payment for her board. Lady Strathmore's habits
were expensive, and though she possessed a
noble jointure, she saved nothing from it ; so

THE COUNTESS OF STRATHMORE. 179
that, at her death, her husband and child had
nothing. Forbes had now set up as a keeper of livery
stables in Leith, near Edinburgh, and having,
as soon as his noble wife died, married a young girl
of his own rank, he became the father of a rapidly
increasing family. He, however, had some
natural affection for his first-born, and engaged a
captain of a merchantman of his acquaintance
to bring her from Rouen to Leith, where he
meant to support her and treat her kindly. The
parting was very sad between poor Susan-Janet-
Emilia, and the kind nuns at Rouen, and she
always remembered this period of her existence
as the happiest.
As soon as her father heard that the vessel had
arrived, he came to meet her, and took her to his
house, where she was introduced to her young
step-mother and her babies. Nothing could be
more wretched than their intercourse, and the
poor French child was treated with coarseness and
cruelty. She was at that time a girl of fifteen.
Of her mother's relations, the only one who ex
pressed any kindly feeling towards her was the
Coimtess of Galloway ; and, it is probable, that if
Emilia had waited patiently, and had made
her case of hardship known to her aunt, her lot
might have been very different. But unable to

180 FAMILY ROMANCE.
support the bad treatment which she met with in
her father's house she resolved on fiight.
She set out from Leith, with half-a-guinea in
her pocket, and wandered two or three miles along
the shore until she came to a packet-boat, in
which she crossed to the coast of Fife. Then she
walked on for a day or two, not knowing whither
to go or what to do, and her money being spent,
and her strength exhausted, she was fain to ask
for an evening meal and a night's lodging at a
neat-looking farm-house. The proprietors of
this fai-m were excellent people, of the name of
Lauder, who took in poor EmiHa, (or as they
afterwards called her, Janet), and gave her a
hearty welcome. She made the farmer's wife her
friend, and told her her strange story, which ex
cited so much corapassion in the breasts of her
and her worthy husband, that they invited her to
make their house her home, and live with
them. They had only two children — Anne,
their daughter, became Janet's attached friend;
and John, their son, became her lover. And at
the age of eighteen, with the consent of his
parents, she married him.
It is believed that from the moment that she
married John Lauder, until the day of his death,
our heroine was a very happy woman ; for he not
only proved a tender and affectionate husband, but a

THE COUNTESS OF STRATHMORE. 181
thriring and respectable farmer. This new turn
in her destiny placed her at a still greater distance
than ever from the Galloways, Hamiltons,
Staffords, and other magnificent cousins, who
really were not in the least degree aware of
Janet Lauders existence. But, as time went on,
many changes occurred in the humble family of
the Lauders. They had a number of children,
some of whom grew up to man's estate, though
none of them prospered, and after many years of
comfort, old Lauder died in great distress.
About the year 1821, when Janet Lauder must
have been seventy -five years old, she was the in
habitant of a very poor house in the village of St.
Ninians, close to Stirling. The circumstances of
her very singular story became known to one or
two influential families in that neighbourhood, who,
with a view to assist the poor woman, appealed,
and not in vain, to some of her distinguished
relations. The children of her cousins-german,
for she had outlived those of her own generation)
the Earls of Dunmore and Galloway, the Duke
of Hamilton and Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie, of
Seaforth, raised among them the sum of one
hundred pounds per annum, with which their
poor aged relative was maintained in comfort
during the remainder of her life, which was thus
protracted for nine or ten years longer.

182

A TALE OP THE HOUSE OF YVERY.
" Who art thou, strange being ? Speak. Art thou
" mortal, spectre, devil ? " — Caldeeon.
Robert Perceval, the second son of the Right
Honourable Sir John Perceval, Bart., was a youth
of rare talent, but a libertine and a duellist. In
the course of his brief career, — for, as we shall
presently see, he was murdered at the age of
nineteen, — he had fought as many battles as he
could number years, and in most he had been
successful — escaping with Httle damage to himself,
while, in many instances, the result was fatal to
his adversaries. Such characters, however, were
by no means uncommon in the times of Charles
the Second, to which age he belonged ; for de
bauchery had then almost attained to the dignity
of a virtue.

the house of yvery.

183

Being a younger brother, Robert Perceval
studied, or was supposed to study, the law, as one
of the few gentlemanly roads to wealth and dis
tinction. With this view he took chambers in
Lincoln's Inn, and here it was that the singular
occurrence took place, which was rendered yet
more extraordinary by its consequences;
In general Robert did not much trouble his
head about the subtleties of the law, yet there
were times and seasons when, either from caprice,
or from very weariness of pleasure, — used up, we
now call it, — he would play the hard-working
student, and read with as much diHgence as if he
had aspired to the woolsack. The present was
one of them. So deeply was he wrapped up in
the dull volume before him, that he still read on
when the clock began to strike the hour of mid
night. The effect produced was wonderful. It
seemed to him as if the clock, instead of being
distant, was striking close in his ear, and, startled
for the moment by this delusion, — for it could
hardly be anything else, — he looked up. What
was his surprise to see a figure in the room,
planted between himself and the door, who had
entered, he knew not how, and who, to judge from
appearances, had come with no good intention;
for he was so completely muffled up in a long
cloak, as to defy recognition.

184 FAMILY ROMANCE.
" Who are you ? What do you want ? " were
his first hasty exclamations, while, at the same
time, he half unsheathed his sword.
The figure neither spoke nor moved.
" This inust be a trick of some of my tavern
friends," thought Robert, " but as I am in no
mood for'joking, it's like they may get the worst
ofit." There was a low, hollow laugh, but still the
figure neither spoke nor moved. Robert, at no
time remarkable for patience, now lost all temper,
and, unsheathing his sword with the rapidity of
lightning made a desperate pass at the intruder.
The weapon met with no resistance, and when he
drew it back again was as bright as ever. Not a
single drop of blood stained it.
Robert, for awhile, continued gazing in utter
amazement, and it must be even owned that a
momentary thrill of awe curdled his blood, and
made the hair rise upon his head ; but he was
amongst the bravest of the brave notwithstanding,
and, when the first surprise was over, regained
sufficient courage, like Calderon's Ludorico, to
question his mysterious tormentor, and, Hke him
too, when he received no answer, to bring his
adversary to close quarters.
" Still no answer ? Thus I dare then cast aside
that cloak of thine." But now followed a material

THE HOUSE OF YVERY. 185
difference. The hero of the Spanish drama, upon
tearing aside his visitor's cloak, discovered a
mouldering skeleton, that addressed him with the
voice of Hfe, saying : —

-" Knowest thou not thyself?

See in me thine own resemblance.
I am Ludovico Quino ! "
Whereas, Robert " saw his own apparition, bloody
and ghostly, whereat he was so astonished that he
immediately swooned away; but recovering, he
saw the spectre walk out again, and vanish down
stairs." At the same time, it must be owned, that
a deeper meaning lurks under the skeleton of the
Spanish poet.
" When," continues the old narrator, " he was
recovered of his fright, he undressed himself and
went to bed, but in extraordinary uneasiness, so
that he could not sleep, but rose early, and putting
on his clothes, went to his uncle and guardian. Sir
Robert Southwell, who lived in Spring Gardens.
It was so early that Sir Robert was not yet
stirring, but nevertheless he went into his room
and waked him. It was a freedom he was not
used to take, and Sir Robert was surprised ; but
asking him, what made him there so early ? — the
youth, still in consternation, repHed, he had that
night seen his ghost ; and told him all the particulars
as I have related them. Sir Robert, at first, chid

186 FAMILY ROMANCE.
him for reporting an idle dream, the effect of an
ill life and guilty conscience, — for he loved pleasure,
and followed it too much, — but observing the dis
order he was in, and having repeated the story to
him, he grew very serious, and desired his nephew
would take care of himself, and recollect if he had
given occasion to any person to revenge himself
on him, for this might be a true presage of what
was to befall him."
Now here is a ghost story, quite complete, so
far as human evidence can make such a thing
complete, in opposition to human reason. The
particulars are delivered, and word for word, as they
were minuted down by the Earl of Egmont, upon
a conversation which Sir Robert Southwell had
with him immediately before his death. It only
remains to see how far the warning was borne out
by the result, and whether in truth the ghost was
an honest ghost.
Days passed without any particular occurrence,
and the wholesome awe imprinted upon Robert's
mind had already grown much too faint to serve
as the slightest check upon his pleasures. As
usual, he drank and quarrelled, slept by day and
woke by night, and passed his time in the way that
Captain Marryatt's Irishraan pronounced to be
the whole end and aira of life — that is to say, in
getting into scrapes and getting out of them

THE HOUSE OF YVERY, 187
again. Amongst other disputes, he managed to
embroil himself at play with the celebrated Beau
Fielding, a man, who if he was no swordsman nor
particularly remarkable for courage, was not likely
to be restrained by any moral considerations from
revenging an injury by safe means.
Several days had elapsed since the appearance
of the spirit, when an event happened that must
have brought it again to his recollection, though
it failed to teach him prudence. As he was
walking from his chambers in Lincoln s' Inn to a
certain tavern in the Strand, one of his customary
places of resort, he imagined that he was dogged
by a man, who followed him at a short distance.
To make the matter quite certain, he went into a
chemist's, under pretence of buying some unim
portant drug, but though he staid there full ten
minutes, when he came out, there was his pertina
cious follower. Turning round sharply upon him,
Robert demanded "who he was, and what he
meant by following him ?" the man replied, and
with no less sharpness, " I am not following you,
I'm following my own business." Robert paused
for a moment, half disposed to make a quarrel
of it, but on second thoughts he abandoned this
purpose; it might be nothing more than mere
suUenness in the fellow, and a perverse disposition
to do that which he saw was a matter of annoyance.

188 FAMILY ROMANCE.
" I will give the brute one more chance," said
Robert to himself; " and then, if he still dares to
keep at my heels, it will be at his peril."
And so saying, he crossed to the opposite side
of the way.
The man followed him step for step, and Robert
could hear the tread of his heavy-nailed shoes the
moment they had reached the pavement. It was
now close upon eleven o'clock at night, the street
was almost deserted, and, moreover, the lamps,
according to the custom of those days, were so
few in number, and so sparingly supplied with oil,
that they rather served to show the darkness than
to afford light. Still he heard the steps behind,
and — or did fancy deceive him ? the whispering
of more than two voices. Again he turned round
hastily, and his pursuer being just then under a
lamp, he saw him at about twenty paces off with
a second ruffian, who had just that minute joined
him. Decisive measures were now evidently indis
pensable, and drawing his sword, he called upon
them to retire at theirperil. Tothis the tworuffians
replied by falling upon him sword in hand ; and
such, at the time, was the state of so public a
thoroughfare as the Strand, that the combat
continued without interruption from any acci
dental passer-by, till one of the assailants, being
wounded, took to his heels, and the other was not

THE HOUSE OF YVERY. 189
slow in following his example. But neither had
Robert escaped scot free. One of them had
wounded him in the leg, and, abandoning all
thoughts of following his enemies, he made the
best of his way to the nearest tavern. Faint frora
loss of blood, he called for some brandy, and
having drank it off, he coolly wiped his reeking
sword, returned it to its sheath, and bound a
handkerchief about his wounded leg. Coraraon
as scenes of this kind were, his tale excited much
speculation as to the probable authors of the
attack. Some suggested that the ruffians, after
all, might not have been personal enemies, but
merely intent upon plunder. Robert shook his
head. ?
" I do not believe it," he replied. " My firm
conviction is that the rillains were hired and set
on by some one who owed me a grudge ; and
mark you, landlord " — this was addressed to the
owner of the tavern — " if any thing happens to
me before the night's over, as I am persuaded there
will, let my friends know what I now say. It
will be no hard matter for them to guess the
murderer." The landlord would fain have persuaded him to
pass the night where he was, or, if not, to let some
of the tavern-people see him safe to his chambers
in Lincoln's Inn. Many of the guests then

190 FAMILY ROMANCE.
present joined in pressing the sarae advice upon
hira, but he was obstinate to go home by himself;
he never had, and never would skulk from fear of
any such rascals ; and when they persisted in their
remonstrances, he repelled them with so much
acrimony that every one was silent. He was
suffered to go out alone, none feeHng that it was
their duty to run a serious risk for the sake of a
man who rejected their assistance with contempt
and anger. The scene of our tradition must now
be shifted to another place and to other actors.
There was a Mrs. Brown, who appears, though
we know not from what cause, to have taken a
lively interest in his fortunes. Perhaps it was
from her holding some situation in thfe family of
his uncle, Sir Robert. On this fatal night she
dreamed that one Mrs. Shearman, who seems to
have been the housekeeper, came to her, and
asked for a sheet. She demanded, " for what pur
pose ?" Mrs. Shearman replied, " poor Master
Robert is killed, and it is to wind him in." And
this dream proved true to the letter, for in the
morning, Mrs. Shearman came, at an early hour,
into her room, and seeming like one bewildered,
asked for a sheet. — " For what purpose," said the
terrified dreamer, the very words of her sleep rising
spontaneously to her lips. — " Poor Mr. Rober t
is murdered," was the reply ; " he lies dead in the

THE HOUSE OF YVERY. 191
Strand watch-house, and it is to wind his body
in." We will not attempt to deny or explain the
vision. Enough for our purpose, that he had
been really found dead, near the so-called May
pole, in the Strand, which occupied the site of an
ancient stone cross, and having been found here
early in the morning, his body was removed to
the watch-house. There was a deep wound under
his left breast, by him was his bloody sword, yet
it was generally supposed at the time, that he had
been killed in some house, and laid there after
wards. It was also said, that a stranger's hat,
vrith a bunch of ribbons in it was found by his
side, but notwithstanding these indicia, and the
earnest exertions of his friends and relatives;
the assassins could never be discovered. Suspicion
did indeed fall upon Beau Fielding, from the
prerious quarrel, to which we have already
alluded, but it never went beyond suspicion ;
others imagined, and perhaps with as little reason,
that the murder had been committed by a near
relation of Sir Robert Southwell's wife , but
" the matter," as the old narrator tells us, " was
too uncertain to admit of any free discourse of
any person for it.''
Singular as this story is, its marvels are not yet
over. — " Sir PhiHp, his elder brother, being re-

192 FAMILY ROMANCE.
turned from his travels, and intent upon finding
out the murderers, fell violently foul one day
upon a gentleman in Dublin. He declared after
wards he had never seen him before, and could not
account for his rage ; only he was possessed with
a belief he was one of those who killed his brother.
They were soon parted, and the gentleman was
seen no more.

193

THE CURIOUS CLAIM TO THE HONOURS OF
THE EARLDOM OF CRAWFORD.
No title in the Scottish peerage is more remark
able than that of Crawford, on account of the
historical importance of those who have borne it,
and the extraordinary vicissitudes which have
accompanied its transmission through an iUustrious
Hne of twenty-four earls.
This earldom was originally conferred in 1398
by Robert IIL, King of Scotland, upon Sir David
Lindsay, Lord of Crawford, the husband of
the Princess Elizabeth, that monarch's sister.
Sir David's family had already been twice
honoured by a direct Royal alliance ; Sir Wil
liam Lindsay having, about a century before,
married Ada, the sister of King John Baliol — and
Sir WiUiam Lindsay, about a hundred years
VOL. I. K

194 FAMILY ROMANCE.
earlier, the Princess Margery, sister of King
Malcolm IV., and King William the Lion, and
grand-daughter of the Royal Saint, David the First.
David Lindsay, fifth Earl of Crawford, was a
faithful friend of the unfortunate King James the
Third, who raised him to ducal rank in 1488,
creating him Duke of Montrose. This was the
third time that so high a title had been conferred
in Scotland ; the two prior instances having been
confined to the blood royal, Rothsay and Albany.
Within a year after raising the Earl to the
rank of Duke, James was deprived of his crown
and life by a faction of rebels, headed by his
son. The young king, immediately after his acces
sion to the throne, passed an act of grace in favour
of the Duke, thus saring him from the effects of
a subsequent act, which rescinded the titles con
ferred by the dethroned and murdered king during
the last year of his reign. Thus Lord Crawford
continued Duke of Montrose, and the ducal
title is now claimed by his heir and repre-
entative, the present Earl of Crawford and
Balcarres, whose case is at this moment before
the House of Lords. The duke survived his
unfortunate Master seven years, and died at his
Castle of Finhaven, at Christmas, 1495. We
will not here enter upon the curious question of
he claim to the dukedom of Montrose, which is

CRAWFORD PEERAGE CLAIM. 195
at present made with good hope of a successful
issue by the Earl of Crawford. We will only
answer one objection which we have heard urged
against it, viz. : that the claim should have re
mained so long dormant. The crime of fratricide
which sullied the duke's son and successor, and
the misfortunes of several subsequent earls may
be supposed to have deterred them from assuming
the new and higher title. And then we must
consider the well-known policy of the Scottish
sovereigns, ever anxious to depress the aristocracy,
and also the jealou.sy of the high nobles in sub
sequent reigns, the Douglases and Hamiltons, who
would ill have brooked a duke of the house of
Lindsay, while they were only earls.
The Duke of Montrose's unhappy son, the
sixth earl, died without issue. His nephew,
Darid, the eighth Earl of Crawford, was cursed
with a most unnatural son, who is styled " the
wicked Master." He imprisoned his aged father,
and put hira in peril of his life. Whereupon, the
old man, outraged and heart-broken, obtained the
royal assent to a transfer of the earldom to the
next heir male, David Lindsay of Edzell, his
second cousin, passing over " the wicked master"
as a parricide and traitor.
The aged earl died in 1542, and David of Edzell
became ninth earl. He appears to have been a
K, 2

