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Bequest of
COLONEL EDWARD LINUS GAUL
of the Class of 1860

1925

THE

ROMANCE OF THE ARISTOCRACY

|i«fM£s Krtii fMtte
OF
DISTINGUISHED FAMILIES.

SIR BERNARD BURKE,
msUt 3Sin3 of %xms.

NE'W AlfD EETISED EDITION,
IN THKEE VOLS.
VOL. III.

LONDON:
PUBLISHED FOE HENRY COLBDEN,
BY HIS SUCCESSORS, HURST AND BIACKETT, GREAT MABLBOBOUGH STREET.
1855.

E

"¦^iwansi-ttf**.-,;

CONTENTS OT
THE THIED VOLUME.

PAGE
l0h.d eokebt  , . . . . 1
John Clavell, Gentleman, Poet, and Highwayman 8
The Hospitalities of Thomastown  13
A Ladt of Fashion in the Time of James I. . . . 24
The Tkagedt of Lawfoed Hall  27
The Appabition of Sib Gboege Villiees .... 48
La Belle Jentns and Soame Jenyns ....... 53
Escape of the Eael of Nithsdale  -. 56
The Escape of Lavalette  72
The Thellusson Will Case  83
The Eael of Tbaquaie's Lawsuit  85
The White Eose of Scotland  89
The Spanish Lady's Love  91
The Pbincbly Chandos  95
The Countess of Aibth  101
Ladt Eussell  105
.Death of the Tenth Eael of Eglinton  115
A CuEious Teadition  123
A Mbmbbb of Paeliament of the Olden Time . .126

iv CONTENTS OF THE THIRD VOLUME.

PAGB

Lobd Lyttleton's Ghost Stoet  128
Eonthill Abbey  1^1
Death of Sie Ebancis Buedett, Baet  162
The Queensbeeeys  165
Lobd Lovel  1'^
The M'Alistee Teadition  188
A Teio of Eemaekable Leicesteeshiee Sistbes . . 194
Sie James Lindsay, of Ceawfoed  205
The Gentle Johnstons  214
Lady Hestee Stanhope  218
Geoege Hangee, Loed Coleeainb  244
Innes, of Innes  250
St. Maet's Isle. The Eael of Selkiek and Paul
Jones  257
Mes. Macfaelane  264
One of the Hebobs of Eeoissaet  281
Colonel Montgomeey and Captain Macnamaea . . 291
Spbncee Cowpeb  294
Geoege Villiees, Eibst Duke of Buckingham . . 304-
The famous Siege of Lathom House  333
Geoege, Thied Eael of Oefoed, the Spoetsman . . 345

ROMANTIC RECORDS

THE ARISTOCRACY.

LOED EOKEBY. '

Matthew, second Lord Rokeby, was the son of
Matthew Robinson, Esq., of Edgerley, co. York, and
succeeded, in ITQ-l, to his title by the demise of the
Archbishop of Armagh, Lord Rokeby, whose heir he
was. Among many other singularities. Lord Rokeby
suffered his beard to grow for many years, during which
time it attained a most patriarchal length. He was very
fond of sea-bathing, and built a hut on a beach near
Hythe, about three mUes from his own house, whither
he repaired almost every day. He was generally accom
panied in these excursions by a carriage, and a favourite
servant; but his lordship always went on foot, with his
hat under his arm. If it happened to rain, he would
make the attendants get into the carriage, observing,
that as they were gaudily dressed, and not inured, to wet,
the rain would spoil their clothes> and give them cold.
So fond was his lordship of bathiug, that he lived a con
siderable portion of his time in water, tempered by the
rays of the sun. For this purpose, he had a bathing-
house of considerable extent, glazed in front, to a south-
VOL. IIL B

2 LORD KOKEBT.
eastern aspect, and thatched at the top. It was so large,
that he could run round it and dry himself, and the floor
was boarded and matted.
Lord Rokeby had a great abhorrence of fires in his
rooms; and even in winter, generally sat with his
windows open. In his diet he was singular and abste
mious; his principal food was beef '-tea, which was always
ready for him on the sideboard; he drank no wine, and
had a great aversion to everything that was exotic, it
being his maxim that this island produced sufficient food
for the nourishment of man.
In his park he kept no deer, but had it plentifully
stocked with black cattle, which had full liberty to range
over the domain uninterruptedly. Though no infidel,
he never went to church, the path to which, from his
house, was grown over, and his pew left to the same
decay as his family coach, which he never entered.
This circumstance once occasioned him some embarrass
ment. The Archbishop of Armagh, who was cousin to Lord
Rokeby, paid him a visit a short time before his death,
at his seat. Mount Morris, in Kent. The archbishop
gave him notice on the Saturday, that he would dine ,
with him on the following Saturday. " I gave orders,"
says his lordship, in relating this anecdote, " for dinner
and so forth, for my cousin, the archbishop, but I never
thought, till he came, that the next day was Sunday.
What was I to do? Here was my cousin, the arch
bishop, and he must go to church, and there was no way
to it; the chancel-door, too, had been locked up these
thirty years, and my pew was certainly not fit for his
grace. I sent off immediately to Hythe, for the carpen
ters, and the joiners, and the drapers ; and into the
village for the labourers, the mowers, and the gravel

LORD ROKEBY. 3
carters. All went to work; the path was mowed; the
gravel was thrown on and rolled ; a gate made for the
church-yard; a new pew set up, well lined and
cushioned: and the next day I walked by the side of
my cousin, the archbishop, to church, who found every
thing right and proper."
In early life Lord Rokeby represented Canterbury
in Parliament. His neighbourhood to that city had
naturally introduced him to some of the higher classes
there ; but he had no idea of a slight acquaintance
with a few only of his constituents ; he would know and
be known to them aU. His visits to Canterbury gra
tified himself and them. They were visits to his consti
tuents, whom he called on at their shops and their looms,
walked within their market-places, spent the evening
with them at their clubs. He could do this from one of
his principles, which he had studied with the greatest
attention, and maintained with the utmost firmness — the
natural equality of man. Hence, perhaps, there never
was a representative more respected and beloved by his
constituents, and his attention to the duties of Parlia
ment entitled him to their veneration. Independent of
all parties, he uttered the sentiments of his heart ; he
weighed the propriety of every measure, and gave his
vote according to the preponderance of argument. The
natural consequence of such conduct was, iu the first
Parliament, a disgust with the manners ofthe House; and
he would have resigned his seat at the general election, if
his father had not particularly desired him to make one
more trial, and presented him, at the same time, with a
purse, not such as has lately been thought-necessary for the
party, to pay his election expenses. Mr. Robinson was
re-elected, but he conceived that a member of Parlia
ment should carry into the House a sincere love of his
B 2

i LORD ROKEBY.
country, sound knowledge, attention to business, and
firm independence; that the greatest traitors, with which
a country could be cursed, were such persons as would
enter Parliament with a determination to support the
minister or his opponents, according to their expectation
or actual enjoyment of places, pensions, or emoluments
derived from the Administration. Even in his time he
thought he saw too great confidence placed in the heads
of parties; too little reliance on private judgment, and
too little attention to Parliamentary duties. The uni
form success of every ministerial measure did hot accord
with his ideas of a deliberative body, and he determined
to quit a place in which he thought himself incapable of
promoting the public good. To the great regret of his
constituents, he declined the offer of representing them
at the next election.
In the year 1794, Mr. Robinson became, by the death
of the Archbishop of Armagh, Lord Rokeby; and it is
natural to ask what difference the title made in his
manners ? Precisely none. He was now addressed by
the title of Lord, instead of Sir : but, as he used to say,
they are both the same in Latin. Yet the accession to
his title gave him rights in Ireland, and his letter to
Lord Castlereagh showed that he was not unworthy of
them, and that if age and infirmities had presented no
obstacles, the Irish House of Lords would have been
dignified by the presence of a man who assumed for his
motto, on this occasion, what he really possessed in his
heart — " Independence." Very fantastical notions ac
company, in some persons' minds, the titles of the peer
age. They think of fine dress, splendid carriages, haughty
demeanour, something differing from the many. Such
persons were much embarrassed by the sight of Lord
Rokeby. A venerable man, with a long beard, sallow com-

LORD ROKEBY. 5
plexion, furrows on his forehead, the traces of deep think
ing, fore part of the head bald, from the hinder flowing
long and lank locks of white hair, a white or blue flannel
coat and waistcoat, and breeches, worsted stockings, and
shoes tied with black strings. The ruffles at his wrist,
and the frUl sewed to his waistcoat, were the only linen
about him. His body was rather bent, but, till he was
near his end, his pace was firm, and he was seen walking
in this manner from his house to Hythe or back, or,
which was more gratifying to his friends, when they first
caught a view of the house, walking up and down the
pavement before his door.
At one period Lord Rokeby formed the opinion, and
,began to express it with an unusual degree of confidence,
that the Bank of England would break during his life
time. He was so firmly con-raieed of ib in his own mind,
that it became a pretty constant topic with him ; and,
when he met -with opponents, he defended it with such
strength of argument as could not easily be resisted.
One day the conversation on this subject ended in a
singular wager, which was taken down in writing, pur
porting that the heirs and executors of Mr. Robinson
should pay to the other party, an alderman of Canter
bury, the sum of ten pounds, if the Bank did not break
during the life-time of the former; and, on the other
hand, that the alderman should be similarly bound to
pay the sum of ten pounds if the Bank did break in
Mr. Robinson's life-time. The proof was to depend on a
bank-note of ten pounds being offered at the Bank, and
not producing in return ten pounds in specie.
From the time of his accession to the title to the day
of his death. Lord Rokeby seldom went farther from
home than Hythe ; but he would have thought that he
had forfeited all regard to his principles if he had not

6 LORD ROKEBY.
gone to Maidstone to vote for his friend, Filmer Honey-
wood, the stanch advocate of the independence of the
county; and thus a contested election for the city of
Canterbury drew him again from his retirement. This
election took place just after the famous stoppage of the
Bank ; and, after a visit to his friends at the hall, and
shouts of congratulation from all the freemen, he walked
to the alderman's house, with whom the wager had been
laid, proffered some notes for cash, presented the written
agreement on the wager, and demanded of the alderman
the sum of ten pounds.
A gentleman who happened to be in the neighbour
hood of Mount Morris, resolved to procure a sight of
this extraordinary character, after he had succeeded to the
title of Lord Rokeby. " On my way," says he, "at the
summit of the hill above Hythe, which affords a most
delightful prospect, I perceived a fountain of pure water
over-running a basin which had been placed for it by
his lordship. I was informed that there were many such
on the same road, and that he was accustomed to bestow
a few half-crown pieces, plenty of which he always kept
loose in a side-pocket, on any water-drinkers he might
happen to find partaking of his favourite beverage, which
he never failed to recommend with peculiar force and
persuasion. On my approach I stopped some time to
examine the mansion. It is a good plain gentleman's
seat ; the grounds were abundantly stocked with black
cattle, and I could perceive a horse or two by thre steps
of the principal entrance. After the necessary inquiries
I was conducted by a servant to a little grove, on enter
ing which, a building with a glass covering, that at first
sight appeared to be a greenhouse, presented itself. The
man who accompanied me opened a little wicket, and on
looking in, I perceived, immediately under the glass, a

LORD ROKEBY. 7
bath with a current of water, supplied from a pond
behind. On approaching the door, two handsome
spaniels, with long ears, apparently of King Charles's
breed, advanced, and, like faithful guardians, denied us
access, till soothed by the well-known accents of the
domestic. We then proceeded, and gently passing along
a wooden floor, saw his lordship stretched on his face at
the farther end. He had just come out of the water,
and was dressed in an old blue woollen coat, and panta
loons of the same colour. The upper part of his head
was bald, but the hair of his chin, which could not be
concealed even by the posture he had assumed, made its
appearance between his arms on each side. I imme
diately retired, and waited at a little distance until he
awoke; when rising, he opened the door, darted through
the thicket, accompanied by his dogs, and made directly
for the house, while some workmen employed in cutting
timber, and whose tongues onlw- 1 had heard before, now
made the woods resound again with their axes."
This truly patriotic nobleman expired at his seat in
Kent, in the month of December, 1800, in the 88th
year ofhis age. With aU his eccentricities, he was a
good landlord, a kind friend, and an amiable and hos
pitable man.

JOHN CLAVELL,
GENTLEMAN, POET, AND HIGHWAYMAN.

In the early part of the reign of King Charles the
First, John Clavell was apprehended for a robbery on
the highway, and, with his associates, convicted and con
demned, but experienced the royal clemency through the
special intercession of the Queen.
Clavell was a gentleman by birth, of ancient family,
and liberal educatipn. His uncle. Sir William Clavell,
' of Smedmore, in the county of Dorset, had a command
in Ireland during the troubles there at the close of
Oueen Elizabeth's reign, and was created a Knight
Banneret for his services. Sir William was a great but
unfortunate projector; his projects, and the prosecutions
that attended them, being estimated at full twenty
thousand pounds. He was in consequence obliged to
sell and mortgage a great portion of his estate — the
remainder he vested in trustees for their continuance in
his name and blood, that they might descend to his
kinsman, Robert Clavell, of Winfrith, and his heirs. Sir
William died without issue in 1644.
It does not appear that John Clavell was bred up to
any profession, nor does it appear through what course
of seduction he was led into his evil ways, but it does

JOHN CLAVELL. 9
appear that his subsequent life, after receiving the royal
pardon, was exemplary, and that his conduct was such as
to re-establish his character. Clavell, who was no mean
poet for the times in which he lived, addressed the fol
lowing lines to the King prior to his trial — and those
that follow, in gratitude for his pardon, to the Queen :
I, that hath robbed so oft, am now bid stand,
Death and the law assault me, and demand
My life and means ! I never used men so.
But having ta'en their money, let them go ;
Yet must I die ! And is there no relief?
The King of kings took mercy on a thief!
So may my gracious king, in mercy, save me,
Although grim death and law do thus outbrave me.
God is his precedent, and men shall see
His mercy is beyond severity.
To her never-fo-be-equalled Majesty, the Q,ueen of Qreat Britain,
^c. Sfc.
Honour's store-house, virtue's story,
Fame's best trophy, nature's glory !
Oh, may with moss, the muses' flood
Be overgrown, dammed up with mud ;
All their holy hills polluted.
And their oracles confuted.
If that they strain not all they may.
Now their best vows to you to pay ;
And hoarse as ravens may they sing.
Who dare neglect their oflfering ;
Or find a subject for a verse,
That any meaner works rehearse !
Yet the true story are, and all
That's rich, fair, sweet, majestical ;
The fullest wonder of our time,
Por chronicles in prose or rhyme ;
And, like the rosy morn, do bless
Our drooping land -with cheerfulness ;
Throwing your bounties everywhere.
As fresh and fragrant as the air ;

10 JOHN CLAVELL.
The woodbines, and the violet.
The season of the year forget.
And to attend your sweetness, do
Grow everywhere you tread, or go.
I, in the autumn of my life.
When guilt and justice were at strife.
Was by your royal breath (strange thing) !
Unwither'd, turn'd into my spring.
Accept this sacrifice, great Queen,
In which no merit can be seen.
But what your royal name do bless
My muse in her unworthiness.
And though no lustre crown my art.
Holy fire inspires my heart.
Obedience, duty, zeal, attend
The faithliil tribute that I send.
So the gods accept of, stiU,
Not the oflfering, but the will.
Celuy qui plus Honor vos Vertus,
et admire vostre Bonte, et clemence,
et qui est le plus oblige a vostre
Majeste, Jehan Clavell.
Clavell, remained, however, a considerable time in
prison ; during which, he addressed a second copy of
verses to the King, praying for his liberty, stating his
resolution thus, should he receive it— I do intend,
Whilst these your wars endure, even there to spend,
My time, in that brave service.
After he had received his liberty, he presented the
following lines to " His honourable friend, his ever dear
and well approved good uncle. Sir William Clavell,
Knight Banneret :"
Your hidden purposes, grave sir, that rest
Within the secret closet of your breast.

JOHN CLAVELL. 11
Have like predomination with my fate ;
I shall be happy, or unfortunate.
As they assign me : you may justly take.
And utterly renounce me ; but behold.
My God above (whose secrets are untold ;
All things on earth, as he thinks best decreeing.
What will my futm-e actions be foreseeing,)
Hath lent me life and mercy, by my king.
Who is his substitute in everything.
Since, then, their doom is past, oh, let not me
Be now arraigned by your severity !
Forget my foul offences one and all.
Until some brave and noble action shall
Bring you anew acquainted. If again
I ever take a course that shall he vain.
Or, if any ill I faulty be,
0, then, for ever disinherit me.
Your right sorrowful nephew,
John Clavell.
These, -mth many other addresses, in prose and verse,
to the king, nobility, judges, magistrates, &c., are pre
fixed to a poem of considerable length, written by
Clavell during his confinement, under the following
title :—
" The Re-cantation of an ill-led life : Or, a Discovery
of the Highway-law, with vehement Dissuasions to all
(in that kind) Offenders. As also, many cautelious Ad
monitions, and full instructions how to know, shune, and
apprehend a Thiefe. Most necessary for all honest Tra
vellers to peruse, observe, and practise."
The preface to which is dated, "from my lonely,
sad, and unfrequented chamber in the King's Bench,
October, 1627." The Epistle from "The stationer to
the buyer," prefixed to the third edition, 4to, 1634,
concludes thus :
"The late and general false report of his (Clavell's)
relapse, and untoward death, made me most willing

12 JOHN CLAVELL.
again to publish this work of his, to let you know, he
not only lives, but hath also made good all these his
promises and strict resolutions, insomuch that it is be
come very disputable amongst wise men, whether they
should more admire his former ill ways, or his now most
singular reformation, whereat no man outjoys his friend
and yours, "Richard Meighen."

13

THE HOSPITALITIES OF THOMASTOWN.

Me. Mathew inherited a large estate at Thomasto'svn,
in the county of Tipperary, in Ireland, producing a clear
rental of eight thousand pounds a-year. As he delighted
in a country life, and possessed in an eminent degree
that spirit of hospitaUty for which his countrymen have
ever been distinguished, he resolved to build a large,
commodious house for the reception of "vrisitors, sur
rounded by fifteen hundred acres of his choicest land,
all laid out upon a regular and improved plan, according
to the then newly adopted mode of English gardening,
which had supplanted the bad Dutch taste introduced by
King William, and which Mr. Mathew was the first to
adopt in Ireland.
As this design was formed in early life, in order to
accomplish his point without incurring debt, he retired
to the continent for seven years, and lived upon six hun
dred pounds per annum, while the remaining income of
his estate was employed in carrying on the great works
he had planned.
It was towards the conclusion of Queen Anne's reign
when Mr. Mathew returned from his long residence
abroad. At that time party disputes ran very high, but
nowhere did they rage with such violence as in the Irish
metropolis, so that daily duels were the consequence.

14 THE BOSPITALITIES OF THOMASTO'WN.
There happened to be at that time in London two gen
tlemen who valued themselves highly on their skill in
fencing ; the name of one was Pack, and the other Creed ;
the former being a Major, and the latter a Captain in the
army. Hearing of these daily exploits in Dublin, they
resolved, like two knight-errants, to go over to Ireland
in quest of adventures. On inquiry, they learned that
Mr. Mathew, lately arrived from France, had the cha
racter of being one of the first swordsmen in Europe.
Pack, rejoicing to find an antagonist worthy of himself,
resolved to pick a quarrel with him the first opj)ortunity;
and meeting him as he was carried along the street in his
chair, he jostled the fore-chairman. Mr. Mathew, suppos
ing this to be accidental, took no notice of the circum
stance; but Major Pack afterwards boasted of it in a
public coffee-house, saying that he had purposely offered
this insult to that gentleman, who had not the spirit to
resent it.
A particular friend of Mr. Mathew's, of the name of
Macnamara, a man of tried courage, and reputed the
best fencer in Ireland, happened to be present. He im
mediately took up the quarrel, observing, he was sure
Mr. Mathew did not suppose the affront to be intentional,
otherwise he would have chastised the offender on the
spot ; adding, that if the Major would let him know where
he was to be found, he should be waited on immediately
on Mr. Mathew's return, who was to dine that day a little
way out of town. The Major said, that he should be at
the tavern opposite, where he and his companion would
wait their commands.
Immediately on his arrival, Mr. Mathew, being made
acquainted with what had passed, went from the coffee
house to the tavern, accompanied by Macnamara. Being
shown into the room where the two officers were, after

THE HOSPITALITIES OF THOMASTO'WN. 15
securing the door, Mathew and Pack drew their swords ;
but Macnamara stopped them, saying he had something
to propose before they proceeded to action. He said,
that in cases of this nature, he never could bear to be a
cool spectator. " So, sir," continued he, addressing him
self to Creed, "if you please, I shall have the honour
of entertaining you in the same manner." Creed made
no other reply than that of immediately drawing his
sword. The conflict was of some duration, and maintained
with great obstinacy by the two officers, notwithstanding
the great effusion of blood from the many wounds which
they had received. At length, quite exhausted, they
both fell, and yielded the victory to the superior skill of
their antagonists.
Upon this occasion, Mr. Mathew gave a remarkable
proof of the perfect composure of his mind. Creed had
fallen first, on which Pack exclaimed, " Ah, poor Creed !
are you gone?" "Yes," replied Mathew, with the ut
most calmness, " and you shall instantly pach after him,"
at the same time making a home-thrust quite through
his body, which threw him to the ground. This was the
more remarkable, as he was never known in his life,
either before or after, to have aimed at a pun.
The number of wounds received by the vanquished
parties was very great; and what seemed most mira
culous their opponents were untouched. The surgeons,
seeing the desperate state of their patients, would not
suffer them to be removed out of the room where they
fought, but had beds immediately conveyed to it, on
which they lay many hours in a state of insensibility.
When they came to themselves, and saw where they
were Pack, in a feeble voice, said to his companion —
"Creed I think we are the conquerors, for we have

16 THE HOSPITALITIES OF THOMASTO'WN.
kept the field of battle." For a long time, their lives
were despaired of, but, to the astonishment of every one,
they both recovered. When they were able to see
company, Mathew and his friend attended them daUy,
and a close intimacy afterwards ensued, as they found
them men of probity, and of the best disposition, except
in this extravagant idea of duelling, of which, however,
they were now perfectly cured.
Mr. Mathew spent some time in Dublin, and during
his residence there, he availed himself of the oppor
tunity to renew old and cultivate new acquaintance.
From his personal accomplishments and large fortune,
he found no difficulty in obtaining access to all whose
character and talents rendered their friendship desirable.
Out of these he selected such as were most conformable
to his taste, inviting them to pass their leisure time at
his seat at Thomastown, to which he retired to spend the
remainder of his days.
His house had been chiefly contrived to answer the
purpose of that constant hospitality which he intended
to maintain there. It contained forty commodious
apartments for guests, •with suitable accommodations
for their servants. Each apartment was completely
furnished with every convenience that could be wanted,
even to the minutest article. When a guest arrived, the
hospitable owner showed him his apartment, saying,:
" This is your castle ; here you are to command as ab
solutely as in your own house. You may breakfast
dine, and sup here whenever you please, and invite such
of the guests as may be most agreeable to you." lie
then showed them the common parlour, where he said a
daily ordinary was kept, at which he might dine when
it was more agreeable to him to mix in society, adding :
" But from this moment you are never to know me as

THE HOSPITALITIES OF THOMASTOWN. 17
the master of the house, and only consider me as one of
the guests." In order to avoid all ceremony at meals,
he took his place at random at the table, and thus all
ideas of precedence being laid aside, the guests seated
themselves promiscuously, without any regard to differ
ence of rank or quality.
There was a large room fitted up exactly like a coffee
house, where a bar-maid and waiters attended to furnish
refreshments at all times of the day. Here such as
chose breakfasted at their own hour. It was provided
with chess-boards, backgammon-tables, newspapers,
pamphlets, and all other conveniences that are to be
found in a city coffee-house. But the most extraor
dinary circumstance in his whole domestic arrangement,
was that of a detached room in one of the extremities of
the house, called the 'Tavern.' As Mr. Mathew was
himself a very temperate man, and many of his guests
were of the same disposition, the quantity of wine con
sumed in the common room was very moderate ; but as
drinking was much in fashion in those days, in order to
indulge such of his guests as had habituated themselves
to that custom, he had recourse toi this contrivance;
and it was the custom of all who loved a cheerful glass
to adjourn to thp tavern soon after dinner, and leave the
more sober part of the company to themselves. Here
they were attended by a waiter in a blue apron, as was
then the fashion, and all things in the room was so con
trived as to favour the illusion. Every one called for what
liquor he pleased, with as little restraint as if he had
been in a public-house, and was to pay the reckoning.
Here, too, the midnight orgies of Bacchus were often
celebrated with the same noisy mirth as in his city
temples, but without in the least disturbing the repose
of the more sober part of the family.
VOL. III. C

18 THE HOSPITALITIES OF THOMASTOWN.
Games of all sorts were allowed, but under such
restrictions as to prevent gambling, and so as to answer
their true end, that of amusement, without injury to the
purse of the players. There were two billiard-tables, and
a large bowling-green; ample provision was made for
those who delighted in field-sports, with fishing tackle
of all sorts, a variety of guns, with proper ammunition,
a pack of buck-hounds, another of fox-hounds, and
another of harriers; and twenty choice hunters were
kept in the stables, for the use of those who were not
properly mounted for the chase.
The reader may, perhaps, be ready to imagine that.
Mr. Mathew's income, considerable as it was, could not
be adequate to the support of so extensive an establish
ment ; but when he considers that the value of money
was at that time more than double what it is at the
present day; that his large demesne, in some of the
richest soil in Ireland, furnished the house with every
necessary except wine, liquors, and grocery, he may
suppose it to be sufficient if under the regulation of
strict economy, of which no one was a greater master
than Mr. Mathew.
His plan was so well formed, and he had such check
upon all his domestics, that it was impossible there
could be any waste, or that any article from the larder,
or a single bottle of wine from the cellar, could have
been purloined without immediate detection. This was
accomplished partly by the choice of faithful stewards,
and clerks of approved integrity, but chiefly by his own
superintendence of the whole, as not a day passed with
out his having all the accounts of the preceding one laid
before him. This he was enabled to do by his early
rising; and the business being finished before others
were out of their beds, he always appeared the most dis-