196 FAMILY ROMANCE.
singularly generous and noble-minded man : for,
moved with pity for the innocent son of " the
wicked Master," he obtained the consent of the
crown to a reconveyance of the earldom to him,
after his own death. The rightful heir thus be
came tenth earl in 1558, and his descendants
possessed the title for upwards of a century until
1671. But during this period the family did not
prosper, The twelfth earl was an incorrigible
spendthrift, and alienated his immense estates in
the most wanton manner, and was imprisoned for
life by the decree of a solemn family council.
His only child, heiress of a lofty name, lived dis
gracefully as a common vagrant mendicant, and
was at length rescued from the lowest wretched
ness by the bounty of King Charles the Second.
The last earl of this branch was Ludovic, the
sixteenth, a gallant cavalier, and the friend and
brother-in-arms of the great Montrose. He was
unmarried, and without any near relative. The
house of Edzell and its younger branch, Bal
carres, descended from the generous Darid,
ninth earl, stood next in succession. But their
rights were trampled upon by a very able, power
ful, and distinguished man, who was the head of
a remote offshoot of the house of Lindsay, which,
in point of wealth and lustre, had already sur
passed the elder Hne of Crawford. This in-

CRAWFORD PEERAGE CLAIM. 197
fluential man was John, Earl of Lindsay, Lord
High Treasurer of Scotland, the head of the
Presbyterian and Covenanting party during the
ciril wars. As he happened to have both his
sovereign (Charles the First) and his chief (Earl
Ludovic) very much in his power about the same
time, he used influence amounting to compulsion
to obtain a surrender of the Earldom of Crawford
to the Crown, and a re-grant of it to himself,
passing by the nearer Edzell and Balcarres
branches. John Earl of Lindsay thus became,
even before Earl Ludovic's death in 1671, Earl of
Crawford and Lindsay.
In the course of a few generations the family
of Edzell expired. The last head of the house
of Lindsay of this branch died in 1744, in the
capacity of hostler in an inn at Kirkwall, in the
Orkneys. On his death, the Earl of Balcarres
succeeded to the representation of the house of
Lindsay; and, by the slow, though sure, justice of
providence, the rightful heir has, at length, after a
usurpation of a century and a half, been restored
to his family honours. John, Earl of Crawford and
Lindsay, the Treasurer, made an illustrious mar
riage with Lady Margaret Hamilton, sister of
James and WilHam, Dukes of Hamilton. From
this marriage a line of earls descended, which
failed on the death of George Lindsay Crawford,

198 FAMILY ROMANCE.
twenty-second Earl of Crawford and sixth Earl
of Lindsay, in 1808.
During the last two or three generations, the
surname of Crawford had been added to that of
Lindsay, in consequence of the succession to the
large estates of the knightly family of Crawford,
of Kilbirney in Ayrshire, which formed a valuable
addition to those of the Lindsays in Fifeshire.
Earl George was succeeded in his great possessions
by his sister. Lady Mary, who lived until Decem
ber, 1833.
Lady Mary stood alone in the world, and as she
had a decided feeling for the dignity of the
Lindsays, and correctly judged the Earl of
Balcarres to be the head of that house, her wish
was, after her death, to place his family in the posi
tion of her late brother, as heirs to all his estates,
as well as his honours. She therefore left her
whole property, real as well as personal, to him and
his accomplished and gifted son. Lord Lindsay.
Her nearest relatives were six second cousins,
(descended from ladies of the house of Crawford
and Lindsay, two generations back. Lady Mary's
great-aunts) viz., the Earl of Glasgow; the Right
Hon. David Boyle, Lord Justice General of Scot
land; G. Hamilton Dundas, of Duddingston ; the
Rev. John Hamilton Gray, of Carntyne, General
Napier, and Admiral Sir Charles Napier. These

CRAWFORD PEERAGE CLAIM. 199
six gentlemen are the remaining descendants of the
marriage of John, seventeenth Earl of Crawford,
with the sister of the Duke of Hamilton. Lady
Mary was unable to divert the succession to the
entailed estate s frora the Earl of Glasgow, who
accordingly inherited them. But her personal
property, instead of being divided among her
above-mentioned next of kin, was left to Lord
Lindsay, as a token of regard to the head of the
house. The Earldom of Crawford continued
dormant from the death of Earl George, in 1808,
until the claim of the Earl of Balcarres was
proved good by the House of Lords, in 1848,
when he became twenty-fourth Earl of Crawford.
Since then, his lordship has advanced a further
claim to the full honours of his ancient race, the
earlier Dukedom of Montrose, and, if he be suc
cessful, he will be an older duke, by two centuries,
than the present premier Duke of Scotland,
and only three years junior to the Duke of Nor
folk. Having thus laid before our readers a sketch of
the singular succession to this ancient and illus
trious earldom, we will now shortly mention the
very extraordinary peril which the honours and
estates of the family underwent, of falling a prey
to a cleverly concocted scheme.
Within two years of the death of the last Earl

200 FAMILY ROMANCE.
of the Lindsay branch, George, (the brother of
Lady Mary,) in 1818, an individual of the name
of John Crawfurd, landed in Ayr, from
Ireland. He gave himself out to be a relation
of the Earl of Crawford's family, and he even
procured many genealogical notices concerning
them. He then assumed the surname of Lindsay
in addition to his patronymic of Crawfurd, and
stated his descent to be from the Hon. James
Lindsay Crawfurd, a younger son of the family
who, about a century ago, had disappeared from
Scotland, and whose fate seemed involved in
some obscurity. If Mr. John Crawfurd had been
successful in proving himself to be the descendant
of this gentleman, he would have been Earl of
Crawford and Lindsay ; and his claim to the large
family estates would have been prior to that of
Lady Mary, or, failing her, the Earl of Glasgow,
the Justice General, Mr. Hamilton Dundas, Ad
miral and General Napier, and Mr. Hamilton
Gray, the remaining descendants of her ladyship's
grand-aunts, and of their common ancestors, the
Earl of Crawford and Lindsay, and the Duke of
Hamilton's sister. From Ayr, Mr. Crawfurd pro
ceeded to visit Kilbirney Castle, once the resi
dence of the great knightly family of Crawford,
and which had been for some generations the pro
perty of the Lindsay Earls of Crawford, and on

CRAWFORD PEERAGE CLAIM. 201
account of which they had assumed the surname
of Crawford.
Kilbirney had been burnt in the time of Lady
Mary's father, and the family had subsequently
Hved entirely on their Fifeshire estates. However,
Mr. Crawfurd discovered that many family papers
and letters remained in an old cabinet, which, dur
ing the firf , had been deposited in an out-house,
and had been there forgotten. To these papers
he procured access ; and among thera he found a
rare prize, many letters written by James Lindsay
Crawford to various members of his family, after
his disappearance from Scotland, Crawfurd had
some clever accomplices, who aided him in
fabricating additions whicli suited his story.
These letters were written on the first and third
pages ; and, now, the blank second pages were
filled up, in an exact imitation of the old hand,
with matter so cleverly and artfully contrived as
to give the most direct and satisfactory evidence
in the pretender's favour- James Lindsay Craw
furd is made to describe his position and circum
stances in Ireland, his marriage, the births of his
children, &c. &c., and again and again to impor
tune his rich and noble relatives for pecuniary
relief. Furnished with this evidence, supposed to be
written by his alleged ancestor, and fortified

202 FAMILY ROMANCE.
with very many witnesses of his Scottish descent
and reputed near relationship to the noble house
of Crawford, Mr. Lindsay Crawfurd made his
claim in due form for the titles and estates of
the family in 1810. He produced, indeed, much
very feasible parole proof in support of his allega
tions, and the genuine documents, which had been
altered so as to suit his purpose, werej|so artfully
vitiated, that there was every prospect of complete
success, when, most fortunately for the ends of
justice, his accomplices urged exorbitant demands
on him for remuneration, which he refused to
satisfy. They accordingly made offers to Lady
Mary, into the hands of whose agents they con
signed the forged and vitiated documents. A
trial on the charge of forgery was thereupon
commenced, which ended in the conviction and
transportation of the claimant in 1812, along with
one of the forgers, the other having been ad
mitted as king's evidence.
At the time, the fate of the claimant met with
great sympathy. It was generally believed that
he had fallen a victim to overwhelming influence,
or, in other words, that he had been innocently
betrayed by his accomplices, who were in the pay of
Lady Mary's agents, and had forged the documents
without his knowledge in order to accomplish his
ruin. The public feeHng was roused in his favour.

CRAWFORD PEERAGE CLAIM. 203
and he was regarded, not only as an innocent and
injured man, but as the rightful heir of the great
family whose estates and honours he sought. It
must be observed that, notwithstanding the for
gery of the documents, there was a great mass of
other evidence highly favourable to his preten
sions. In 1820, Mr. Lindsay Crawfurd returned from
New South Wales, and immediately renewed
proceedings in furtherance of his claims. Many
noblemen and eminent professional men en
couraged him and supplied him with money and
advice, and many thousand pounds were expended
in collecting evidence, and preparing the case for
the Lords' Committee of Privileges, to which it had
been referred by the king. Lord Brougham was
counsel in the cause, and he publicly declared his
opinion that the claim was extremely well-founded.
Mr. Nugent Bell, Mr. WilHam Kaye, and Sir
Frederick Pollock, together with a host of eminent
legal authorities, predicted certain success. The
claimant thus supported, assumed the title of
Earl of Crawford and Lindsay, and upon two
occasions voted as such, at an election of
Scottish peers, and was addressed by his as
sumed title, both verbally and by letter, by
several peers then present. The most search
ing investigation was made by the friends

204 FAMILY ROMANCE.
of the claimant, preparatory to the case being
brought before the House of Lords, and no
source from whence evidence could be obtained
was left unexplored. In the midst of this the
claimant died. This event caused a delay and an
increase of expense. The claimant's son being
abroad, more money had to be raised beyond the
gratuitous aid already afforded, and terms were
offered to parties willing to advance money on
speculation. It would be tedious to enter into
the details of the case. One point was of primary
importance. Mr. Lindsay Crawfurd maintained
that his ancestor, the Hon. James Lindsay Craw
furd had settled in Ireland, and that he died there
between 1765 and 1770, leaving a family. On
the other hand, Lord Glasgow, who, by this
time, had succeeded Lady Mary as heir to the
great family estates, insisted that the Hon. James
Lindsay Crawfurd, instead of settling in Ireland,
and dying there, had died in London, in 1745, and
was buried, in St. Martin's-in-the-Fields.
On the truth of these respective averments the
question between the parties may be said to have
depended. It was proved from the register of
parish books of St. Martin's, that James Lindsay
Crawford was buried there in 174.5; and more
over, it was found, that, posterior to 1745, there
were no letters from him that could be proved

CRAWFORD PEERAGE CLAIM. 205
to be genuine. Evidence also was brought for
ward which decidedly showed that the Hon.
James Lindsay Crawford could not have been in
Ireland at the time when the claimant alleged his
ancestor to have been there, and that the claim
ant's acknowledged ancestor could not have been
the Hon. James Lindsay Crawford.
On summing up all the evidence that was col
lected for the purpose of bringing the case for de
cision before the House of Lords, the opinion of the
most eminent Scottish counsel was taken by the
trustees of the Crawfurd claims. Two of these
legal advisers were the present Lord Justice
General MacNeil and Lord Rutherford. Their
opinion was altogether adverse to Mr, Lindsay
Crawfurd's claims, and they wound up by de
claring " that from the facts now before us, we are
satisfied that any further inquiry is perfectly
hopeless and unnecessary," This opinion was
given in 1839, and since that date no further steps
have been taken to advance these extraordinary
case. It may be mentioned as a curious circumstance
that, when the original claimant died, a few years
after the death of Lady Mary, Lord Glasgow
allowed his body to be interred in the family
mausoleum, side by side with his great adversary.
This, doubtless, proceeded from the same chival-

206 FAMILY ROMANCE.
rous feeling which induced his lordship to give to
this person while he lived free access to the family
papers in order to substantiate his claim, not
withstanding his former bad reputation as an
accomplice, or, as he himself asserted, a victim of
forgers. Lord Glasgow was resolved that he would
allow him, in every respect, fair play, and would
not prejudge him.
Whatever may have been the real descent of John
Lindsay Crawfurd, there is no doubt whatever
that his ancestor, who settled in Ireland, stated
himself to be the son of Lord Crawford, and that
the members of his family were in the habit,
during the latter part of last century, of visiting,
as relatives, the noble family of Crawford in Scot=
land. These facts are clearly brought out by the
strongest possible parole evidence. The real
nature of the claim must now for ever remain a
mystery. The most likely solution is, that the
claimant's ancestor was an illegitimate brother of
the Earl of Crawford.

207

THE TWINS.
" These likened twins — in form and fancy one,
Were like affected, and hke habit chose.
Their valour at Newhaven siege was known.
Where both encountered fiercely -with their foes;
There one of both sore wounded lost his breath,
And t'other slain revenging brother's death."
" There are more things in heaven, Horatio,
than are dreamt of in your philosophy," says the
philosophic Prince, and vrith much truth. We
have an instance of it in the tale of the Corsican
Brothers, which has been rendered, by the inimit
able acting of Mr. Charles Kean, so popular for
the last twelvemonth, and which, in part at least,
is not without an actual prototype. We have
heard, we know not how truly, that the celebrated
Louis Blanc sat for the portrait of the Corsican,
though there is some difference in a leading event
of the two stories, as related of the eminent French-

208 FAMILY ROMANCE.
man and of his Corsican shadow. It is suffi
ciently curious to be given in the way of prologue
to our story, of which it forms no unapt illustra
tion. Louis Blanc and his brother had a close resem
blance in manner, person, and features, and, what
is still more remarkable, they were connected
by one of those mysterious sympathies, the very
existence of which we are all too apt to deny,
because we cannot comprehend its nature. " There
are no tigers in India," says a French traveller,
writing to his friend, " for I have seen none ;" and
so will the sceptic say when he is told that, how
ever separated might be these two brothers, no
accident could happen to the one without the
other having a sympathetic feeling of it. Thus,
it chanced one day, while the brother of Louis was
enjoying himself among a party of friends, he was
suddenly observed to change colour ; and upon
being questioned, he complained of a sensation, as
if he had received a blow upon the head, and he
avowed his firm conviction that something must
have befallen his brother, then in Paris. The com
pany, as may easily be supposed, laughed at this as
a mere imaginary notion, but some more curious
than the rest made an exact minute of the day and
hour, to see how far this warning was justified by
the actual event. And what was the result ? — at

THE TWINS. 209
the precise moment thus indicated, Louis, while
walking in the streets of Paris, had been knocked
down by a blow upon the head, dealt by some one
who approached him unperceived from behind.
So severe was the blow that he fell senseless to the
ground, and the ruffian escaped ; nor could all the
subsequent efforts of the police afford the slightest
clue for his detection. He was suspected to
have been a Bonapartist, and to have been in
fluenced by political hatred of the uncomproraising
republican. Our next instance gives a sirailar picture in
reverse. Louis Blanc had found it prudent to
seek a temporary asylum in England, the
party then uppermost in France being altogether
opposed to his republican doctrines. As had
happened in the preceding case, he one day ex
perienced a strange feeHng, as if all was not right
with his brother, and that, too, at a time when he
was sitting in the company of friends, and was
least likely to be influenced by such sensations in
the common order of things. Here again, the
very minute was noted down, and a short time
afterwards a letter came from his brother in Paris,
stating that he wrote then, as he might never be
able to write again. It appears that a pamphlet
had been published in France bitterly reflecting
upon Louis, and that his brother had, in con-

210 FAMILY ROMANCE.
sequence, called out the author. But here breaks
off the correspondence between the reality and the
fiction. It was not the brother, but his adversary,
that suffered ; and he was not killed, but severely
wounded. Such is the tale, which, we are told,
Louis Blanc is in the habit of relating to his
friends, and it was upon this, it is asserted, the
French dramatist founded his ingenious melodraraa.
This strange story at once confirms, and is con
firmed by a similar anecdote of two brothers in
our own country, and which cannot be denied,
if there be any veracity in monumental records.
Nicholas and Andrew Tremayne were twins and
younger sons of Thomas Tremayne, a Devonshire
gentleman, of good estate and well connected.
So perfect was their likeness in size, shape, fea
ture, the colour of their hair, — nay, the very tone
of their voices, that it was impossible for the nicest
eye to find out any point of difference. Even
their parents could not tell one from the other,
and were obliged to distinguish them by some
secret mark, which the twins would oftentimes
amuse themselves by changing. Wonderful as
was this external similitude, it was yet more sur
prising to find them governed by precisely the
same feelings and affections. What one liked,
the other liked; what one loathed, the other
loathed ; if one was ill, the other sickened ; and

THE TWINS. 211
if one was pained, the other suffered in the same
part, and in the same degree. These sympathies
occurred at whatever distance they might be apart,
and without any intelligence or communication
with each other.
In the year 1564, these twins served in the wars
at Newhaven, as it was then called, though it now
bears the name of Havre de Grace, upon the
French coast. Of their previous fortunes we have
no account, nor is there any conjectural mode of
explaining the very great difference that we now
find in their respective positions. The one was
captain of a troop of horse, while the other was
only a private soldier. This, however, made not
the slightest difference in the strong sympathy
that had previously existed between them, as was
now speedily to be seen. In the fierce battle that
ensued, one of the twins was slain. The other
immediately stepped into his place, and, fighting
with the utmost gallantry, fell dead upon the
body of his brother.