THE HOSPITALITIES OF THOMASTOWN. 19
engaged man in the house, and seemed to have as Httle
concern in the conduct of it as any of the guests.
With a stranger, indeed, he might easily .have passed
for a visitor, as he made it a point that no one should
consider him in the light of master of the house, or pay
him any civilities on that score.
This he carried so far, that he sometimes went abroad
without giving any notice, and stayed away several days,
while things went on as usual at home ; and on his re
turn, he would not allow any congratulations to be made
him, nor any other notice to be taken of him, than if he
had not been absent during that time.
The arrangements of every kind were so prudently
made, that no number of guests, or of their domestics, ever
occasioned any disorder, and all things were conducted
with the same ease and regularity as in a private family.
There was one point which at first it seemed rather
difficult to accomplish — namely, the establishing of
certain signals, by which each servant might know
when he was summoned to his master's apartment.
For this purpose, a great hall was appropriated to the
use of the servants, where they were always assembled
when they were not upon duty. Along the wall, bells
were ranged in order, one to each apartment, with the
number of the chamber marked over it, so that, when
any of them was rung, they had only to turn their eyes
on the bell, and to see what servant was called.
Mr. Mathew was the first that put an end to the in
hospitable custom of giving vales to servants, by making
a suitable addition to their wages; at the same time' as
suring them, that if they took any afterwards, they
should be discharged with disgrace ; and to prevent the
teihptation, the guests were informed, that he would con-
C 2

20 THE HOSPITALITIES OF THOMASTOWN.
sider it as the highest affront, if any offer of that sort
were made.
The following particulars of a visit of the celebrated
Dean Swift to Thomastown will enable the reader to
form a more precise idea of the interior economy of that
establishment. Swift had heard much of the place from his friend
Dr. Sheridan, who had often been a welcome guest
there, both on account of his convivial qualities, and as
being the preceptor of the nephew of Mr. Mathew. He
at length became desirous of ascertaining with his own
eyes the truth of a report which he could not forbear
considering as greatly exaggerated. On receiving an
intimation of this from Sheridan, Mr. Mathew wrote a
polite letter to the Dean, requesting the honour of a visit
in company with the doctor, at his next school vacation.
The two doctors accordingly set out on horseback, attended
by a gentleman who was a near relation to Mr. Mathew.
They had scarcely reached the inn where they intended
to pass the first night, and which, like most of the Irish
inns at that time, afforded but miserable entertainment,
when they were surprised by the arrival of a coach and
six horses, sent to convey them the remainder of their
journey to Thomastown, and, at the same time, bringino-
a supply of the choicest viands, wine, and other liquors,
for their refreshment. Swift was highly pleased with
this uncommon mark of attention, and the coach proved
particularly acceptable, as he had been a good deal fa
tigued with his day's journey.
When they came within sight of the house, the Dean
astonished at its magnitude, cried out —
" What, in the name of God, can be the use of such
a vast building ?"
" Why, Mr. Dean," replied his fellow-traveller, " there

THE HOSPITALITIES OF THOMASTOWN. 21
are no less than forty apartments for guests in that house,
and aU of them, probably, occupied at this time, except
what are reserved for us."
Swift, in his usual manner, called out to the coachman
to stop, and drive him back to Dublin, for he could not
think of mixing with such a crowd. " Well," said he,
immediately afterwards, " there is no remedy, I must
submit ; but I have lost a fortnight of my life."
Mr. Mathew received him at the door with uncommon
marks of respect ; and then conducting him to his apart
ment, after some compliments, made his usual speech,
acquainting him -with the customs of the house, and
retired, lea-ving him in possession of his castle. Soon
after, the cook appeared with the biU of fare to receive
his directions about supper, and the butler at the same
time with a list of wines and other liquors.,
"And is all this really so?" said Swift. "And may
I command here as in my own house ?" '
His companion assured him he might, and that nothing
could be more agreeable to the owner of the mansion,
than that all under his roof should live conformably to
their own inclinations, without the least restraint,
"WeU, then," said Swift, "I invite jou, and Dr.
Sheridan to be my guests whUe I stay, for I think
I shaU scarcely be tempted to mix vrith the mob
below." Three days were passed in riding over the demesne
and viewing the various improvements, without ever
seeing Mr. Mathew or any of the guests ; nor were the
company below much concerned at the Dean's absence,
as his very name usuaUy inspired those who did not
know him -with awe, and they were afraid that his pre
sence would put an end to the ease and cheerfulness
which reigned among them. On the fourth day. Swift

22 THE HOSPITALITIES OF THOMASTOWN.
entered the room where the company were assembled
before dinner, and addressed Mr. Mathew in a strain of
the highest compliment, expatiating on all the beauties
of his improvements, with the skill of an artist and the
taste of a connoisseur. Such an address from a man of
Swift's character could not fail of being pleasing to the
owner, who was, at the same time, the planner of these
improvements; and so fine a eulogium from one who
was supposed to deal more largely in satire than pane
gyric, was likely to remove the prejudice entertained
against his character, and prepossess the rest of the
company in his favour. He concluded his speech by
saying : " And now, ladies and gentlemen, I am come^to
live among you, and it shall be no fault of mine if we
do not pass our time agreeably."
In a short time all restraint on his account disappeared.
He entered readUy into all the little schemes for promot
ing mirth, and every day, with the assistance of his co
adjutor, produced some new one, which afforded a good
deal of sport and merriment. In short, never were such
joyous scenes known at Thomastown before. When
the time came which obliged Sheridan to return to his
school, the company were so delighted with the Dean,
that they earnestly entreated him to remain there some
time longer, and Mr. Mathew himself, for once, broke
his rule of never soliciting the stay of any guest. Swift
found himself so happy, that he readily yielded to their
solicitations, and, instead of a fortnight, passed four
months there, much to his own satisfaction and that of
all those who visited the place during the time.
Mr. Mathew continued long to enjoy the pleasure aris
ing from this establishment, as much the offspring of a
genuine spirit of hospitality as of an eccentric disposition.
His method of spending a fortune was assuredly much

THE HOSPITALITIES OF THOMASTOWN. 23
better calculated to afford happiness and rational enjoy
ment, than that pursued by many who have thrown away
theirs on the turf or at the gaming-table ! and it was pro
ductive of infinitely greater advantage to the community
in general, than if, like others, he had locked up the re
ceipts of his estates in his coffers, for the sole purpose of
feasting his eyes on his accumulated hoards.
He married twice : — 1st, Catherine, daughter of Sir
John SheUey, Bart. ; and, 2ndly, Anne, Dowager Coun
tess of Tyrone ; but died without surviving issue. His
cousin and heir, George Mathew, Esq., of Thomastown,
also died sine prole, when the estates devolved on the
representative of a junior branch of the family, Thomas
Mathew, Esq., of Thurles, father of Francis Mathew, 1st
Earl of Llandaff,

24

A LADY OF FASHION IN THE TIME OF JAMES I.

Elizabeth Spencee, wife of William, Lord Compton,
(afterwards Earl of Northampton,) was the greatest
heiress of her time. Her father. Sir John Spencer, Lord
Mayor of London in 1593, left a fortune variously esti
mated at three, five, and eight hundred thousand pounds.
His opulence was so noted, that one of the pirates of
Dunkirk, who, during the reigns of James and Charles I.,
exercised their outrages with impunity on the English
coasts, had laid a plot for carrying the rich London
citizen off to France, to extort a ransom ; but the design
failed. At Sir John's funeral, about a thousand persons
foUowed in mourning cloaks and gowns. The amount
of the inheritance seems to have exceeded all the ex
pectations of Lord Compton; insomuch, that on the
first news, " either through the vehement apprehension
of joy for such a plentiful succession, or of carefulness
how to take it up and dispose of it," he became distracted,
and so continued for a considerable length of time. It
must probably have been soon after his lordship's re
covery, that his wife addressed to him the foUowino-
letter, which may be regarded as the most perfect ex
position we possess of the wants and wishes of a lady
of quality in the time of James I. :
" My Sweet Life,— Now I have declared to you my
mind for the settling of your state, I suppose that it

A LABT OF FASHION. 25
were best for me to bethink and consider within myself
what allowance were meetest for me  I pray and
beseech you to grant to me, your most kind and loving
wife, the sum of 2600^. quarterly to be paid. Alao I
would, besides that allowance, have 600^. quarterly to be
paid, for the performance of charitable works : and those
things I would not, neither will be accountable for.
Also, I will have three horses for my own saddle, that
none shall dare to lend or borrow; none lend but I,
none borrow but you. Also, I would have two gentle
women, lestione should be sick, or have some other let.
Also, believe it, it is an undecent thing for a gentle
woman to stand mumping alone, when God hath blessed
their lord and lady with a great estate. Also, when I
ride a-hunting, or a-hawking, or travel from one house
to another, I will have theni attending ; so, for either of
those said women, I must and "wiU have for either of
them a horse. Also, I wUl have six or eight gentlemen;
and I wiU have my two coaches, one lined with velvet
to myself, -with four very fair horses ; and a coach for my
women, lined with cloth and laced with gold, otherwise
with scarlet and laced with silver, with four good horses.
Also, I wUl have two coachmen, one for my own coach,
the other for my women. Also, at any time when I
travel, I will be allowed not only caroches and spare
horses for me and my women, but I wUl have such
carriages as shaU be fitting for all, orderly, not pestering
my things with myi women's, nor theirs with either cham
ber-maids, nor theirs with wash-maids. Also, for laun
dresses, when I travel, I will have them sent away before
with the carriages, to see all safe. And the chamber
maids I will have go before, that the chamber may be
ready, sweet, and clean. Also, for that it is undecent to
crowd up myself with my gentleman-usher in my coach.

26 A LADY OF FASHION.
I will have him to have a convenient horse to attend me,
either in city or country. And I must have two footmen.
My desire is, that you defray all the charges for me.
And for myself, besides my yearly allowance, I would
have twenty gowns of apparel, six of them excellent
good ones, eight of them for the country, and six other
of them very excellent good ones. Also I would have to
put in my purse 2000i?., and 200^., and so, you to pay my
debts. Also I would have 6000^. to buy me jewels, and
4000^. to buy me a pearl chain. Now, seeing I have
been, and am, so reasonable unto you, I^ pray you do
find my children apparel, and their schooling, and all
my servants, men and women, their wages. Also, I will
have all my houses furnished, and my lodging chambers
to be suited with all such furniture as is fit ; as beds,
stools, chairs, suitable cushions, carpets, silver warming-
pans, cupboards of plate, fair hangings, and such like.
So for my drawing-chamber in all houses, I will have
them delicately furnished, both with hangings, couch,
canopy, glass, carpet, chairs, cushions, and all things
thereunto belonging. Also, my desire is, that you
would pay your debts, buUd up Ashby House, and
purchase lands, and lend no money, as you love God,
to my lord-chamberlain, who would have all, perhaps
your life, from you  So, now that I have de
clared to you what I would have, and what it is that I
would not have, I pray you, when you be an earl, to
allow me 2000^. more than I now desire, and double
attendance."* * Harleian MSS., No, 7003, foi. 105.

THE TEAGEDY OF LAWFOED HALL.

Just sixty years have elapsed since the death of Sir
Theodosius Boughton at Lawford Hall, and yet the
deepest interest still attaches to the melancholy story.
The guilt of the unhappy man, who suffered for the sup
posed murder, remains to this day veiled in mystery,
and the subject is more frequently canvassed than almost
any other conviction upon record. Donellan may or may
not have been innocent, but, most certainly, the feeling
that must arise in every impartial mind, from a patient
perusal of the trial is, that the conviction was not j ustified
by the evidence adduced. The judge, who presided, the
eminent Sir Francis BuUer, had evidently conceived an
opinion unfavourable to the accused, and Lady Boughton,
the mother of Sir Theodosius, being strongly biassed in
the same direction, seems to have allowed her testimony
to be seriously affected by her prejudices. In those
times, the prisoner's counsel was not permitted to address
the jury, and thus the strong points of defence were not
urged with proper force or skill. Had the learned advo
cate, Mr. Newnham, who so ably cross-examined the
¦witnesses, been aUowed to complete his task by a com
mentary on the evidence, he would, doubtless, have im
pressed on the jury these three important facts : — first,
that there was not sufficient proof that Sir Theodosius
died by poison at all; secondly, that, if he did die by

28 THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFOED HALL.
poison, there was no proof that it was laurel water; and,
thirdly, that if he did die by poison, and that poison
laurel water, there was not sufficient evidence to show
that Captain Donellan administered it, either directly or
indirectly. In addition to the doubts created by this view of the
case, we have the last words of the prisoner before his
execution : — " As I am now gging," exclaimed the dying
man, "to appear before God, to whom all deceit is
known, I solemnly declare that I am innocent of the
crime for which I suffer. I have drawn up a vindication
of myself,* which I hope the world will believe, for it
is of more consequence to me to speak truth than false
hood, and I have no doubt that time will reveal the
many mysteries that have arisen at the trial."
John Donellan was the son of Lieutenant-Colonel
Donellan, and was born about the year 1737. At the
early age of twelve he entered the royal regiment of
artillery, with part of which corps he went to the East
Indies in 1754. On his arrival there he changed into
the 39th foot, but on that regiment being ordered home,
he, with many others of its officers, had his Majesty's
leave to remain in the service of the East India Company,
without prejudice to their rank in the army. He there
obtained a company, and is said to have distinguished
himself as a soldier, and to have been particularly in
strumental in the taking of Mazulapatam. However,
being appointed one of the four agents for prize money,
he condescended to receive presents from some black
merchants, to whom part of their effects had been ordered
* Prom papers left behind him for the purpose, a very elaborate
and well-written defence was composed and published almost
immediately after his death ; it produced a great sensation at the
time.

THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFORD HALL. 29
to be restored. For this he was tried by a court-martial
and cashiered, and with this sentence Captain Donellan's
mUitary character expired. Disgraced, however, as he
was, he made one effort to retrieve his reputation, and,
on Colonel Forde's return from Golconda to Bengal,
offered his ser-rices as a volunteer. This offer was not
accepted, and the Captain embarked for England. On
Captain Donellan's retirement from active service, he
became a man of fashion in London, and his address
recommended him to the office of Master of the Cere
monies at the Pantheon, an employment which he filled
with credit and profit. His first acquaintance with the
Boughton family arose at Bath, in the foUowing manner :
Lady Boughton and her daughter arriving on a visit to
that city, found every bed in every inn preoccupied;
and it was signified by the landlord of the hotel at which
they stopped, that they had no alternative but to sleep
on the chairs of their sitting-room. This fact coming
to the knowledge of Donellan, who had for, some days
occupied a chamber in the house, he requested the land
lord to introduce him to the ladies, and he made them
an offer of his bed in so polite a manner, that it was
accepted. In return, the ladies invited the gallant
Captain to breakfast with them in the morning, which
the enterprising Donellan improved into such an ac
quaintance, that soon after, in 1777, he married Miss
Boughton, a sister of Sir Theodosius, the brother and
sister being the only surviving children of Sir Edward
Boughton, Bart., of Lawford Hall, in the county of
Warwick. At the time of his sister's marriage. Sir Theodosius
Boughton was just entering into his seventeenth year,
and was a student at Eton, where Mr. and Mrs. Do
nellan paid him their nuptial visit, and, soon after, took

30 THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFORD HALL.
up their residence at Bath. Although Captain Donellan
possessed little or no fortune of his own, and the match
was, at first, disapproved of by the friends of the lady, a
reconciliation was effected by Donellan's agreeing, not
only to settle the whole of his wife's actual fortune upon
herself, but also everything which she might afterwards
become entitled to, either by inheritance or legacy.
Such was the apparently happy commencement of an
alliance which ended so disastrously. The arrival of
Captain and Mrs. Donellan at Lawford Hall occurred in
June, 1778, about a year after their marriage; and it
appears they continued resident and domesticated there
from that time until the sudden death of Sir Theodosius,
in 1780.
At Lawford Hall, the influence of the captain was
very great. He was in the maturity of active life — that
is, in his seven or eight and thirtieth year, while Lady
Boughton was aged, and the Baronet scarcely twenty ;
his ascendency will therefore not appear surprising.
Other circumstances tended to give him this weight;
Lady Boughton was not a very intellectual woman, and
her ill-fated son appears to have been occupied entirely
by his pleasures. The first 'dsit Donellan paid to the
youth was at Eton; he had then just completed his
sixteenth year, and was under the care of a medical
gentleman, for a complaint. From Eton he was removed
to Northampton, and placed under the private tuition of
a Mr. Jones ; and it is proved that he was also medically
attended there. It further appears, that he indulged in
the dangerous habit of prescribing for himself, and that
he was continually taking physic; and, lastly, he was
again in ill health at the time of his death.
Such, with the addition of the unhappy Mrs. DoneUan
was the family circle at Lawford HaU; and if to the

THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFOED HALL. 31
foregoing particulars it be added, that the latter was
heir-at-law to the larger part of her brother's fortune, if
he died without legitimate issue, and that the ostensible
views of Captain Donellan were to take orders to enable
him to enjoy the two livings in the gift of Sir Theodosius
— the reader will be furnished with a tolerably faithful
outline of the relative situation of this family, when the
fatal circumstance occurred, which threw it into so much
confusion, and which is now to be described from the
testimony of Lady Boughton, as delivered before the
coroner. This particular deposition it wUl be proper
to give somewhat at length, as it was the deponent's first
account of the melancholy transaction ; and because in
the subsequent trial she materially varied in her expla
nation of the identical fact which decided the fate of the
accused. Anna Marig, Lady Boughton deposed, that the de
ceased was her son; that for a considerable time before
his death, he took various medicines which were sent to
him from a Mr. PoweU, a surgeon in Rugby, which
sometimes occasioned the deceased to keep his room;
that on the thirtieth of August last, she went into his
room to give him part of the medicine sent for him from
the said Mr. PoweU; and that about seven o'clock in
the morning of the same day, she, by the directions of
the deceased, gave him the medicine contained in one
of the phial bottles then standing upon the mantelpiece
of the deceased; then she perceived, upon pouring it
out into the bason to give to the deceased, a large
quantity of powder or sediment at the bottom of the
phial ; that it had a very offensive and nauseous smell ;
that the deceased complained very much of the nauseous-
ness of the medicine, and that he thought he should not
be able to keep it upon his stomach ; that there was a

32 THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFORD HALL.
label upon the bottle in which the medicine was con
tained, expressing the medicine to be the purging potion
for Sir Theodosius Boughton; that she could not teU
whether there were any other bottles in the deceased's
room containing the same medicine ; that John DoneUan,
Esq., her son-in-law, heing informei hy her of the sHuation
the deceased was in, came up stairs to her ; and after
being informed by her of the medicine she had given
him, desired her to give him . the bottle ; and that he
then put water into the bottle, and poured it and the
settling of the bottle out together ; put his finger into it,
and informed this examinant it had a nauseotis taste;
that the deceased, immediately after taking the medicine,
seemed as if he was going into convulsions for a consi
derable time ; but after that appearance had subsided,
the deceased seemed as if he was going to sleep ; upon
which she left the roorn, and returned back in the space
of about five minutes, when she found the deceased with
his eyes fixed, his teeth set, and the froth running out
of his mouth ; and that he expired in a few minutes
afterwards ; that the composition of the mixture con
tained in the bottle given by her to the deceased, was
something in colour similar to that produced and shown
to her by Mr. Fowell, at this the time of her examination,
but to the smell very different, to the best of her infor
mation and belief.
One of the strangest circumstances attendant upon a
death so alarming was the subsequent conduct of Lady
Boughton : it would seem from her further deposition
on the succeeding day, and on the trial, that the rinsing
of the bottles by Captain Donellan struck her as exceed
ingly suspicious and improper, yet neither these sus
picions, nor the suddenness of her son's death upon the
swallowing of a medicine, induced her to take the

THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFORD HALLi S3
arrangement of the funeral out of his hands, or even to
interest herself to have any surgical or legal inspection
of the body. In so calm a way, indeed, did this cala
mity pass over, that on the Saturday following the
Wednesday on which it took place, the deceased was
absolutely soldered up in his coffin.
Public attention, however, was excited; and poison
being generally suspected, the report of these suspicions
at length reached the ears of the guardian. Sir WUliam
Wheler, who wrote a polite note to Captain DoneUan, in
forming him of the nature of the prevalent rumour, and of
the necessity there was to do it away by a professional
examination of the body. The reply of Captain Do
nellan was prompt and acquiescent; and he also ex
pressed a wish that Sir WUliam Wheler himself would
attend. The three practitioners, with an assistant, how
ever, arrived by themselves, and were informed by the
Captain that they were called upon to open the body of
the deceased — -" for the satisfaction of us all ;" but he
did not mention the suspicion of poison. It is remark
able that, upon this intimation, the gentlemen, finding
that, owing to the putridity of the body, the operation
would be attended with danger to themselves, declined it,
on the ground that, 'in its then state, it would not de
termine the cause of the death ; and Captain Donellan
was blamed for not inducing them to operate, at all
hazards, by resting on the suspicion of poison; or, in
other words, on the suspicion that he was himself the
murderer of his brother-in-law. Afterwards, in giving
Sir William Wheler an epistolary account of this visit,
he left it ambiguous whether the body had been opened
- or not ; but then, on the other hand, he requested one of
the medical gentlemen himself to call on the Baronet,
who promised to do so, but did not.
VOL. IIL D

34 THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFORD HALL.
On the next morning, Mr. Bucknill, a surgeon of
Rugby, having heard that the former gentlemen had
declined operating, called at Lawford HaU, and offered
to take out the stomach at his own risk ; but the Cap
tain declined, on the ground of unfairness to the other
professional gentlemen, unless directly authorized by Sir
W. Wheler; and, in consequence, Mr. Bucknill went
away. Of this visit Sir William heard, and -wrote again,
requesting that Mr. Bucknill, and his own apothecary,
Mr. Snow, might do what it was so desirable should be
done; but, owing to their professional engagements, the
two gentlemen missed each other — Mr. BuckniU, who
came first, was caUed away to a dying patient, and when
he returned, Mr. Snow had arrived, and, from &. sense of
danger, having declined opening the body, had departed.
Captain DoneUan, therefore, upon this, proceeded with
the funeral, which took place the same day, between
three and four o'clock.
In all thesq transactions, it is very remarkable that,
although the suspicion of poison could, and did, attach to
Captain Donellan only, yet he was strangely permitted
to arrange every proceeding which was to produce satis
faction, and that by the mother of the deceased, who was
very early alarmed at his equivocal conduct.
But, although the interment was effected, when it
became generally known that the body had not been
opened, the minds of all orders of people were excited,
and it was laudably insisted upon by the gentlemen of
the neighbourhood, that the deceased should be taken up,'
the coroner be called, and a surgical examination take
place by course of law. This was done accordingly, and
the depositions on the first day of exiamination were in
substance as foUow :
That of Lady Boughton has already been given.

THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFORD HALL. 35
Mr. Powell, the apothecary who supplied the draught,
the taking of which was followed by the death of Sir
Theodosius, deposed, that it was a mixture, consisting
of jalap, rhubarb, spirits of lavender, simple syrup, and
nutmeg-water. Sarah Steane, who laid out the deceased, simply
stated that, to the time of the body being placed in the
coffin, it appeared the same, in every respect, as any
other corpse.
WUliam and Samuel Frost, servants, deposed that the
evening and morning preceding his death, the deceased
appeared to them to be in good health and spirits.
Mr. Wilmer, a surgeon, one of the professional gen
tlemen who declined opening the body in the first in
stance, because its putridity rendered satisfaction from
the operation hopeless, deposed, that such had^ been his
expressed opinion ; and the conclusion to be drawn from
the medical evidence he now gai^e was, that the mixture
fumished by Mr. PoweU could not at any time occasion
the death of the deceased; and that, for the reasons
before suggested by him, he was induced to believe that
it was " then impossible to tell what occasioned the de
ceased's death"
Dr. Rattray corroborated the whole of the above ; but
added, that he believed, from the deposition of Lady
Boughton, that the medicine administered by her caused
the death of her son.
Mr. Snow, a surgeon, merely confirmed the deposi
tions of Mr. Wilmer and Dr. Rattray generally.
Mr. BucknUl deposed to the same purpose, with the
additional confirmation of Dr. Rattray's opinion, as to
the draught administered by Lady Boughton being the
immediate cause of her son's death.
Lady Boughton declared, that when Captain Donellan
D 2

36 THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFOED HALL.
was told of the effect of the medicine upon the deceased,
he asked where the bottle was that had contained it ;
and upon it being pointed out to him, he " swilled the
bottle out with water, and threw the water and the
medicine which was left at the bottom of the bottle upon
the ground." That upon her expressing her surprise
that he should do so, he said that it was in order to
taste it ; but that he did not taste it, but proceeded to
empty a second bottle, which stood upon the deceased's
mantelpiece, but what was contained therein she knew
not. That, after throwing away the contents of the
second bottle. Captain DoneUan ordered Sarah Blun
dell, who was then in the room, to take the same away:
but that examinant objected to such removal, and de
sired the servant to leave them where they were ; that
Captain Donellan, however, still persisted in his orders,
and she believed they were removed accordingly.
Lady Boughton further observed, that upon her return
home from the last examination, Captain DoneUan, who
had heard it taken, had expressed surprise and displea
sure at her then deposing that he had rinsed the bottles,
and told her that she was only obliged to answer such
questions as should be asked. .That she had heard Cap
tain Donellan advise her son to keep his medicines in
his first room, and not in an inner room, which he kept
locked; whereas any part of the family might have
access to the former. Finally, she deposed that the cir
cumstance of the said Captain Donellan's swillino- the
bottles led her to suppose " that some unfair dealings had
heen carried on respecting her son, and that he had died hy
the medicine she had given him."
The Coroner's Jury brought in a verdict of WUful
Murder against Captain Donellan, and he was imme
diately committed for trial.

THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFOED HALL. 37
In consequence of the assizes having been recently
concluded. Captain Donellan's trial did not come on
until seven months after the alleged offence, during
which interval, his case became the constant subject of
public discussion.
The trial took place at Warwick, on the 30th March,
1781 : the judge presiding, as already stated, was that
great lawyer, Sir Francis BuUer, a man as able as severe.
Mr. PoweU, the apothecary, the first -witness, proved,
as before, the nature of the draughts sent by him to Sir
Theodosius Boughton; and described him to have been
at the time slightly indisposed, not seriously, as Captain
DoneUan would often infer, and that he gave him no
thing but cooling physic and an embrocation. That
when he reached Lawford Hall, in consequence of an
express informing him of the dangerous state of Sir
Theodosius, the latter had been dead an hour ; that he
met Captain DoneUan in the court-yard, who went
-with him to see the corpse, in which he observed nothing
particular ; that upon asking how the deceased died, the
captain replied in con-vulsions, but put no questions to
him in return ; and that the general intent of the pri
soner seemed to be, to promote an idea that Sir Theo
dosius, who had returned in the afternoon from fishing,
had taken cold.
Mr. PoweU, after proving the innocency of his own
prescription, asserted that the disorder of Sir Theodosius
was slight, and that he gave him nothing but cooling
physic and an embrocation.
This gentleman, though his answers in court seemed
to confine his prescriptions to eooUng physic and an
embrocation, had administered boluses of calomel.
The evidence of Lady Boughton, on the trial, varied
materiaUy from both her depositions before the coroner.

38 THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFOED HALL.
The general substance of her e-ridence, as affecting the
prisoner at the bar, may be reduced to the foUowing
points : ;
That Mrs. DoneUan would inherit 1200^. per annum
by the death of Sir Theodosius.
That when Lady Boughton once talked of quitting
Lawford HaU, the prisoner ad-rised her not to do so, as
her son was in a bad state of health, and she knew not
what might happen, perhaps he might never reach his
majority — a prediction which her ladyship then under
stood to aUude to the danger incurred by Sir Theodosius
in hunting.
That her son was about to receive a week's visit from
a Mr. Fonnereau, and to depart with him on a visit in
return. That one day Captain Donellan, in her hearing, adrised
Sir Theodosius to keep his medicines in his chamber,
which was always open, rather than in an inner room,
which was usually locked.
That Captain Donellan was absent from his wife and
Lady Boughton on the evening when the medicines
arrived, and accounted for his absence by saying, he had
been to see Sir Theodosius fishing, and that he would
have persuaded him to come in, lest he should take cold,
but he could not.
That upon Captain Donellan's coming into the room,
and asking in what manner Sir Theodosius was taken ill,
he was shown the two draughts sent by Mr. Powell, the
last of which had proved so fatal; that he took up one
of them, and said, " Is this it?" and upon being answered
" Yes," poured some water out of a water-bottle into the
phial, shook it, and then emptied it out into some dirty
water, tohich was in a wash-hand hason. That her lady
ship observed to him, that he ought not to do so, but that

THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFORD HALL. 39
he immediately snatched the other bottle, poured water
into it, and shook it, and then put his finger to it and
tasted it, saying, when remonstrated with upon the im
propriety of meddling with the bottles, that he did it to
taste the contents, but that he did not taste the rinsings
of the first phial at aU.
That the prisoner desired Sarah Blundell to take away
the bason, the dirty things, and the bottles, and that he
put the bottles into her hands; that her ladyship directed
the servant to let the things alone, and took them from
her ; but that the prisoner, whUe her back was , turned,
gave the bottles to her again, as the said servant, who is
since dead, informed her ; that prerious to this second
ordfer, he had also directed that the room might be
cleaned, and the clothes thrown into an inner room.
That, during the whole of the foregoing scene. Sir
Theodosius, was not entirely dead.
That, some time afterwards, when her ladyship went
into the parlour. Captain Donellan observed to his wife,
in her presence, that her mother had been pleased to
take notice of his washing the bottles out, and that he
did not know what he should have done, if he had not
thought of saying he put the water into it to put his
finger to it to taste it. That her ladyship turned away
to the window -without reply, upon which he repeated the
foregoing observation, and rang for the coachman to
prove the time of his going out that morning.
That, upon returning from the first examination before
the coroner. Captain, Donellan said to his wife, before
her ladyship, that she (Lady Boughton) had no occasion
to have mentioned his washing the bottle; and that she
should only have answered the questions put to her.
Mary Lynes, the housekeeper, proved, that Captain
DoneUan frequently amused himself with distUling roses;

40 THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFORD HALL.
and Francis Amos, gardener, that he was with Sir Theo
dosius the whole time he was fishing, the evening before
he died, and that Captain Donellan did not come near
them. This witness also proved that Captain Donellan
had brought him a still, with wet lime in it, to clean, a
few days after the young baronet's death.
William Croft, one of the coroner's jury, swore,
that he saw the prisoner pull Lady Boughton by the
sleeve when she first deposed that he had rinsed the
phial. Sir William Wheler proved the tenour of his corre
spondence with Captain DoneUan, relative to opening
the body.
The three professional gentlemen who first attended to
open the body, deposed, that they would have done so, at
all events, had they been informed that poison was sus
pected ; they also described the poisonous • nature of
laurel water, and proved that its effects upon animal
life were similar to those of the draughts given to Sir
Theodosius. They also gave a positive opinion that the
deceased died by a poisonous draught administered by
Lady Boughton, and that the appearance of the body
was such as might foUow the swaUowing of a strong
vegetable poison.
Doctors Ashe and Parsons, celebrated physicians, cor
roborated the opinions of the foregoing -witnesses.
Mr. Bucknill, the surgeon who volunteered to operate
in the first instance, related his first and second visit to
Lawford HaU, to open the body, as already detailed.
Such was the tenour of the evidence for the prosecu
tion, with the addition of the following remarkable
testimony. John Darbyshere deposed that he had been a prisoner
in Warwick gaol for debt ; that Mr. DoneUan and he

THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFORD HALL. 41
had a bed in the same room for a month or five weeks.
He remembered to have had a conversation with him
about Sir Theodosius being poisoned. On his asking
him .whether the body was poisoned or not, he said,
" There was no doubt of it." The -witness said, " For
God's sake. Captain, who could do it ?" He answered,
" It was among themselves, he had no hand in it." The
witness asked, " whom he meant by themselves ?" He
said, " Sir Theodosius himself. Lady Boughton, the
footman, and the apothecary." The witness replied,
" Sure, Sir Theodosius could not do it himself !" He
said, " he did not think he did." The witness answered,
"The apothecary could hardly do it; he would lose a
good patient ; the footman could have not the least
interest in it ; and it was unnatural to suppose that
Lady Boughton would do it." He then said, how
covetous Lady Boughton was; she had received an
anonymous letter, the day after Sir Theodosius's death,
charging her plump with poisoning him ; that she
called him and read it to him, and she trembled ; she
desired he would not let his wife know of that letter,
and asked him if he would give up his right to the per
sonal estate, and to some estates of about 200^. a-year
belonging to the famUy. The conversation was about a
month after the Captain came into the gaol. At other
times he said, " that he was innocent ; it was impossible
he could do a thing that never was in his power."
In his defence, the prisoner presented a written paper,
which was read by the clerk of the court, and went
in substance to. state : — That many false and injurious
reports had been circulated concerning him in various
newspapers in town and country, equally injurious to
his honour, and dangerous to his safety; and that he
had most undeservedly laboured under a load of preju-

42 THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFORD HALL.
dice, which no man, he believed, before him had ever
sustained, or had at least been tried under. He hoped,
however, continued the statement, that the integrity and
justice of the judge and jury would interpose to relieve
him from the effects of the unprovoked aspersions, and
that he should receive from their hands that justification,
which he was conscious he had the most indisputable
right to. When he first married into the family of
Boughton, he did it on the most liberal principles, and
in the most generous manner in the world ; for he
bound himself under restrictions to his wife, that he
should never receive even a life enjoyment in any estate
of hers, either actual or in expectancy. What induce
ment, therefore, could he have for the perpetration of
so cruel and horrid a deed ? He had always lived in the
most perfect harmony with Sir Theodosius Boughton,
and had given many proofs of it, by having interfered
to reconcile his differences, and keep him out of danger.
This was not the conduct of a person who wished to
deprive another of life. The prisoner proceeded to state
some instances of his amicable interposition ; and after
wards went into a description of his conduct with respect
to his supposed unwillingness to suffer the dissection
of the body. As. to the principal fact deposed to by
Lady Boughton — the rinsing of the phials, the prisoner
accounted for it by saying, that when informed by Lady
Boughton of what had happened, he asked her what
she had given to her son, and where the bottle was ;
and, upon its being pointed out to him, took it and held
it up to the light, and finding it apparently clean and
dry, put a tea-spoonful of water into it, rinsed it well,
and poured it into a small white bason then on the table,
in order to taste it with his finger, which he did several
times, and declared it very nauseous. That he also

THE TRAGEDY OF lAWFORD HALL. 43
tasted several more medicines, which stood on the
mantelpiece, on which there were many phials and
gaUipots which smelt very offensively; and, observing
Lady Boughton begin to put the room in order, he told
Sarah Blundell to help her ladyship, and particularly to
remove a chamber-pan ; when she began to take away
the phials, he very innocently handed some to her.
He concluded with a firm denial of guilt, and the ex
pression of a sanguine hope that his character would
be shown in its proper light by the decision of that day,
and would prove his innocence to the world, prejudiced
as it undoubtedly was against him.
Witnesses were then caUed in his behalf, the principal
of whom was John Hunter. The evidence of this cele
brated surgeon was clear and decided. He stated
positively, as his opinion, that Sir Theodosius, from the
symptoms stated, might have died from epilepsy or
apoplexy, and that "the whole appearances, upon the
dissection, explained nothing but putrefaction." To the
question — " Are those appearances you have heard de
scribed such, in your judgment, as are the results of
putrefaction in dead subjects ?" Hunter repUed — ¦
"Entirely." The examination then proceeded thus : —
Counsel. — " Are the symptoms that appeared after the
medicine was given, such as necessarUy conclude that
the person had taken poison ?"
Hunter. — " Certainly not."
Counsel. — "If an apoplexy had come on, would not
the symptoms have been nearly or somewhat similar ?"
Hunter. — " Very much the same."
Again, on his cross-examination, this great surgeon
admitted, that death foUowing the taking of a draught
was suspicious, but he wholly denied that it was neces-

44 THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFOED HALL.
sarily caused by it ; and asserted, that any symptom
and appearance on opening the body of the deceased,
or as described by Lady Boughton, might be furnished
by epUepsy or apoplexy. As the father of Sir Theo
dosius died of the latter disorder, he was asked if it
were likely to attack a thin young man, under a course
of cooling physic ; he answered, certainly not so likely;
but that he had known two instances of deUcate young
women dying of apoplexy.
Judge BuUer summed up, with his mind evidently
impressed with a belief that the prisoner was guilty;
and it is but fair to state, that this experienced and
sagacious la-wyer ever afterwards remained of the same
opinion, that DoneUan committed the crime.
The principal features of the summing up were as fol
lows : his lordship stated that there were two questions for
the decision of the jury. 1st. Whether the deceased died
of poison ? 2ndly. Whether that poison was administered
by the defendant ? As to the first question, whether the
deceased died of poison, they had the evidence of four or
five gentlemen of the faculty, that the deceased did die
of poison ; on the other side, they had but the doubt of
another. As to the second question, whether that
poison was administered by the defendant, a great deal
of evidence had been laid before them, naturaUy of a cir
cumstantial nature, as no man would be weak enough to
commit the act in the presence of other persons, or to
suffer them to see what he did at the time ; and there
fore it could only be made out by circumstances, either
before the committing of the act, — at the time when it
was committed, — or subsequent to it. And a presump
tion, which necessarily arose from circumstances, was
very often more convincing and more satisfactory than
any other kind of evidence, because it was not within the

THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFORD HALL. 45
reach and compass of human abUities to invent a train
of circumstances which should be so connected together
as to amount to a proof of guilt, without affording oppor
tunities of contradicting a great part, if not all of those
circumstances. The circumstantial evidence in the
present case which tended to prove the guilt of the de
fendant, was, 1st, the prisoner's doubts, for some weeks
prior to Sir Theodosius's death, that he would not attain
his majority, as sworn to by Lady Boughton; and,
2ndly, the prisoner's falsehood, on the night prior to the
baronet's death, when he stated to Lady Boughton and
his wife, that he had advised Sir Theodosius not to con
tinue fishing, lest he should catch cold, as sworn to by
a servant, who stated that the captain had not been
near Sir Theodosius, and therefore could not have given
him that advice ; 3rd, his washing the bottles, and send
ing them out of the room, in direct opposition to the
¦wishes of Lady Boughton ; 4th, his extraordinary con
duct towards the gentlemen of the faculty ; 5th, his fre
quent assertions as to the bad health of the deceased, an
assertion which had been frequently contradicted by Mr.
PoweU, the famUy surgeon, and others, during the
investigation of the case ; 6th, his making use of a still,
for a long time before the death of the baronet, and, im
mediately after the baronet's death, it being found wet,
and filled with Ume ; 7th, the prisoner's conduct before
the coroner.
The jury withdrew after the charge was finished, and
having retired for about sis minutes, found the prisoner
guilty, whereupon he received judgment of death.
In passing sentence, the learned judge observed, that
the offence of which the prisoner stood convicted, next
to those which immediately affected the state, the govern
ment, and the constitution of the country, was of the

46 THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFORD HALL.
blackest dye that man could commit. For of all felonies,
murder was the most horrible ; and of all murders,
poisoning was the most detestable. Poisoning was a
secret act against which there were no means of preserv
ing or defending a man's life, and in the case of the
defendant, it was more, if possible, aggravated. The
manner ^ and the place in which the dark deed had been
transacted, and the person on whom it had been com
mitted, enhanced greatly the guilt. It had been com
mitted in a place where suspicion, at the instant, must
have slept ; where the murderer had access as a bosom
friend and brother ; where he saw the rising representa
tive of an ancient family reside in affluence ; but where
ambition led him proudly, but vainly, to imagine that he
might live in splendour and in happiness if his victim
were removed. That the greatness of the offence had
been caused by the greatness of the fortune, was his, the
Judge's, full and firm conviction. So that avarice was
the motive, and hypocrisy at once the instrument and
the veil. That a doubt as to the prisoner's guilt could
not for a moment exist, even in the minds of the most
scrupulous, or of those of the meanest capacity. The
traces of murder were ever pointed out by the hands of
Pro-ridence, therefore aU the care and the foresight of
the most cunning and the coolest offenders could not
guard against some token, some unthought of circum
stance, which should open a door to discovery, that the
aissassin had conceived to have been effectually barred.
In the case of the prisoner, his misrepresentations to Sir
WiUiam Wheler, his endeavours to prevent a fuU inquiry
and discovery of the truth of the case ; the strange con
versations which he had held at different times • and
above all, the circumstance of rinsing out the bottle
left his guUt beyond the shadow of a doubt. This crime

THE TRAGEDY OF LAWFORD HALL. 47
which in the lowliest serf would be truly horrible, was in
the prisoner's case, in his situation in society, and from the
education he had received, rendered of a much deeper
cast, and was one that called for deep contrition — sound,
unfeigned, and substantial repentance. After invoking
the Almighty Being to grant him that contrition and
repentance of mind, the learned Judge concluded by
sentencing the prisoner to undergo the extreme penalty
of the law.
DoneUan suffered, pursuant to his doom, on the 1st
of AprU, 1781, at Warwick; and he died with perfect
resignation. By the decease of Sir Theodosius, the baronetcy re
verted to his cousin and male heir, Edward Boughton,
Esq., who pulled down the mansion of Lawford Hall,
the scene of the fearful event to which the trial refers,
and sold the estates in the counties of Warwick and
Leicester. He never married, and was succeeded in the
title by his brother. Sir Ch3,rles WiUiam Boughton- Rouse,
of Rouse Lench, co. Worcester, whose son and heir is
the present Sir WUliam Edward Rouse Boughton, Bart.,
of Downton Hall, co. Salop.
Mrs. Donellan, who inherited a portion of her brother
Sir Theodosius's property, married for her second hus
band Sir Egerton Leigh, Bart., and by him was mother
of an only daughter, Theodosia, de Malmsburgh, married
in 1811 to John Ward, Esq., who in consequence assumed
the additional surnames of Boughton and Leigh. Lady
Leigh's third husband was the celebrated Barry O'Meara,
author of a " Voice from St. Helena."

48

THE APPARITION OF SIR GEOEGE VILLIEES.

The death of George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham,
is stated to have been announced to a dependent of the
famUy by the apparition of Sir George ViUiers, his
Grace's father. The story runs as follows :
" There was an officer in the king's wardrobe in
Windsor Castle, of a good reputation for honesty and
discretion, and then about the age of fifty years or more.
" This man had in his youth been bred in a school in
the parish where Sir George VUUers, the father of the
Duke, lived, and had been much cherished and obliged
in that season of his age by the said Sir George, whom
afterwards he never saw.
"About six months before the miserable end of the
Duke of Buckingham, about midnight, this man being
in his bed at Windsor, where his office was, and in very
good health, there appeared to him on the side of his
bed, a man of a very venerable aspect, who drew the,
curtains of his bed, and fixing his eyes upon him, asked
him if he knew him.
"The poor man, half dead with fear and apprehen
sion, being asked a second time whether he remembered
him, and having in that time called to his memory the
presence of Sir George ViUiers, and the very clothes he
used to wear, in which at that time he seemed to be
habited, he answered him, ' That he thought him to be

APPARITION OF SIR GEORGE VILLIERS. 49
that person ;' he replied, ' He was in the right, that he
was the same, and that he expected a service from him,
which was — that he should go from him to his son, the
Duke of Buckingham, and tell him, if he did not some
what to ingratiate himself to the people, or at least to
abate the extreme malice which they had against him,
he would be suffered to Hve but a short time.'
"After this discourse, he disappeared, and the poor
man (if he had been at all waking) slept very well tiU
morning, when he beUeved aU this to be a dream, and
considered it no otherwise.
"The next night, or shortly after, the same person
appeared to him again, in the same place, and about the
same time of the night, with an aspect a little more severe
than before, and asked him, ' Whether he had done as he
had required of him ?' and perceiving he had not, gave
him very severe reprehensions, and told him he expected
more compliance from him, and that if he did not perform
his commands, he should enjoy no peace of mind ; but
should always be pursued by him : upon which, he pro
mised to obey. But the next morning, waking out of a
good sleep, though he was exceedingly perplexed with
the Uvely representation of all particulars to his memory,
he was wiUing stiU to persuade himself that he had only
dreamed, and considered that he was a person at such a
distance from the duke, that he knew not how to find
out any admission to his presence, much less had any
hope to be believed in what he should say ; so with great
trouble and unquietness he spent some time in thinking
what he should do ; and in the end resolved to do nothing
in the matter.
"The same person appeared to him the third time,
with a terrible countenance, and bitterly reproaching
him for not performing what he had promised to do.
VOL. IIL E

50 APPARITION OF SIR GEORGE VILLIERS.
The poor man had, by this time, recovered the courage
to tell him, that in truth he had deferred the execution
of his commands, upon considering how difficult a thing
it would be for him to get any access to the duke,
having acquaintance with no person about him ; and if
he should obtain admission to him, he should never be
able to persuade him that he was sent in such a manner ;
that he should at least be thought to be mad, or to be
set on and employed by his own, or the malice of other
men to abuse the duke, and so he should sure to be
undone. " The person replied, as he had done before, that he
should never find rest till he should perform what he
had required, and therefore it were better to despatch it;
that the access to his son was known to be very easy,
and that few men waited long for him; and for the
gaining him credit, he would teU him two or three par
ticulars, which he charged him never to mention to any
person living but to the duke himself; and he should no
sooner hear them but he should believe aU the rest he
should say ; and so, repeating his threats, he left him.
" In the morning, the poor man, more confirmed by
the last appearance, made his journey to London, where
the court then was ; he was very well known to Sir
Ralph Freeman, one of the masters of requests, who
had married a lady that was nearly allied to the duke,
and was himself well received by him : to him this man
went, and though he did not acquaint him with all the
particulars, he said enough to let him know there -was
something extraordinary in it ; and the knowledge he
had ofthe sobriety and discretion of the man, made the
more impression on him : he desired that by his means
he might be brought to the duke in such a place and in
such a manner as should be thought fit, affirming that

APPARITION OF SIR GEORGE -VILLIEES. 5 J
he had much to say to him, and of such a nature as
would require much privacy, and some time and patience
in the hearing.
"Sir Ralph promised that he would speak first with
the duke of him, and then he should understand his
pleasure ; and, accordingly, the first opportunity he did
inform him of the reputation and honesty of the man, and
then what he desired, and all he knew of the matter.
" The duke, according to his usual openness and con
descension, told him, that he was the next day early to
hunt with the king ; that his horses should attend him
at Lambeth Bridge, where he should land by five of the
clock in the morning; and if the man attended him there
at that hour, he would walk and speak with him as long
as should be necessary.
" Sir Ralph carried the man with him the next morn
ing, and presented him to the duke at his landing, who
received him courteously, and walked aside in conference
near an hour ; none but his own servants being at that
hour in that place ; and they and Sir Ralph at such a
distance that they could not hear a word, though the
duke sometimes spoke loud, and with great commotion,
which Sir Ralph the more easily observed and perceived,
because he kept his eyes always fixed upon the duke,
having procured the conference upcn somewhat he knew
there was of extraordinary.
" The man told him, in his return over the water, that
when he mentioned those particulars which were to gain
him credit, (the substance whereof, he said, he durst not
impart unto him,) the duke's colour changed, and he
swore he could come at that knowledge only by the devil,
for that those particular^ were only known to himself
and to one person more, who he was sure would never
speak of it. E 2

62 APPARITION OF SIR GEORGE VILLIERS.
" The duke pursued his purpose of hunting, but was
observed to ride all the morning with great pensiveness
and in deep thoughts, without any delight in the exer
cise he was upon ; and before the morning was spent,
left the field, and alighted at his mother's lodgings in
WhitehaU, with whom he was shut up for the space of
two or three hours ; the noise of their discourse fre
quently reaching the ears of those who attended in the
next room. And when the duke left her, his countenance
appeared full of trouble, with a mixture of anger; a
countenance that was never before observed in him in
any conversation with her, towards whom he had pro
found reverence ; and the countess herself (for though
she was married to a private gentleman, Sir Thomas
Compton, she had been created Countess of Buckingham
shortly after her son had first assumed that title) was, at
the duke's leaving her, found overwhelmed in tears, and
in the highest agony imaginable.
" Whatever there was of all this, it is notorious truth,
that when the news of the duke's murder (which hap
pened within a few months after) was brought to his
mother, she seemed not in the least degree surprised, but
received it as if she had foreseen it; nor did afterwards
express such a degree of sorrow as was expected from
such a mother for the loss of such a son."

53

LA BELLE JENYNS AND SOAME JENYNS.

The famUy of Jenyns, lately represented by the Rev.
George Leonard Jenyns, of Bottisham Hall, Cambridge
shire, has been rich in distinguished names ; Sir John
Jenyns, made a Knight of the Bath at the creation of
Charles, Prince of Wales, served as high sheriff of
Herts, in 1626, and sat in Parliament for St. Alban's.
Of his grand-daughters, Sarah became the celebrated
Duchess of Marlborough, and her sister Frances, " La
Belle Jenyns," Duchess of Tyrconnel. Of the latter,
we have the foUowing account : " The fair, the ele
gant, the fascinating Frances Jenyns moved through
the glittering court in unblenched majesty, robbed the
men of their hearts, the women of their lovers, and
never lost herself. As to hearts and such things, to
bring them to Charles's court was mere work of super
erogation ; it was like trading. to the South Sea Islands
with diamonds and ingots of gold, where glass beads
and tinfoU bear just the same value, and answered just
as well. Her form was that of a young Aurora, newly
descended to the earth; she never moved without dis
covering some new charm, or developing some new
grace. To her external attractions. Miss Jenyns added
what was rarely met with in the court of Charles — all
the witchery of mind, and all the dignity of virtue."
After the death of Tyrconnel, the duchess was per-

54 LA BELLE JENYNS AND SOAME JENYNS.
mitted to erect a house (stUl standing) in King-street,
Dublin, as a nunnery for poor Clares; and in this
obscure retirement, burying all the attractions and
graces which once so adorned the court of England,
she died at the age of ninety-two, and was interred in
St. Patrick's Cathedral, 9th of March, 1790. The
grand-uncle of this incomparable beauty, Thomas Jenyns,
Esq., of Hayes, was great-grandfather of the celebrated
wit, Soame Jenyns, whose character and habits are thus
described : —
" He came into your house at the very moment you
had put upon your card ; he dressed himself, to do
your party honour, in all the colours of the jay ; his
lace, indeed, had long since lost its lustre, but his coat
had faithfully retained its cut since the days when
gentlemen wore embroidered figured velvets, with short
sleeves, boot cuffs, and buckram skirts. As nature
cast him in the exact mould of an ill-made pair of stiff
stays, he followed her so close in the fashion of his
coat, that it was doubted if he did not wear them : be
cause he had a protuberant wen just under his poll, he
wore a wig that did not cover above half his head. His
eyes were protruded like the eyes of the lobster, who
wears them at the end of his feelers, and yet there was
room between one of them and his nose for another wen,
that added nothing to his beauty : yet this good man
was heard very innocently to remark, when Gibbon pub
lished his history, ' that he wondered any body so uoly
could write a book."'
Such was the exterior of a man who ^vas the charm
of the circle, and gave a zest to every company he came
into. His pleasantry was of a sort peculiar to himself:
it harmonized with everything : it was like the bread
to your dinner ; you did not perhaps make it the whole

LA BELLE JENYNS AND SOAME JENYNS. 55
or principal part of the meal, but it was an admirable
and wholesome auxiliary to the other viands. Soame
Jenyns told you no long stories, engrossed not much of
your attention, and was not angry with those that did.
His thoughts were original, and were apt to have a very
whimsical affinity to the paradox in them. He ^vrote
verses upon dancing, and prose upon the origin of evil ;
yet he was a very indifferent metaphysician, and a worse
dancer.

56

A LETTEE
From WiNiFEED Heebeet, Countess of Nithsdale, to
her Sister, the Lady Lucy Heebeet, Abbess of the
English Augustine Nuns at Bruges, containing a
circumstantial account of the escape of her husband,
William Maxwell, fifth Earl of Nithsdale, from the
Tower of London, on Friday, the 23rd of February,
1716,

Deae Sistee, — My lord's escape is now such an old
story, that I have almost forgotten it ; but since you de
sire me to give you a circumstantial account of it, I wUl
endeavour to recal it to my memory, and be as exact in
the narration as I possibly can ; for I owe you too many
obligations to refuse you anything that lies in my power
to do. I think I owe myself the justice to set out with
the motives which influenced me to undertake so hazar
dous an attempt, which I despaired of thoroughly accom
plishing, foreseeing a thousand obstacles, which never
could be surmounted but by the most particular interpo
sition of Divine Providence. I confided in Almighty
God, and trusted that He would not abandon me even
when all human succours failed me.
I first came to London upon hearing that my lord was
committed to the Tower. I was at the same time in
formed that he had expressed the greatest anxiety to see

ESCAPE OF THE EARL OF NITHSDALE. 67
me, haring, as he afterwards told me, nobody to console
him tUl I came. I rode to Newcastle, and from thence
took the stage to York. When I arrived there the snow
was so deep that the stage could not set out for London.
The season was so severe, and the roads so extremely
bad, that the post itself was stopped. However, I took
horses and rode to London, though the snow was gene
raUy above the horses' girths, and arrived safe without
any accident. On my arrival I went immediately to make
what interest I could among those who were in place.
No one gave me any hopes, but they all to the contrary
assured me that, although some of the prisoners were to
be pardoned, yet my lord would certainly not be of the
number. When I inquired into the reason of this dis
tinction, I could obtain no other answer than that they
would not flatter me. But I soon perceived the reasons
which they declined alleging to me. A Roman Catholic
upon the frontiers of Scotland who headed a very con
siderable party — a man whose family had signalized itself
by its loyalty to the royal house of Stuart, and who was
the only support of the CathoUcs against the inveteracy
of the Whigs, who were very numerous in that part of
Scotland — would become an agreeable sacrifice to the
opposite party. They stiU retained a lively remembrance
of his grandfather, who defended his own castle of Caer-
laverock to the last extremity, and surrendered it up only
at the express command of his royal master. Now,
having his grandson in their power, they were deter
mined not to let him escape from their hands. Upon
this I formed the resolution to attempt his escape, but
opened my intention to nobody but my dear Evans. In
order to concert measures, I strongly solicited to be
permitted to see my lord, which they refused to grant
me, urdess I would remain confined with him in the

58 ESCAPE OF THE
Tower. This I would not submit to, and alleged for
excuse, that my health would not permit me to undergo
the confinement. The real reason for my refusal was,
not to put it out of my power to accomplish my designs;
however, by bribing the guards, I often contrived to see
my lord, till the day upon which the prisoners were con
demned. After that, for the last week we were allowed
to see and take our leave of them. By the assistance of
Evans, I had prepared everything necessary to disguise
my lord, but had the utmost difficulty to prevail upon
him to make use of them. However, I at length suc
ceeded, by the help of Almighty God. On the 22nd of
February, whicli fell on a Thursday, our general petition
was presented to the House of Lords, the purport of
which was to interest the lords to intercede with his
Majesty to pardon the prisoners. We were, however,
disappointed — the day before the petition was to be pre
sented, the Duke of St. Alban's, who had promised my
Lady Derwentwater to present it, when it came to the
point, failed in his word. However, as she was the only
English countess concerned, it was incumbent on him
to have it presented. We had but one day left before
the execution, and the duke still promised to present
the petition, but for fear he should fail, I engaged the
Duke of Montrose, to secure its being doue by one or
the other. I then went in company with most of the
ladies of quality then in town to solicit the interest of
the lords as they were going to the house. They all
behaved to me with great civility, but particularly the
Earl of Pembroke, who, though he desired me not to
speak to him, yet he promised to employ his interest in
my favour, and honourably kept his word, for he spoke
very strongly in our behalf The subject of the debate
vvas, whether the king had the power to pardon those

EARL OF NITHSDALE. 59
who had been condemned by Parliament; and it was
chiefly owing to Lord Pembroke's speech that it was
carried in the affirmative. However, one of the lords
stood up, and said that the House could only intercede
for those of the prisoners who should approve themselves
worthy of their intercession, but not for all of them in
discriminately. This salvo quite blasted all my hopes ;
for I was assured that it was aimed at the exclusion of
those who should refuse to subscribe to the petition,
which was a thing I knew my lord would never submit
to ; nor, in fact, could I wish to preserve his life on those
terms. As the motion had passed generally, I thought
I could draw from it some advantage in favour of my
design. Accordingly, I immediately left the House of
Lords, and hastened to the Tower, where, affecting an
air of joy and satisfaction, I told the guards I passed by
that I came to bring joyful tidings to the prisoners.
I desired them to lay aside their fears, for the petition
had passed the House in their favour. I then gave them
some money to drink to the Lords and his Majesty,
though it was but trifling; for I thought if I were too
liberal on the occasion, they might suspect my designs,
and that giring them something would gain their good
wUl and services for the next day, which was the eve of
execution. The next morning I could not go to the
Tower, having so many things upon my hands to put in
readiness ; but in the evening, when all was ready, I
sent for Mrs. Mills, with whom I lodged, and acquainted
her with my design of attempting my lord's escape, as
there was no prospect of his being pardoned, and that
this was the last night before the execution. I told her
that I had everything in readiness, and that I trusted
she would not refuse to accompany me, that my lord
might pass for her. I pressed her to come immediately.

60 ESCAPE OF THE
as we had no time to lose. At the same time I sent to
Mrs. Morgan, then usually known by the name of Hilton,
to whose acquaintance my dear Evans had introduced
me, which I look upon as a very singular happiness.
I immediately communicated my resolutions to her. She
was of a very tall slender make, so I begged her to put
under her own riding-hood one that I had prepared for
Mrs. Mills, as she was to lend hers to my lord, that in
coming out he might be taken for her. Mrs. MiUs was
then with child, so that she was not only of the same
height, but nearly of the same size as my lord. When
we were in the, coach, I never ceased talking, that they
might have no leisure to reflect. Their sm-prise and
astonishment, when I first opened my design to them,
had made them consent, without even thinking of the
consequences. ^ On our arrival at the Tower, the first I
introduced was Mrs. Morgan, (for I was only allowed to
take in one at a time ;) she brought in the clothes that
were to serve Mrs. Mills, when she left her own behind
her. When Mrs. Morgan had taken off what she had
brought for my purpose, I conducted her back to the
staircase, and, in going, I begged her to send me my
maid to dress me ; that I was afraid of beiijg too late
to present my last petition that night, if she did not
come immediately. I despatched her safe, and went
partly down stairs to meet Mrs. Mills, who had the pre
caution to hold her handkerchief to her face, as is
natural for a woman to do when she is going to take her
last farewell of a friend on the eve of his execution. I
had, indeed, desired her to do so, that my lord might go
out in the same manner. Her eyebrows were rather in
clined to be sandy, my lord's were very dark and very
thick; however, I had prepared some paint of the
colour of hers to disguise his with ; I also brought an

EARL OF NITHSDALK 61
artificial head-dress of the same coloured hair as hers;
and I painted his face with white, and his cheeks with
rouge, to hide his long beard, which he had not time to
shave. All this provision I had before left in the Tower.
The poor guards, whom my slight liberality the day
before had endeared me to, let me go quietly out with
my companion, and were not so strictly on the watch as
they usually had been, and the more so, that they were
persuaded, from what I had told them the day before,
that the prisoners wotdd obtain their pardon. I made
Mrs. MiUs take off her own hood, and put on that
which I had brought for her ; I then took her by the
hand, and led her out of my lord's chamber, and in
passing through the next room, in which were several
people, -with aU the concern imaginable, I said, "My
dear Mrs. Catherine, go in all haste, and send me my
waiting-maid ; she cannot certainly refiect how late it is !
I am to present my petition to-night, and if I let slip
this opportunity I am undone, for to-morrow will be
too late ; hasten her as much as possible, for I shaU be
on thorns tUl she comes." Everybody in the room, who
were chiefly the guards' -wives and daughters, seemed to
compassionate me exceedingly, and the sentinel officiously
opened me the door. When I had seen her safe out, I
returned to my lord, and finished dressing him. I had
taken care that Mrs. MUls did not go out crying, as she
came in, that my lord might better pass for the lady who
came in crying and affiicted, and the more so, because he
had the same dress which she wore. When I had almost
finished dressing my lord in aU my petticoats except
one, I perceived it was growing dark, and was afraid
that the light of the candles might betray us, so I
resolved to set off. I went out leading him by the hand,
whilst he held his handkerchief to his eyes. I spoke to

62 ESCAPE OF THE
him in the most piteous and afflicted tone of voice,
bewailing bitterly the negligence of Evans, who had
ruined me by her delay. Then said I, " My dear Mrs.
Betty, for the love of God, run quickly and bring her
with you ; you know my lodging, and if ever you made
despatch in your life, do it at present ; I am almost dis
tracted with this disappointment." The guards opened
the dtior, and I went down stairs with him, still conjuring
him to make all possible despatch. As soon as he had
cleared the door I made him walk before me, for fear the
sentinel should take notice of his walk ; but I still con
tinued to press him to make all the despatch he possibly
could. At the bottom of the stairs I met my dear Evans,
into whose hands I confided him. I had before engaged
Mr. Mills to be in readiness before the Tower, to conduct
him to some place of safety, in case we succeeded. He
looked upon the affair as so very improbable to succeed,
that his astonishment when he saw us threw him into
such a consternation, that he was almost out of himself;
which Evans perceiving, with the greatest presence of
mind, without telling him anything lest he should mis
trust them, conducted him to some of her own friends,
on whom she could rely, and so secured him, without
which we should have been undone. When she had
conducted him and left him with them, she returned to
Mr. Mills, who by this time had recovered himself from
his astonishment. They went home together, and havino*
found a place of security, they conducted him to it.
In the meantime, as I had pretended to have sent the
young lady on a message, I was obliged to return up
stairs, and go back to my lord's room in the same feigned
anxiety of being too late, so that everybody seemed sin
cerely to sympathize in my distress. When I was in the
room, I talked as if he had been really present • I

EARL OF NITHSDALE. 63
answered to my own questions in my lord's voice as nearly
as I could imitate it ; I walked up and down as if we were
conversing together, till I thought they had time enough
thoroughly to clear themselves of the guards. I then
thought proper to make off also. I opened the door,
and stood half in it, that those in the outward chamber
might hear what I said, but held it so close that they
could not look in. I bade my lord formal farewell for
the night, and added, that something more than usual
must have happened to make Evans negligent on this
important occasion, who had always been so punctual in
the smallest trifies; that I saw no other remedy but to
go in person ; that if the Tower was still open, when I
had finished my business, I would return that night;
but that he might be assured I would be with him as
early in the morning as I could gain admittance into the
Tower, and I flattered myself I should bring more
favourable news. Then, before I shut the door, I pulled
through the string of the latch, so that it could only be
opened in the inside. I then shut it with some degree
of force, that I might be sure of its being well shut. I
said to the servant as I passed by (who was ignorant of
the whole transaction) that he need not carry in candles
to his master till my lord sent for them, as he desired to
finish some prayers first. I went down stairs and caUed
a coach, as there were several on the stand, and drove
home to my own lodgings, where poor Mr. Mackenzie
had been waiting to carry the petition in case my attempt
had failed. I told him there was no need of any petition,
as my lord was safe out of the Tower, and out of the
hands of his enemies, as I supposed, but that I did not
know where he was. I discharged the coach, and sent
for a sedan chair, and went to the Duchess of Buccleuch,
who expected me about that time, as I had begged of

64 ESCAPE OF THE
her to present the petition for me, haring taken my pre
caution against all events. I asked if she was at home,
and they answered me that she expected me, and had
another duchess with her. I refused to go up stairs, as
she had company with her, and I was not in a condition
to see any other company. I begged to be shown into
a chamber below stairs, and that they would have the
goodness to send her grace's maid to me, having some
thing to say to her. I had discharged the chair, lest I
might be pursued and watched. When the maid came
in I desired her to present my most humble respects to
her grace, who they told me had company with her, and
to acquaint her that this was my only reason for not
coming up stairs. I also charged her with my sincerest
thanks for her kind offer to accompany me when I went
to present my petition. I added, that she might spare
herself any further trouble, as it was judged more
advisable to present one general petition in the name of
aU; however, that I would never be unmindful of my
particular obligation to her grace, and which I should
return very soon to acknowledge in person. I then
desired one of the servants to caU a chair, and I went to
the Duchess of Montrose, who had always borne a part
in my distresses. When I arrived, she left her company
to deny herself, not being desirous to see me under the
affliction which she judged me to be in. By mistake,
however, I was admitted, so there was no remedy. She
came to me, and as my heart was in an ecstasy of joy, I
expressed it in my countenance. As she entered the
room I ran up to her, in the transport of my joy; she
appeared to be extremely shocked and frightened, and
has since confessed to me that she apprehended my
troubles had thrown me out of myself, till I communi
cated my happiness to her. She then advised me to

EARL OF NITHSDALE. 65
return, for that the king was highly displeased, and even
enraged, at the petition I had presented to him, and had
complained of it severely. I sent for another chair, for
I always discharged them immediately, that I might not
be pursued. Her grace said she would go to Court, and
see how the news of my lord's escape was received.
When the news was brought to the king he flew into an
excessive passion, and said he was betrayed, for it could
not be done without a confederacy. He instantly des
patched two persons to the Tower, to see that the other
prisoners were well secured, lest they should follow the
example. Some threw the blame on me, some upon
another. The duchess was the only one at Court that
knew it. When I left the duchess I went to a house
that Evans had found out for me, and where she pro
mised to acquaint me where my lord was. She got
thither some few minutes after me, and told me that
when she had seen him secure she went in search of
Mr. MUls, who by this time had recovered himself form
his astonishment, that he had returned to his house,
where she found him, and that he had removed my lord
from the first place, where she had desired him to wait,
to the house of a poor woman directly opposite the
guard-house. She had but one small room^ up one pair
of stairs, and a very small bed in it. We thrfew our
selves on the bed, that we might not be heard walking
up and down. She left us a bottle of wine and some
bread, and Mrs. Mills brought us some more in her
pockets the next day. We subsisted on this provision
from Thursday tUl Saturday night, when Mr. Mills came
and conducted my lord to the Venetian ambassador's.
We did not communicate the affair to his excellency, but
one of his servants concealed him in his own room till
Wednesday, on which day the ambassador's coach and
VOL. IIL F

66 ESCAPE OF THE
six was to go down to Dover to meet his brother. My
lord put on a livery, and went down in the retinue,
without the least suspicion, to Dover; where Mr. Michel
(which was the name of the ambassador's servant) hired
a small vessel, and immediately set sail for Calais. The
passage was so remarkably short, that the captain threw
out this reflection, that the wind could not have served
better if his passengers had been flying for their lives,
little thinking it to be really the case. Mr. Michel
might have easily returned, without suspicion of haring
been concerned in my lord's escape ; but my lord seemed
inclined to have him with him, which he did, and he has
at present a good place under our young master.
This is an exact and as full an account of this affair,
and of the persons concerned in it, as I could possibly
give you, to the best of memory, and you may rely upon
the truth of it. For my part, I absconded to the house
of a very honest man in Drury lane, where I remained
till I was assured of my lord's safe arrival on the Conti
nent. I then wrote to the Duchess of Buccleuch (every
body thought till then that I was gone off with my lord),
to tell her I understood I was suspected of haring con
trived my lord's escape, as was very natural to suppose ;
that if I could have been happy enough to have done it,
I should be flattered to have the merit of it attributed
to me, but that a bare suspicion, without proof, would
never be a sufficient ground for my being punished for
a supposed offence, though it might be a motive suffi
cient for me to provide a place of security; so I en
treated her to procure leave for me to go about my busi
ness. So far from granting my request, they were re
solved to secure me if possible. After several debates
Mr. Solicitor-General, who was an utter strano-er to me
had the humanity to say, that since I showed such

EARL OF NITHSDALE. 67
respect to Government as not to appear in public, it
would be cruel to make any search after me. Upon which
it was decided that no further search should be made,
if I remained concealed; but that if I appeared either
in England or in Scotland, I should be secured. But this
was not sufficient for me, unless I could submit to see
my son exposed to beggary. My lord sent for me up
to town in such haste, that I had not time to settle any
thing before I left Scotland. I had in my hands all the
family papers, and dared trust them to nobody. My
house might have been searched without warning, con
sequently they were far from being secure there. In
this distress I had the precaution to bury them in the
ground, and nobody but myself aud the gardener knew
where they were. I did the same with other things of
value. The event proved that I had acted prudently,
for after my departure they searched the house, and
God only knows what might have transpired from those
papers ! All these circumstances rendered my presence
absolutely necessary, otherwise they might have been
lost, for though they retained the highest preservation
after one very severe winter, for when I took them up
they were as dry as if they came from the fireside, yet,
they could not possibly have remained so much longer
without prejudice. In short, as I had once exposed my
life for the safety of the father, I could not do less than
hazard it once more for the fortune of the son. I had
never travelled on horseback but from York to London,
as I told you, but the difficulties did not arise now from
the severity of the season, but the fear of being disco
vered and arrested. To avoid this, I bought three
saddle horses, and set off with my dear Evans, and a
very trusty servant, whom I brought with me out of
Scotland. We put up at all the smaUest inns on the
f2

68 ESCAPE OF THE
road that could take in a few horses, and where I
thought I was not known, for I was thoroughly known
at all the considerable inns on the northern road. Thus
I arrived safe at Traquhair, where I thought myself
secure, for the Lieutenant of the county being a friend
of my lord's, would not permit any search to be made
after me without sending me previous notice to abscond.
Here I had the assurance to rest myself for two whole
days, pretending that I was going to my own house
with leave from Government. I sent no notice to my
house, that the magistrates of Dumfries might not make
too narrow inquiries about me. So they were ignorant
of my arrival in the country till I was at home, where I
still feigned to have permission to remain. To carry
on the deceit the better, I sent to all my neighbours
and invited them to come to my house. I took up my
papers at night and sent them off to Traquhair. It
was a particular stroke of Providence that I made the
despatch I did, for they soon suspected me, and by a
very favourable accident, one of them was overheard to
say to. the magistrates of Dumfries, that the next day
they would insist on seeing my leave from Government.
This was bruited about, and when I was told of it, I
expressed my surprise that .they should be so backward
in coming to pay their respects ; but, said I, " better
late than never — be sure to tell them that they shall be
welcome whenever they choose to come." This was
after dinner, but I lost no time to put everything in
readiness with all possible secrecy ; and the next morn
ing, before day-break, I set off again for London with
the same attendants, and as before put up at the
smallest inns, and arrived safe once more.
On my arrival, the report was still fresh of my journey
into Scotland, in defiance of their prohibition.
A lady informed me, that the king was extremely

EARL OF NITHSDALE. 69
incensed at the news. That he had issued orders to have
me arrested ; adding, that I did whatever I pleased, in
despite of all his designs, and that I had given him
more trouble and anxiety than any other woman in
Europe. For which reason, I kept myself as closely
concealed as possible, tUl the heat of these reports had
abated. In the meanwhile, I took the opinion of a very
famous lawyer, who was a man of the strictest probity.
He advised me to go off as soon as they had ceased
searching after me. I foUowed his advice, and, about
a fortnight after, escaped without any accident whatever.
The reason he aUeged for his opinion was this — that
although, in other circumstances, a wife cannot be pro
secuted for saving her husband, yet, in cases of high
treason, according to the rigour of the law, the head
of the wife is responsible for that of the husband ; and,
as the king was so highly incensed, there could be no
answering for the consequences, and he therefore
entreated me to leave the kingdom. The king's resent
ment was greatly increased by the petition which I
presented, contrary to his express orders. But my lord
was very anxious that a petition might be presented,
hoping that it would he at least serviceable to me. I
was, in my own mind, convinced that it would be to no
purpose; but, as I wished to please my lord, I desired
him to have it drawn up, and I undertook to make it
come to the king's hand, notwithstanding all the pre
cautions he had taken to avoid it. So, the first day that
I heard the king was to go to the drawing-room, I
dressed myself in black, as if I was in mourning.
I sent for Mrs. Morgan (the same who accompanied
me to the Tower), because, as I did not know his
majesty personaUy, I might have mistaken some other
person for him. She stood by me, and told me when
I had also another lady with me, and

70 ESCAPE OF THE
we three remained in a room between the king's apart
ments and the drawing-room ; so that he was obliged to
go through it, and as there were three windows in it, we
sat in the middle one, that I might have time enough
to meet him before he could pass. I threw myself at
his feet, and told him, in French, that I was the unfor
tunate Countess of Nithsdale, that he might not pretend
to be ignorant of my person. But perceiving that he
wanted to go off, without receiving my petition, I caught
hold of the skirts of his coat, that he might stop and
hear me. He endeavoured to escape out of my hands,
but I kept such strong hold that he dragged me from
the middle of the room to the door of the drawing-room.
At last one of the blue-ribands, who attended his
majesty, took me round the waist, whilst another wrested
the coat out of my hands. The petition, which I had
endeavoured to thrlist into his pocket, fell down in the
scuffle, and I almost fainted through grief and disap
pointment. One of the gentlemen in waiting took the
petition, and as I knew that it ought to have been given
to the lord of the bed-chamber who was then in waiting,
I wrote to him, and entreated him to do me the favour
to read the petition which I had had the honour to
present to his majesty.
Fortunately for me it happened to be my Lord Dorset,
with whom Mrs. Morgan was very intimate. Accordingly,
she went into the drawing-room, and presented hirn a
letter, which he received very graciously. He could not
read it then, as he was at cards with the prince, but as
soon as the game was over, he read it; and behaved, as
I afterwards learnt, with the greatest zeal for my interest,
and was seconded by the Duke of Montrose, who had
seen me in the ante-chamber and wanted to speak to me
but I made him a sign not to come near me, lest his
acquaintance should thwart my designs. But it became

EARL OF NITHSDALE. 71
the topic of their conversation the rest of the evening,
and the harshness with which I had been treated soon
spread abroad — not much to the honour of the king.
Many people reflected that they had themselves presented
petitions, and that he had never rejected any, even from
the most indigent objects. But this behaviour to a person
of quality was a strong instance of brutality. These
reflections, which circulated about, raised the king to the
highest pitch of hatred and indignation against my
person, as he has since allowed; for when the ladies,
whose husbands had been concerned in this affair, pre
sented their petitions for dower, mine was presented
among the rest, but the king said, I was not entitled to
the same privilege, and in fact I was excluded; and it is
remarkable, that he would never suffer my name to be
mentioned. For these reasons everybody judged it
prudent for me to leave the kingdom ; for so long as this
hatred of the king subsisted I could not be safe, and as
it was not probable that I could escape falling into his
hands, I accordingly went.
This is the full narrative of what you desired, and of
all the transactions which passed relative to this affair.
Nobody besides yourself could have obtained it from
me; but the obligations I owe you throw me under the
necessity of refusing you nothing that is in my power to
do. As this is for yourself alone, your indulgence will
excuse all the faults which must occur in this long
recital. The truth you may, however, depend upon ;
attend to that, and overlook all deficiencies. My lord
desires you to be assured of his sincere friendship.
I am, with strongest attachment.
My dear sister,
Yours most affectionately,
Winifred Nithsdale.

72

THE ESCAPE OF LAVALETTE.

Who does not feel the truth of Mungo Park's testi
mony to the innate benevolence, the innate excellence
of the female character? Amid aU his misery and suffer
ing in the savage and inhospitable region he explored.
Park assures us, that in no one instance did he seek
food or drink from woman, and was refused; though
man seemed everywhere his foe, the female breast, open
to pity and commiseration, responded to his supplication.
But it is not alone in the gentler virtues of charity that
woman has gained pre-eminence. In the devotion of
self to the preservation of others, where affection was
the guiding motive, how many heroic instances are
there not on record! We have just given Lady Niths-
dale's beautiful description of her husband's deliverance,
and we are now about to add a simUar proof of woman's
love and woman's devotion, in the memorable escape of
General Lavalette, aided, as it was, by the noble exertions
of a distinguished member of the British aristocracy, the
late Earl of Donoughmore, and of a gallant officer of
the British army. Sir Robert Wilson.
In 1815, Antony Marie Chamant, Count de Lavalette
had been condemned to suffer death, for having taken
the Directorship of the Post Office on Napoleon's landing
from Elba, and for availing himself of the powers of his
office to stop the proclamations of Louis XVIIL, and to

THE ESCAPE OP LAVALETTE. 73
accelerate the bulletins of his friend, the Imperial
invader. The eve of the day of Lavalette's intended
execution, the 24th of December, had already arrived ;
and all hope of saving him had been abandoned, except
by one heroic woman alone. That woman was his wife,
the niece of the Empress Josephine's first husband,
Emilia Louisa de Beauharnais, daughter and co-heiress
of Alexander, last Marquis of Beauharnais, who in 1802,
was married to the Count de Lavalette, and who, as
Madame Lavalette, has earned a name of imperishable
repute. Madame Lavalette's health had been very seriously
impaired by her previous sufferings; and for several
weeks preceding, in order to avoid the movement of
her carriage, she had used a sedan-chair. About half-
past three, on the afternoon of the 23rd, she arrived
at the Conciergerie, seated, as usual, in this chair, and
clothed in a furred riding-coat of red merino, -with a
large black hat and feathers on her head. She was
accompanied by her daughter, a young lady of about
twelve years of age, and an elderly woman attached to
M. Lavalette's service, of the name of Dutoit. The chair
was ordered to wait for her at the gate.
At five o'clock, Jacques Eberle, one of the wicket-
keepers of the Conciergerie, who had been specially
appointed by the keeper of the prison to the guard and
service of Lavalette, took his dinner to him, of which
Madame and MademoiseUe Lavalette, and the widow
Dutoit, partook.
After diimer, which lasted an hour, Eberle served up
coffee, and left Lavalette's apartment, with orders not to
return till he was rung for.
Towards seven o'clock, the bell rang. Roquette, the
gaoler, was at that moment near the fire-place of the

74 THE ESCAPE OF LAVALETTE.
hall, with Eberle, to whom he immediately gave orders'
to go into Lavalette's chamber. Roquette heard Eberle
open the door which led to that chamber, and imme
diately after, he saw three persons, dressed in female
attire, advance, who were followed by Eberle. The
person whom he took to be Madame Lavalette, was
attired in a dress exactly the same as she was,' in every
particular ; and, to all outward appearance, no one could
have imagined but that they saw that lady herself passing
before them. A white handkerchief covered the face of
this person, who seemed to be sobbing heavily, while
Mademoiselle Lavalette, who walked by the side, uttered
the most lamentable cries. Everything presented the
spectacle of a family given up to the feelings of a last
adieu. The keeper, melted and deceived by the disguise
and scanty light of two lamps, had not the power, as he
afterwards said, to take away the handkerchief which
concealed the features of the principal individual in the
group ; and instead of performing his duty, presented
his hand to the person (as he had been used to do to
Madame Lavalette), whom he conducted, along with
the two other persons, to the last wicket. Eberle then
stepped forward, and ran to call Madame Lavalette's
chair. It came instantly; the feigned Madame Lavalette
stepped into it, and was slowly carried forward, followed
by Mademoiselle Lavalette and the widow Dutoit.
When they had reached the Quai des Orfevres, they
stopped; Lavalette came out of the chair, and in an
instant disappeared.
Soon after, the keeper, Roquette, entered the chamber
of Lavalette, where he saw no one, but heard some one
stirring behind the screen, which formed part of the fur
niture of the apartment. He concluded it was Lavalette,
and withdrew without speaking. After a few minutes.