212

LEADERS OF FASHION.
Feom Geamont to D'Oesay-
Leaders of Fashion ! — and why should they not
have their biographies as well as Doctors, Lawyers,
or Soldiers ? If they have not done as much
good in their career, at least they have done far
less harm ; besides, that life, to make it tolerable,
needs its Hghter as well as graver side.
Coxcombry is of very ancient date. It might
be shown to have existed in full force amongst
the Hebrews ; but to pursue the subject would
lead us into forbidden ground, the proofs of
Jewish dandyism lying even in the Scriptures.
With their conquerors, the Romans, there is no
occasion for the sarae reserve. And Very ac
complished fops they seem to have had amongst
them, and young exquisites who painted, rouged,
and curled their hair, and wore rings light or
heavy, according to the season. Kings, too, in
more modern times, have countenanced, by their

LEADERS OF FASHION. 213
example, the race of dandies ; as for instance, Louis-
le-Grand of France, who never allowed even his
own valet to see him without his full-bottomed
wig. Nor have poets or men of learning escaped
the infection of the beau malady. Petrarch, in
writing to his brother, says, " Recollect the time
when we wore white habits, on which the least
spot, or a plait ill plaited, would have been a
subject of grief, and when our shoes were so
tight that we suffered martyrdom." The Abbe
de Lille, the poet-priest, although considered by
all, except himself, the ugliest man of his day,
was in the habit — ^even when advanced in life — of
dressing his" hair with rose-coloured powder.
Byron confesses that in his minority he had a
touch of dandyism ; and adds that " he had re
tained enough of it to conciliate the great ones at
four-and-twenty. The celebrated Austrian mi
nister. Prince de Kaunitz, wore satin stays, and
passed a portion of every morning in walking up
and down a room, in which four valets puffed a
cloud of scented powder, but each of a different
colour, in order that it might assume the precise
shade that was most agreeable to the taste of the
grave diplomatist. Still more surprising is it to find
such fierce vanities lurking in the breast of a man like
Nelson, the reputed author ofthe "Whole Duty
of Man." Raffaelle, too, has been complimented

214 FAMILY ROMANCE.
with the title of coxcomb. Charles James Fox
was a perfect maccaroni in his youth, and, like his
friends. Lords Carlisle and Essex, wore red-heeled
shoes, although, as he grew older, he turned a
very sloven. The late Marquis Wellesley, one
of the brightest intellects of his age, carried the
spirit of foppery so far, that he would often play
the coxcomb solely for his own amusement.
There he would sit in his own room for hours,
with no other spectator than what he saw reflected
in the mirror, dressed out in full costume, and
decorated with the blue riband and the garter, as
if he meant to appear at a chapter of the order, or
a royal levee.
We shall now open the ball — or, perhaps, we
should rather call it, masquerade of beaux —
with the Count De Gramont, who appears to
have possessed much the same medley of rices
and virtues that we shall presently find distin
guishing his successors in the fashionable world.
In three points, they all closely resembled each
other ; they were gamblers and wits, and dressed —
not foppishly, but with the most perfect taste. A
thorough knowledge, too, of mankind was common
to them all.
In those days, every French gentleman, if not
an Abbe, commenced life as a soldier ; sometiraes
they united the two characters, however dis-

LEADERS OF FASHION. 215
cordant, and such, we believe, was the case with
Gramont, when he assisted at the siege of Irino.
Then, too, war had two faces, being much whatVol-
taire said of the French themselves — a compound
of the tiger and the monkey ; men laughed
and joked in the very face of death ; a ball or a
play the night before a battle was no uncommon
thing. In such a camp Gramont was quite at
home, as much so as in the salons of Paris. His
wit and his extravagance made him welcome to
all, and when he had exhausted his own funds, he
replenished his purse by the arts of the gambler.
The campaign being ended, he passed over to
Turin, and intrigue being an essential part in the
character of a man of fashion, he devoted himself
to the levities and libertinism of the times. The
subject, however, is not one into which we care to
enter. We next find our gay adventurer passing over
to England, for no other purpose than to see
OHver Cromwell, whose greatness hung like a
mighty shadow over all Europe, filling the boldest
states with awe and apprehension.
His second visit to England was under very
different circumstances, when the Puritans, by
their absurd tyranny over the minds and amuse
ments of men had opened a way for the Restora
tion. In a Httle time he became a general

216 FAMILY ROMANCE.
favourite in the court of Charles the Second ;
gambling, intriguing, dressing, and scattering
about repartees with the most brilHant of that
brilHant, but utterly corrupted, circle. The king,
with his usual profuseness and total disregard of
the people over whom he ruled, offered to settle a
handsome pension upon this gay and profligate
foreigner, but De Gramont had the good sense
to refuse it ; why, indeed, should he not, when
he had an enchanted Peru in the gaming-table ?
To secure the favour of Charles, he now pro
cured from Paris a handsome chariot, valued at
two thousand guineas, and presented it to the
king. The unlucky chariot, however, proved a
mere apple of discord. The Queen desired to
appear first in so bright a vehicle with the
Duchess of York. Lady Castlemaine had a no less
violent longing, and, being enceinte at the time,
vowed she would miscarry if her demand were
not complied with. Finally, Mrs. Steward pro
tested that she never would be enceinte, if the
vehicle were not first lent to her. The threats
of the last carried off the prize from her com
petitors. A letter from Madame de Chaumoit now
announced to De Gramont that Louis permitted
his return to the French court, from which he
had so long been banished. He accordingly

LEADERS OF FASHION. 217
returned, but on meeting his brother, he learnt
that the good wishes of Madame had anticipated
reality. The king had given no such permission,
and, nothing loth, he once more returned to
England, where for a time he followed his usual
course of dissipation. It was now that he pro
mised to marry Miss Elizabeth Hamilton, daughter
of Sir George Hamilton, fourth son of James,
first Earl of Abercorn. The engagement thus
made he was in no hurry to fulfil, and had even
once more set out for France, in all probability to
escape from it. At Dover he was overtaken by
two of the lady's brothers, who significantly asked
him "if he had not forgotten something?"
"Yes, indeed," he replied, without losing his
usual self-possession, " I have forgotten to marry
your sister." And forthwith he returned to
London, and was married. He died on the 10th
of January, 1707.
After Gramont, three leaders of fashion prin
cipally dirided amongst them, in pretty equal
ratios, the honours of the fashionable empire.
These were Sir George Hewitt, Wilson, and Beau
Fielding. Hewitt, who afterwards became an
Irish viscount, was generally supposed to have
been the original of Etheredge's Sir Fopling
Flutter, in the comedy of The Man of the Mode.
He it was, say the chroniclers of small things, who
VOL. I. L

218 FAMILY ROMANCE.
softened the rough damn me oi earlier days into
damme, which, after-times, growing yet more deli
cate, attenuated into demme, thus enjoying the
luxury of an oath without offence to the refine
ments of a tender conscience. It is noticed in
" Rochester's Farewell."
" Had it not better been, than thus to roam,
To stay and tie the cravat-string at home !
To strut, look big, shake pantaloon, and swear
With He-witt, Damme, there's no action here." ';
Wilson, the second-named of the triumvirate,
was a far more remarkable character, as much un
explained mystery having hung about him as
about any hero of romance. According to
Grainger, he was the younger son of a re
spectable family, and entered life as an officer
in the army, having nothing else to look
to for support but his profession. The war
broke out, or at least, was fought, in Flanders,
then, as it has been often since, the comraon
battle-ground of Europe, where thousands of
combatants left their bones to fertilise the soil, as
some compensation for the havoc they had oc
casioned. Wilson, however, who was called out
upon active service, seems to have thought, with
Falstaff, " the better part of valour is discretion,"
a doctrine so little in accordance with the notions

LEADERS OF FASHION. 219
of his commander, thathe wasbrokenfor cowardice,
and was glad to borrow forty shillings from a
friend to return to England.
Thus branded, and without money, which would
have supplied, in the estimation of some, the want
of reputation, and, indeed, of all other wants, it
might be naturally concluded that he was crushed,
beyond fall possibility of again rising. No such
thing. To the astonishment of every one, he sud
denly burst upon the world of fashion, as one of its
brightest ornaments; his dress, table, stud,
equipages, all being of the highest order, and his
hospitality boundless. How was all this done ? — he
seldom played, and was not known to have any in
trigues, which might have supplied the means of
this extravagance. Sorae surraised that he had
discovered the philosopher's stone, and was thus
enabled to transmute the baser metals into gold, a
theory that was sanctioned by the general belief,
even of the learned in those days. Others, less
credulous, or more disposed to evil constructions,
did not hesitate to whisper — and that pretty loudly
— that he had robbed a Dutch mail of a parcel of
rough diamonds. As to Wilson himself, he pre
served an inflexible silence upon the subject, and
knew how to evade the curiosity of his friends,
while wearing the appearance of the utmost frank
ness in his conduct and conversation.
^ L 2

220 FAMILY ROMANCE.
A natural solution of this mystery, though not
altogether free from doubt, has been given in
some intercepted letters appended to the Memoirs
of the Court of England, in the Reign of Charles
the Second, a work published about a hundred
and fifty years ago. It is there stated that he
was enabled to support these expenses by the
liberality of the Duchess of Cleveland, with whom
he had an intrigue. The thing, not otherwise
improbable, is yet rendered somewhat doubtful by
the singularity and minuteness of the details.
The end of this singular character was certainly
not such as might have been expected from his
previous conduct while serving with the EngHsh
army in Flanders. It would seem that the various
rumours spread to his disadvantage — amongst
others, that he was supported by Jew money
lenders as a decoy-duck — made it imperative upon
him to adopt some decided course if he meant to
preserve his position in society. Haring traced
one of these rumours to the notorious schemer.
Law, the ruin of so many thousands, he challenged
this audacious and unprincipled mountebank, the
consequence of which was his being found dead
at the place appointed for the duel. The rumour
of the day went to his having been run through the
body by his villanous and cowardly opponentbefore
had time to draw his sword. However, this may

LEADERS OF FASHION. 221
be ; and to crown the mystery of a life, a small
sum of money only was found, after Wilson's
death, amongst his effects, and yet, at the same
time, to increase the wonder, he had not a single
debt. The last of this triumvirate, worthy so to be
named, was Beau Fielding. Swift speaks of him
as one of those " who made mean figures upon
some remarkable occasions," an indefinite kind
of censure, that may mean anything. However
it is to be interpreted. Fielding was of a good
family in Warwickshire, and, being intended for
the bar, he was sent to London, where he soon
yielded to the temptations of fashionable life, and
abandoned his profession. At this time he was the
possessor of two quahties, which, although good in
the abstract, are dangerous gifts, if not ballasted
by a moderate stock of prudence — he was young,
and he was handsome, so handsome indeed that
he attracted the particular notice of Charles the
Second, who called him " the handsome Fielding."
His brain seems to have been pretty well turned
before, by the admiration which his person and
dress so generally excited; but this sentence from
the lips of royalty settled the matter. Com
manded by a prince, he became the prince of fops,
and while sparing no expense in his own dress,
he was equally lavish and fantastic in the attire

FAMILY ROMANCE
of his footmen, who usually wore yellow liveries
with black sashes, and black feathers in their
hats. Like Wilson, he was sadly deficient in
courage, though, it would seem, more than suffi
ciently ready to draw his sword when it could be
used without danger to himself ; as, for instance,
when he ran a poor link-boy through the body in
St. Martin's Lane. As a set-off to this deed of
heroism, he allowed himself to be severely caned
by a fiery Welchman of the name of Price. Yet,
with all this reluctance to incur danger, he could
not always escape the fashionable mania for
duelling. One evening, in pushing forward to show
off his finery at the theatre in Lincoln's Inn
Fields, he was unlucky enough to tread upon
the toes of a young lawyer called Fullwood, who
instantly called him out. The result was, that
the beau got severely wounded; but it might be
some comfort to him, that his antagonist, who
seems to have been a remarkably pugnacious
gentleman, became involved in a second duel, the
same night, with a Captain Cusac, who killed
him, greatly, we should think, to the peace and
quiet of Lincoln's Inn Fields.
The patrimony of Fielding was at length eaten
up by his excesses, and for a time he subsisted
upon his intrigues, and the supplies obtained from
the gaming-table, where he was usually successful.

LEADERS OF FASHION.
Probably even these combined resources were in
sufficient to meet the demands of a Hfe like his,
and he in time found a more certain way of re.
establishing his shattered fortunes, by a marriage
vrith a connection of Swift's, the only daughter
and heiress of Lord Carlingford. This lady
happened to be a stanch Catholic, who soon con
verted him to her faith. As a natural result of
this reHgious change, he attached himself to the
cause of James the Second, raised a regiment in
his own county for the king's service, and followed
the royal exile into France, where he was liberally
supported by remittances from his wife, who, no
doubt, strongly sympathised with him frora identity
of principles. In her eyes he could not be other
than a martyr to loyalty and religion. But un
fortunately this lady died, and Fielding found
himself in as great difficulties as ever, to remedy
which he again married. This tirae he was com
pletely taken in. The object of his new choice
caUed herself Madame Delaune, and contrived, by
some means, to pass for a lady of large fortune. But
the name and the wealth proved equally fictitious ;
her real name was Mary Wadsworth, and fortune
she had none. Upon discovering how grossly he
had been deceived, he forsook her, and married
Barbara Villiers, Duchess of Cleveland, then in
her sixty-first year, and the reputed mistress of

224 FAMILY ROMANCE.
his predecessor. Having treated her with much
brutaHty, he became subject to indictment, and a
year after his marriage was tried at the Old
Bailey, and found guilty of bigamy. Sentence
was accordingly passed upon him that he should
be burnt on the hand, but he craved the benefit of
clergy, and, producing the Queen's warrant for the
suspending the execution of his sentence, he was
admitted to bail. How far this might operate in
reconciling him to his faithless Mary we can not
pretend to say ; but reconciled he was, and in his
will he stj'les her " his dear and loving wife." He
died of a fever at his house in Scotland-yard, in
the year 1712, when he was sixty-one years of
age. " The Tatler," a periodical devoted to
passing events and Hving characters, gives the Hfe
of hira under the fictitious name of Orlando.
" His descent," says Bickerstaff, " was noble, his
wit humorous, his person charming. But to none
of these recommendatory advantages was his title
so undoubted as that of his beauty. His con-
plexion was fair, but his countenance manly ;
his stature of the tallest, his shape the most exact ;
and though in all his limbs he had a proportion as
delicate as we see in the works of the most skilful
statuaries, his body had a strength and firmness
little inferior to the marble of which such images
are formed."

LEADERS OF FASHION. 225
" His equipage and economy had something in
them more sumptuous than could be received in
our degenerate age ; therefore his figure, though
highly graceful, appeared so exotic that it
assembled all the Britons under the age of sixteen,
who saw his grandeur, to follow his chariot with
shouts and acclamations ; which he received with
the contempt which great minds affect in the midst
of applauses. I remember I had the honour of
seeing him one day stop and call the youths about
him, to whom he spoke as foUows : —
" Good bastards, go to school, and do not lose
your time on following my wheels. I am loathe
to hurt you because I know not but you're all my
own offspring. Hark ye, you sirrah, with the
white hair, I am sure you are mine ; there's half-
a.-crown for you. Why, you young dogs, did you
never see a man before ?" " Never such a one as
you, noble general," repHed a truant from
Westminster. " Sirrah, I beHeve thee ; there is
a crown for thee. Drive on, coachman." Making
the necessary allowances for the colouring of a
humourist like the Tatler, we have no doubt this
caricature is yet a sufficient likeness of one whom
nothing could put out of countenance ; and yet he
occasionally met with some tolerably sharp lessons.
Thus, for instance, when he had given, on his
carriage, some part of Lord Denbigh's arms.

FAMILY ROMANCE.
Basil, the fourth earl of that family, got a house-
painter to daub his coat of arms all over in the
public ring of Hyde Park, in broad day.
To the trio just described succeeds in our
phantasmagoria the somewhat less celebrated
Beau Edgeworth, a member of that family which
has since been so distinguished by the literary
talents of Mr. Edgeworth and his daughter, Maria,
the admirable authoress. Beau Edgeworth has
also found a niche in the extensive portrait-gallery
of the " Tatler." Steele, in speaking of him,
says, " there is a very handsome, well-shaped
youth frequents the coffee-houses about Charing
Cross, and ties a very pretty ribbon with a cross
of jewels at his breast. This being something
new, and a thing in which the gentleman may
offend the Herald's Office, I have addressed my
self to him, as I am Censor —
'Dear Countryman, — Was that ensign of honour
which you wear given you by a prince or a
lady you have served ? If you bear it as an
absent lover, please to hang it on a black ribbon ;
if as a rewarded soldier, you may have my Hcense
to continue the red. — ' Your faithful servant,
' Bickerstaff, Censor.' "
Alas for the subject of this poignant, yet good-
humoured satire ! eventuaHy he became mad,
and died in the Dublin BrideweH.