THE ESCAPE OF LAVALETTE. 7o
he returned a second time, and called; no one answered.
He began to fear some mischief, advanced behind the
screen, and there saw Madame Lavalette. "II est
parti !" she tremulously ejaculated. " Ah, madame I"
exclaimed Roquette, "you have deceived me." He
wished to run out to give the alarm, but Madame L.
caught hold of him by the coat-sleeve. " Stay, Monsieur
Roquette — stay !" " No, Madame ! — this is not to be
borne." A struggle ensued, in which the coat was torn;
but Roquette at last forced himself away, and gave the
alarm. Lavalette, after having escaped from the Conciergerie,
was still far from being out of danger. He had to get
out of Paris — out of France, and a more difficult achieve
ment it is difficult to conceive ; for, the moment his
escape was discovered, nothing could exceed the activity
with which he was sought after by the agents of govern
ment. Bills, describing his person with the greatest
exactness, were quickly distributed all over France ; and
there was not a postmaster, postilion, or gen-d'arme,
on any of the roads, who had not one of them in his
pocket. Lavalette contrived to baffle immediate pursuit,
by taking refuge and lying concealed in rather an extra
ordinary hiding-place — the house of the Minister of
Foreign Affairs. Here, M. de Brisson, the cashier, and
his -wife, received Lavelette, and afforded him a shelter
where no one could suspect him to be. Yet, while he
remained in Paris, he endangered the lives of these
generous friends as well as his own : he at last found
the means of perfecting his escape, not amongst those
cf his countrymen whom he knew to be attached to the
cause for which he was persecuted, nor even to those
whom affection or gratitude bound to his family, but
among those strangers, whose presence, as conquerors, on

76 THE -ESCAPE OF LAVALETTE.
his native soU, he had so much cause- to lament. He
had heard, that to a truly British heart, the pleadings
of humanity were never made in vain, and he was now
to make the experiment, in his own person, of the truth
of the eulogium. On the 2nd or 3rd of January, he
sent a person with an unsigned letter to Mr. Michael
Bruce, an English gentleman resident at Paris; in
which, after extolling the goodness of his heart, the
writer said, he was induced, by the confidence which he
inspired, to disclose to him a great secret — that Lava
lette was still in Paris ; adding, that he (Bruce) alone
could save him, aud requesting him to send a letter to a
certain place, stating whether he would embark in the
generous design. Mr. Bruce was touched with com
miseration ; he spoke on this subject to two other
countrymen. Sir Robert Wilson and Captain Hutchin
son; and the result was, that the whole three joined in
a determination to afford the unfortunate fugitive every
assistance in their power to complete his escape. The
scheme which they devised for the purpose resulted in
perfect success. Lavalette was conveyed in safety into
a neutral territory, where he lived in quiet obscurity,
until the fury of the party persecution which exiled him
having exhausted itself, he was restored, by a free pardon,
to his country, hia family, and his friends.
Shortly after Lavalette's escape from the French soU,
Sir Robert Wilson, in a letter written to the late Earl
Grey, recounted the full details, explaining the part
himself, Mr. Bruce, and Captain J. Hely Hutchinson,
had taken ; but this communication, being intercepted
by the police, occasioned the arrest of the three gen
tlemen. Sir Charles Stuart, the British ambassador, being in
formed of this circumstance, wrote a note on the same

THE ESCAPE OF LAVALETTE. 77
day, January 13th, to the Duke de Richelieu, intimating
that as he had repeatedly manifested his determination
to extend his protection to no person whose conduct
endangered the safety of that government, he should
have been fiattered by a communication of the motives
for such a proceeding against the individuals in question.
The duke, on the same day, not as an answer, wrote a
note to Sir Charles Stuart, enclosing a letter from the
minister of police, which stated that Sir Robert Wilson,
Mr. Bruce, and another person, were accused of having
favoured the escape of Lavalette; adding, that their
trial was about to commence, but that they would fully
enjoy all the facUities afforded by the French laws for
their justification.
On that and four subsequent days Sir Robert Wilson
was submitted to interrogatories from commissioners of
the police, which he refused to answer, and on the 17th
he was removed to the prison of La Force. Several
questions were also put to Messrs. Bruce and Hutchin
son, who were removed to the same prison. In the
subsequent examinations, the share taken by these gen
tlemen in the escape of Lavalette from France was freely
admitted, as indeed it was rendered undeniable by Sir
Robert Wilson's intercepted letter to Lord Grey: but
the charge of conspiring against the French government,
which was deduced from expressions in this letter and
other seized papers, was strenuously disavowed and
refuted. The Assize Court sat on April 22nd, when the trial
of the three English prisoners, which attracted a very
numerous auditory, commenced at eleven o'clock. The
president was M. Romain de Seze, and M. Hua, advo
cate-general, acted as public prosecutor. The advocate
for the prisoners was M. Dupin.

/8 THE ESCAPE OF LAVALETTE.
Sir Robert Wilson appeared in grand uniform, deco
rated with seven or eight orders of different European
states, one of which was the cordon of the Russian order
of St. Anne. Captain Hutchinson wore the uniform of
his military rank. When the accused were called upon
to give their names and qualities, Mr. Bruce said with
energy, I am an English citizen. The president ob
served, that though relying on their correct knowledge
of the French language, they did not ask for an inter
preter, yet the law of France willed that the accused
should not be deprived of any means of facilitating their
justification, even when unclaimed ; M. Robert was ac
cordingly named and sworn to that office.
Mr. Bruce, speaking in French, said, that although
he and his countrymen had submitted to the law of
France, they had not lost the privilege of invoking the
law of nations. Its principle was reciprocity; and as
in England French culprits enjoyed the right of de
manding a jury composed of half foreigners, it appeared
to them that the same right or favour could not be
refused to them in France. The decision of several
eminent lawyers of their own nation had strengthened
them in this opinion; but the justice which had been,
rendered them by the Chamber of Accusation, in acquiti
ting them of one charge, had determined them to
renounce this right, and they abandoned themselves,
without reserve to a jury entirely composed of French
men. That, however, no precedent might be drawn
from their case against such of their countrymen who
might hereafter be in the same situation, they had
made special declaration of the purpose of their renun
ciation. M. Dupin moving the court that this declaration
might be entered on the record, the advocate-general.

THE ESCAPE OF LAVALETTE. 79
expressed his astonishment at a claim in France, for an
offence committed in France, of the privileges of a
foreign legislature; and opposed entering the declara
tion. After some argument on the subject, the court
pronounced the foUowing decision : — " Because every
offence committed in a territory is an object of juris
diction, and because the exception demanded by the
prisoners is not allowed by any construction of the
criminal code of France, the court declares that there
is no ground for recording, at the request of the English
prisoners, the declaration now made by them; the
court, therefore, orders the trial to proceed."
The arret of the act of accusation, drawn up by the
procureur-general, was then read, which took up more
than two hours. The advocate-general briefly reca
pitulated the facts in the indictment, distinguishing
them as they applied to the different prisoners; and
remarked, that the chamber had remitted to the three
Englishmen the charge of having conspired against the
legitimate government of France. After the interro
gatories of some of the other prisoners, the president
addressed himself to Mr. Bruce. To the question,
whether it was not to him that the first overture was
made of the plan of transporting Lavalette out of Prance,
he replied, " If possible, I would have efiected his escape
.alone ; for I could not repulse a man who had put his
life into my hands. I, however, obtained his consent
to confide his secret to one of my friends. I spoke to
one friend, who gave me a charge to another. I will
not name these friends ; they will name themselves."
Captain Hutchinson declared it was himself who re
ceived Lavalette at his house previously to his escape,
and escorted him on horseback ; and Sir R. Wilson took
upon himself the whole measures adopted for his escape.

80 THE ESCAPE OF LAVALETTE.
and acknowledged all the facts related in the act of
accusation. This open confession rendered superfluous, with re
spect to them, the testimony of any witnesses; the
appearance of Madame Lavalette was, however, too in
teresting to be passed over. At her entrance, a general
murmur of feeling or curiosity was heard, and the three
gentlemen saluted her with a profound bow. Over
powered by her emotions, she was scarcely able to arti
culate ; at length, being told by the president that she
was summoned only on account of some of the accused,
who had invoked her testimony, she said, "I declare
that the persons who have called me contributed in no
respect to the escape of M. Lavalette (meaning from
prison) ; no one was in my confidence ; I alone did- the
whole." Being desired to say whether she had ever seen
or known the English gentlemen, she looked at them
for a moment, and declared that she had never known
nor before seen them.
On a subsequent audience, April 24th, M, Dupin
opened his defence, and, coming to the principal legal
point of the case, he reduced it to the two propo
sitions : —
1. There was no act of complicity between the accused
persons and the principal culprit.
2. The fact imputed to them cannot be considered as
a crime, nor as an offence.
As the arguments employed to support them were
little more than legal sophisms, it is unnecessary to
recite them. The pleading concluded with a particular
recommendation of the accused to the court, as foreigners
and Englishmen.
The proceedings having closed. Sir Robert WUson
rose, and with dignified confidence delivered a speech.

b

THE ESCAPE OF LAVALETTE. 81
Having acknowledged that he had been interested in
the fate of Lavalette, on political grounds, he declared
that such considerations had a very inferior influence on
his determination. " The appeal," said he, " made to our
humanity, to our personal character, and to our national
generosity — the responsibility thrown upon us of in
stantly deciding on the life or death of an unfortunate
man ; and, above all, of an unfortunate foreigner- — this
appeal was imperative, and did not permit us to calcu
late his other claims to our good will. At its voice we
should have done as much for an obscure, unknown indi
vidual, or even for an enemy who had fallen into mis
fortune. Perhaps we were imprudent ; but we would
rather incur that reproach than the one we should have
merited by basely abandoning him, who, full of confi
dence, threw himself into our arms ; and these very men
who have calumniated us, without knowing either the
motives or the details of our conduct — these very men,
I say, would have been the first to stigmatize us as
heartless cowards, if, by our refusal to save M. Lava
lette, we had abandoned him to certain death. We
resign ourselves with security to the decision of the jury;
and if you should condemn us for having contravened
your positive laws, we shaU not, at least, have to re
proach ourselves for having violated the eternal laws of
morality and humanity."
Mr. Bruce delivered a speech of the same general
tenour in animated language, and with a firm and manly
tone. " Gentlemen," he concluded, " I have confessed
to you, with all frankness and honour, the whole truth
with regard to the part which I took in the escape of
M. Lavalette; and, notwithstanding the respect I enter
tain for the majesty of the laws, notwithstanding the
respect I owe to this tribunal, I cannot be wanting iu
VOL. IIL G

82 THE ESCAPE OF LAVALETTE.
the respect I owe to myself, so far as to affirm that I
feel not the least compunction for what I have done.
I leave you, gentlemen, to decide upon my fate, and I
implore nothing but justice."
The president concisely summed up the evidence,
and gave a charge vvith great impartiality, and with the
eloquence commonly studied at the French bar. The
jury retired to deliberate, and in about two hours
returned with a verdict of "Guilty" against Messrs.
Wilson, Bruce, and Hutchinson.
The president then read the article of the penal code
applicable to the convicts, in which the punishment
prescribed was imprisonment for a term not exceeding'
two years, nor less than three months; and without
hesitation he pronounced for the shortest allowable term.
Sir Robert Wilson was afterwards struck off the
British army list, but indemnified by a public subscrip
tion, amounting to several thousand pounds. He was
subsequently restored to his rank of Lieut. -General, and
was made, in 1842, Governor of Gibraltar : he died a
few years since.
Captain Hutchinson succeeded, in 1832, to his family
honours, and died third Earl of Donoughmore, the 12th
September, 1851.
Lavalette lived to return to France, and died there in
1830. His wife, the great heroine of this strange
drama, fared the worst. The agitation she went through
in effecting the escape, and the severe imprisonment she
suffered for her devotion, deprived her of reason, and she
became the inmate of a lunatic asylum ; she was still
living in 1850, and no account has jet come of her
having been released by death or recovery from her
melancholy and unmerited condition.

83

THE THELLUSSON WILL CASE.

Petee Thellusson, son of Isaac de TheUusson,
ambassador from Geneva to the court of Louis XV.,
fixed his abode in London, about the middle of the
eighteenth century, and accumulated, as a merchant
there, a very considerable fortune, the devise of which
led to much litigation and learned discussion, and gave
rise to a special act of Pai'liament, to interdict in future
similar dispositions of property.
By his will, Mr. TheUusson bequeathed to his three
sons some small pecuniary legacies ; but the rest of his
property, consisting of lands of the annual value of
4500^., and 600,000^. in personal property, he gave to
trustees, in trust, that they should receive the rents, in
terest, and profits, and dispose of them for the purpose
of accumulation during the lives of his said three sons,
and the lives of all their sons, who should be living at
the time of his death, or who should be born within
due time afterwards, and during the lives and life of the
survivors or survivor of them; and then he directed that
after the decease of such survivor, the accumulated fund
should be divided into three shares, and that one share
should be conveyed to the eldest male lineal descendant
of each of his three sons ; and upon the failure of such
a descendant, that share to go to the descendants of
the other sons; and upon failure of all such male dc-
G 2

84 THE THELLUSSON WILL CASE.
scendants, he gave all the accumulated property to the
use of the sinking fund. After a long argument, the
judges, before whom the question came, determined that
the period of accumulation was within the prescribed
limit of executory devises, as the several lives were
wearing out together, like so many candles burning at
once, and therefore they decided in favour of the validity
of the will — a decision subsequently affirmed in the
House of Lords.
The date of the testator's death was the 21st of
July, 1797. At that period, his three sons, Peter-Isaac,
George -Woodford, and Charles were all living; the
eldest, who was created Lord Rendlesham, being the
father of four sons, also alive, or born within the pre
scribed limit ; and the youngest, having a son, Charles,
born to him on the 31st January, 1797. The second
son of the testator, George- Woodford, had daughters
only. We thus find, that the period of accumulation
became limited to the lives of the first Lord Rendlesham
and his four sons, and to the lives of Mr. Charles
Thellusson and his son, Charles. Of these, the present
survivors, are the last of the four mentioned sons of the
first peer — viz. Frederick, present Lord Rendlesham;
and Charles Thellusson, Esq., the son just named of
Mr. Charles Thellusson; the former being nearly fifty-
one years of age, and the latter nearly fifty-two. At
their decease, the vast accumulated fund, which is esti
mated at a prodigious amount, will be divided, we ap
prehend, between Frederick -WUliam-Brook, Lord Ren-
dlesham's only son, and Charles-Sabine-Augustus, Mr.
Charles Thellusson's eldest son, premising, of course
that those two persons be then alive.

85

THE EAEL OF TEAQUAIE'S LAWSUIT.

In the reign of Charles I., when the moss-trooping
practices were not entirely discontinued, the tower of
Gilnockie, in the parish of Cannoby, was occupied by
William Armstrong, called for distinction's sake, Christie's
WiU, a lineal descendant of the famous John Armstrong,
of Gilnockie, executed by James V. The hereditary love
of plunder had descended to this person with the family
mansion; and, upon some marauding party, he was
seized, and imprisoned in the tolbooth of Jedburgh.
The Earl of Traquair, Lord High Treasurer, happening
to -risit Jedburgh, and knowing Christie's Will, inquired
the cause of his confinement. Will replied, he was im
prisoned for stealing two tethers (halters); but on being
more closely interrogated, acknowledged that there were
two delicate colts at the end of them. The joke, such as
it was, amused the earl, who exerted his interest, and
succeeded in releasing Christie's Will from bondage.
Some time afterwards, a lawsuit, of importance to Lord
Traquair, was to be decided in the Court of Session ;
and there was every reason to believe that the judgment
would turn upon the voice of the presiding j udge, who
has a casting vote in case of an equal division among his
brethren. The opinion of the president was unfavour
able to Lord Traquair ; and the point was, therefore, to
keep him out of the way when the question should be

86 THE EARL OP TRAQUAIR's LAWSUIT.
tried. In this dUemma, the earl had recourse to
Christie's Will, who at once offered his service to kidnap ,
the president. Upon due scrutiny, he found it was the
judge's practice frequently to take the air on horseback,
on the sands of Leith, without an attendant. In one of
these excursions, Christie's Will, who had long watched
his opportunity, ventured to accost the president, and
engage him in conversation. His address and language
were so amusing, that he decoyed the president into an
unfrequented and furzy common, called the Frigate
Whins, where, riding suddenly up to him, he pulled him
from his horse, muffled him in a large cloak, whicli he
had provided, and rode off, with the luckless judge
trussed up behind him. Will crossed the country with
great expedition, by paths known only to persons of his
description, and deposited his weary and terrified burden
in an old castle in Annandale, called the Tower of
Graham. The judge's horse being found, it was concluded he
had thrown his rider into the sea ; his friends went into
mourning, and a successor was appointed to his offlee,
Meanwhile, the poor president spent a heavy time in the
vault of the castle. He was imprisoned, and solitary ;
receiving his food through an aperture in the wall, and
never hearing the sound of a human voice, save when a
shepherd called his dog by the name of Batty, and when
a female domestic called upon Maudge, the cat. These,
he concluded, were invocations of spirits; for he held
himself to be in the dungeon of a sorcerer.
At length, after three months had elapsed, the law
suit was decided in favour of Lord Traquair; and Will
vvas directed to set the president at liberty. Accordingly,
he entered the vault at dead of night, seized the presi
dent, muffled him once more in the cloak, without

THE EAEL OF TEAQUAIR's LAWSUIT. 87
speaking a single word ; and, using the same mode of
transportation, conveyed him to Leith sands, and set
down the astonished judge on the very spot where he
had taken him up. The joy of his friends, and the less
agreeable surprise of his successor, may be easily con
ceived, when he appeared in court, to reclaim his office
and honours. AU embraced his own persuasion, that he
had been spirited away by witchcraft ; nor could he him
self be convinced of the contrary, until, many years after
wards, happening to travel in Annandale, his ears were
saluted once more with the sounds of Maudge and Batty
— ^the only notes which had solaced his long confinement.
This led to a discovery of the whole story; but, in
those disorderly times, it was only laughed at, as a fair
rme de guerre.
WUd and strange as this tradition may seem, there is
little doubt of its foundation in fact. The judge, upon
whose person this extraordinary stratagem was practised
was Sir Alexander Gibson, Lord Durie, collector of the
Reports, well kno-wn in the Scottish law under the title
of Durie's Decisions. He was advanced to the station
of an ordinary Lord of Session, 10th July, 1621, and
died at his own house of Durie, July, 1646. Betwixt
these periods this whimsical adventure must have hap
pened — a date which corresponds with that of the
tradition. " We may frame," says Forbes, " a rational conjecture
of his great learning and parts, not only from his collec
tion ofthe decisions of the session, from July, 1621, till
July, 1642, but also from the foUowing circumstances —
1. In a tract of more than twenty years, he was fre
quently chosen rice-president, and no other lord in that
time. 2. 'Tis commonly reported, that some party, in
a considerable action before the session, finding that the

88 THE EARL OF TRAQUAIR'S LAWSUIT.
Lord Durie could not be persuaded to think his plea
good, fell upon a stratagem to prevent the influence and
weight which his lordship might have to his prejudice,
by causing some strong masked men to kidnap him in
the Links of Leith, at his diversion on a Saturday after
noon, and transport him to some blind and obscure
room in the country, where he was detained captive,
without the benefit of daylight, a matter of three months
(though otherwise civilly and well entertained) ; during
which time his lady and children went in mourning for
him as dead. But, after the cause aforesaid was de
cided, the Lord Durie was carried back by incognitos,
and dropped in the same place where he had been
taken up."

89

THE WHITE EOSE OF SCOTLAND.

Of the romantic heroines of history, one of the most
interesting is the Lady Katherine Gordon, daughter of
George, second Earl of Huntly, and niece of King
James II. of Scotland. On the arrival at the Scottish
court of the famous Perkin Warbeck, at the head of a
gallant train of foreigners, and of a retinue of full fifteen
hundred men, the northern monarch at once acknow
ledged his pretensions, and prepared, with all his
chivalry, to maintain the cause of him whom he deemed
the son of King Edward IV., and the rightful heir of
the English throne. To the youthful adventurer, en
couraging and joyful as was this reception, the exquisite
beauty of Katherine Gordon was more attractive than
even the regal diadem which glittered in the distance.
He soon won the heart of the Scottish maiden, and soon,
with the king's consent, led her to the altar. Brief,
however, was the term of happiness that waited on the
nuptials. AU the efforts of the Scotch proved ineffec
tual ; and Warbeck himself, abandoned by his allies, was
captured, and executed.
Through his manifold misfortunes, his wife attended
him with devoted love and unshaken fortitude; and,
after his miserable end, her loveliness, modesty, and
distress so affected Henry VIL, before whom she was
brought, that he evinced the greatest tenderness towards

90 THE WHITE ROSE OF SCOTLAND.
her, entrusted her to the queen's protection, and assigned
a pension for her support. Thenceforward the widowed
lady was known at the court of England as " the White
Rose," — a name which had been given to her husband
in consideration of his supposed birth, as heir of the
house of York, and continued to her on account of her
innocence and beauty.
Subsequently she entered on a second marriage,
wedding Sir Matthew Cradock, Knt., of Swansea, in
Wales, and had by him an only daughter and heiress,
Margaret, who became the wife of Sir Richard Herbert,
of Ewyas, ancestor of the Earls of Pembroke.
In the Herbert aisle in Swansea church, the tomb of
" the White Rose" is still to be seen.

91

THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE.

Of Sir John BoUe, of Thorpe Hall, in Lincolnshire,
who distinguished himself at Cadiz, in 1596, tradition
records a romantic story.
Among the prisoners taken at that memorable siege,
one fan- captive of great beauty, high rank, and immense
wealth, was the peculiar charge of our gallant knight,
and, as customary in such interesting situations, became
deeply enamoured of her chivalrous captor, so much so,
that she proposed accompanying him to England as his
page. Faithful, however, to his conjugal vows. Sir John
rejected the lady's suit, who in consequence retired to a
convent, having previously transmitted to her uncon
scious rival in England her jewels, and other ornaments
of value, including her own portrait drawn in green- — -
a circumstance which obtained for the original, in the
neighbourhood of Thorpe Hall, the designation of the
" Green Lady" — and still, according to the superstition
of successive generations, that seat is deemed haunted
by the lady in green, " who is wont," says the credulous
historian, " nightly to take her station beneath a parti
cular tree close to the mansion." It is also stated, that
during the life of Sir John's son. Sir Charles BoUe, a
knife and fork were laid for her especial use, should she
feel disposed to take her place at the festive board.
The attachment of the Green Lady gave rise to a

92 THE SPANISH LADY's LOVE.
curious baUad, written about this period, entitled, " The
Spanish Lady's Love for an EngUshman," a beautiful
edition of which bas recently been Ulustrated by Lady
Dalmeny. The foUowing version is taken from Dr. Percy's
" Relics of Ancient English Poetry :" —
Will you hear a Spanish lady,
How she -wooed an English man ?
Garments gay and rich as may be,
Deck'd -with jewels she had on.
Of a comely countenance and grace was she.
And by birth and parentage of high degree.
As his prisoner there he kept her,
In his hands her life did lye ;
Cupid's bands did tie them faster
By the liking of an eye.
In his coui-teous company was all her joy.
To favour him in anything she was not coy.
But at last there came commandment
Por to set the ladies free.
With their Jewell still adorned.
None to do them injury.
Then said this lady mild, " Pull woe is me ;
O let me still sustain this kind captivity !
" Gallant captain, show some pity
To a ladye in distresse ;
Leave me not within this city,
Por to dye in heavinesse :
Thou hast this present day my body free.
But my heart in prison still remains with thee."
" How shouldst thou, fair lady, love me.
Whom thou knowest thy country's foe ?
Thy fair wordes make me suspect thee :
Serpents lie where flowers grow."
" All the harme I wish to thee, most courteous knight,
God grant the same upon my head may fully light.

THE SPANISH lady's LOVE. 93.
" Blessed be the time and season
That you came to Spanish ground ;
If our foes you may be termed,
Gentle foes -we have you found :
With our city, you have -won our hearts eche one.
Then to your country bear away that is your owne."
" Beat you stiU, most gallant lady ;
Best you still, and weep no more ;
Of fair lovers there is plenty,
Spain doth yield a plenteous store."
" Spaniards fraught with jealousy we often find,
But Englishmen through all the world are counted kind.
" Leave me not unto a Spaniard,
You alone enjoy my heart ;
I am lovely, young, and tender.
Love is likewise my desert :
StiU to serve thee day and night my mind is prest,
The -wife of every Englishman is counted blest."
" It wold be a shame, fair lady,
Por to bear a woman hence,
English soldiers never carry
Any such without offence,"
" I'll quickly change myself, if it be so.
And like a page I'U foUow thee, where'er thou go."
" I have neither gold nor silver
To maintain thee in this case ;
And to travel is great charges.
As you know, in every place."
" My chains and jewels every one shall be thy own,
And eke five hundi-ed pounds in gold that lies unknown."
" On the seas are many dangers,
Many storms do there arise ;
Which will be to ladies dreadful,
And force tears from watery eyes."
" Well, in troth, I shaU endure extremity,
Por I could find in heart to lose my life for thee."

94 THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE.
" Courteous lady, leave this fancy,
Here comes all that breeds the strife
I in England have already
A sweet woman to my wife :
I will not falsify my vow for gold nor gain,
Nor yet for aU the fairest dames that live in Spain."
" 0, how happy is that woman
That enjoys so true a friend !
Many happy days God send her ! —
Of my suit I make an end.
On my knees I pardon crave for my offence,
Which did from love and true affection first commence.
" Commend me to thy lovely lady,
Bear to her this chain of gold ;
And these bracelets for a token :
Grieving that I was so bold ;
All my Jewells in like sort take thou with thee,
Por they are fitting for thy wife, but not for me.
" I will spend my days in prayer,
Love and all her laws defye ;
In a nunnery will I shroud me,
Par from any companye :
Bnt ere my prayers have an end, be sure of this,
To pray for thee and for thy love I wiU not miss.
" Thus farewell, most gallant captain !
Farewell, too, my heart's content !
Count not Spanish ladies wanton,
Thoijgh to thee my love was bent.
Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee :"
" The like faU ever to thy share, most fair ladie."

95

THE PEINCELY CHANDOS.

How loved, how honour'd once, avails thee not.
To whom related, or by whom begot ;
A heap of dust alone remains of thee,
'Tis aU thou art, and aU the proud shall be.

Were you ever, gentle reader, at the roadside viUage
of Edgeware ? It is a pretty rural spot, not more than
eight miles from London, closely adjoining rich Hert
fordshire, with its green and shady lanes, its sunny
meads, and its luxuriant homes. In that favoured
vicinage, on a plain now verdant, and "smiling in
scorn," There stood a structure of majestic frame.
Which from the neighbouring Canons took its name.
a palace of such gorgeous magnificence, that it seemed
suited rather to the prince than the subject. All that
wealth, taste, and pride could collect together were here
assembled; the most eminent architects had been em
ployed in its construction ; artists came from Italy to
adorn its walls ; and costly marble formed the piUars and
the ornaments. Such was the abode of James Brydges,
Duke of Chandos — a nobleman whose unbounded mag
nificence, lavish expenditure, and overweening vanity,
obtained for him the designation of "princely." He
was the representative of the old baronial family of

96 THE PRINCELY CHANDOS.
Brydges of Sudeley, and succeeded to a considerable
patrimonial estate. He inherited, besides, a large for
tune from his maternal grandfather. Sir Henry Bernard,
an eminent Turkey merchant, and accumulated, himself, ;
considerable sums of money while Paymaster of the
Forces, during Queen Anne's wars. Thus amply pro
vided, he determined on building two magnificent man
sions, and on adopting a style of costly parade, which
even the more ancient ducal nobility did not deem essen
tial to the support of their dignity. He fixed the site
of his London residence in Cavendish-square, and com
menced its erection with much grandeur of preparation.
The plan, however, was never completed; his country
palace engrossed all his thoughts, and was the favourite
object of his attention. At Canons, near Edgeware, '
this sumptuous edifice arose* — the wonder of its own
* In 1604, Sir Thomas Lake purchased from Sir Hugh Losse the
manor of Canons, and here his descendants continued long to reside,
until their eventual heiress, Mary, only daughter of Sir Thomas
Lake, marrying James Brydges, afterwards Duke of Chandos, con
veyed the property to her husband.
The magnificent mansion built on the estate, about the year 1712,
by Mr. Brydges, stood at the end of a spacious avenue, being placed
diagonally, so as to show two sides of the building, which at a dis
tance gave the appearance of a front of prodigious extent. Vertue
describes it as " a noble square pile, all of stone, the four sides
almost alike, with statues on the front. Within was a small square
of brick, not handsome ; the out-offices of brick and stone, very con
venient and well disposed. The hall is richly adorned with marble
statues, busts, &c.; the ceiling of the staircase, by Thornhill, an4„
the grand apartments are finely ornamented with paintings, sculp-i
ture, and furniture."
The plastering and gilding were done by the famous Italian, Psfr-
gotti; and the great salon hy Paolucci. The avenue was spacious
and majestic ; and the building appeared to be designed for posterity,,'!
as the walls were " twelve feet thick below and nine feet above." '^
The columns which supported the building were all of marble as

THE PRINCELY CHANDOS. 97
age for its splendour, and of the succeeding, for its
abrupt declension and premature ruin. Poets, whose
strains were as short-lived as their theme, extolled the
mansion's beauty ; but a bard, whose verse wiU outlive
both stone and marble, has, in a brilliant satire, left an
imperishable record of Canons and its lord. In a poem
on "Taste," published in 1731, and dedicated to the
Earl of Burlington, Pope held up the gardens and build
ings of the Duke of Chandos to peculiar ridicule : the
name of Timon less concealed the satire than added to
the offence. The poet thus writes : —
At Timon's viUa let us pass a day.
Where aU cry out, " What sums are thrown away !"
So proud, so grand ; of that stupendous air ;
Soft and agreeable come never there.
Greatness, 'with Timon, dwells in such a draught.
As brings all Brobdignag before your thought :
To compass this, his building is a town.
His pond an ocean, his parterre a down.
Who but must laugh, the master when he sees,
A puny insect, shivering at a breeze !
The libel on the duke, whose generous and amiable
disposition, as well as his very foibles, commanded the
people's admiration, raised an universal outcry of popular
indignation. Dr. Johnson says : " From the reproach
was the great staircase, each step of which was made of an entire
block, above twenty feet in length. The whole expense of the
building and furniture is said to have amo anted to 200,000Z. James,
of Greenwich, was the architect. Dr. Alexander Blackwell, author
of a treatise on agriculture, was employed to superintend the works
without doors ; and it is probable that he laid out the gardens and
pleasure-grounds, which abounded with vistas, lakes, canals, and
statues, in the taste then prevalent.
' - The duke also rebuilt the parish church, dedicated it to St. Lau
rence, and there constructed a magnificent tomb, wherein now repose
his mortal remains.
VOL. IIL H

98 THE PRINCELY CHANDOS.
which the attack on a character so amiable brought upon
him. Pope tried all means of escaping. He was at last
reduced to shelter his temerity behind dissimulation, and
endeavoured to make that disbelieved which he never
had the confidence openly to deny. He wrote an excul
patory letter to the duke, which was answered with
great magnanimity, as by a man who accepted his excuse
without believing his professions." There is a print of
Hogarth's, in which Pope is represented whitewashing
the Earl of Burlington's house, and bespattering the
Duke of Chandos's carriage as it passes by. Admitting
(what there is little doubt of) the poet's intended ap
plication of the satire to Canons, his concluding hnes
are singularly prophetic ; —
Another age shall see the golden ear
Imbrown the slope and nod on the parterre ;
Deep harvests bury all his pride has plann'd.
And laughing Ceres reassume the land.
When the Duke died, this magnificent mansion, being
deemed too expensive for the income of his successor,
was, after fruitless attempts to dispose of it entire, pulled
down, and the materials sold by auction. The grand
staircase, each step of which was made of an entire block
of marble, above twenty feet in length, is now at Lord
Chesterfield's house in May-fair. The equestrian statue
of George I., which stood in the Park, was placed in
the centre of Leicester-square ; and, in fact, the whole
splendid fabric, and its varied contents, were scattered ';
piecemeal amongst numerous purchasers. The site of
the mansion, with a considerable portion of the park and
demesne lands, became the property of Mr. WUliam
Hallet, a London cabinet-maker, who built a pretty
viUa residence. His grandson sold the estate to Denis

THE PRINCELY CHANDOS. 99
0' Kelly, Esq., the weU-known sportsman — the possessor
of the famous race-horse Eclipse, whose bones lie buried
in the park; and finally, the property passed into the
hands of the Plummer family.
How painfully similar is the fate of this proud mansion
of Canons, to that which has awaited, in our own times,
Stowe's ill-fated halls — the splendid residence of the
present Duke of Buckingham, the great-great-grandson
of the princely Chandos !
It was not to architectural grandeur alone that the
Duke of Chandos confined his views : his style of living
corresponded with the magnificence of his mansion, and
fell httle short of the state of a sovereign prince. In
all his movements, he emulated royalty. He dined in
public — flourishes of music announced each change of
dishes — and, when he repaired to chapel, he was attended
by a military guard. The Divine service he had per
formed with all the aid that could be derived from vocal
and instrumental music. To this end, he retained some
of the most celebrated performers of the day, and en
gaged the greatest masters to compose the anthems.
Handel, who acted as Maestro di Capella, produced,
whUe at Canons, his famous oratorio of " Esther ;" and
the eminent musician, Pepusch, also employed by the
duke, composed there some of his finest works. But
how fleeting is aU earthly magnificence ! The fortune of
"the Grand Duke" experienced injury from speculation.
His larish disbursements, too, added to his embarrass
ment — and at length the South Sea Bubble came, to
still further decrease his means of enjoyment. He con
tinued, however, to reside at Canons — though, it would
appear, with diminished splendour — till his death, in
1744. After that event, as we have already related, the
stately structure — to which he had devoted so much
h2

100 THE PRINCELY CHANDOS.
energy of his mind, and on which he had lavished enor
mous sums of money — was doomed to destruction. And
now, all that remains of the " Princely Chandos" — noble
and generous though he was — is the memory of his
vanity and his pride — unkindly immortalized in the un
dying verses of Pope.

101

THE COUNTESS OF AIETH.

At the back of the palace of Holyrood House, within
a lane called Croftangry, is an old house which two hun
dred years ago was the residence of the Earl of Airth, a .
clever but unfortunate nobleman, who was deprived by
Charles I. of his previous title of Earl of Menteith, along
with the presidency of the privy councU, and other high
offices, for having used the expression, " that he had
the reddest blood in Scotland :" in vvhich he alluded to
his descent from a son of Robert IL, then suspected
(erroneously) to have been older than the son from whom
his majesty was descended.
This nobleman, like many both better and worse men,
was afflicted with a bad wife ;¦* respecting whom he has
left a most amusing paper, from which we shall make
the following apposite extract, being the third grand
grievance in the list : —
" This woefull wyse wife of myne made propositioune
to me that she conceived it not honourabill for me to
pay rent for ane house, as I did then for a little house I
duelled in, besyde the church-yaird, pertaining to one
Ridderfoord, who had it in heretage ; bot that I should
rather buy ane house heretablie; which foolish desyre
of that wicked woman's I refuised, and toulde her that I
knew not how long I should stay at Edinbureh, and
* Agnes, daughter of Patrick Lord Gray.

102 THE COUNTESS OF AIRTH.
would not give my money to buy ane hous thair. Bot
she replyed, that it would serve for ane house for my
lands of Kinpount ; which foolish answer of that wicked
woman's showed her vanitie, and the great desyre she
had to stay still in Edinbureh ; for the Uke was never
heard, that the house standeth seven myles from the
lands, Kinpount being seven myles from Edinbureh.
Alway, there being some things between the Earl of
Linlithgow and me, he did offer to sell to me his hous,
whicli he hade at the back of the Abbay of Hallirood-
hous, which sumtyme [formerly] belonged to the Lord
Elphinstoune. The E. of Linlithgow and I, for the
pryce of the hous, yairds, and grass yairds, at the pryce
of eight thousand fyve hundreth merks, did agrie, and
he disposed of them to me. And it was no ill pennie-
worth ; for it was worth the money, hade my goode wyfe
conteined herself so ; bot shee thocht the house too
little for my familie, though it was large aneugh. It is
to be remarked also, that so soone as I removed from
the little hous I dwelt in besyde the church-yaird, and
came to remain in the hous I bocht from the E. of
Linlithgow, at the back of the Abbay, that fals knave
Traquair did instant come to reside in the litle house
wherein I duelt befor, pretending that it wes to be neire
the counsell of staite, which did sitt in the Abbay ; bot
it wes for ane uther end, that the villaine micht wirk his
ends against me. And, presentlie efter this, I wente up
to London ; and I wes no sooner gone, but my wyfe sett
to werke all sorte of tradesmen, such as quarriers,
maissons, sklaitters, vrights, smiths, glasiers, painters,
and plaisterers ; and I may say treulie, that the money
which she bestowed upon hir re-edifieing of that hous
aud gardens, wes twyse so much as I gave for the buying
of them from the Earle of Linlithgow. So that in truth

THE COUNTESS OF AIRTH. 103
that hous, and the gardens and orchards, and uther
things which my wyse wyfe bestowed upon it, stoode me
in above 25,000 merks Scott money, bot I will only set
doun heir 20,000. But after all this, when I wes to
remove from Edinbureh, I disponed to my son James,
heretablie, that hous, gardens, and orchards, and grass
yairds ; and, within two years efter, or therby, that house
took fyre accedintallie (as I conceave), and wes totallie
burned, as it standeth now ; and so became of everie thing
that the unhappie woman, my wyfe, laid hir hand to.
Bot this is nothing to that which will follow heireafter,"
and so forth.
" To quote another of ' My wyf and hir wyse actes,'
namely, the second in the roll.: —
" I, being ane other tyme in London, the Earle of
GaUoway made ane proposition to my prudent wyfe, of
ane marriage to his eldest son, the Lord Garlics, to my
second daughter, Margaret ; which shee presentlie did
give ear unto, without farther advysement, and contracted
and married them before I returned from London 
Now, I pray, consider how unfitting ane match this wes
for me. First, my father and the Earl of Galloway were
cousin-germans ; and then our estate lying at so great
ane distance the one from the uther ; and I am sure /
might have married thrie of my daughters to thrie 'barouns
lyin^ hesyd me, with that portion I gave to Galloway, any
one of which would have been more useful to me than
the Earl of Galloway. They had children, bot they all
died; so that money was as much lost to me as if I had
castin it in the sea."
It appears that the unfortunate earl afterwards dis
posed of his house at the abbey to his majesty, but
never received the payment. He died in great em
barrassment, and was succeeded by his grandson, who

104 THE COUNTESS OF AIRTH.
also died in impoverished circumstances (1694), and
was the last inheritor of the titles Airth and Menteith. '
The last earl, being at one time obliged to retire to the
sanctuary of Holyrood for protection against his cre
ditors, applied to his kinsman and vassal, Malise Graham,
at Glaschoil, on the southern shore of Loch Katrine,
for such a supply of money, or such security, as might
relieve him. "Faithful to the call of his liege lord,
Malise instantly quitted his home, dressed like a plain
Highlander of those days, travelling alone, and on foot.
Arriving at the earl's lodgings, he knocked for admit
tance, when a well-dressed person opening the door, and
commiserating his apparent poverty, tendered him a
small piece of money. Malise was in the act of thank
fully receiving it, when his master advancing, perceived
him, and chid him for doing a thing which, done by his
pecuniary friend, might tend to shake his credit more
than ever. The Highlander, making his appropriate
obeisance, but with the utmost nonchalance, took from
his bosom a purse, and handing it to his lordship,
addressed him in the following words in Gaelic : —
" Here, my lord, see and clear your way with that.
As for the gentleman who had the generosity to hand
me the halfpenny, I would have had no objection to
accept of every halfpenny he had."
The story declares that his lordship's necessity was
completely relieved, and that he instantly returned
with his faithful vassal to his castle in the Loch of
Menteith.

105

LADY EUSSELL.

Rachel Weiothesley, afterwards Lady Russell, the
noblest heroine of the peerage, was the second daughter
of the celebrated Earl of Southampton,-*^ by his first
wife, likewise named Rachel, daughter of Henry de
Massey, Baron of Rovigny. She was born in 1636;
but we have no account of the circumstances of her
early years. Biography is equally silent as to the time
of her marriage to Francis Lord Vaughan ; upon whose
death, about the year 1669, she wedded a second husband,
in the person of WilUam Lord Russell, eldest son of
WilUam, second Earl of Bedford, by Anne, daughter
of Robert Carr, Earl of Somerset.
There appears some colour for the supposition that
Lady Russell had hitherto not been quite satisfied with
the state of wedlock. Whatever were the merits of her
deceased lord, therefore, she readily gave her affection to
his successor. " When marriages are so very early," she
observes in one of her letters, perhaps not without some
remembrance of her former match, " it is accepting,
rather than choosing, on either side."
* Thomas Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton, was not only an
eminent statesman, bnt also a patron of genius ; for he presented
Shakespeare with 1000^. to assist the poet in completing some pur
chase he had in hand ; and he was supposed, not without reason, to
have been connected with him in some of his finest writings. This
pobleman died May 16, 1667.

106 LADY RUSSELL.
United in this instance with the object of her affec
tion, and as tenderly beloved by him. Lady Russell,
for fourteen years, enjoyed the full meed of earthly
happiness, while she became the mother of children
who promised to console her declining life, and extend
the fame of their illustrious ancestry. " I can thank
fully reflect," says Lady RusseU, many years after this,
" I have felt many, I may say many years of pure,
and, I trust, innocent, pleasant content, and happy
enjoyments, as this world can afford, particularly that
biggest blessing of loving and being loved by those
I loved and respected; on earth no enjoyment, certainly,
to be put in balance 'with it." Afterwards she adds,
"I should do better than I can yet attain to do, if
I could with a more composed mind reflect on the good
and bad days of a long life, and be thankful for so kind
a Providence as the freedom I have had from bodily
pains, which so many better than I suffer; at this age
I have attained (in her seventy-ninth year) there are
few more exempted."
Such was the felicity possessed by Lady Russell at
this time. Everything seemed to assure its continuance;'
and no shadow threatened to overcloud the prospect.
But " How sad a sight is human happiness,
To those whose thoughts can pierce beyond an hour."
We need not here enter on the political proceedings
which resulted in the death of her ladyship's beloved
lord. Suffice it to say, that after a trial, in which
severity and injustice strongly marked the conduct of
the prosecution, and in which Lady Russell assisted her
husband as secretary, the popular nobleman was found
guilty and received sentence of death.
Burnet calls him " that great, but innocent -rictim,

LADY RUSSELL. 107
that was sacrificed to the rage of a party; who was con
demned for treasonable words said in his hearing."
Applications were immediately made to the king,
beseeching him to pardon the convicted lord; while
100,000^. was offered, for the same purpose, to the
Duchess of Portsmouth, by the Earl of Bedford. AU
possible methods were, in fact, resorted to, to save
Russell's life. He was, himself, even brought to promise
to live beyond sea, in any place the king should name,
and to engage to meddle no more with the affairs of
England. He afterwards said, however, that he could
never have lived from his wife, and children, and his
friends. " Russell's consort," says Hume, " a woman
of great merit, daughter and heiress of the good Earl
of Southampton, also threw herself at the king's feet,
and pleaded, with many tears, the merits and loyalty
of her father, as an atonement for those errors into
which honest, however mistaken, principles had seduced
her husband." But the king even rejected her petition
for a respite of six weeks.-* Finding, at length, that
her supplications were vain, she not only fortified her
own heart against the fatal blow, but endeavoured-
to strengthen the resolution of him who was dearer to
her than existence.
The last parting scene cannot be better given than
nearly in the language of one who witnessed it. Tuesday,
July the 17th, according to the relation of Dr. Burnet,
Lord Russell expressed great joy, after dinner, when
his lady left him, at the magnanimity of spirit he
discovered in her ; adding, that the parting with her
was the greatest thing he had to do, for she would be
hardly able to bear it : " and, indeed," observes the
* " Shall I grant that man six weeks," said Charles, " who, if it
had been in his power, would not have granted me six hours ?"

108 LADY RUSSELL.
bishop, " I never saw his heart so near failing him as
when' he spake of her ; sometimes I saw a tear in his
eye, and he would turn about, and presently change the
discourse." That he might not be shocked at the last,
however, she had resolved to part from him without
shedding a tear. Friday, at eleven o'clock at night, the
trying scene took place : having first taken leave of
their three children, and some of his friends, " he kissed
her four or five times, when they parted in a solemn,
grave silence." She had such a command of herself,
that, when she was gone, he said, "The bitterness of
death is now past!" Esteeming her beyond all that
expression can paint, he then " ran out into a long
discourse concerning her" excellences. " What a misery
it would have been to me," exclaimed her husband, " if
she had not had that magnanimity of spirit, joined to
her tenderness, as never to have desired me to do a
base thing for the saving of my life !" Infiuenced by
an habitual piety of heart, he observed, that "there
was a signal providence of God in giring him such
a wife, where there was birth, fortune, great understand
ing, great religion, and great kindness to him ; but that
her carriage in his extremity was incomparable. He
was glad," he said, " that she and his chUdren were to
lose nothing by his death ; that it was a great comfort
to him that he left his chUdren in such a mother's
hands, and that she had promised him to take care of
herself for their sakes."
Immediately he was about to be conveyed to the fatal
spot. Lord Russell wound up his watch, saying, with a
smile, " Now I have done with time, and must hence
forth think solely of eternity !" The scaffold had been
erected in Lincoln's Inn Fields, in order that the
citizens might be galled by the spectacle of their great-

LADY RUSSELL. 109
leader as conveyed through the city to death ; but
every one wept as he passed, thinking that they
beheld both liberty and virtue sitting by his side.
Burnet and TUlotson accompanied him in the coach ;
the former had preached two sermons to him during
the preceding day, and the latter had administered the
sacrament. RusseU approached the scaffold, and prayed for the
king ; but with a full presentiment of what afterwards
came to pass, he added — " that, although a cloud hung
over the nation, his death would do more service than
his life could have done !" Burnet says, " he laid his
head upon the block, without the least change of coun
tenance, which, at two strokes, was severed from his
body." Such was the end of this excellent man, who
by his personal experience found, as he told Lord
Cavendish, how effectual the power of religion was in
supporting him during the closing scenes of his life ;
which was thus awfully terminated on Saturday', the
21st of July, anno 1683.
Resignation to the Supreme wUl, and a sense of duty
to her offspring, were considerations that enabled Lady
RusseU not to sorrow as one without hope : yet " death
had come so near as to fetch a portion from her very
heart;" and it appears to have been very long before
she could support the pangs of recoUection. " It was
an inestimable treasure I did lose," observes her lady
ship, writing to Dr. Fitzwilliam, "and with whom I
had lived in the highest pitch of this world's felicity. I
am (April 20, 1684) entertaining some thoughts of going
to that now desolate place, Straton, for a few days, where
I must expect new amazing reflections at first, it being
a place where I have lived in sweet and full content, con
sidered the condition of others, and thought none deserved

110 LADY RUSSELL.
my envy : but I must pass no more such days on earth ;
however, places are indeed nothing. Where can I dtoell
that his figure is not present to me ? The future part o!
my life will not, I expect, pass as perhaps I would just
choose ; sense has been long enough gratified ; indeed so
long, I know not how to live by faith ; yet the pleasant
stream that fed it near fourteen years together being
gone, I have no sort of refreshment but when I can
repair to that living fountain, from whence all flows."
" Yet," she elsewhere says, " I have a pleasant work to
do, dress up my soul for my desired change, and fit it
for the converse of angels and the spirits of just men
made perfect; amongst whom, my hope is, my loved
lord is one ; and my often-repeated prayer to my God is,
that, if I have a reasonable ground for that hope, it may
give a refreshment to my poor soul !" Confiding in this
" sure and certain hope," she prepared to discharge the
duties now devolved on her, till death should remove her
to that glorious state into which she believed her de
ceased lord was thus admitted.
Three years elapsed from the time of Lord Russell's
death before his widow could bring herself to mix fairly
with the world, " To-morrow (June the 26th) being
Sunday," she writes, " I purpose to sanctify it, if my
griefs unhallow it not by unjustifiable passions ; and
having given some hours to privacy in the morning, live
in my house as on other days, doing my best to be
tolerably composed. 'Tis my first trial; for all these
sad years past, I have dispensed with seeing any body,
or till late at night. Sometimes I could not avoid that,
without a singularity I do not affect. There are three
days I like best to give up to reflection; the day my
lord was parted from his family, that of his trial, and

LADY RUSSELL. Ill
the day he was released from all the evils of this
perishing world."
Writing to the same valued friend, July the 2 1st,
1687, she recollects the last promise she made to her
beloved lord, and thus refers to it, with inimitable ten
derness, in her correspondence. " I will turn the object
of my love, all I can, upon his loved children ; and if I
may be (but) directed and blessed in their education,
what is it I have to ask in relation to this perishing
world for myself? 'Tis joy and peace in believing that
(which) I covet, ha-ring nothing to fear but sin." De
siring that " thankfulness for the real blessing of these
children may refresh her labouring, weary mind," she
consoles herself vrith the pleasing duty of exerting those
" endeavours to do that part towards them which their
most dear and tender father would not have omitted.
When I have done this piece of duty to my best friend
and them," subjoins Lady Russell, "how gladly would
I lie down by that beloved dust I lately went to visit
— ^that is, the case that holds it !" Throughout the
compass of our hterature, is there anything more
beautiful and affecting than this passage in her lady
ship's letters ?
Next to the affection that Lady RusseU still preserved
for her deceased lord, therefore, the welfare of their
children lay always near her heart. Honour and friend
ship were happily on her side; and hence Lord Cavendish
at length consented to join his eldest son in marriage to
the Lady Rachel, the eldest daughter of his lamented
friend, who was accordingly united to William, Lord
Cavendish, afterwards Duke of Devonshire, June the 21st,
1688. "I don't question," writes the Princess of
Orange (consort of William the Third) to Lady Russell,

1J2 LADY RUSSELL.
from the Hague, "but you have made a very good
choice ; and since I wish so well to my Lord Devonshire,
I can't but be glad 'tis his son, believing yoa will have
taught your daughter, after your own example, to be so good
a wife, that Lord Cavendish can't choose but be very
happy -vrith her." >
Reckoning " riches the least" in such an union as
this, " though that ingredient is good, if we use it
rightly," Lady Russell says, with regard to the marriage,
that she hopes God had directed her in forming it; and
assures herself with the reflection, "that if departed
souls know what we do," her deceased lord "approves
of what she had done ;" esteeming it " a reward upon
his children for his patience and so entire submission
during his sufferings."
Her solicitude for the happiness of her daughter is
evident from some letters to her now son-in-law, wherein
she counsels him respecting his conduct in the world,
as connected with the circumstances in which he was
entering it. " Having proved all," she expresses her
hope that he " wUl choose the best : and take under his
care the whole compass of virtue and religion. Live
virtuously, my lord," she afterwards adds, " and you
can't die too soon, nor live too long."
In October, 1690, it appears that Lady Russell was
much affected by the decease of her last sister, Elizabeth,
Countess of Montagu, whom she ever loved tenderly.
" There is something," she remarks here, " in the
younger going before me, that I have observed all my
life to give a sense I can't describe ; it is harder to be
borne than a bigger loss, where there has been spun out
a longer thread of life. After," she adds, " above forty
years' acquaintance with so amiable a creature, one must
needs, in reflecting, bring to remembrance so many

LADY RUSSELL. 113
engaging endearments as are yet at present embittering
and painful. But a Uttle time -will put me again into
my settled state of mourning ; for a mourner I must be
aU my days upon earth." Pursuing these thoughts, her
ladyship adds — "My glass runs low: the world does
not want me, nor I want that ; my business is at home,
and within a narrow compass."
Two years after, we find Lady RusseU, for the first
time complaining of " her eyes serring her no longer by
candle-Hght ;" she adds, " 'tis mortifying, yet I hope I
do not repine, but, on the contrai-y, rejoice in the good
ness of my God to me, that when I feared the utter loss of
sight, he has let me thus long see the light, and by it
given me time to prepare for that day of bodily dark
ness which perhaps must soon overtake me."
Lady RusseU was now advancing to her fifty-eighth
year, when she had the satisfaction to settle her second
daughter, Catherine, in marriage vrith John, Lord Ross,
afterwards Duke of Rutland. " I hope," observed Lady
RusseU, " I have done my duty well to my daughters,
and that they shall enjoy a lasting happiness; but,
above aU, my prayer is, that the end of their faith may
be the salvation of their souls." Archbishop Tillotson
wrote letters of congratulation to her upon both her
daughters' marriages.
The good Archbishop's correspondence with her
ladyship was at length interrupted on her part during
some months, by the disorder in her eyes increasing,
tiU she was compelled to undergo the operation of
couching, which was performed on the 27th of June,
1694, with excellent skill. Another and far severer
kind of trial yet awaited her, in the loss of her only
son, Wriothesley, Duke of Bedford, who, sickening of
the small-pox, departed this life in May, 1711. This
VOL. IIL I

114 LADY RUSSELL.
bereavement was succeeded by the death of her daughter,
the Duchess of Rutland, who died in childbed in the
November of the very same year. Lady Russell, after
seeing this daughter in her coffin, went to the Duchess of
Devonshire, from whom it was necessary to conceal the
fact, she being then also in chUdbed, when, assuming
an appearance of cheerfulness, she said, in answer to her
inquiries as to her sister's state, "I have seen your
sister (meaning the Duchess of Rutland) out of bed
to-day.-" Such was the Christian-like temperament of
her mind !
Lady Russell's correspondence, which was first com
municated to the public in 1748, seems to have ter
minated at the commencement of the year 1718. She
survived the widow of the Earl of Essex, whom she fre
quently condoled vrith; and she proved the faithful
guardian of her husband's fame, whose relict she re
mained for upwards of forty years. Having in this
exemplary way fulfiUed the trust reposed in her, she was
discharged from aU sublunary cares, and removed to
celestial bliss, on the 29th of September, 1723.
There was in this noble lady an union of delicacy
with dignity, of feminine softness with manliness of
judgment, of affection with fortitude, that has never
been surpassed. Every thought of her heart, every
occasion that caUed her to exert herself, are proofs of
this union. She excelled in aU the circumstances of her
life, and was
" The tenderest wife, the noblest heroine too."