LEADERS OF FASHION. 227
We next come to the celebrated Beau Nash.
Richard Nash was born at Swansea, in Glamorgan
shire, in 1674 ; and after having finished his
education at Jesus College, Oxford, he abandoned
his intended profession of the law, and bought an
ensigncy, under the idea that a red coat was the
most promising costume for a man of pleasure. He
soon, however, discovered that a military Hfe had
its duties, and some of them more than sufficiently
onerous. He therefore sold his colours, and, be
taking himself to the law, contrived, though with
very scanty means, to dress well and mingle in
the first ranks of fashion. He even now showed
symptoms of that glory which, at a later period,
was to raise him to the throne of King Bladud,
and by his intrepid assurance persuaded his com
peers to look upon hira as
" The glass of fashion, and the mould of form."
It being resolved by the members of the Inner
Temple, of which Nash was a member, to give
an entertainment in honour of King WilHam, he
was appointed to arrange and preside over the
whole. In this office he gave such general satis
faction, that the king offered to knight him,
but equally impudent and sagacious, he replied,
"Please your Majesty, if you intend to make me
a knight, I wish it may be one of your poor

228 FAMILY ROMANCE.
knights of Windsor, and then I shall have a
fortune, at least able to support my title." But
WilHam had too many rapacious Dutch favourites,
and too many needy English partisans, to take a
hint of this kind. Yet with all the follies of his
head, Nash was of a kind and generous disposi
tion, of which the " Spectator" gives us a humorous
example. When he was to render his accounts
to the masters of the Temple, he charged, amongst
other items, " For making one man happy, Ten
Pounds. Upon being asked to explain so singular
a charge, he repHed, that happening to overhear a
poor man declare to his wife and a large family
that ten pounds would make him happy, he could
not refrain from trying the experiment. If,
however, they objected to the item, he was quite
willing to refund the money. To the honour of
the Masters be it said, that they not only ac
quiesced in their treasurer's demand, but ordered
the sum to be doubled, in proof of their satisfac
tion. Some singular anecdotes are told of Nash at this
early period of his career, and all equally charac
teristic of the man as he appears in after life.
Thus, upon one occasion, happening to lose all
his money at York, some of his companions
agreed to equip him with fifty guineas, on condi
tion that he would stand at the great door of the

LEADERS OF FASHION. 229
Minster in a blanket, as the people were coming
out of church. Unfortunately he was recognised
by the dean, who exclaimed in surprise, " What !
Mr. Nash in masquerade ?" " Only a Yorkshire
penance, for keeping bad company," replied the
unabashed beau, pointing to his companions, who
stood near, laughing at his exposure. But horse
play of this kind was the fashion of the age, and,
as appears from another instance, was sometimes
carried to outrageous lengths. Upon this occa
sion he was invited by some officers to dine
a-board a ship, then under sailing orders, when,
having been completely intoxicated, he was carried
off by his facetious hosts, and compelled to make
the cruise with them.
In this voyage he was present at an engagement,
in which a particular friend was killed at his
side, and he himself, as he used afterwards to tell
the story, wounded in the leg. This tale, how
ever, was so far from meeting with general belief,
that a lady one day openly expressed her incre
dulity, when he was relating it for the hundredth
time in the public rooms at Bath. " I protest,
madam," repHed Nash, " it is true ; and, if I can
not be believed, your ladyship may, if you please,
receive further information ; feel the ball in my
leg." Our hero was now thirty years of age, without

230 FAMILY ROMANCE.
fortune, as without the talents to secure one,
except it were his talents for the gaming-table. To
this he trusted chiefly for his support, but the vice
was too common in those days to infer any loss of
character. Now here, it must be allowed, was a
"nodus vindice dignus," and accordingly the
" Deus ex machina " was not long wanting.
Previous to this time the worn-out votaries of
fashion had no agreeable summer retreat, where
they might recruit themselves after the fatigues of
a winter campaign in London. They spent that
season amidst a solitude of country-squires and
parson's wives, and were sadly in want of some
place, where they might unite the pursuit of
health with the pursuit of pleasure. Bath too,
but in an humble way, was enlisted into the ser-rice
of the exhausted fashionables. The company
assembled there was numerous enough to form a
country dance upon the bowling-green, to the music
of a fiddle and a hautboy. In fine weather they
usually sauntered in the grove, between two rows
of sycamore trees, while the real, or supposed,
sick drank the waters. For the better maintenance
of order a master of the ceremonies was elected,
the immediate predecessor of Nash being a cer
tain Captain Webster ; but he appears to have
been a very feeble monarch, and to have had little
power over his independent subjects ; the gentle-

LEADERS OF FASHION. 231
men smoked and wore boots in the public rooms,
and the ladies made their appearance in aprons.
If the company liked each other, they danced till
morning ; if any one lost at cards, he might insist
on the winner's continuing the game till luck
changed, or he wanted means to pursue it any
farther. The lodgings for visitors were paltry,
though expensive ; the rooms were floored with
boards, coloured brown with soot and small beer
to hide the dirt ; the walls were covered with un
painted waintscoat, and the furniture was no less
contemptible, consisting of nothing but a few oak
chairs, a small looking-glass, and a table, with a
pair of tongs and fender. The pump-house was
without any director, and the chair-men permitted
no ladies or gentlemen to walk home at night
without insulting them. To crown all, a fashion
able physician of the place having been offended,
he declared, in revenge, " he would cast a toad
into the springs," meaning of course that he
would vote against the use of them.
It was at this juncture that Nash happened to
visit Bath. Hearing of the doctor's threat, he
replied to it in the same strain, assuring the
people that he would charm away the toad's poison
in the same way that the Neapolitans cured the
bite of the tarantula — namely, by music. His
offer was accepted by the alarmed Bathites ; he

232 FAMILY ROMANCE.
was fully invested with powers to try the efficacy
of a band of music in opposition to the doctor's
reptile, and his nostrum having succeeded, the
throne of Bath was decreed to him by the popular
suffrage. The first care of the new monarch was like that
of his brother kings — to call upon the people for
subsidies to support the honours of his throne.
This new tax appeared in the shape of a sub
scription of one ^guinea each for a band of six
performers, who were to divide six guineas a
week for their trouble. Moreover, he allowed
two guineas for the sweeping and lighting of the
rooms, and paid the corporation an annual rent for
the use of the pump-rooms, which he placed under
the care of a proper officer, called the Pumper.
In the first year, the good subjects of King
Nash contributed no less a benevolence than seven
teen or eighteen hundred pounds. New and more
comraodious houses began to be built, the streets
were better paved, cleaned, and lighted, the chair
men were reduced to order, and an Act of Parlia
ment was obtained, exempting invalids, who came
to bathe or drink the waters, from all manner of
tolls in going out of the city for recreation.
His next care was to prevail upon one Harrison
to erect an assembly room, the company having
been till then obHged to drink tea and game in a

LEADERS OF FASHION. 233
mere booth. At the same time he provided a
better band at a double salary, and paid Harrison
three guineas a week for the use of his room and
candles, besides establishing public promenades,
and improving the suburbs, in spite of the oppo
sition made by the corporation, who looked upon
all such improvements as likely to prejudice their
city. ?
Having brought things to this pitch, King Nash
began to think it was high time to legislate for his
subjects, and accordingly he hung up his new code
in the pump-room. These laws he attempted to
season with humour, but this seasoning, it must
be allowed, was not very piquant. Ecce signum —
" That no gentleman give his ticket for the
balls to any but gentlewomen — unless he has none
of his acquaintance.
" That the elder ladies and children be content
with a second bench at the ball, as being past, or
not come to, perfection.
" That all whisperers of lies and scandal be
taken for their authors."
This last regulation will call to the mind of
most of our readers Sir Peter Teazle's denuncia
tion, the main idea being the same, though ren
dered a thousand times more poignant by the
terse and brilliant style of Sheridan. " Surely,"
says Mrs. Candour, " you would not be quite so

234 FAMILY ROMANCE.
severe on those who only repeat what they
hear?" — "Yes, madam," replies Sir Peter, "I
would have law merchant for them, too ; and in all
cases of slander currency, whenever the drawer of
the lie was not to be found, the injured parties
should have a right to come on any of the en
dorsers." The balls, by his direction, began at six, and
precisely as the clock struck eleven, he would
give a sign to the band, whereat the music ceased.
Nor could any considerations of rank induce him
to deviate from his rules. The Princess Amelia
upon one occasion having applied to him for one
dance more after the usual warning had been
given, he replied that the laws of Bath, like the
laws of Lycurgus, were immutable, and actually
continued inexorable to her entreaties. This, it
must be owned, was going tolerable lengths, but
he went even farther. In his detestation of white
aprons, he one evening tore the prohibited article
from off the Duchess of Queensbury, who had
somehow contrived to smuggle herself in, and
throw it amongst the ladies' women upon the
hinder benches, observing, that none but abigails
appeared in white aprons. The Duchess, like
other ladies, submitted with a good grace to the
ukase of the Bath autocrat.
But the gentlemen were much more refractory

LEADERS OF FASHION. 235
than his lady lieges. It cost him no Httle exer
tion to banish boots, to which the squires adhered
for a long time with wonderful pertinacity. The
chapter of wearing swords was a yet more difficult
one, but he had resolved to put an end to this
practice, which led to many duels in the heat of
the moment, which, but for the weapon being so
ready at hand, might perhaps have been avoided.
" How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Makes deeds ill done."
Whenever he heard of a challenge being given,
he had both parties arrested, and thus, as he him
self expressed it, " hindered people from doing
what they had no mind to."
Another of the new monarch's regulations pro
vided that whenever any fresh visitant came to
Bath, he should be welcomed by a peal of the
abbey bells, and afterwards by the music of the
city waits, for which, of course, he was expected
to give an adequate remuneration accordng to
his rank and fortune.
The amusements of the day usually began with
bathing, the hours appointed for this purpose
being from six to eight in the morning. " In the
morning," says our old chronicler, " the lady is
brought in a close chair, dressed in her bathing
clothes, to the bath; and, being in the water, the
woman who attends presents her with a little

236 FAMILY ROMANCE.
floating dish like a bason, into which the lady
puts a handkerchief, a snuff-box, and a nosegay.
She then traverses the bath ; if a novice, with a
guide ; if otherwise, by herself; and having amused
herself thus while she thinks proper, calls for her
chair, and returns to her lodgings."
The amusement of bathing is immediately suc
ceeded by a general assembly of people at the
pump-house, some for pleasure, and some to
drink the hot waters. Three glasses at three
different times are the usual portion for every
drinker, ' and the intervals between every glass
are enlivened by the harmony of a sraall band of
rausic, as well as by the conversation of the gay,
the witty, or the forward.
The gentleraen withdraw to their coffee-houses
to read the papers, or converse on the news of the
day, with a freedom and ease not to be found in
the metropolis.
People of fashion make public breakfasts at the
assembly-houses, to which they invite their ac
quaintances, and they sometimes order private
concerts ; or, when so disposed, attend lectures
on the arts and sciences, which are frequently
taught there in a pretty superficial manner, so as
not to tease the understanding, while they afford
the imagination some amusement. The private
concerts are performed in the ball rooms, the

LEADERS OF FASHION. 237
tickets a crown each. Concert breakfasts at the
assembly-house sometimes make also a part of the
morning's amusement here, the expenses of which
are defrayed by a subscription among the men.
Persons of rank and fortune, who can perform,
are admitted into the orchestra, and find a pleasure
in joining with the performers.
Thus we have the tedious morning fairly over.
When noon approaches, and church — if any please
to go there — is done, some of the company appear
upon the parade and other public walks, where
they continue to chat and amuse each other till
they have formed parties for the play, cards, or
dancing for the evening. Another part of the
company divert themselves with reading in the
booksellers' shops, or are generally seen taking
the air and exercise, sorae on horseback, some in
coaches. Some walk in the meadows round the
town, winding along the side of the river Avon
and the neighbouring canal, while others are seen
scaling some of those romantic precipices that
overhang the city.
When the hour of dinner draws nigh, and the
company have returned from their different recrea
tions, the provisions are generally served with the
utmost elegance and plenty. Their mutton,
butter, fish and fowl, are all allowed to be excel
lent, and their cookery still exceeds their meat.

238 FAMILY ROMANCE.
After dinner is over, and evening-prayers ended,
the company raeet a second time at the pump-
house. From this they retire to the walks, and
from thence go to drink tea at the assembly-
house, and the rest of the evening is concluded
either with balls, plays, or visits. A theatre was
erected in the year 1735 by subscription, by
people of the highest rank, who permitted their
arras to be engraven on the inside of the house, as
a public testimony of their HberaHty towards it.
Every Tuesday and Friday evening it concluded
with a public ball, the contributions to which are
so numerous that the price of each ticket is
trifling." This picture of Bath as it was, is worthy pre
serving, now that these manners and customs
have nearly all passed away, and with little
chance, as it would seem, of their ever returning.
The expenses of Nash soon became more ex
travagant than ever. His usual mode of travelling
to Tunbridge, which forraed a sort of subsidiary to
Bath, was in a post-chariot drawn by six greys, with
outriders, footmen, French horns, and every other
appendage of expensive parade. The gaming-table
was his Peru, yet, unlike others of this desperate
trade, he could be honest even in dishonesty, and nu
merous instances ofhis boundless generosity to losers,
involving, upon more than one occasion, the return

LEADERS OF FASHION. 239
to them of several thousands. The greatest blot
in his character was his countenancing, and, in
fact, sharing the spoils of certain sharpers, who
set up banks and E.O. tables. But with all his
experience, he was no match for people of this
description. After a time, they defrauded him of
his portion, and, while the tables were flourishing,
he was reduced to the very brink of ruin. In the
dilemma, he had recourse to the law, but all he
got by this was the exposure of his connection
with the sharpers, which, before, had scarcely
been suspected.
Never, perhaps, was there a more compound
character than that of Beau Nash, the king of
Bath and also of Tonbridge Wells, a colony
sent out from the parent state. We have
already noticed his generosity, but he had
ather redeeming quahties. He was essentially
kind-hearted, and disposed to serve every
one, and so determined an enemy to slander,
that he would not allow the ladies their
natural privilege of running down each other.
In those days, the men of gallantry, as they
called themselves, held much the same opinion
with Clarindore in the Parliament of Love, and
considered it a matter of glory to publish to the
world any victories they might have obtained over
female weakness.

240 FAMILY ROMANCE.
" After -victory,
A little glory in a soldier's mouth
Is not imcomely ; love being a kind of war too,
And what I did achieve was fuU of labour
As his that wins strong towns, and merits triumphs,
I thought it could not but take from my honour,
If it had been concealed."
But the monarch of Bath repressed all such prac
tices with a high hand, and thereby gained the
friendship of many ladies of rank, who had been
harshly treated by the slanderers. The old Duchess
of Marlborough in particular, entertained much re
gard for him,often taking his advice in worldly affairs,
as well as matters of mere taste. From the cut and
colour of a livery, to the letting leases, building
bridges, or forming canals, Nash was her chosen
counsellor, and, considering the general sagacity of
the now-antiquated Sarah, this was saying not a
little for him. Before public gaming -was suppressed
by Act of Parliament, and while Nash was yet in
the meridian of his fortunes, his benefactions were
generally found to equal all his other expenses.
The money he got without pain he gave away
without reluctance ; and, when unable to relieve
distress, he was often seen to shed tears. Of this
many instances might be given, enough to fill, if
not a volume, yet a long and tedious chapter. We
will take only two or three.

LEADERS OF FASHION. 241
A gentleman of broken fortune standing behind
his chair one day, as he was playing a game of
picquet for two hundred pounds, and observing
with what indifference he won the money, could
not help whispering to a bye-stander, " Heavens !
how happy would that money make me ! " This
chanced to be overheard by Nash, who immediately
thrust the money into his hand, and exclaimed,
" Go, and be happy."
A clergyman broughl; his family to Bath, his
wife being affiicted with a lingering disease, which,
according to the doctors, could only be removed
by the use of the hot wells. His living amounted to
only thirty pounds a year, and it may be easily sup
posed that he was soon reduced to severe distress,
the greater part of his clothes being gradually sold,
to obtain a temporary reHef. At length, his appear
ance became so shabby, that, from the number of
holes in his coat and stockings, Nash used to
nickname him Dr. Cullender. This, however,
was but the momentary thoughtlessness of o'ne
who seldom suffered any thing to stand in the way
of a joke, even when, as in the present case, it was
not remarkable for brightness. No sooner did he
learn the real state of affairs with the poor parson,
than he set about making a collection for him, and
to stimulate the public generosity, himself sub
scribed five guineas. In less than three hours a
VOL. I. M

242 FAMILY ROMANCE.
couple of hundred pounds were raised, a piece of
good fortune that did more for the wife's recovery
than all the Bath waters. Nor did Nash's kind
ness for a mere stranger stop here. He solicited
and obtained from a nobleman, a living for the
poor curate, of a hundred and sixty pounds a
year. Another, and higher instance of his generosity
remains to be recorded, higher, because it involves
the exercise of a rare magnanimity, and one
which for a moment must make us forget the
natural frivolity of his character.
In the early part of his life, Nash had made
proposals of marriage to a young lady of rank and
fortune, and being then in high favour with the
nobility, and moreover in affiuent circumstances,
the father listened to his suit with much satis
faction. When, however, he opened the affair to
the lady herself, she at once candidly told him her
heart was already given to another. The father,
upon being informed of this avowal, became
furious, and insisted upon his daughter's com
pliance. Things were carried to the last extremity,
when Nash undertook to settle the affair. He
sent for his favoured rival, with his own hand
presented his mistress to him, and presented her
with a fortune equal to that which her father had
intended to bestow upon her. The consequence

LEADERS OF FASHION. 243
was, a complete reconciHation between the old
gentleman and his daughter.
But he, who had so often and so munificently
reHeved the distressed, became at length reduced
to a very pitiable state of want. He was now
more than eighty years old, and the faults, as well
as the infirmities of age, began to steal rapidly
upon him. He became rude and fretful, and in
the midst of his vain longing after pleasures that
he could no longer enjoy, was ever haunted by
the fears of death. Yet he had already lived
much too long for his repute or happiness, and at
length died in his own house in St. John's Court,
Bath, on the 12th of February, 1761,w hen he
was aged eighty-seven years, three months, and
some days.
His funeral was celebrated by the corporation
ef Bath, with much splendour, and amidst a very
general expression of grief, not only the streets,
but even the house-tops, being filled with anxious
spectators. We have already entered somewhat at large
into the character of this singular, and we must
add with all his faults, good man ; yet after all, he
is best painted by his actions. Under that im
pression we will venture to give another anecdote
of him, somewhat out of place perhaps, but the
addition must be taken as the postcript of a letter,
M 2

244 FAMILY ROMANCE.
which supplies what the writer, following only
the natural current of his fancy, and narrating
without art, had previously omitted.
His object was to establish a hospital at Bath,
by public subscription. Once while walking
round the rooms with his hat in his hand for that
purpose, a certain duchess entered, at no time
remarkable for charity. Nash planted himself
directly in her way, when the lady, finding escape
impossible, gave him a tap with her fan, saying,
" you must put down a trifle for rae, Mr. Nash,
for I have no money in my purse." "With
pleasure, madam," was his reply, " if your grace
will tell me when to stop." And taking a handful
of guineas out of his pocket he began to count
them into his hat. " One, two, three, four, five."
" Hold, hold. Sir," cried the duchess ; " consider
what you are about." " Consider your rank and
fortune, madam," said Nash, and continued
dropping in the guineas ; " six, seven, eight, nine,
ten." The duchess now grew angry, and called
again to him to stop. " Pray, compose yourself,
madam," said Nash respectfully, " and don't
interrupt the work of charity — eleven, twelve,
thirteen, fourteen, fifteen." Here her grace
actually seized his hand. " Be calm, madam,"
said Nash, going on with his performance, " your
name will be written in letters of gold, and on