115

DEATH OF
THE TENTH EAEL OF EGLINTON.

A MEMOiE of the great Scottish House of Montgomery
— commencing with Roger de Montgomerie, the kins
man of WUliam, Duke of Normandy, and the com
mander of the Norman vanguard at the Battle of
Hastings, and ending with the present chivalrous Earl
of Eglinton, would be a history replete with interest
and romantic incident. Almost every generation was
productive of some remarkable event, or distinguished
person. The unfortunate nobleman who was the victim in the
melancholy affair we purpose now to relate, was Alex
ander Montgomerie, tenth earl of Eglinton, who suc
ceeded to the title in 1729.
Mungo Campbell, who committed the act, was a de
scendant of the noble famUy of Argyle, and was born at
Ayr, in Scotland, in the year 1721. His father, a mer
chant of eminence, had been mayor of the town, and a
justice of the peace ; but, ha-ring twenty-four children,
and meeting with many losses in his commercial con
nexions, he found it impossible to make any adequate
provision for his family ; so that, on his death, the rela
tions took care of the children, and educated them in
the liberal manner which is customary in Scotland.
i2

116 DEATH OF THE
Mungo received the protection of an uncle, who gave
him a good education; but this friend dying when he
was about eighteen years of age, left him sixty pounds,
and earnestly recommended him to the care of his other
relations. The young man was a finished scholar ; yet
seemed averse to make choice of any of the learned
professions. His attachment appeared to be to the
mUitary life, in which line many of his ancestors had
gloriously distinguished themselves. He, - accordingly,
entered himself as a cadet in the royal regiment of
Scots Greys, then commanded by his relation. General
Campbell, and served during two campaigns at his own
expense, in the hope of gaining military preferment.
After the battle of Dettingen, at which he assisted, he
had an opportunity of being appointed quarter-master,
if he could have raised one hundred pounds; but this
place was bestowed on another person, whUe Campbell
was making fruitless applications for the money. Thus
disappointed of what he thought a reasonable expecta
tion, he quitted the army, and went into Scotland, where
he arrived at the juncture when the rebels had quitted
Scotland, in 1745. Lord Loudon had then the com
mand of the Royal Highlanders, who exerted so much
bravery in the suppression of the rebellion. Mr. Camp
bell, being related to his lordship, fought under him
with distinguished bravery.
Not long after the decisive battle of CuUoden, Lord
Loudon procured his kinsman to be appointed an officer
of the excise; and prevailed on the commissioners to
station him in the shire of Ayr, that he might have the
happiness of residing near his friends and relations. In
the discharge of this new duty, Mr. CampbeU behaved
with strict integrity to the crown, yet with so much
civility as to conciliate the affections of all those with

TENTH EARL OF EGLINTON. 117
whom he had any transactions. He married when he
was somewhat advanced in life ; and so unexceptionable
was his whole conduct, that all the nobility and gentry
in the neighbourhood, the Earl of Eglinton excepted,
gave him permission to kiU game on their estates.
However, he was very moderate in the use of this in
dulgence, seldom shooting but with a view to gratify a
friend with a present, hardly ever for his own emolu
ment. He had a singiUar attachment to fishing; and
a river in Lord Eglinton's estate affording the finest fish
in the country, he would willingly have angled there;
but his lordship was as strict with regard to his fish, as
his game.
Being one day in search of smugglers, and carrying
his gun, he was crossing part of Lord Eglinton's estate,
when a hare starting up, he shot her. His lordship
hearing the report of a gun, and being informed that
Campbell had fired it, sent a servant to command him to
come to the house. CampbeU obeyed, and was treated
very imkindly by his lordship, who even descended to
call him by names of contempt. The other apologised
for his conduct, which he said arose from the sudden
starting of the hare, and declared he had no design of
giving offence. A man, named Bartleymore, was among
the servants of Lord Eglinton^^^ aud was a favourite of
his lordship ; this man had dealt largely in contraband
goods. Mr. Campbell, passing along the sea-shore, met
Bartleymore vrith a cart, containing eighty gallons of
rum, which he seized as contraband, and the rum was
condemned, but the cart restored, as being the property
of Lord EgUnton. Bartleymore was now so incensed
against CampbeU, that he contrived many tales to his
disadvantage, and at length engaged his lordship's
passion so far, that he conceived a more unfavourable

118 DEATH OF THE
opinion of him than he had hitherto done ; while
Campbell, conscious that he had only discharged his
duty, paid little or no attention to the reports of his
lordship's enmity. About ten in the morning of the
24th of October, 1769, Campbell took his gun, and went
out with another officer, with a view to detect smugglers.
The former took with him a licence for shooting, which
had been given him by Dr. Hunter, though they had
no particular design of killing game. They now passed
a small part of Lord Eglinton's estate, to reach the
sea-shore, where they intended to walk. When they
arrived at this spot it was near noon ; and Lord Eglin
ton came up in his coach, attended by Mr. Wilson, a
carpenter, who was working for him, and followed by
four servants on horseback. On approaching the coast,
his lordship met Bartleymore, who told him that there
were some poachers at a distance. Mr. Wilson endea
voured to draw off his lordship's notice from such a
business, but Bartleymore saying that CampbeU was
among the poachers. Lord Eglinton quitted his coach,
and, mounting a led horse, rode to the spot, where he
saw Campbell, and the other officer, whose name was
Brown. His lordship said, " Mr. Campbell, I did , not
expect to have found you so soon again on my grounds,
after your promise, when you shot the hare." He then
demanded Campbell's gun, which the latter declared he
would not part with. Lord Eglinton now rode towards
him, while CampbeU retreated with his gun presented,
desiring him to keep at a distance. StUl, however, his
lordship advanced, smiling, and said, "Are you going to
shoot me ?" Campbell replied, " I will, if you do not
keep off."
Lord Eglinton now called to his servants to bring him
a gun, which one of them took from the coach and deli-

TENTH EARL OF EGLINTON. 119
vered it to another, to carry to their master. In the
interim. Lord Eglinton, leading his horse, approached
Mr. Campbell, whose gun he demanded ; but the latter
woiUd not deliver it. The peer then quitted his horse's
bridle, and continued advancing, while Campbell still
retired, though in an irregular direction, and pointed his
gun towards his pursuer. At length, Lord Eglinton
came so near him, that CampbeU said, "I beg your
pardon, my lord, but I will not deliver my gun to any
man living, therefore keep off, or I will certainly shoot
you." At this instant, Bartleymore advancing, begged
Campbell to deliver his gun to Lord Eglinton ; but the
latter answered he would not, for he had a right to carry
a gun. His lordship did not dispute his general right ;
but said, that he could not have any to carry it on his
estate without his permission. Campbell again begged
pardon, and stUl continued retreating, but with his gun
in his hand, and preparing to fire in his own defence.
WhUe he was thus walking backwards, his heel struck
against a stone, and he fell, when he was about the dis
tance of three yards from his pursuer. Lord Eglinton
obserring him fall on his back, stepped forward as if he
would have passed by Campbell's feet, which the latter
obserring, reared himself on his elbow, and lodged the
contents of his piece in the left side of his lordship's
body. At this critical juncture, the servant above-men
tioned brought the gun from the coach, and Campbell
would have wrested it from his hands, but that Bartley
more came up just at the very moment ; and at this mo
ment. Lord Eglinton, putting his hand to his wound,
said, " I am kUled."
A contest now ensued, during which Bartleymore
repeatedly struck Campbell, which being observed by
Lord Eglinton, he caUed out, " Do not use him iU."

120 DEATH OF THE
Campbell being secured, was conducted to the wounded
man, then lying on the ground, who said, "Mr. Camp
bell, I would not have shot you;" but Campbell made
no answer. Lord EgUnton's seat was about three miles
from the place where this accident happened; and his
servants put him into the carriage to convey him home.
In the meantime, CampbeU's hands were tied behind,
and he was conducted to the to'wn of Saltcoats, the place
of his former station as an exciseman. The persons who
conducted him asked him several questions, the answers
to which were afterwards very ungenerously adduced on
his trial, as coUateral evidence of his guilt. Among
other things, he acknowledged that he would rather
part with his life than his gun, and that sooner than
have it taken from him, he would shoot any peer of the
realm. Lord Eglinton died, after languishing ten hours.
Mr. CampbeU was, on the foUowing day, committed
to the prison of Ayr, and the next month removed to
Edinburgh, in preparation for his trial before the High
Court of Justiciary ; previous to which his case was dis
cussed by counsel, and the foUovring arguments were
adduced in his favour : —
" First, That the gun went off by accident, and there
fore it could be no more than casual homicide.
" Secondly, That supposing it had been fired with an
intention to kill, yet the act was altogether justifiable,
because of the violent provocation he had received ; and
he was doing no more than defending his life and pro
perty. " Thirdly, It could not be murder, because it could not
be supposed that Mr. Campbell had any malice against
his lordship, and the action itself was too sudden to
admit of deliberation."

TENTH EARL OF EGLINTON. 121
The counsel for the prosecution urged in answer : —
" First, That malice was implied, in consequence of
CampbeU's presenting the gun to his lordship, and telUng
him, that unless he kept off he would shoot him.
" Secondly, That there was no provocation given by
the earl besides words, and words must not be construed
a provocation in law.
" Thirdly, The earl had a right to seize his gun, in
virtue of several acts of Parliament, which are the esta
blished laws of the land, to which every subject is obliged
to be obedient."
After repeated debates between the lawyers of Scot
land, a d&.y was at length appointed for the trial, which
commenced on the 27th of February, 1770, before the
High Court of Justiciary ; and the jury having found
Mr. CampbeU guilty, he was sentenced to death.
The Lord Justice Clerk, before he pronounced the
solemn sentence, addressed himself to the conrict, ad
vising him to make the most devout preparations for
death, as all hopes of pardon would be precluded, from
the nature of his offence. Through the whole course
of the trial the prisoner's behaviour was remarkable for
calmness and serenity ; and when it was ended, he bowed
to the court with the utmost composure, but said not a
single word in extenuation of his crime.
On his return to the prison he was visited by several
of his friends, among whom he behaved with apparently
decent cheerfulness. After they had drunk several bottles
of vrine they left him, and he retired to his apartment,
begging the favour of another risit from them on the
following day; but in the morning, February 28, 1770,
he was found dead, hanging to the end of a form, which
he had set upright, having fastened a sUk handkerchief
round his neck.

122 DEATH OF THE TENTH EARL OF EGLINTON.
Mr. Gait makes the sad fate of Lord Eglinton forni a
portion of the story contained in his "Annals of the
Parish."* * The author has derived great assistance in this as well as in
many other episodes from his brother, Mr. Peter Burke's work,
" Celebrated Trials connected with the Aristocracy, in the Eelations
of Private Life."

123

A CUEIOUS TEADITION.

In a letter from Dr. Brett to Dr. Warren, president of
Trinity-hall, Cambridge, dated September 1, 1723, it is
said, that about Michaelmas, 1720, the doctor went to
pay a risit to Heneage, Earl of Winchelsea, at Eastwell-
house, where that nobleman showed him an entry in the
parish register, which the doctor transcribed immediately
into his almanack; it stood thus: — ^"1550, Richard
Plantagenet was buryed the 22 daye of December." The
register did not mention whether he was buried in the
church or church-yard, nor could any memorial be re
trieved of him, except the tradition preserved in the
famUy, and some remains of his house. The story of
this man, as it was related by the Earl of Winchelsea, is
thus : — When Sir Thomas Moyle built Eastwell-house,
he observed, that when his chief bricklayer left off work,
he retired with a book. Sir Thomas had a great curio
sity to know what book the man read, but was some time
before he could discover it, he always putting the book
up if any one came towards him. At last, however. Sir
Thomas surprised him, and snatched the book from him,
and, looking upon it, found it to be Latin ; hereupon he
examined him, and finding he pretty well understood
that language, inquired how he came by his learning?
On which the man told him, as he had been a good
master to him, he would venture to trust him with a

124 A CURIOUS TRADITION.
secret he had never before revealed. He then informed
him, that he was boarded with a Latin schoolmaster,
without knowing who his parents were, till he was fifteen
or sixteen years old ; only a gentleman, who took occa
sion to acquaint him he was no relation to him, came
once a quarter, and paid for his board, and took care to
see that he wanted for nothing ; and one day this gen
tleman took him, and carried him to a fine great house,
where he passed through several stately rooms, in one
of which he left him, bidding him to stay there ; then a
man finely dressed, vrith a star and garter, came to him,
asked him some questions, talked kindly to him, and
gave him some money ; then the forementioued gentle
man returned and conducted him back to his school.
Some time after, the same gentleman came to him again
with a horse, and proper accoutrements, and told him
he must take a journey vrith him into the country. They
then went into Leicestershire, and came to Bosworth
Field, and he was carried to Richard the Third's tent.
The king embraced him, and told him he was his son.
" But, child," said he, " to-morrow I must fight for my
crown, and assure yourself if I lose that I lose my life
too, but I hope to preserve both. Do you stand insuch
a place (directing him to a particular place), where you
may see the battle out of danger, and when I have gained
the victory, come to me. I will then own you to be mine,
and take care of you ; but if I should be so unfortunate as
to lose the battle, then shift as well as you can, and take
care to let nobody know I am your father, for no mercy
will be shown to any one so nearly related to me." Then
the king gave him a purse of gold, and dismissed him.
He followed the king's directions, and when he saw the
battle was lost, and the king kiUed, he hastened to
London, sold his horse and fine clothes, and the better to

A CURIOUS TRADITION. 125
conceal himself from all suspicion of being the son of a
king, and that he might have the means to live by his
honest labour, he put himself apprentice to a bricklayer,
but having a competent skill in the Latin tongue, he was
unwUling to lose it, and having an inclination to reading,
and no dehght in the conversation of those he was obliged
to work with, he generally spent all the time he had to
spare in reading by himself. Sir Thomas said, " You are
now old, and almost past your labour, and I wUl give
you the running of my kitchen as long as you Uve.'' He
answered, " Sir, you have a numerous family ; I have
been used to live retired ; give me leave to build a house
of one room for myself in such a field, and there, with
your good leave, I wiU Uve and die; and if you have
any work that I can do for you, I shall be ready to serve
you." Sir Thomas granted his request; he built his
house, and there continued to his death. This Richard
Plantagenet must have lived to the age of 81, for the
battle of Bosworth was fought the 22nd of August, 1485,
at which time he was between fifteen and sixteen.

126

A MEMBEE OF PAELIAMENT
OF THE OLDEN TIME.

RiCHAED Lysteu, Esq., of Rovri;on Castle (great-great-
granduncle of the present Henry Lyster, Esq., of Rovri:.on
Castle), represented the county of Salop for the unusual
period of thirty years. The great hospitality and uni
versal popularity of this gentleman are stUl very freshly
remembered; he was a firm supporter of the exUed
royal house, and constantly opposed the Whig adminis
tration of his day. It is related of him, that his first
return to parhament was for the borough of Shrewsbury,
for which place, after a strenuous contest, he was elected
by a considerable majority. His opponent, however,
disputed the return, and endeavoured to destroy the ma
jority by disfranchising an extensive suburb, which tUl
that period had always enjoyed the elective franchise,
and as he was a supporter of the government, the whole
Whig party joined in the attempt, and succeeded in
throwing out the successful candidate. Upon the deci
sion being announced in the Commons, Mr. Lyster,
feeling very keenly the injustice of the proceeding, put
on his hat, and, with his back to the Speaker, walked
down the house, when his manner being remarked, he
was called to order, and pointed out to the chair.
Turning abruptly round, he instantly said, " When you

MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT OF THE OLDEN TIME. 127
learn justice, I will learn manners." This drew dowTi
upon him the increased wrath of the house, and probably
he would have been compeUed to ask pardon on his
knees, or to -risit the Tower, had not Sir Robert Walpole,
who on aU occasions knew how to throw the grace of
good temper over disputes and arguments, exclaimed,
with a smUe, " Let him go, we have served him bad
enough already." The indignation which this ill-treat
ment occasioned mainly contributed to securing the re
presentation of his native county for the remainder of
his life. In iUustration of the manners of his day, we
may add that on his departure from Rowton to take his
seat, his tenants annually escorted him the first two
stages on his journey, while his London tradespeople,
duly apprised of his approach, with the same punctilio
advanced two stages from town to bring him into
London. He died in 1776, aged 75.

128

LOED LYTTLETON'S GHOST STOEY.

If the first Lord Lyttleton obtained celebrity by his
literary talents, his son, the immediate heir of his name
and title, has been quite as frequently in the mouths of
men from his connexion with one of the most popular
ghost-stories upon record. Doctor Johnson, who, -vrith
all the depth and acuteness of his understanding, was a
profound believer in such matters, pronounced it one of
the most extraordinary occurrences of his day; and in
proof of its authenticity, used to declare he had received
it from the lips of Lord Westcote himself, the uncle of
Lord Lyttleton; adding, at the same time, " I am so
glad to have e-ridence of the spiritual world, that I am
willing to believe it." But, indeed, the main facts of
the story have nothing in them exceeding the bounds
of probability, nor have they ever been denied by any
one competent to form an opinion upon the subject ; the
only point for dispute is, whether we are to adopt the
creed of our forefathers in respect to such topics, and,
applying it to the present matter, believe that Lord
Lyttleton's dream was a vision sent by Heaven itself to
warn a profligate of his approaching end, or whether we
are to consider it was, like any other dream, the natural,
result of foregone fancies and events when the dreamer
was awake. The philosophy of the present day would,

LORD lyttleton's GHOST STORY. 129
no doubt, incline to the latter belief, and pei-haps wisely,
yet still there is a charm even in superstition.
It may be desirable to preface our story with a few
words relative to the general character and previous life
of Lord Lyttleton, for a tale is never half so interesting
as when we know something about the hero ofit.
Thomas, Lord Lyttleton, was born in the year 1744,
and was the son of George, first Lord Lyttleton, the dis
tinguished poet and historian, who built the mansion of
Hagley, in Worcestershire, as it now stands. It cannot
be said of him, that he was either a very good or a very
great man, and his character was, no doubt, full of
startUng contradictions that may weU puzzle the common
mass of observers, who are apt to jump too hastily to
their conclusions, and are much more likely to be struck
by open faults than to trouble themselves with inquiring
after hidden merits. By them he has been written down
for a mere Ubertine, and the judgment thus pronounced
by the thoughtless or the pharisaical of his own times,
has been continued almost without a question up to the
present day. No doubt, much of the calumny heaped
upon this singular character has arisen from the un
fortunate state of dissension existing between himself
and his father; for no man, whatever may have been
his rank or genius, ever yet set himself in avowed oppo
sition to the established opinions, or even the prejudices
of society, but that he has come halting off from the en
counter ; in the particular case of child and parent, there
is always a strong feeling that the latter, like an English
monarch, can do no wrong; and if so obvious a truth
need example to confirm it, we have the proof close at
hand, in the story of Beatrice Cenci, who slew in her
own father the grey-headed and atrocious violator of her
maiden honour. Could the infraction of fiUal duty have
VOL. in. K

130 LORD lyttleton's GHOST STORY.
found at any time forgiveness with the world, it surely
must have been under so horrible a provocation ; but
the voice of all Italy, whether right or -wrong, con
demned her, and the Pope himself, though from his holy
office more disposed, we may believe, to mercy than any
secular prince, adjudged the unhappy creature to the
scaffold. Bitter as may be the odium theologicum, it is yet mere
milk and water compared to the intensity of famUy
hatred where it once unfortunately takes root ; and the
first Lord Lyttleton, notwithstanding his talents and
professions of Christian principles, had yet his full share.
of this unchristian spirit. As a trifling, but not less cha
racteristic token of his enmity, he bequeathed the office
of editing his works to his nephew. Captain Ayscough
— plainly proving by this act that he was much more^
influenced by hatred of his son than by any regard for
public morals ; even if the worst be true that^ has been
said of Lord Lyttleton, he was yet, in every respect, to
be preferred to his cousin-captain, who, though a military
man, had suffered himself to be repeatedly and grossly
insulted by the same individual, without daring to resent
the affront, and had absolutely resigned his commission
rather than go out to America to fight the battles of his
king and country. Of his morals we may judge by the
fact of his having died the victim of the coarsest de-:
bauchery, and leaving behind him a diary more disgust
ingly licentious than the pages of Aretine himself
There can be little doubt, indeed, that Lord Lyttleton
speaks with no more than common fairness of the motives
which led to this preference, when he thus alludes to the
affair in his published letters : — " The dedication to my
self is a wretched business. You wonder why I did not
write a better for him myself; and I would most surely.