LEADERS OF FASHION. 245
the front of the building, madam — sixteen, seven
teen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty." " I shan't pay
a farthing more," exclaimed the duchess. " Charity
hides a multitude of sins," replied Nash, "twenty-
one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four,
twenty-five." The lady now seemed to be ex
hausted with vexation, and about to faint,
exclaiming, " Nash, I protest you frighten me
out of my wits ; I shall die." " Madam," said
the imperturbable Nash, " you wUl never die of
doing good ; or if you do, you will be the better
for it."
Other stars were not long in rising in the
fashionable hemisphere, but they could hardly be
called stars of the first magnitude ; compared
with their predecessors, they would seera to have
shone with diminished brilliance. We shall run
through them with a brevity suited to their in
ferior importance as lights of fashion.
We have already spoken of Charles James
Fox. The Earl of March seems to have
gone somewhat farther. He writes to his friend
George Selwyn, in Paris, 1776. " The muff
you sent me by the Duke of Richmond I
like prodigiously, vastly better than if it
had been tigre, or of any glaring colour ;
several are now making after it." And again in
1776, he writes, " pray bring me two or three

246 FAMILY ROMANCE.
bottles of perfume to put amongst powder,
and some patterns for velvets that are new and
pretty." His friend, George Augustus Selwyn, was yet
more distinguished, his wit and peculiarities
giving him a high place in the world of fashion.
He was born on the 11th of August, 1719, and
was the second son of Colonel John Selwyn, of an
ancient family in Gloucestershire, and who, in
his youth, had been Aide-de-Camp to the Duke
of Marlborough. At Eton School he was a con
temporary with Gray and Horace Walpole. He
then proceeded to Hertford College, Oxford,
which he left before the time to take a trip upon
the continent, returned to College, and got ex
pelled for an idle jest, which his superiors con
sidered blasphemy.
His father's influence soon procured for him a
lucrative situation in the Mint. In 1747 he
obtained a seat in Parliament, and in the Novem
ber of 1751 — his brother having died before his
father — he inherited, upon the decease of the
latter, the whole of the family estates.
One of the most remarkable features in his
character was a morbid love for sights of death
and execution. This, indeed, has been denied, by
showing the fallacy of some of the many anecdotes
circulated, — no very difficult matter — but such

LEADERS OF FASHION. 247
was evidently the belief of his contemporaries.
Thus, when the first Lord Holland, upon his
death-bed, was told that his friend Selwyn had
called to inquire after his health, he replied,
" The next time that Mr. Selwyn calls, show him
up ; if I am alive, I shall be deHghted to see him ;
and if I am dead he will be glad to see me."
Thus, too, Horace Walpole, in a letter to Sir
Horace Mann, " This old Craggs — who was angry
¦with Arthur More, who had worn a livery, too, and
who was getting into a coach with him — turned
round, and said, ' Why, Arthur, I am always
going to get up behind, are not you ? ' I told
this story the other day to George Selwyn, whose
passion is to see coffins, and corpses, and execu
tions ; he replied that Arthur More had had his
coffin chained to that of his mistress. ' Lord ! '
said I, ' how do you know ? ' ' Why, I saw them
the other day in a vault at St. Giles.' "
One more instance of the same kind, and we
have done -with this part of the subject. Being
attacked by some ladies for his want of feeling in
being present at the beheading of Lord Lovat, he
repHed, " WeU, I made amends by going to the
undertaker's to see his head sewed on again." And
this excuse was no more than fact. He had duly
assisted by his presence at this revolting ceremony,
and no sooner was it concluded, and the perfect

248 FAMILY ROMANCE.
corpse placed in its coffin, than imitating the voice
and manner of the Lord Chancellor at the trial, he
exclaimed, " My Lord Lovat, your lordship may
arise." Strange to say, the man who could thus sport
with death, and enjoy the pain of others, was any
thing but deficient in feeling. He was passionately
fond of children, and possessed a heart always open
to the appeal of wretchedness. His friendships,
too, were warm and lasting.
Of his witticisms, many are on record ; but,
Hke most colloquial fiashes, they lose much of their
brilliancy when read instead of being heard. The
joke which sparkles when uttered, becomes too
often vapid and pointless when committed to
paper. A few instances, therefore, will suffice :
At the trials of Lords Kilmarnock and Bal-
merino, observing a Mrs. Bethel, who was re
markable for a hatchet-face, looking earnestly at
them, he exclaimed witli affected compassion,
" What a shame it is to turn her face to the
prisoners before they are condemned ! " — an
allusion to the custom of the executioner's turn
ing the edge of his axe towards the prisoner when
condemned, and reversed before sentence has been
passed. On another occasion, observing Mr. Ponsonby,
the Speaker of the Irish House of Commons,

LEADERS OF FASHION. 249
tossing about bank-bills at a hazard-table at New
market, he exclaimed, " Look ! how easily the
Speaker passes the money-bills."
The beautiful Lady Coventry was one day
exhibiting to him a splendid new dress, covered
with large silver spangles, the size of a shilling,
and asked him what he thought of it ? "I think,"
repHed the wit, "you will be changed for a
guinea." Ex pede Herculem — for it would occupy more
canvas than we can spare to paint our Hercules in
his full proportions. It will be enough to add
that he died on the 25th of January, 1791, and in
his seventy-second year.
Beau Brummel, though perhaps not so remark
able for wit as George Selwyn, was certainly more
distinguished as a leader of fashion. Although
not a fop, he was the best dressed man of his day,
the tie of his neckcloth, and the polish of his
boot-tops, being the general objects of admiration.
His good taste led him to avoid all peculiarities of
appearance. There is some doubt as to the station in life
held by Brumrael's parents. His grandfather
followed a business of some kind in Bury Street,
but by his letting a large portion of his house, it
would seem that he was not in affluent circum
stances. While Brumrael's father was yet a boy,
M 3

250 FAMILY ROMANCE.
Mr. Jenkinson came to lodge there, and this led
to his being employed in a Government-office
when his lodger and patron had attained to
eminence. George Bryan Brumrael, the subject of this
sHght sketch, was born on the 7th of June, 1778,
and his father having grown wealthy by specu
lating, as it was surraised, in the funds, sent him,
at the proper age, to Eton. Here, although a
very general favourite, he did not rise above the
average of boy-students, being rauch raore distin
guished for fun and frolic than for study. Even
at this early period, he affected a peculiar elegance,
and obtained from his schoolfellows the soubri
quet of " Buck Brumrael," the term, dandy, not
being then in fashion. In those days, too, his
humour had already got much of that peculiar
character, which afterwards distinguished him, and
which is more easily illustrated by example, than
made clear by explanation. The following is an
instance : —
Contests between the Etonians and the barge
men were frequent. Upon one of these occasions,
an unlucky bargee, as the race was termed, fell
into the hands of the schoolboys, who, in resent
ment of their having been roughly handled by
him in some previous quarrel, were well disposed
to fiing him over the bridge into the river. In

LEADERS OF FASHION. 251
the midst of the tumult, and when nothing else
could have saved the poor fellow, Brummel made
his appearance amongst them, exclaiming, " My
good fellows, don't send him into the river ; tbe
man is evidently in a high state of perspiration,
and it almost amounts to a certainty that he wiU
catch cold ! " — From drowning to the almost cer
tainty of catching cold ! — what an exquisite
instance of pathos ! It proved irresistible, and
laughter succeeding to indignation, the bargee
was suffered to escape.
From Eton Brummel went to Oriel CoUege,
Oxford; but he could not have remained there
long, for he was not much more than sixteen
when his father died, and it was only three months
afterwards that he was gazetted to a cornetcy in
the 10th Hussars, at that time commanded by
the Prince of Wales. This was on the 17th of
June, 1794.
He had, when a boy at Eton, been presented
to the Prince on the terrace at Windsor. It now
seems that some of the heir apparent's boon com
panions mentioned to him the young Etonian as
having grown up into a second Selwyn, whereupon
his Highness expressed a wish to see him. As
he had no undue bashfulness to stand in the way
of his preferment, he was soon received into a
high degree of favour. His assurance, indeed.

252 FAMILY ROMANCE.
was sublime, leading him to do and say things
which would scarcely have entered into the head
of any one but himself. Take this for an
example : —
A great law-lord, who lived in Russell Square,
had one evening given a ball, at which a Miss J.,
one ofthe beauties of the day, was present. All
the young men were of course anxious for the
honour of dancing with her, and numerous were
the applications made to her as she sat enthroned
in an arm-chair. Being, however, to the full as
proud as she was beautiful, she refused them all,
till the young hussar made his appearance, and he
having proffered to lead her out, she at once
acquiesced, greatly to the wrath of the disap
pointed candidates. In one of the pauses of the
dance, he happened to find himself close to an
acquaintance, when he exclaimed, " Ha ! you
here ? Do, my good fellow, tell me who that
ugly man is, leaning against the chimney-piece ? "
" Why, surely you must know him," repHed the
other ; " 'tis the master of the house." " No,
indeed, said the cornet coolly, " how should I ?
I never was invited."
This was a feat that, we believe, no one except
Theodore Hook ever rivalled.
No sooner had the novelty of a soldier's Hfe
worn oft" than Brummel grew weary of it, though

LEADERS OF FASHION. 253
the reason he assigned for quitting the army was
quite in keeping with the character of the man.
His regiment, being at Brighton, was suddenly
ordered to Manchester. The news arrived in the
evening, and early the next day Brummel made
his appearance before the Prince, who was not a
little surprised at so unseasonable a visit. After
due apologies made and received, Brummel pro
ceeded to explain — " Why the fact is, your Royal
Highness, I have heard that we are ordered to
Manchester. Now you must be aware how dis
agreeable this is to me ! I really could not go ;
think, your Royal Highness — Manchester ! Be
sides, you would not be there. I have, therefore,
determined, with your Royal Highness' permission,
to sell out." The flattery was well timed, and
secured the Prince's acquiescence. A year after
wards he came into possession of his fortune,
which, having accumulated during his minority,
amounted to thirty thousand pounds, whereupon,
he took up his abode in May Fair, and soon be
came distinguished for the excellence of his
dinners. The Prince himself is said to have been
more than once a guest at his table.
At this time of his Hfe he has been thus de
scribed by his biographer. " His face was rather
long, and complexion fair ; his whiskers inclined
to sandy, and hair light brown. His features

254 FAMILY ROMANCE.
were neither plain nor handsome, but his head was
well shaped, the forehead being unusually high,
showing, according to phrenological development,
more of the mental than the animal passions ; the
bump of self-esteem was very prominent. His
countenance indicated that he possessed con
siderable intelligence, and his mouth betrayed a
strong disposition to indulge in sarcastic humour ;
this was predominant in every feature, the nose
excepted, the natural regularity of which, though
it had been broken by a fall from his charger,
prevented his countenance from degenerating into
comicality. His eyebrows were equally expressive
vrith his mouth, and while the latter was giving
utterance to something very good-humoured or
polite, the former, and the eyes themselves, which
were grey and full of oddity, could assume an ex
pression that made the sincerity of his words very
doubtful." It would be doing little justice to the character
of Brummel, to set him down for a mere coxcomb.
On the contrary, he was a man of infinite shrewd
ness and observation, was naturally refined in
taste and elegant in manners, his very affectation
being as much assumed as the folly of Touchstone;
and it might truly be said of him, " under the
presentation of that he shoots his wit." Mere
foppery could never have made him, as he was.

LEADERS OF FASHION. 255
the intimate friend of so many men, distinguished
by birth and education ; nor could it have made
his society so much a matter of fashion with the
higher classes. Something, no doubt, he owed to
his satirical spirit, which, in a short time made
him dreaded, and thus established himself as the
autocrat of that world in which he moved. It has
been said that Madame de Stael was in awe of
him, and considered her haring failed to please
him as her greatest misfortune, while she placed
the Prince's haring neglected to call upon her
only as a secondary cause of lamentation. The
great French authoress, however, was not without
reason in her regrets ; to offend, or not to please
Brummel was to lose caste in the fashionable
world, to be exposed to the most cutting sarcasm,
the most poignant ridicule, and, in many cases, to
be made the subject of practical jokes, that, in
justice, should have drawn down a horsewhipping
upon the shoulders of the perpetrator. A single
instance of this kind will be quite enough to
justify the assertion. The victim was an old
French emigrant, whom he met on a visit to Wo
burn or Chatsworth, into whose hair-powder he
managed to introduce some finely powdered sugar.
The next morning the poor marquis, quite un
conscious of his head being so well sweetened,
joined the breakfast-table as usual ; but scarcely

256 FAMILY ROMANCE.
had he made his bow, and plunged his knife into
the Perigord pie before him, than the files began
to desert the walls and windows to settle upon his
head. The weather was exceedingly hot, the flies
of course numerous, and even the honey-comb and
marmalade upon the table seemed to have lost all
attraction for them. The marquis relinquished
his knife and fork to drive off the enemy, with
his handkerchief. But scarcely had he attempted
to renew his acquaintance with the Perigord pie,
than back the whole swarm came, more teazingly
than ever. Not a wing was missing. Those of
the company, who were not in the secret, could
not help wondering at this phenomenon, as the
buzzing grew louder and louder every moment.
Matters grew still worse, when the sugar, melting,
poured down the Frenchman's brow and face in
thick streams, for his tormentors then changed
their ground of action, and having thus found a
more vulnerable part, nearly drove him mad with
their stings. Unable to bear it any longer, he
clasped his head with both hands and rushed out of
the room in a cloud of powder, followed by his
persevering tormentors, and the laughter of the
company. The following is an instance of how closely
excess of affectation may often resemble humour.
An acquaintance once, in a morning call, who

LEADERS OF FASHION. 257
had then been recently travelling in the north of
England, persisted in cross-questioning Brummel
about the lakes — which did he like best? — Tired
at length of his guest's affected raptures, Brummel
turned to his valet, who chanced to be in the
room— "Robinson!"— "Sir?"— " Which of the
lakes do I admire ?" — " Windermere, sir," replied
the valet, who had acuteness enough to understand
his master's humour. " Ah ! yes, Windermere,
repeated Brummel ; " so it is, Windermere."
He pretended to look upon the city as a sort of
African region, unknown to the civilized world,
except from the report of certain adventurous
traveUers. Being asked by an eminent and wealthy
merchant to dine with him in the city, he replied,
" -with pleasure, if you'll promise faithfuUy not to
tell any one."
The intimacy between Brummel and the Prince
of Wales lasted for some years, much longer,
indeed, than might have been anticipated, all cir
cumstances considered. The quarrel, which
eventually broke up this intimacy, has been
attributed to various causes ; some said it was
owing to Brumrael's desiring the Prince to ring
the bell, an assertion always denied by Brummel
himself; Moore tells us,
" Neither have I resentments, nor wish there should come
ill
To mortal, eicept, now I think on't, to Beau Brummel ;

258 FAMILY ROMANCE.
Who threatened last year, in a superfine passion,
To cut me, and bring the old king into fashion.''
Others said the dispute arose from the friend's
ridicule of the favourite mistress Fitzherbert;
but Brummel, with his usual intrepidity of assur
ance, protested that it was he who had cut the
prince. " Non nostrum est tantas componere htes."
The loss of his royal friend estranged many from
Brummel, to whom he had before been a welcome
visitant, but they generally suffered for their
time-serving, his unrelenting wit as little sparing
them as it did the Prince himself. A notable
instance of this was seen in the case of a fashion
able lady, by name, Thompson, living near
Grosvenor-square, and who had a formidable rival,
so far as giving parties went, in a Mrs. Johnson,
an inhabitant of the terra incognita, Finsbury-
square, or its immediate vicinity. The west-end
dame was giving a grand baU, at which his Royal
Highness had consented to be present, in conse
quence of which, Brummel, of course, was not
invited. Great then was the lady's surprise,
when, upon the eventful night, and at the moment
she was anxiously expecting the prince's arrival,
who should walk in but the unasked and ob
noxious Beau Brummel. Suppressing her
indignation as best she could, the lady walked

LEADERS OF FASHION. 259
forth from the circle of her friends, and informed
him that he had not been invited. " Not invited,
madam ? not invited ?" said the unwelcome visitor
in his blandest tones ; " surely there must be
some mistake ;" and leisurely feeling in all his
pockets, to spin out the time, and give a better
chance for the Prince's arrival, while the hostess
was in an agony, he at length drew forth a card,
which he presented to her. At a glance she saw
it was that of her rival at the East end, and re
turning it hastily, exclaimed, " That card, sir, is
a Mrs. Johnson's ; my name is Thompson." " Is
it, indeed," replied Brummel, affecting much sur
prise. " Dear me, how unfortunate ; really, Mrs.
John — Thompson, I mean ; I am very sorry for
this mistake : but you know, Johnson and Thomp
son, Thompson and Johnson, are so much the
same kind of thing. Mrs. Thompson, I wish you
a very good evening." And making one of his most
elaborate bows, he retired slowly and mincingly,
amidst the ill-suppressed laughter of all presen t,
except the hostess herself, who was bursting with
indignation, and totally at a loss to reply to such
matchless effrontery.
For years did Brummel maintain his supremacy
in the fashionable world, notwithstanding his hav
ing been cast off by the Prince, and the neglect of
some in consequence. But though even royal

260 FAMILY ROMANCE.
disfavour could not seriously lower him, he
managed in the end, to do that which no one else
could do — he ruined himself — the gaming-table,
in the long run, deprived him of all his fortune.
Then came bills to supply the deficiences of the
hour, and, with that, the consummation which they
never fail to bring about when necessity has re
course to them. A quarrel ensuing with the friend
joined in one of these acceptances, and who ac
cused hira of taking the lion's share, he was obliged
to quit England, and take up his abode at Calais.
It has been said, ludicrously enough, that Brummel
and Bonaparte fell together. The Moscow of the
former, according to his own account, was a
crooked sixpence, to the possession of which his
good fortune was attached, but which he unfor
tunately lost.
But if he had lost his magical sixpence, he had
uot as yet exhausted all his friends, from some of
whom he was continually receiving even large sums
of money, so much in one instance as a thousand
pounds. He was thus enabled to furnish the
lodgings, which he now took, in a way suited to
his usual refined habits, and, living in a great
degree retired, he set seriously to workat acquiring
the French language. In this he so well succeeded
that in a short time he could both write and
speak it with tolerable fluency and correctness, a

LEADERS OF FASHION. 261
sufficient proof that he was by no means deficient
in understanding.
It will naturally be supposed that as time went
on, the tide of bounty towards him rolled in
a constantly decreasing stream. Some friends
were lost to him by death, others, perhaps grew
weary of relieving him. A visit of George the
Fourth to France held out to him a momentary
gleam of hope. But the King came to Calais
and did not send for him, or in any way notice
him. StiU he was not so wholly bereft of
friends, but that he continued from time to
time to receive remittances from England ;
and, at length, by the intervention of the Duke of
Wellington with King William, he was made
English Consul in the capital of Lower Normandy.
By this time he was so deeply involved in debt
that he could scarcely obtain the means of
arranging with his creditors and going on to
Paris, where he staid a week, before proceeding
to his future residence at Caen.
It may be supposed that with the income of
his consulate, Brummel was now in a state of ease
and comfort ; but this was far from being the
case ; the large deductions made from his income
to discharge the arrears of debt incurred at
Calais, left him a very insufficient overplus for a
man of his habits. He soon became as deeply

262 FAMILY ROMANCE.
involved at Caen, as he had before been at
Calais. In the hope of getting a raore lucrative
situation, he wrote to his former friend. Lord
Palmerston, then in office, that the consulate at
Caen was perfectly useless to the English nation.
His lordship thanked him for the information,
abolished the consulate, but forgot to provide him
with any other situation. He was thus once
more thrown upon the charity of his friends
without a single sixpence in his pocket. To
relieve him from these difficulties, enhanced as
they were by iUness, his acquaintance, Mr.
Armstrong, undertook to see what could be done
for him in England. The mission was so success
ful that he returned with money enough to pay
off the most pressing of the demands upon the
ex-consul. Evils now began to throng thick and fast upon
him. He had more than one attack of paralysis,
and to crown all, he was flung into prison at
Caen by his French creditors. What such a man,
so fastidious in all his habits, must have suffered
when he found himself locked up in a wretched
filthy den, floored with stone, with felons for his
companions, and all the most common decencies
of life disregarded, may be easily imagined. The
details would be too disgusting for these pages.

LEADERS OF FASHION. 263
Mr. Armstrong now made a second visit to
England, and was again so successful, 'that Brum
mel was enabled to leave his prison, after having
been confined there for upwards of two months.
It would be as painful as useless to follow him
through his decline — sickness, loss of memory,
and absolute imbecility, till at last his manners
became so disgusting, that he could no longer be
aUowed to eat at the public table. His final
state was one of perfect idiotcy, — unable to
distinguish bread from meat, or wine from
coffee. Happily for the poor sufferer, his friends
obtained for him admission into the hospital of the
Bon Sauveur, and he was placed in a comfortable
room, that had once been occupied by the cele
brated Bourienne. Here he died on the evening
ofthe 30th of March, 1840.
A few more lines, and our subject is exhausted.
On a green eminence in the village of Chambourcy,
beyond St. German-en-Laye, where the rustic
churchyard joins the estate of the Gramont
family, rises a marble pyramid. In the sepulchral
chamber, there is a stone sarcophagus on either
side, each surmounted by a white marble tablet ;
that to the left encloses the remains of Lady
Blessington, that to the right has recently re
ceived, on the 7th August, 1852, the body of
Alfred, Count D'Orsay, the brilliant leader of

264 FAMILY ROMANCE.
fashion during the reigns of William IV. and
Queen Victoria. This gifted and highly accom
plished gentleman — the exquisite artist, the able
sculptor, and the general "arbiter elegantiarum" —
has departed too recently from amongst us to
render more than the mere mention of his name
necessary. With the wit of Gramont, the re
finement and kind-heartedness of Nash, and the
elegance of Brummel, D'Orsay combined mental
acquirement and considerable genius. He has
left a void in the world of fashion that has not
since been filled up.

265

THE PITT DIAMOND.
One of the easy roads to fame — or, perhaps, we
should rather say, notoriety — is to possess some
thing rare — something that no one else possesses,
or is ever likely to possess. But it seldom
happens, as in the case of the Pitt Diamond, that
the possession of the rarity paves the way to
fortune, as well as to celebrity. Had it not been
for this precious jewel, the name of Governor Pitt
would, in all likelihood, have been forgotten by
this time, whereas, now, it may be a matter of, at
least, momentary interest to the reader, to learn
something about the diamond and its lucky
owner. Thomas Pitt, Esq., born in 1653, was appointed,
in Queen Anne's reign, to the governraent of
Fort St. George, in the East Indies, somewhat
before the time of English Nabobs, when India
VOL. I. N

266 FAMILY ROMANCE.
had become the veritable El Dorado. Clive had
not yet turned merchants into conquerors, and
made the petty rulers of the counting-house the
lords of Hindostan; indeed, he was not yet born —
but, even in those early days, there were hand
some pickings to be made in India by those who
possessed tact and industry, and it is plain that
Governor Pitt possessed both ; for, during a resi
dence in the East of raany years, he contrived to
amass an immense fortune. His crowning adventure
was the purchase of the jewel, which, ever since,
has borne his name, an affair which, at the time
of its occurrence, subjected him to much obloquy.
It was loudly asserted by his enemies, that he became
possessed of the diamond by unfair means, having,
in some way, used his power as a means of extorting
it from the native owner, at a price far below its
real value. So extensively were these rumours
spread, and so generally believed, that Governor
Pitt thought it necessary to draw up a narrative
of the whole transaction, which was first commu
nicated to the Gentleman's Magazine, in 1825,
by the Rev. William Meyrick, of Bath, an heir
to some of the Pitt estates. This vindication was
given in these words : —
" Since my coming into this melancholy place
of Bengal, 1 have been often thinking of the most
unparalleled villany of William Fraser, Thomas

THE PITT DIAMOND. 267
Frederick, and Smapa, a black merchant, who
brought a paper before Governor Addison, in
council, insinuating that I had unfairly got pos
session of a large diamond, which tended so much
to the prejudice of my reputation and the ruin of
my estate, that I thought it necessary to keep by
me the true relation how I purchased it in all re
spects, that so, in case of sudden mortality, my
children and friends may be apprised of the whole
matter, and so be enabled thereby to put to silence
and confound those, and all other villains, in their
base attempts against either. Not having got my
books by me at present, I cannot be positive as to
the time, but for the manner of purchasing it, I
do here declare and assert, under my hand, in the
presence of God Almighty, as I hope for salvation,
through the merits and intercession of our Saviour,
Jesus Christ, that this is the truth, and if it be
not, let God deny it to me and mj children for
ever ! which I would be so far frora saying, much
less leave it under my hand, that I would not be
guilty of the least untruth in the relation of it,
for the riches and honour of the whole world.
About two or three years after my arrival at
Madras, in July, 1698, I heard there were large
diamonds in the country to be sold, which I
encouraged to be brought down, promising to be
their chapman, if they would be reasonable

268 FAMILY ROMANCE.
therein ; upon which, Jourcund, one of the most
eminent diamond-merchants in these parts, came
down about December, 1701, and brought with
him a large, rough stone, about 305 mangelins,
and some small ones, which myself and others
bought ; but he, asking a very extravagant price
for the great one, I did not think of meddling
with it, when he left it with me for sorae days,
and then carae and took it away again, and did
so several times, not insisting upon less than
200,000 pagodas ; and, as I best remember, Ifdid
not bid him above 30,000, and had little thoughts
of buying it for that. I considered there were
many and great risks to be run, not only in
cutting it, but also whether it would prove foul
or clear, or the water good ; besides, I thought
it too great an amount to be ventured home on
one bottom. But Jourcund resolved to return
speedily to his own country ; so that, I best
remember, it was in February foUowing he came
to me again (with Vincatee Chittee, who was
always with him when I discoursed with him
about it), and pressed me to know whether I
resolved to buy it, when he came down to 100,000
pagodas, and something under, before we parted,
when we agreed upon a day to meet and make a
final end thereof, which I beHeve was the latter
end of the aforesaid month, or the beginning of
March ; when we accordingly met in the Con-

THE PITT DIAMOND. 269
sultation Room, where, after a great deal of
talk, I brought him down to 55,000 pagodas, and
advanced to 45,000, resolving to give no more,
and he, likewise, resolving not to abate, I de
livered him up the stone, and we took a friendly
leave of one another. Mr. Benyon was then
writing in my closet, with whora I discoursed on
what had passed, and told him now I was clear of
it ; when, about an hour after, my servant brought
me word that Jourcund and Vincatee were at the
door, who, being called in, they used a great many
expressions in praise of the stone, and told me he
had rather I should buy it than anybody, and to
give an instance thereof, offered it for 50,000
pagodas; so, believing it must be a pennyworth if
it proved good, I offered to part the 5,000 pagodas
that was then between us, which he would not
hearken to, and was going out of the room again,
when he turned back, and told me that I should
have it for 49,000 ; but I still adhered to what I
had before offered him, when presently he came
to 48,000, and made a solemn vow he would not
part with it a pagoda under, when I went again
into the closet to Mr. Benyon, and told him what
had passed, saying that if it was worth 47,000 it
was worth 48,000 ; * so I closed with him for that
sum, when he delivered me the stone, for which
I paid him very honourably, as by my books
* £20,400 sterling, at 8s. 6d. per pagoda.

270 FAMILY R0MA^"CE.
appears. And I here further call God to wit
ness that I never used the least threatening word
at any of our meetings to induce hira to sell it
me ; and God himself knows it was never so much
as in my thoughts so to do. Since which, I have
had frequent and considerable dealings with this
man, and trusted him with several sums of money,
and balanced several accounts with him, and left
upwards of 2,000 pagodas in his hands at my
coming away. So, had I used the least indirect
means to have got it from him, would not he
have made himself satisfaction when he has had
money so often in his hands ? Or, would I have
trusted him afterwards, as I did, preferably to all
other diaraond-merchants 1 As this is the truth,
I hope for God's blessing upon this and all my
other affairs in this world, and eternal happiness
hereafter." The diamond, thus acquired, was brought over
by Governor Pitt in a rough state, when it
weighed 410 carats ; being cut in brilliant, at a
cost of £5,000, its weight was reduced to 135
carats, and its size to about an inch and a quarter
in diameter. The clips yielded £8,000.
From the same memoranda, it appears that
£80,000 were bid for this enormous stone by
some private person, but it was finaUy sold, in
1717, to the Crown of France, for the sum of
£200,000; and the state jewels, in sealed packets.

THE PITT DIAMOND. 27 1
numbered, were pledged for the payment. The
Governor himself delivered it at Calais, and his
son-in-law, Charles Cholmondeley, Esq., of Vale
Royal, was accustomed, at stated periods, to
take one of the packets of the French jewels to
Dover, where he delivered his charge to a mes
senger of the King, and received from him an
instalment of the purchase -money.
Upon the transfer of the diamond to France,
it was generally called there the Regency Dia
mond, from its having been bought when the
Duke of Orleans was regent of that country,
during the minority of Louis] XIV, who after
wards used to wear it as a button to his hat upon
extraordinary occasions. At a yet later period,
it is stated to have formed the principal ornament
in the crown of France. Bonaparte, whose every
idea was mihtary, when the diamond fell to him
with the wefts and strays of the wrecked
monarchy, placed it in the pummel of his sword,
since when it has probably travelled from hand to
hand with the crown itself.
Governor Pitt died in 1726, and was buried in
Blandford, St. Mary's Church, Dorsetshire. His
eldest son Robert of Boconnock, M.P. was father
of Thomas Pitt of Boconnock (whose son became
Lord Camelford) and of William Pitt, the great
Earl Chatham.

272

THE LAIRD OF WESTBURN'S DREAM.
Gabriel Hamilton, of Westburn, in the county
of Lanark, was the representative of an ancient
and distinguished branch of the Duke of Hamil
ton's family, viz., Hamilton of Torrance, a cadet
of the great house of Raploch, which was imme
diately sprung from the Lords of Cadzow, the
ancestors of the Earls of Arran and Dukes of
Hamilton. The grandmother of this Hamilton
of Westburn was a daughter of Sir Walter
Stewart, of AUanton. And thus, Westburn and
AUanton -were near kinsmen, at a time when re
lationship and intimacy were synonymous ; the
death of Westburn took place about 1757 or

westburn's dream. 273
1758, and AUanton had pre- deceased him several
years. Their estates, moreover, were situated in
the same county, and they were on the most
affectionate and familiar terms with each other.
Westburn, who was an elderly man, and not
in very strong health, was in the habit of repos
ing during an hour after dinner, and his wife,
the beautiful and estimable Agnes Dundas,
heiress of Duddingston, usually sat by the side of
the couch, reading to him or conversing until
he fell asleep. One day, he slept longer and
apparently more soundly than usual ; and at length
he suddenly awoke, and said he had been roused
by the fluttering of the wings of doves. He then
addressed his wife, and related to her the follow
ing remarkable dream: —
" I was walking in the most lovely gardens and
pleasure-grounds that I ever beheld, and so
struck was I with their extraordinary extent and
romantic beauty, and with the bright and glorious
colours of the flowers which sprung up around me
on every side, that I exclaimed, ' This can be no
other place than Paradise ! this must be the
Garden of the Lord ! ' I had hardly uttered these
words, when a youth of radiant beauty and
heavenly expression approached me, and smiling
sweetly on me, he accosted me familiarly by name,
giving me a cordial welcome to his happy home

274 FAMILY ROMANCE.
I expressed my surprise at his friendly and familiar
greeting, seeing thai we were but strangers. 'And
yet,' said I, ' there is that in your countenance
which makes me feel as if you were my friend ! '
' Seek not,' said he, ' to deny our old and inti
mate acquaintance. You are my near kinsman,
and familiar neighbour and friend;' and observ
ing that I looked astonished and incredulous, he
said, ' Is it possible that you have forgotten me ?
Is it, even with you, so soon, out of sight out of
mind ? Do not you know me ? I am your
cousin, Stewart of AUanton.' ' Impossible,' said
I, ' for my dear friend AUanton was old and plain-
looking ; whereas, you are the most beautiful
youth that my eyes did ever behold.' ' Even so,'
said the youth, 'all those who corae here are
made youthful and beautiful. There is here
neither age nor plainness. I am no other than
your dear cousin and old friend AUanton, and
within twenty-four hours you will be here with
me, and you will be young and beautiful like me.'
Hereupon, I heard the loud fluttering of the
wings of doves, and I suddenly awoke."
It may be imagined that Westburn's dream
made a deep impression, not unmingled with awe,
on his affectionate wife. She deemed it to be a
warning that she must hold herself in readiness
to resign him ere long, at the call of his heavenly

westburn's dream. 275
master and father ; and even so it came to pass.
On the following morning, Westburn was found
dead in his bed. His spirit had departed during
the night, and had gone to join his early friend
and kinsman in the gardens of Paradise.

276

THE DEATH OF DUNDEE.
The truth of the story we are about to narrate, has
been denied by many ; but it is enough for our
purpose that it was, at one time, very generally
received for truth, not to mention the great difficulty
there is in distinguishing the false from the real
upon such occasions.
Our tale opens at that remarkable epoch of
EngHsh history, when, at least, three parts of the
nation had fallen from James to welcome the
Prince of Orange as their future monarch.
Deserted by others, James was now ready to desert
himself ; and yet, if anything could have breathed
spirit into him, it must been the gallant counsel
of Dundee. " Sire," said he, " the question is.

THE DEATH OF DUNDEE. 277
whether you shall remain in Britain, or fly to
France? whether you shall trust the returning
zeal of your native subjects, or rely only on a
foreign power ? Here, then, I say, you ought to
stand. Keep possession of a part, let it be ever
so small, and the whole will return to you by de
grees. Resume the spirit of a king, and summon
your subjects to their allegiance. Your army,
though dispersed, is not disheartened. Give
me but your commission, and I will carry your
standard through England, and drive before it
these Dutch and their Prince."
It is possible that, if James had followed this
no less daring than sagacious advice, he might yet
have regained his lost kingdom. But, as usual, he
was vacillating, if not actually timid. It was re
jected, and, in a few days afterwards, James sought
an inglorious safety with his ally, the king of
France, who seems to have despised, while he
pitied him.
In the meanwhile, Dundee posted himself to the
North, to uphold, if possible, the cause thus
abandoned by him most nearly concerned in its
support. It must not, however, be concealed that
the loyalty of Claverhouse has, by some, been at
tributed to rindictive selfishness. A story is told
of his having offered his services to the Prince of
Orange — which, being rejected, he was fired with

278 FAMILY ROMANCE.
indignation, and henceforth resolved to live and
die in the cause of King James.
During the whole of the winter, Claverhouse
laboured indefatigably in confirming the waverers,
encouraging the timid, and swelling the ranks of
the Jacobites. To this purpose he applied all the
energies of his genius, though without much
success, the country being in a distracted state,
and the nobility divided amongst themselves.
When spring came, he received a vrritten authority
from James to call a convocation of the states at
Stirling, but this attempt was defeated by the
delays and wilfulness of the party.
On his part King William summoned a con
vention to meet at Edinburgh on the Mth March,
and his call was obeyed by a large and wilHng
multitude, all more or less interested in the new
order of things. There also Claverhouse was
present, his object being to produce discord among
the friends of William, and aid, as far as might be,
the interests of his master. Being, however, in
formed that the Covenanters had formed a plan for
his assassination, he took the alarm, as no doubt it
was intended he should do, and fled from the city
at the head of one hundred and flfty horsemen.
His way led below the walls of the castle, then
held, for James, by the Duke of Gordon, who, on
seeing him, demanded a conference. Claverhouse

THE DE.\TH OF DUNDEE. 279
did not hesitate for a moraent; climbing up the tre
mendous precipice on which the castle stands, he
informed the Duke of his plans on behalf of
James, and besought him to hold out to the last
extremity. A multitude of idle spectators was
collected by this singular conference, thus held in
the open day, and in defiance of the ruling powers.
The convention became alarmed ; the president
ordered the doors of the council-chamber to be
locked, the drums were beat to alarm the town,
and a party of ill-armed retainers were gathered
in the street by the Earl of Leven. Utterly
inefficient as this force was, Claverhouse did not
think it prudent to abide their coming. He fled ;
and the adherents of James, seeing themselves thus
abandoned, at once quitted the convention — which,
being thus freed from the embarrassment of their
presence, and consisting now entirely of Whigs,
conducted matters at their own pleasure. This
was a severe blow to the cause of the dethroned,
or abdicated, monarch, and it was vigorously
followed up ; the Convention having in vain called
upon Claverhouse to return, they declared him a
rebel and an outlaw, while General Mackay was
despatched by William to Scotland, at the head
of a considerable body of troops to surprise.
Hereupon, the fugitive retired to the Grampian
Hills, marched thence to Gordon Castle, where he

280 FAMILY ROMANCE.
was joined by the Earl of Dunfermline and fifty
gentlemen, and then passed through the county
of Moray to Inverness. At this last place he
found Macdonald of Keppoch lying with seven
hundred men, after having laid waste, in his
march, the lands of the cian Macintosh, and ex
torted all he could, in money, from the magistrates
of Inverness. By a promise of repaying these
forced contributions upon the King's return,
Claverhouse induced Keppoch to join him with
all his forces ; the latter, however, insisted that
they should be first allowed to return home and
place their spoil in safety. To this, as it was a
constant custom with the Highlanders, and one
which they could seldom be induced to forego,
Claverhouse thought it prudent to give way ;
but, that he might not lose his hold of so valu
able a body, he resolved upon accompanying
them himself to the braes of Lochaber. No
one knew better how to secure the attach
ment of these rude mountaineers. Although
a strict, or, perhaps, even a stern disci
plinarian, he vvould talk and jest with his soldiers
upon occasion, and join them in singing their
national Celtic songs; yet, never peimitting thera
to forget themselves or him. At the same time,
he was perfectly merciless to all of the opposite
party who dared to oppose him ; and thus, while

THE DEATH OF DUNDEE. 281
in the North, he bore the appellation of the
Gallant Dundee; in the South he was called
the Bloody Clavers. He had well deserved both
titles ; but, as the old Scotch proverb says, " let
every one roose the ford as he finds it."
Being now at the head of a brave, though small,
body of troops, he summoned a general meeting of
the Jacobites, at Lochaber, and in the meanwhile
surprised Perth, levied contributions upon that
town, and plundered all in his way that were
hostile to the cause of James. Many of the
Highland chiefs presented themselves, upon his
call, at the place appointed, increasing his little
army to fifteen hundred men, so that he was able
to march against Mackay, who fied before hira.
This success, however, was very transient. He
was again under the necessity of retreating, and
by the time he reached Badenoch, the feud between
the Lowlanders and the Highland clans had
attained such a pitch that the former deserted to
a man, while the latter plundered the whole
country before them without mercy. To make
matters yet worse, Claverhouse fell sick, his
resources were exhausted, and Mackay was
once more advancing against him. A battle took
place, and though the Highlanders won the day
after a fierce struggle, yet, during the action, they
lost their baggage and their plunder, a loss which

282 FAMILY ROMANCE.
made them furious, each one laying the blame
upon the other.
The defeated Mackay was again reinforced,
and with his usual indomitable spirit again
advanced upon his conqueror. But the army of
the latter was so much weakened by the desertion
of the clans, who conceived themselves fully
entitled to go and come at pleasure, that he was
compelled to retreat in his turn, and by the time
he reached the braes of Lochaber, he had not two
hundred men remaining. To complete his distress
he now received news that Edinburgh Castle had
been surrendered, and the Irish troops, with which
James had promised to supply him, turned out
few in number, and scantily provided with arms
or even necessaries. Still Claverhouse remained
undaunted. He knew that if tbe Highlanders
were lightly dispersed, they were as lightly
gathered together again. At his summons they
unhesitatingly flocked to join him, so that in a
short time he found himself at the head of
fourteen hundred men, all ready enough to fight
the enemy so long as they could be kept together.
The greatest drawback on his hopes of final
success was the want of proper arras. The
Highlanders had no weapons but old broad-swords,
dirks, and shields, while the Irish were yet worse
provided, having few arms of any kind, excep

THE DEATH OF DUNDEE. 283
what they could pick up on the way, and in the
whole army there was not more than forty pounds
of gunpowder. Notwithstanding these well-nigh
hopeless impediments, and which would have
overwhelmed a less unconquerable spirit, or one
less fertile in resources, Claverhouse determined
to march at once, and give battle to the enemy,
for he had now had a long experience of the
Highland clans, he knew how jealous they were
of each other, and how likely to fall asunder on
the first dispute, though held together, for a time,
by the common principle of Jacobitism. Inactivity
was more likely to disperse them than defeat ;
accordingly he marched to Blair in Athol, where
he learnt that Mackay was just entering the pass
of KilHecraukie. The men of Athol advised him
to hurry forward and drive back Mackay before
he could advance into the open plain, but to this
he turned a deaf ear, and it is even said that he
sent word to some friends in the strath of Athol
below, " to secure the pass, that no flyers might
escape, for he was going to beat General Mackay
in the afternoon." But a seer, had there been
any such in his little troop, would have discovered
that danger threatened him from a very
different quarter.
In the Jacobite ranks were two traitors, who
had long pledged themselves to destroy him. The

284 FAMILY ROMANCE.
one was a Lanarkshire covenanter, whose whole
kin had been murdered by Clavers in one of his
crusades against these fierce enthusiasts. This
man had solemnly sworn to take the Hfe of the
persecutor, for which purpose he followed him
first as a volunteer, and afterwards became his
groom. For three years and a half had the
avenger of blood in vain watched for an oppor
tunity of effecting his purpose, and he was now
fully deterrained to " do, or die."
The other was a no less determined enemy, but
influenced by motives still less capable of any
justification. This was William Livingstone, of
the family of Kilsyth, who, if tradition be not
false, was violently enamoured of Jean, Viscountess
Dundee. The lady proving virtuous, he had
no hopes of gratifying his criminal passion so long
as Dundee hved, and he therefore resolved that
in the approaching battle he would find, or make,
an opportunity to remove him. There was, how
ever, no agreement between them, and the two
traditions are generally kept distinct.
" General Mackay 's army," says the old bio
grapher, an officer in the army, " outwinged
Dundee's nearly a quarter of a mile, which obliged
the clans to leave large intervals between each
clan, and by declining towards the wings they
wanted troops to charge the centre, where a de-

THE DEATH OF DUNDEE. 285
tachment of Lesly and Hastings' English regiments
were. The Highlanders threw away their plaids,
haversacks, and all other utensils, and marched
resolutely and deliberately in their shirts and
doublets ; or, in the words of the ancient ballad,
" Clavers and his Highland men
Came down upon the *raw then ;
Who being stout gave many a clout.
The lads began to claw then.
With swords and targets in their hands
Wherewith they were not slow then ;
And clinkin, clankin, on their cro-wns.
The lads began to claw them.
' O'er brink and brank, o'er ditch and stank,
He staik amang them a' then ;
The butterbox got many knocks.
The riggans paid for a' then.
They got their paiks wi' sudden straiks,
'Which to their grief they saw then ;
And double dunts upon their rumps.
The lads began to fa' then.
" Her skip'd about, and leaped about,
Her flang amang them a' then ;
The English heads got broken heads,
Their crowns her clave in two then.
The durk and door made their last hour,
Such was their final fa' then ;
They thought the devil had been there,
That gave them such a paw then."
The prose narrator of this bloody day is not less
enthusiastic in his account of the heavy blows
* i. e., they came do-wn the hill in a row.

286 FAMILY ROMANCE.
dealt by the Highlanders upon the skulls of the
unlucky Saxons. " I dare be bold to say there
were scarce ever such strokes given in Europe, as
were given that day by the Highlanders. Many
of General Mackay 's officers and soldiers were
cut down through the skull and neck to the very
breasts ; others had their skulls cut off above their
ears, like night caps ; some soldiers had both their
bodies and cross-belts cut through at one blow ;
pikes and small swords were cut Hke willows ;
and whoever doubts of this, may consult the
witnesses of the tragedy."
But notwithstanding these downright blows,
which the left of the centre did not stand against
for ten minutes, the Highlanders were by no
means so successful in another quarter. Colonel
Hastings' regiment, flanked by some companies
of Dutch guards, received the first shock with
firmness, and advancing in their turn, forced the
Macdonalds to give way, while the Macleans were
wholly taken up with the pursuit of the defeated
royalists. The chief, however, of the last-named
cian made a timely wheel-round with a few of his
followers, and being joined by Sir Evan Cameron,
of Lochiel, the two advanced along the verge of
the valley, taking Hastings' regiment and the
Dutch in flank. The movement was directed by
Claverhouse, whose jii-lit hand was stretched out.

THE DEATH OF DUNDEE. 287
pointing with his baton and urging on the troops.
At this juncture both Livingstone and the groom
were near him, and the next moraent Dundee
was struck by a bullet below the right arm. He
fell, as the victory was gained, but by his death
the cause of James was lost.
Weeks and months rolled on, and the rebeUion
had been put down, although, as often happens,
for a long time after a storm, there was a
restless heaving at the surface of things, a
sort of so-called ground-swell, that gave evident
tokens of what had been. Livingstone was the
first to bring Lady Dundee the news of her
gaUaut husband's death, reminding her at the
same time of the promise she had once given him,
half in jest, and half, it may be, in earnest, that if
she ever chanced to become a widow, he should
be her second husband. How she received this
proposal — whether she needed much or little per
suasion, we have no means of knowing ; but
finally her consent to their union was obtained,
and on the very day of their marriage, he pre
sented her vrith a ring, whereon was engraved,
yours till death! Strange to say, this gift was
lost, or in some way missing, before the day was
over ? But how ? in what way had it gone ?
No one could tell, but all agreed that it was a
singularly bad omen, and that no good could

288 FAMILY ROMANCE.
come of the intended marriage. This feeling
was heightened when it became known that the
mother of the late Viscount Dundee had pro
nounced a malison upon her daughter-in-law and
Livingstone. Upon New Year's morning, she
sent to the real or supposed murderer a white
night-cap, a pair of white gloves, and a rope, as
indicative of her opinion, -with a curse upon their
marriage, and a prayer to God that " should He
see fit to permit the unworthy couple to leave the
world without some visible token of his indigna
tion. He would be pleased to make her' some
special revelation, to prevent her from utterly
disbelieving his providence and justice."
What followed, whether in consequence of her
malison or not, might go some way in preventing
the good lady from falling into the state of unbe
lief she so much dreaded. Not long after his mar
riage, and in consequence of his opposing the
Revolution settlement, William Livingstone found
it necessary to retire to Holland with Lady Dun
dee, where fate overtook the latter, at a time and
in a way she least expected. The event is thus
related in a letter frora John Hay, of Carubber,
to the Earl of Errol, dated Edinburgh, 30th
October, 1695: — "By the post yesterday I had
a letter from young Blaer, out of Utrecht, with a
particular, but sad account of the accident of the

THE DEATH OF DUNDEE. 289
Viscountess of Dundee and her son. He writes that
he had dined with her and Kilsyth (Livingstone of
Kilsyth), her husband, and after dinner, just as he
had left them, the lady and Kilsyth, and a gentle
man with them, went into the room where the
young child and Mrs. Melville, the lady's woman,
were. The house was covered with turf, the
usual fuel in that place, and it is thought, by
the weight of it, the roof fell, and crushed my
lady, and her son, and Mrs. Melville, to death.
Kilsyth himself was three-quarters of an hour
beneath the rubbish, yet both he and the other
gentlemen are free of hurt. The lady and her
son are embalmed to be brought home. The
gentlewoman was buried in that place on the 18th
instant (old style) after dinner."
This is one version of the event, but probably
not the true one. According to another account,
" this was not by accident, but by design. The
landlord and some of his accomplices had cut the
beams which supported the roof, and, upon a
signal being given, he let it fall in, with a view to
smother the whole company," — a number of
noblemen concerned in the late rebellion. " It
appears that very few escaped, and I never heard
it denied or doubted that Lady Kilsyth and her
infant perished in the ruins. Indeed, the wound
she received on the right temple is still visible ;
VOL. I. 0

290 FAMILY ROMANCE.
and when the body was first discovered " — in an
arched vault, under the church of Kilsyth, the
burial place of the Kilsyth family for many
generations — " it was covered with a black patch,
about the size of a crown piece. There is no
mark of violence upon her son. He seems to have
been smothered, as it is generally said, sitting on
the knee of his mother at table.
" Her body was emboweUed and embalmed, and
soon afterwards sent over to Scotland. It was
landed, and lay at Leith for sorae time in a cellar,
and was afterwards carried to Kilsyth, and buried
in great pomp, according to the form of the church
of England. It is not twenty years since" —
written in 1800 — " some of the inhabitants of
this parish died, who were, in their youth, eye
witnesses of the funeral.
" The body was enclosed, first in a coffin of fir,
next in a leaden coffin nicely cemented, but
without any inscription ; this was again covered
within a very strong wooden coffin. The space
between the two was filled up with a white matter,
somewhat of the colour and consistence of putty,
apparently composed of gums and perfumes, for it
had a rich and delicious fiavour. When I was a
boy at school, I have frequently seen the coffin in
which she lies, for the vault was then always
accessible, and often opened ; but at that time

THE DEATH OF DUNDEE, 291
the wooden coffin was entire. Indeed, it was only
within a few years that it decayed. Even after
this, the lead one remained entire for a con
siderable time ; but, being very brittle and thin,
it also began to moulder away ; a slight touch of
the finger penetrated any part of it. In the
apertures thus made nothing was seen but the
gummy matter above mentioned. When this was
partly removed, which was easily done, being very
soft, and only about an inch in thickness, another
wooden coffin appeared, which seemed quite fresh
and clean.
" But no one ever thought of opening it until the
spring of 1796, when some rude, regardless young
men went to visit the tomb, and, with sacrilegious
hands, tore open the leaden coffin. To their sur
prise they found under the lead a covering of fir,
as clean and fresh as if it had been made the day
before. The cover of this, being loose, was easily
removed. With astonishment and consternation
they saw the body of Lady Kilsyth, and her child,
as perfect as the hour they were entombed.
" For some weeks this circumstance was kept
secret, but at last it began to be whispered in
several companies, and soon excited great and
general curiosity. On the 12th of June, while I
was from home, great crowds assembled, and
would not be denied admission. At all hours of
o 2

FAMILY ROMANCE.
the night as well as the day, they afterwards
persisted in gratifying their curiosity.
" I saw the body soon after the coffin was opened.
It was quite entire. Every feature and every
limb was as full, nay, the very shroud was as
clear and fresh, and the colours of the ribbons as
bright as the day they were lodged in the tomb.
" What rendered this scene more striking and
truly interesting was, that the body of her son
and only child, the natural heir of the title and
estates of Kilsyth, lay at her knee. His features
were as composed as if he had been only asleep.
His colour was as fresh, and flesh as plump and
full, as in the perfect glow of health ; the smile of
infancy and innocence sate on his lips. His
shroud was not only entire, but perfectly clean,
without a particle of dust upon it. He seems to
have been only a few months old.
" The body of Lady Kilsyth was equally well
preserved, and at a little distance, with the feeble
light of a taper, it would not have been easy to
distinguish whether she was dead or alive. The
features, nay, the very expression of her counten
ance, were marked and distinct, and it was only
in a certain light that you could distinguish any
thing like the ghastly and agonising traits of a
violent death. , Not a single fold of her shroud
was discomposed, nor a single meraber impaired.

THE DEATH OF DUNDEE. 293
" The body seemed to have been preserved in
some liquid, nearly of the colour and appearance
of brandy ; the whole coffin seems to have been
full of it, and all its contents saturated with it.
The body had assumed somewhat the same tinge,
but this served only to give it a fresher look ; it
had none of the ghastly, lirid hue of death, but
rather a copper complexion.
" It would, I believe, have been difficult for a
chemist to ascertain the nature of this liquid;
though perfectly transparent, it had lost all its
pungent qualities, its taste being quite vapid.
" The head reclined on a pillow, and as the
covering decayed, it was found to contain a col
lection of strong scented herbs. Balm, sage, and
mint were easily distinguished, and it was the
opinion of many that the body was filled with the
same. " Although the bodies were thus entire at first,
I confess I expected to see them soon crumble
into dust, especiaUy as they were exposed to the
open air, and the fine aromatic fiuid had evaporated,
and it seems surprising that they did not. For
several weeks tbey underwent no visible change,
and had they not been sullied with dust and
the drops of grease from the candles held over
them, I am confident they might have remained
as entire as ever ; for, even a few months ago, the

294 FAMILY ROMANCE.
bodies were as firm and compact as at first, and,
though pressed with the finger, did not yield to
the touch, but seemed to retain the elasticity of
the living body. Several medical gentlemen made
an incision into the arm of the infant ; the sub
stance of the body was quite firm, and every part
in its original state."
In 1796, nearly a century after the loss of the
ring, it was found by a tenant while digging for
potatoes in the garden at Colzium. It is de
scribed as being of gold, about the breadth of a
straw, without any stone, and not worth more
than ten shillings. The external surface is or
namented with a wreath of myrtle, and on the
internal surface is the foUowing legend — zours
onlly and ever.

295

THE PURITAN'S CURSE.
MoRETON-CoRBET, Shropshire, the ancient seat
of the Corbets, is situated in the parish of the
same name, and about eight miles north of
Shrewsbury. This estate was possessed in the olden time by
the family of Turold, or Turet, who were among
the very few Saxon landholders retaining any pro
perty in Shropshire after the Norman Conquest.
In the reign of Edward the Confessor, Turold
owned large estates in that county, and at the time
of Domesday he was recorded to have held, under
Earl Roger, thirteen manors, among which was
Moreton, called afterwards " Moreton Turet."
In the reign of Henry the Third the estate came
to the Corbets by the marriage of Sir Richard
Corbet with Joan, daughter and heiress of Bar-

296 FAMILY ROMANCE.
tholomew Turet of Moreton Turet, from which
time to the present, Moreton has continued in the
Moreton family, and for several centuries has
been distinguished by the name of Moreton-
Corbet. The existing raansion was commenced by Sir
Richard Corbet. He died in 1606, when he was
succeeded by his brother Vincent, who went on
with the building thus began, and is the principal
feature in the tradition we have now to relate,
as it may be gathered, though with often varying
forms, from popular recollection.
It was about the beginning of the reign of
James the First that the Puritans became an
object of attention, if not of fear, with the govern
ment; andnot altogether without reason : they had
greatly increased in numbers, and with this increase
had also extended the boldness of their political
opinions. Their doctrines, had they been confined
to religion only, might, perhaps, have passed with
Httle notice, for, if not tolerant, James was in
dolent ; but religion then, as it always must do,
governed men's political feelings, and Puritanism
was essentially democratic. James and his ad
visers resolved, by persecution, to put down this
enemy to arbitrary power. This seemed the more
easy, as, out of their own sect, the Puritans had
few friends amongst the people, who were more re-

THE PURITAN'S CURSE. 297
peUed by their sour fanaticism and their hostility
to all pleasure, than they were won by their ad
vocacy of freedom, which else must have ensured
thera the good-will of the raultitude.
Amongst the few favourers of the Puritans
amongst the gentry, was our Vincent Corbet. One
particular object of his kindness was an old man,
Paul Holmyard by name, who lived in a cottage
at a short distance from the Hall, and possessed,
if not affiuence, enough to live upon. He was
advanced in years, still hale and vigorous, but
by no means of a prepossessing appearance — the
muscles of his face, being as Quin said of Macklin,
more like cordage than anything else, while his
cold, grey eye gave the idea of a being totally
divested of human sympathies. Never had
fanaticism set her stamp more visibly upon the
human countenance. He had long been a marked
man with the high-church party, but the protection
of Mr. Corbet had hitherto been his safe-guard,
and he had been left unmolested at a time when
many others, less fanatical perhaps, but 'more
unfriended, had experienced the tender mercies
of the government.
But long impunity, at length, made Paul conduct
himself in such a way that Mr. Corbet found
himself obliged to threaten the withdrawal of his
protection — a threat which the old man did not
0 3

298 FAMILY ROMANCE.
believe, and which, therefore, had not the slight
est influence upon his actions. Unfortunately for
him, this was a time when the clergy, finding the
unpopularity of persecution, had shifted its labours
from their own shoulders, and committed the
task to the civil powers. Still he went on preach
ing openly, and without the least reserve, what he
called the Gospel, but what the authorities caUed
sedition, till the dogs of the law were let loose
upon him. It was a bleak winter's night, and he
had not long retired to bed, when he was roused
by a loud knocking at the outer door of his cot
tage. Hastily throwing open the window, he
saw one whom he recognised for the most devoted
ofhis followers, for the moon was shining brightly,
and every object was almost as visible as at noon
day. To his inquiries as to the purport of so
unseasonable a visit, the man only replied by a
pressing demand for instant admission. Some
what alarmed by this unexplained urgency, Paul
descended and admitted the applicant, who hastily
informed him that his life was in peril, the
myrmidons of justice having already set out for
his arrest, and would probably be there in less
than half-an-hour.
Paul hesitated. Though a stubborn spirit, he
wanted that ready daring which can meet any
danger at once, however unexpected. " I will

THE puritan's CURSE, 299
escape to the hills," he said, " and hide me there-
amongst from the persecutor."
" Impossible ! " replied the man ; they would
track you by your footmarks upon the snow,
which lies thick and untrodden for miles around.
You'd be caught long before you reached the hills."
" What, then, shaU I do ? " repHed the troubled
Puritan ; " ad-rise me, Jonathan, for thou art well
known for a burning and shining light amongst
the Gentiles. Advise me how I may best escape
the snare of the fowler, who else will, peradven-
ture, take and slay me."
"I know but one chance," said the man in
answer, " and that's one you may not like to try."
" Let me hear, however ; it may be I shall
think better of it than yourself."
" Then, fly for the ruins of the old chapel ;
nobody will like to follow you into them ; or, if
they should, the passages below are so many and
intricate, they might search a whole twelvemonth,
and never find you, if you did not choose to be
found." Now the ruins laboured under an ill repute ; so
ill, indeed, that Jonathan was quite right in say
ing that no one of the neighbourhood would like
to venture" into them. The experiment had been
tried at various times by divers bold spirits ; but
as none of these adventurers ever returned —

300 FAMILY ROMANCE.
having probably lost themselves and been starved
to death in the endless subterranean passages —
many awful tales and legends began to circulate
in regard to the place, which made the deeper
impression, as it was impossible to trace their
origin. The most moderate of these accounts
assigned the interminable caverns to the souls of
suicides, who, not liking their burial-homes at the
junction of four roads, to which they had been
banished by their respective inquests, had taken
up their abodes here, and out of pure malice,
whenever they could catch any living intruder
within their domains, would drive their own stakes
through his body, and roast him before a brim
stone fire. In such stories Paul was an unwilling
believer ; if they went occasionally against the
grain of his reason, he was somewhat reconciled
to them by his superstitious fanaticism. Still, in
the present case, he had no choice, nor even much
time to screw up his courage " to the sticking-
place;" so, having provided himself witha bible, a
wax candle, a tinder-box, and a small supply of
provisions, he forthwith departed for the ruined
chapel. There he had not been long before he saw
through the broken walls a body of his pursuers,
who tracked him, hound-like, by his footsteps on
the snow. Hitherto, he had hesitated to commit
himself to the caverns, but now that they

THE puritan's CURSE. 301
had approached within a few yards, he began
to fear lest they might have courage enough to
search the upper ruins, though not to proceed far
ther ; and breathing, therefore, a hasty prayer —
what at other times he would have called a short
allowance of spiritual provender — he descended,
and groped his way for some time in the dark
ness, till he thought he had attained a point of
safety. Here he paused. In a few minutes
something like a distant gleam shone upon the
passage by which he had entered. He retreated.
The light kept advancing slowly but steadily.
Still he plunged deeper into the cavern, and still
the Hght advanced upon him, but, as the passage
continued, not straight, but winding, and at times
turning off at a sharp angle. And now came the
ringing report of a pistol, when a piece shivered
off from a rock, which struck him on the forehead,
making the blood run warmly down one side of
his face ? Could they have seen him ? That was
hardly possible from the nature of the cavern, as
we have just described it. Perhaps in their alarm
they had fired at some imaginary object of sus
picion, or, it might have been the result of mere
wantonness. It had, however, the effect of
making him retire more rapidly, — an unlucky
speed, for it caused his foot to slip, when down he
fell, and continued rolling, as if down some steep

302 FAMILY ROMANCE.
ascent. At this time he was too much stunned,
by the blow as well as the fall, to help himself,
though quite sensible of his danger. At length
he was brought to a stop by a ledge of rock, not
half a foot higher than the rest of the cavern
fioor. He sat up to listen if his pursuers still
followed, when his attention was arrested by a
low, hollow, murmuring sound, that seemed to
proceed from some depth in front of him. What
it was he could not make out ; and, feeling assured
that he was far enough from his enemy, he ven
tured to' strike a light. What was his horror
when, by the taper's flame, he saw himself on the
extreme edge of a precipice, with a mass of black
waters rolling sullenly below. It was eridently
the sound of their fall into a second descent that
he had heard. For some minutes he remained in
too rauch terror to move ; and when he did, it
was only by creeping along the ground, nor did
he venture to stand upright again till he had left
the water at some distance behind him.
But his pursuers had by no means given up the
hope of capturing him. He again heard the
sound of their voices, and, in the natural instinct
of self-preservation, he dropt his light, and darted
into another branch of the cavern, feeling his way
till he sank down from pure weariness and ex
haustion.

THE puritan's CURSE. 30 >
Hour after hour passed, — perhaps a night ; for
he was conscious of having slept for a long time.
He had consumed all his provisions, and some
decisive measure must be taken. To stay where
he was would be certain death, but in what
direction should he move ? Even had he still
possessed a Hght, the question would have been
scarcely less difficult to answer, so numerous and
so intricate were the branches from the main
cavern, in which he had now involved himself.
Having no other chance, he walked on, in the hope
of eventually finding the passage into which he
had first descended.
Day must have again passed, if he might judge
by the hunger and exhaustion which overpowered
him. He could move no more, and again he
sank down in unwilling rest, when, as before,
sleep gave him a temporary respite from his
sufferings. But it was only for a short time, and
when he awoke, it was to increased agony.
Many hours had passed away in these alternations
of sleep and suffering, and vain efforts to extricate
himself from the caverns. The darkness did not,
probably, add much to his difficulties, but it con
siderably augmented his sense of them. At every
step he dreaded again coming in contact with the
waters, which, his recent experience told him,
were holding their subterranean course through

304 FAMILY ROMANCE.
some of the branches. More than once he thought
he heard their sullen murmurs, though, perhaps, it
was no more than the wind eddying, from some
unseen outlet, through the passages. Strange
to say, it was to a sudden apprehension of this
kind that he eventually owed his safety.
It was, as he believed, the seventh, though, in
fact, it was only the third day of his immersion in
these dreary caverns. The sustaining power of
fanaticism had, at least, the good effect of saving
him from utter desperation, and affording him a
staff to lean on which others might have wanted.
Haring breathed a fervent prayer to Heaven, he
felt, as he himself used, in other times, to tell the
tale, " wonderfully strengthened and uplifted," so
that he was enabled once more to resume his
efforts to escape. Suddenly, he heard again, or
thought he heard, the rush of water at no great
distance from him. Whether real or only fancy,
this made him at once strike into an opposite
direction, when oh, joy ! a light — eridently the
Hght of day — was seen glimmering upon the walls
of the cavern. Following this happy sign, he soon
found himself restored to the upper world, but by
an opening amongst the hills, at a considerable
distance from that by which he had at first entered.
In the cottage of a peasant, who chanced to be of
his own tenets, he found food, rest, and a temporary

THE puritan's CURSE. 305
shelter. To abide here, however, for any length
of time was manifestly imprudent, though, even
had this not been the case, the rancour which he
now felt against Mr. Corbet for having withdrawn
his protection, would not have allowed him to
remain here in quiet. No one can hate so bitterly
as a genuine fanatic.
Great was the surprise of Mr. Corbet when the
haggard figure of the Puritan on a sudden stood
before him, where he was superintending his new
works ; but much was that surprise augmented
when the old man, pointing to the unfinished
building, and assuming the tone and action of a
prophet, exclaimed, " Woe unto thee, man of the
hardened heart — hardened, even -as the Lord
hardened the heart of Pharoah, to thine own de
struction. Rejoice not in thy wealth, norin the halls
of thy pride ; for never shall a cope-stone be set
upon them. Neither shalt thou, nor thy children,
nor thy children's children dwell therein ; but they
shall be a ruin and a desolation ; and the snake, and
the eft, and the adder shall be found there ; and
thy house shall be full of doleful creatures."
That the spirit of prophecy in the old man was
no other than the spirit of hate may well be
admitted ; but his prognostics carried some show
of reason, or, we should rather say, of probability
vrith them. When he surveyed the great extent

306 FAMILY ROMANCE.
of the intended edifice, he might naturally enough
conclude that Mr. Corbet would incur the fate
of those who plan first and count the cost
afterwards. Whether the castle was ever complete, according
to the original design, is not known. Certain it is,
however, that it was garrisoned for the Parliament
in 1644, when it sustained considerable damage
from the attacks of the royalists. Since then it
has not been inhabited by the family, and it now
presents a pile of ruins, the most picturesque
objects to be seen in this part of the country.
The walls, for the most part, remain, showing the
style and extent of the building, but the roof has
fallen in. These venerable fragments are pre
served with much care by the present owner of the
estate. Sir Andrew Vincent Corbet, who resides at
Acton Reynald, about two miles distant.

307

THE EARL OF HOPETOUN'S DINNER AT
STANG-HILL TOWER.
In the vast and beautiful pleasure grounds of
Hopetoun House stands a soHtary, slender Tower,
now an object in the great lord's park, but once
t'ne residence of an ancient Scottish laird, who, in
common with many others of his class, was rooted
out to give elbow-room to the new peer.
The peerage of the Earl of Hopetoun would, in
the estimation of an Englishman, be accounted
ancient ; but in Scotland it stands on a very
modern basis. His Lordship's ancestor was a
servant of Magdalen of France, queen of James
V ; and for several generations, the family were
in trade, and only graduaUy ascended to the rank of
merchants. A son of Hope, the Edinburgh mer
chant, was a distinguished lawyer, and one of the
leaders of the Presbyterians in Charles the First's

308 FAMILY ROMANCE.
time. He was knighted, and is known in history
as Sir Thomas Hope of Craighall, Lord Advocate
of Scotland, His eldest son. Sir John, was the
ancesotr of Sir John Hope, Bart., of Pinkie, and
his sixth son, James, of the Earl of Hope
toun. He founded the wealth of his family
by marrying the heiress of sorae rich lead raines in
Lanarkshire, with the produce of which he and
his descendants purchased large estates in the
Lothians. Hopetoun House was, originaUy, a magnificent
villa, built on a very small estate, to which ad
ditions have, from time to time, been made, by
buying out several ancient families seated in the
immediate neighbourhood, so that it is now a very
large property. The Setons and Dundasses have
in this way been uprooted from the soil which
they possessed for ages.
Although the Hopes cannot claim, paternally,
an ancient lineage, they have acquired good
blood by marriage. Among their female alliances
they reckon Hamilton, Earl of Haddington;
Johnstone, Marquess of Annandale ; Leslie, Earl
of Leven ; and Carnegie, Earl of Northesk, though
the present Lord Hopetoun is not descended from
the two last. And he is, moreover, the sixth Earl
of his race, which, in the English or Irish
peerage, would constitute him an ancient peer.

THE EARL OF HOPETOUN 's DINNER. 309
To the rich Earl, inhabiting his splendid
palace, and rejoicing in his extended wealth and
spreading domains, it was a decided eye-sore to see,
on the very verge ofhis beautiful pleasure-grounds,
an ancient turriform mansion, inhabited by one
of the old aborigines of the county, whom he was
unable to dispossess. This ancient Scottish laird's
name was Dundas, of Manor. He was a cadet of
Dundas of Duddingston, and, through that dis
tinguished race, he traced his descent to John
Du-ndas of Dundas, who had been created an Earl
by King James the Third, with the title of Forth—
an earldom given him immediately before
that unhappy monarch's downfall, and not re
cognised by his successors. This old laird was
strongly attached to his family residence, and re
sisted every endeavour on the part of his wealthy
neighbour to oust him. He refused the very
largest prices which had been, in that day, offered
for land in Scotland. Lord Hopetoun tried every
method in vain. He spoke him fair, through his
son-in-law, Dundas of Duddingston, who had just
married his daughter, Lady Margaret Hope. He
threatened law suits. He bribed his mediocrity.
But all to no purpose. Dundas of Manor could
not be prevailed on to move from S tang -hill
Tower. At length. Lord Hopetoun bethought him of

310 FAMILY ROMANCE.
the possibility of getting the old laird to launch
into expenses which might, ere long, necessitate
the sale of his property — he endeavoured to lead
him on to a higher style of living than that whichhe
had been accustomed to. He begged him to come
frequently with his family to Hopetoun-house, and
offered to visit him in return. Dundas shewed
evident disinclination for the intimate intercourse
thus thrust upon him. However, he could not re
fuse to receive Lord Hopetoun one day, when his
lordship invited himself and a large and fashionable
shooting party to be the old laird's guests at
dinner at the Tower.
Lord Hopetoun and fifteen friends came at the
appointed hour, to partake of the Laird of Manor's
hospitality. They were ushered into the small
vaulted hall ofthe Tower, where a long table was
spread, covered with a profusion of substantial
pewter dishes and plates burnished to look like
silver ; and with a number of most inviting long-
necked bottles, which seemed to promise the
vintages of Gascony and Champagne. Lord
Hopetoun began to congratulate himself on the
partial fulfilment of his scheme, and thought of
the hole which a few dinners like this would make
in the old laird's rentah
Grace being said, two decent serving men re
moved the covers from the dishes, when, lo ! a

THE EARL OF HOPETOUN's DINNER. 311
goodly array of alternate herrings and potatoes
appeared spread from the top to the bottom. The
corks were simultaneously removed, and Dundas
poured out a bumper of excellent whisky, and
invited his guests to pledge him in the same
potent liquor.
Addressing Lord Hopetoun, he drank to his
lordship's health, and to their better acquaintance,
and shaking his head and chuckling jocularly, he
said, " It won't do, my lord, it won't do. But
whenever you or your guests will honour my poor
haU of Stang-Hill Tower with your presence at this
hour, I promise you no worse fare than that now
,set before you, the best and fattest salt her-
Tings that the Forth can produce, together with
the mealiest potatoes, and the strongest mountain
dew. To this, I beg that your lordship and your
honoured friends may do ample justice."
Lord Hopetoun never dined again at Stang-Hill
Tower. Sometime after, Mr. Dundas found him-
iself on his death-bed, and calHng his eldest son,
.he said, " It is foolish to struggle for ever against
our rich and powerful neighbour. He will, sooner
or later, have our little property ; make the best
terms with him you can." Soon after the old
laird's death, an exchange, highly advantageous
to the Dundases of Manor, was effected. Stang-
H ill Tower being given to Lord Hopetoun, which

312 FAMILY ROMANCE.
he immediately took into his pleasure-grounds,
and the estate of Aithrey (which gives to Lord
Hopetoun the title of Viscount) being made over
to Mr. Dundas.
From the Dundases of Manor descended the
distinguished Sir Ralph Abercromby and his
two sons. Lords Abercromby and DunfermHne,
as well as Sir David Dundas, late Solicitor-Ge
neral; and Sir Darid Dundas, Bart., physician
to King George the Third.

END OF VOL. I.

M. S. Myers, Printer, 22, Tavistook-street, Covent Garden.

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