LORD lyttleton's GHOST STORY. 131
have done it, but among many other excellent qualities
which this dedicator possesses, he is a blab of the first
delivery, and I dared not venture to trust him. The
testamentary arrangement which appointed him to . the
honourable labours of an editor, took its rise from three
motives : — 1. To mark a degree of parental resentment
against an ungracious son. 2. From an opinion that a
gracious nephew's well-timed fiattery had created of his
own understanding ; and, 3, from a design of bestovring
upon this same gracious nephew a legacy of honour from
the publication, and profit from the sale of the volume.
He is as proud of the business as a new-made knight of
his title."
If the suspicions here so boldly stated be true, and
there seems little reason to doubt them, it was to the
arts of the parasite that Captain Ayscough owed this
preference over the legitimate heir to his father's affec
tions. And what, after all, was the real character of
Lord Lyttleton, of whom the world appears to have
known so little, whUe it has talked so much ? Dissolute
he undoubtedly was, devoted to women, and over-fond
of play; but it may be questioned whether he was worse
in these respects than so many others, both nobles and
commoners, who have gone down uncensured to the
ground, without leaving behind them any injurious re
collections. As to the dangerous, yet contemptible
passion for play, he at least sinned with honour, and was
untainted by the worst feature in the gambler's character
— he did not make a trade of cards and dice, nor did
he ever attempt to neutralize chance, when against him,
by the help of those fraudulent practices which are so
famUiar to the black adepts in the art. Even his
enemies never accused him of anything of the kind ; yet
had there been any grounds for such a charge, it would
]l2

132 LORD lyttleton's ghost STORY.
full surely have never been omitted in the catalogue of
his imputed offences. It should be remembered, too, in
his favour, that many who had the best opportunities of
reading and understanding his character, considered that
the fire of youthful passions had weU nigh blazed itself
out with him, and that if he had been allowed only a
very few years more of life — he was only thirty-five
when he died — he would have become a wiser and a
better man. How far such an opinion was founded on
truth, or whether it was only the partial judgment of
friendship, we have no longer the means of ascertaining;
but thus much, we think, must be evident to any
observer of common sagacity and candour — none of that
liberality was ever used in judging him which men are
generally content to exercise in other cases; and this
harshness has manifestly proceeded, not from his acknow
ledged faults, but from his want of another -rice in
addition to those he was accused of — he was of too frank
and ingenuous a nature to play the decent hypocrite ;
and they who would readily enough have forgiven his
vices, were outraged beyond measure by his open con
tempt for all appearances. Contrary to the custom of
the prudent and worldly-minded, he hid his o-ood
qualities under a bushel, where no one wovUd take the
trouble of seeking for them, whUe he rather seemed to
court attention to his faults, or at least he was at no
pains to conceal them, and they stood out, in aU their
breadth and depth, naked and glaring, for the observ
ance of the whole world. Thus he was not without a
sense of religion, though he seldom allowed it to in
fluence his conduct ; he was not without talent, though
he either misapplied it, or suffered it to lie dormant ;
and he too often frequented the lowest society, though
such was the fascination of his wit and manners, that

lord lyttleton's GHOST STORY. 133
he was ever welcome in the highest. Solitude was
intolerable to him, partly from his love of pleasure and
the unfltness for self-amusement, which more or less pre
vails in all who mingle overmuch in the bustle of life,
and partly from a constitutional disposition to melan
choly, which made him glad to fly from loneliness, just
as a timid child is always eager to escape from darkness
into daylight. Perhaps, too, this dislike to being alone
might in some measure be heightened by his supersti
tious feeling, for his mind had a strong bias that way,
and at all events they made him peculiarly liable to those
impressions which so well fit a man to become the sub
ject of a ghost-story.
This sketch, brief and imperfect as it necessarily has
been, may supply the reader vrith a key to much that has
a supernatural appearance in the following little narrative,
and he wiU do well to bear it in mind when we come to
speak, as we shaU do presently, of its probable solution.
Lord Lyttleton, who had not long returned from Ire
land, was subject to a sort of suffocating fits, and had
been frequently attacked by them in the month preced
ing his last fatal illness, though4hey did not altogether
prevent him from attending to his senatorial duties in
the House of Lords. They no doubt proceeded in some
measure from indigestion, itself the result of his exces
sive indulgence in pleasures of all kinds ; yet these were
accompanied by other and more dangerous symptoms,
severe pains in the region of the stomach, announcing
some disease of the heart, which one writer, not very
scientifically explains as " a polypus of the heart, de
scribed to be a quantity of coagulated blood contained in
a cyst or bag."
In the intervals of these attacks the patient made him
self such amends as he could for his past pains by in-

134 LORD lyttleton's GHOST STOEY.
dulgenee in the pleasures of the table,- till a fresh access
of the disorder drove him back again to abstinence and
medicine. Each paroxysm, however, left his constitu
tion weaker than before, and less able to contend with
the disorder on its next recurrence, just as the rock that
has been undermined by the action of the waters be
comes weaker and weaker at every fresh rising of the
tide, till at length it falls before a force too weak to have
torn a splinter from it in its days of strength.
Such was- the state of things up to Wednesday, the
24th of November — or, as one account has it, the 14th
— but there was no Wednesday of such a date in the
month. On the evening of that day he was evidently
, worse than he had been, and went to bed at an earlier
hour than usual. His servant having given him his
customary medicine, that was kept in readiness for these
occasions, then retired for the night, but he had not
been gone long before Lord Lyttleton, who stUl conceived
himself to be awake, was disturbed by a gentle fiuttering
of wings about the chamber. While he yet listened, he
was still more struck by the sound of footsteps in the
direction towards his bed. Astonished at these noises,
in such a place and hour, he raised himself up in his
bed to learn what it all meant, and was surprised beyond
measure at the sight of a lovely female, dressed in white,
with a small bird perched, falcon-like, upon her hand.
Contrary to the usual etiquette maintained by visitants
from the other world, vvho never speak till they are
spoken to, this spirit, or apparition, came at once to
business, and while he was yet struggling for words,
addressed him in an authoritative tone, commanding
him to prepare himself, for that he would shortly die.
At this intimation, so decisively given, his lordship's
tongue was loosened enough to inquire how long he

LORD lyttleton's GHOST STORY. 135
really had to livre. The vision then replied, " Not three
days, and you'll depart at the hour of twelve," words
too distinctly uttered, and too deeply impressed upon
the dreamer's memory to be easily forgotten, though in
his fevered and restless state of body, it may be supposed
that other images succeeded and occupied the night on
the fading away of this first vision. But whether his
sleep was disturbed again by other shadows, or passed
in a blank calm that saw and heard nothing, the
apparition of the lady with her bird, and her ominous
prophecy, were fresh upon his mind when he awoke in
the morning. So much was this the case that he could
not help relieving himself of what he felt to be a burthen,
by relating his dream, at the breakfast-table, to Mrs.
Flood, a widow-lady, who lived in the house as companion
to his cousins, the Miss Amphletts. It was obvious,
that he wished to convince them, as weU as himself,
there was nothing in his late dream more than in any
other dream; and for so much of it as related to the
bird, he accounted for it by saying, that when he was in
the green-house at Pitt Place, a few days before, he had
taken some pains to catch a robin, which had been shut
in, his object being to set it free. But the imagination,
when once fairly excited, is not so easily to be set at
rest again. So much did these gloomy apprehensions
grow upon him, even while he most seemed to laugh at
them as mere chimeras, that he was fain to call his
friends about him, and fill the house with guests and
revelry, in the hope of drowning all reflection. To
them also he could not help telling the story of the
previous night, and they well knowing him to be alike
nervous and superstitious, tried to cure him of his fears
by ridicule, and tried to make him believe, with them
selves, that the dream was like other things of the kind.

136 LORD lyttleton's GHOST STOEY.
the mere creation of a brain that did not slumber with
the rest of the body. For a time their arguments had
the desired effect ; his spirits recovered their usual tone,
or at least he so far rallied, in the course of the day,
that he actually, when night came, was able to attend
to his duties as a senator in the House of Lords, and
made two speeches replete with his customary wit and
brilliance. This, however, was an exertion which had
better have been avoided : it was too much for his
enfeebled state of health, and he returned home much
worse than he had been before in consequence.
The third day had now come, and it passed much as
the two others had done— in alternations of confidence
and despondency, according as his own feelings, or the
noisy exhortations of his guests, got the upper hand.
At dinner he rallied considerably, seeming to be free
from pain, and rising so much in spirits, that, when the
cloth was removed, he joyously exclaimed — " Richard's
himself again." The same feeling continued to animate
him throughout the earlier part of this memorable
evening, his manner betraying none of the consciousness
of one who might be literally said to be lying under
sentence of death, and feasting, as Damocles of old, with
the sword suspended by a silk above his head, and sure
to fall at a given moment. On the contrary, it would
appear, according to the account of Admiral Wolseley
and others, who assisted at this death-banquet, that his
wit and convivial qualities never shone ont to greater
advantage. But, as the night came on, these joyous
feelings gradually gave way to his former gloom; his
brow darkened, his manner grew restless, if not agitated;
he became silent, or, when he replied to his friends, who
saw, and endeavoured to rouse him from this state, it

LORD lyttleton's GHOST STORY. 137
was in short, abrupt answers, often foreign to the
purpose, evidently showing that, though his body was
-vrith the company, his mind was elsewhere, and not too
pleasantly employed. Yet his friends had used every
precaution to hinder him from becoming the rictim of
what many of them still considered to be a disordered
imagination. By the help of his valet, they had con
siderably put on his own watch as it lay upon his
dressing-table, and the steward, at their request, had
done the same with all the other clocks and watches in
the house. Nothing, however availed to free him
entirely from his " thick-coming fancies," and at half-
past eleven, as he conceived it to be, though in reality it
was no more than eleven, he complained of weariness,
and retired to his bedroom. Having undressed himself
and gone to bed, he desired his valet to draw the
curtains at the foot, as if he expected a second appearance
of the vision at the same place, and wished, if possible,
to shut it out. At any rate, whatever might be the
precise tenour of his thoughts, it was erident that his
mind was in some way busy with the recent prophecy,
that was now on the eve of being accomplished. Instead
of taking his medicine at once, as he had been used'to
do, he still kept the valet in the room, and was observed
by him to frequently and anxiously consult his watch.
At length, when it was -vrithin a minute or two of
twelve, by the altered time, he asked to see his servant's
watch, and was 'risibly pleased on finding it pretty
nearly corresponded vrith his own. He then put them
one after the other to his ear, to be assured that they
both went, and again, by his manner, expressed a lively
pleasure at the result.
It was now a quarter past twelve, as he imagined.

138 LORD lyttleton's GHOST STORY. •
when he exclaimed to the valet, with no little satisfaction;
" This mysterious lady is not a true prophetess, I find.
Give me my medicine; I'll wait no longer."
In obedience to this order, the servant went into the
adjoining dressing-room to get the physic ready, but
he had not been thus employed more than a minute or
tv/o, when he thought he heard his master breathing
unusually hard. Alarmed by the sound, he instantly
ran to him, when he found the prophetic vision had
been a true one, for his lordship was in the agonies of
death; and unable, from terror, to render any assist
ance — if, indeed, any could have been of service — he
hurried at once to the parlour. At his summons. Lord
Fortescue, Mrs. Flood, and the two INIiss Amphletts,
immediately flew to the chamber of the dying man;
but they were too late, or, at best, came only in time
to vritness the painful parting of soul and body.
Subsequent inquiries proved that his lordship had
died from the bursting of the cyst or bag already
mentioned. The marvels of the story might well be supposed to
end here. We have Lord Lyttleton stating, over and
over again, not to one, but to many credible witnesses,
a dream he has had the night before, and at the end of
three days, by evidence equally indisputable, we find this
dream fulfilled to the very letter. These facts may,
indeed, be variously and even reasonably accounted for,
but they cannot be denied upon any of the grounds
usuaUy employed as tests of credibility. The parties
who have recorded them are all above suspicion, even
if they had a motive for deceit, which, however, they
had not — nor was there anything in what they saw or
^leard that could be set down to illusion. The narration
of the dream, and its subsequent fufilment, were plain

LORD lyttleton's GHOST STORY. 139
matters of fact, which either had or had not occurred ;
in this respect, they could neither have deceived them
selves nor have been deceived by any one else. Then,
as to Lord Lyttleton, he could scarcely have fancied a
dream ; and to what purpose should he have feigned
one ? It has, indeed, been said that, for some unkno-WTi
cause, he poisoned himself; but this charge has never
been substantiated — besides that, if we allowed a thing
so improbable under all the circuinstances, it would still
have been beyond his power to have foretold the exact
hour when it would end him, unless he had taken some
very active drug at the predicted moment. This cer
tainly he might have done during the absence of his
valet, brief as it was; but the supposition seems totaUy
inconsistent vrith the part he had been playing for the
three days previous; the bravest man never yet trifled
with death so hardily.
The most surprising part of the story, because the
most difficult of explanation, yet remains to be related.
On the second day, MUes Peter Andrews, one of the
most intimate of his lordship's friends, left the dinner
party at an early hour, being called away upon business
to Dartford, where he was the owner of certain powder-
mUls. He had all along professed himself one of the
most determined sceptics as to the dream being any
thing more than an ordinary vision, and therefore soon
ceased to think of it. On the third night, however,
when he had been in bed about half an hour, and stUl
remained, as he imagined, vride awake, his curtains were
suddenly pulled aside, and Lord Lyttleton appeared
before him, in his robe-de-chambre and night-cap.
Mr. Andrews looked at his visitor for some time in
sUent wonder, and then began to reproach him for so
odd a freak, in coming down to Dartford Mills without

140 LORD lyttleton's GHOST STORY.
any previous notice, as he hardly knew where, on the
sudden, to find him the requisite accommodation;
" Nevertheless," added the disturbed host, "I will get
up, and see what can be done for you." With this
view, he turned to the other side to ring the bell, but
on looking round again, he could see no signs of his
strange visitor. Soon afterwards, the bell was answered
by his servant, and upon his asking what had become of
Lord Lyttleton ; the man, who was evidently much sur
prised at the question, replied, that he had seen nothing
of him since they left Pitt-place. "Psha, you fool!"
exclaimed Mr. Andrews, "he was here this moment at
my bedside." The servant, more astonished than ever,
declared that he did not well understand how this could
be, since he must have seen him enter ; whereupon Mr.
Andrews rose, and having dressed himself, proceeded to
search the house and grounds, but no Lord Lyttleton
was anywhere to be found. Still he could not help
believing that his friend, who at all times was much
given to practical jests, had played him this trick for
his previously expressed scepticism in the matter of the
dream. But he was soon brought to view the whole
affair in a very different light, and even to question the
correctness of his own disbelief, when, about four o'clock
of the same day, an express arrived from a friend, with
the news of his lordship's death, and the whole manner
of it, as related by the valet to those who were in the
house at the time, although not actually present at the
parting scene.
The reader is now in possession of every fact that is
known to exist in relation to this singular event, and
though there have been many discrepancies to reconcile
in the minor details, yet all the main points of the story,
by whomsoever narrated, are substantiaUy the same.

141

FONTHILL ABBEY.

When the young heart beats with excitement, en
chanted by the ever-popular Arabian Nights — when
older eyes pore with delight over the exaggerated
romances which the troubadours of Provence brought
into fashion in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries —
and when we compare the style of life which can alone
have given birth to such productions with that which
we now see general around us, where material improve
ments command a constantly increasing portion of public
attention, and theories which are not to save or to make
money are despised, it is not wonderful if we should
exclaim, that the age of romance is gone for ever ! And
yet it is not so. The bulk of mankind have been forced
to form their views, and to carry them into action, more
according to one stiff model ; but even still we will ever
find some wild exceptions, some characters in whom the
savage of nature stiU holds rule, and which refuse to
bend before that monotonous tyrant, custom. View the
"sous-lieutenant d'artillerie" without friends, vrithout
interest, determining at Toulon that he will command ;
the young general at Marengo resolved to beat the
Austrians, though none of his movements were according
" to the regular rules of war ;" the powerful emperor
destroying the finest army Europe had ever seen, that
he might sleep in the Kremlin, rich in its Eastern tra-

142 fonthill abbey.
ditions ; the exile of Elba overthrowing a victorious
monarch in a few days, in order that a few months
should behold himself pining to death on St. Helena — is
not that romance ? Alexander of Russia was said to be
eccentric; but was he not romantic too? And that
fine veteran who earned such glory at the period to
which we are alluding, Lynedoch, who has only recently
departed from among us — was there no romance in his
career, who found victory amid the strife of battles,
where he only sought for that death which should
permit him to rejoin the beloved vrife who had been his
companion for half his life ?
The love of wealth, and the daring speculations to
which that passion gives rise in ardent temperaments,-
though proceeding from no very romantic source, may
yet lead to changes of fortune that are quite as extra
ordinary as anything we meet with in romance. The
man of humble birth, but of great energy and prompt
judgment, suddenly starts up from his state of nothing
ness, and seems to emulate the torrent, which, gathering
to itself the thousand rills and streams in its onward
course, at last swells into a mighty river. Then, again,
we shall see the same spirit that led to a success so
Avonderfnl as to astound feebler minds, carrying its
possessor a step too far — only a single step — and down
goes the whole of the stupendous fabric. In this re
spect, at least, Beckford, who looked upon trade with
such intense scorn, might yet very aptly be compared to
the Railway King, as Hudson was called in the days of
his glory^ — either of them built up a colossal structure,
though of different orders, as different as the massive
Doric from the rich Corinthian, by a sj^stem of hazard
which astonished every one ; and each, after a thousand
hair-breadth escapes, made one false step, and sank at

fonthill abbey. 143
once into ruin no less complete and wonderful than his
rise had been. As regards the latter, there is a coin
cidence weU worthy of being remembered amongst these
freaks of fortune. From being the owner of a small
shop in one of the minor gates-— -thstt is streets — of York,
Hudson, by a singular union of skill and intrepidity,
came to be the possessor of so much wealth that he was
enabled to purchase from the Duke of Devonshire his
noble seat of Londesborough. The first in rank and the
first in opulence, the noble from the west end of the
metropolis, and the merchant from the wrong side of
Temple Bar — aristocratice — were alike the invited guests
at the table of the Railway King, all paying homage in
his person to the deity of Fortune. But while the
humble Yorkist was thus sailing before the wind, the
amiable and talented Lord Albert Conyngham, who had
embarked upon the same voyage of speculation, met
vrith nothing but storms and shipwreck. To drop all
metaphor, while Hudson was making a fortune by rail
ways, his lordship was losing one, and was forced to
seek a temporary refuge abroad. But again the wheel
of Fortune went round. Hudson's schemes burst on the
sudden, like the soap-bubbles blown by some idle school
boy ; he was at once stript of his borrowed plumage,
whUe Lord Albert — the ruined Lord Albert — having
inherited a large fortune from Mr. Denison, purchased
the princely seat of Londesborough, and, taking a new
title from it, became Lord Londesborough.
Great as was the interest excited by these singular
revolutions, they feU very short of what most people
experienced in vritnessing the ruin of the ducal Buck
ingham. How strange that he who bore the noble name of
Chandos should so soon forget the fate of Canons, where

144 fonthill abbey.
the Duke of Chandos had expended a fortune in raising
an immense structure which his heirs dared not inhabit,
and which vanished from earth almost as soon as its
extravag-ant builder I Much more than Canons did
Stowe deserve to be preserved. The whole British
nation had a species of property in that seat of a family
pre-eminently distinguished among our statesmen. The
names of Pitt, Buckingham, and Grenville, would of
themselves call forth many a sigh from us at the fall of
that Stowe with which they were connected ; but when,
in addition, we remember the superb library, and the
chefs d'ceuvre of art with which successive generations
had enriched the mansion, and when we think of the
change in the future position of the generous and noble-
hearted young man who should be heir to these riches as
truly as to the blood of Plantagenet, our national sorrow
finds it difficult not to make way for a more angry
feeling. Between the long-completed destruction of
Canons, and that of Stowe which is now progressing,
two other great mansions have fallen from their old
estate — Wanstead and Fonthill. As far as the first is
concerned, the reflections wliich force themselves upon
the thinking mind are, if possible, stUl more painful
than those which we cannot but entertain when we
meditate over Stowe. A splendid mansion, a vast estate
to follow it, and both so wantonly and so speedily de
stroyed, whilst she who had owned them, and whose
prudent ancestors had adorned and increased them, was
left to exist upon a wretched pension ! How could the
reader derive any pleasure from the recital of these
occurrences ? But with FonthUl the case is different ¦
it was made and sold by the same man — one whose wUd
and brilliant talents had revelled alike in learnino- and
extravagances — one who loved to astonish, and who

FONTHILL ABBEY. 145
perhaps, felt nearly as much of that singular pleasure
which always accompanies excitement, when the greedy
public rushed in thousands to devour with their eyes the
countless treasures he had there heaped up, and was then
preparing to scatter over England, as when he first com
pleted the marveUous structure which he prevented, as
far as in his power, from pleasing any eyes but his.
Here, therefore, we can hope for something that will
interest, and yet that will not derive what gives it zest
only from the sorrows and misfortunes of others.
At the time when the island of Jamaica submitted to
the British arms, four years prior to the Restoration, the
knightly family of Beckford filled a respectable position
among the gentry of England. In those days, the spirit
which prompted to adventure in foreign lands was very
strong in this island. The lofty bearing and great
power of the Spaniards in Europe were naturaUy attri
buted altogether to the wealth and resources they con
stantly drew from their transatlantic dominions, whilst
the splendid prizes which our naval commanders had
sometimes made on the Spanish main, and the brilliant
promises made by the unfortunate Sir Walter Raleigh,
and for which many believed there was more foundation
than state craft would allow, added to the desire of
rivalUng in the new world our peninsular enemies,
which mere national jealousy would have been sufficient
to caU into being. Instead of the noble work of colo
nization being left, as now, to paupers and criminals,
this period of time saw such names as De la Warr,
Baltimore, Stirling, at the head of the expeditions which
planted British arts in America. Colonel Peter Beck
ford, among other gentlemen of name, set out for the
newly-conquered Jamaica, and his private fortunes par
ticipated in the rapid improvement which took place as
VOL. in. L

146 FONTHILL ABBEY.
soon as the island fell into the hands of the energetic
Anglo-Saxon race. He died in 1710, possessed of im
mense wealth, after having ably served Charles II. as
President of the Council, and William III. as Com
mander-in-chief of the Forces in the island. Hlis eldest
son and successor, Peter Beckford, Esq., was Speaker of
the House of Assembly. He increased his fortune by a
rich marriage, and his children allied themselves to the
noblest families in the land. From one of his sons
the present Lord Rivers derives : another married the
daughter of Peregrine, Duke of Ancaster : the elder of
his two daughters married George Ellis, Chief Justice
of Jamaica, grandfather to Lord Seaford ; whUst the
younger took two husbands of the noble race of Howard,
her first being Thomas, Earl of Effingham, and her
second, Field-Marshal Sir George Howard, K.B. WU
liam, the celebrated Lord Mayor of London, was the
Speaker's eldest surviving son. Wealthy and popular,
he loved England too much to dwell amid tropical
scenes. He purchased Fonthill-Gifford, an ancient
manor of the Mervyns, and when, in 1755, the old
manorial residence was accidently burned down, he de
termined upon the erection of a mansion worthy of his
great fortune. The expenditure of 150,000^. made him
master of a house grand in its proportions and beautUul
in internal decoration. The centre was adorned with a
splendid portico, and expanded at each side into spacious
and handsome trings, connected by corridors vrith the
main house. Here for fifteen years the powerful alder
man resided in great state, but died in 1770, when in
the zenith of his popularity and power, and whUst he
was serving for the second time the high office of Lord
Mayor of London. He had married a lady of ancient
and illustrious blood, Maria, daughter and co-heir of the

FONTHILL ABBEY. 147
Hon. George Hamilton, M.P., and grand-daughter of
James, sixth Earl of Abercorn, by whom he left at his
decease one son, called by his own name, who never
could conceal the pride he took and the pleasure he
found in his HamUton descent.
This son being only ten years old at his father's death,
his large income was made still larger from the accumu
lations of a long minority ; and when he became of age,
in 1781, he foimd himself possessed of an immense for
tune, a name known from one end of England to the
other, and the fine seat of Fonthill-Gifford. Enough,
apparently^ to satisfy most men, certainly you or us,
gentle reader; and when we add, that two years after
wards he wedded the Lady Margaret Gordon, daughter
of the Earl of Aboyne, whose noble descent and Huntly
blood were valued by none higher than by her for
tunate husband, if we had not heard, as we all have,
of his singular subsequent career, we certainly should
suppose he must have felt that he had all man need
legitimately desire. But the younger Beckford was a
being of most extraordinary temper, of talents great
but wayward, and of wild imagination. He was am
bitious. His father had bearded his king, sitting in all
the state of sovereignty; he had been for some time
almost a king himself among his faithful lieges of the
city ; and the son could not brook to be known only as
the heir of such a father. For the contests and vic
tories of parliamentary Ufe, for courting or leading the
populace, he was not fitted ; and though on more than
one occasion he obtained a seat in the House of Com
mons, his career there has left no trace worthy of notice.
Fretted, perhaps, at the difficulties which encumbered
him on his search after celebrity in England, where so
many others were as wealthy, so many more noble, he
L 2 «

148 FONTHILL ABBEY.
first left his native land for the southern countries of
Europe, to seek renown in those imaginative lands, to
strike with wonder the less wealthy grandees of foreign
courts, strengthened in this plan by the death of his
wife, who only sm'vived her marriage three years, dying
in France in 1786. Who has not read Childe Harold?
— ^Whose is the mind that does not ponder with pleased
and wondering interest over the being whose palace,
once the resort of the wildest, most pleasure-hunting,
must we add, most profligate, court in Europe; now
ruined and lone, is pointed out to the English traveller
by his Lusitanian guide, and scarcely discovered amid
the luxuriance of the almost tropical vegetation which
surrounds it?
" There thou too, Vathek, England's wealthiest son,
Once form'd thy Paradise, as not aware
When wanton Wealth her mightiest deeds hath done.
Meek Peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun.
Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan,
Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow.
But now, as if a thing unblest by man.
Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou !
Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow
To halls deserted, portals gaping -wide ;
Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how
Vain are the pleasaunces on earth supplied ;
Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungentle tide."
Beckford vrished to astonish,' and wishing it ener
geticaUy, he succeeded. All Europe knew his name,
and wondered at his wealth, and the wild splendour in
which he lavished it around him. But singular and
picturesque as is the short history of his Portuguese
mansion, it is with his WUtshire property we are now
anxious to become acquainted. When the eccentric
owner of FonthiU -Gifford returned to take up his abode

FONTHILL ABBEY. 149
finaUy in England, the house erected at so much expense
by his father, seated in a handsome park, in a beautiful
part of the county of WUts, was a fine example of an
English country-seat of the highest class: but there
were others in other districts, and belonging to other
men, which were of simUar dimensions, fitted up in the
same style — and Beckford must have no equal, none
to rival him. And so this mansion was at once mentally
handed over to the care of the auctioneer by its morbid
owner. This was in 1796. Ten years afterwards, FonthiU
Abbey was sufficiently advanced towards completion to
permit its lord to take up his residence in it ; and then
was FonthUl-Gifford consigned to the hammer of Mr.
PhUips, the George Robins of the day, one wing only
being preserved, and remaining a prominent object in
the abbey park, doubtless to impress upon the passing
visitor how vast must be the mind of that man whom
a mansion, of which it was but a smaU appendage, was
not sufficiently splendid to satisfy. On a lofty eminence
in its vicinity, the singularly magnificent creation of his
erratic genius was now rearing its proud and pinnacled
crest. It was buUt after the plan of the most rich of
the abbeys of bygone days, and like them, its super
stitious foundations occupied the ground in the form of
a cross. From about the centre of the pUe of buUdings
sprung the tower, which was the abbey's distinguishing
feature, and of which the elaborately ornamented walls
attained the great height of 278 feet. Though not so
attractive at first sight as the far-famed tower, other
portions of the edifice were, on examination, found quite
as admirable and astonishing. An arch is mentioned in
Neale's " Views of Country Seats," (a very interesting
work, from which we have derived much information,)
which was nearly six times as high as it was wide, a

150 FONTHILL ABBEY.
comparative height exceeding by one-third that of the
highest of the lofty arches which support the groining
of the nave in Westminster Abbey ! The great haU
was seventy-eight feet high, whilst its length was only
ten feet less. Its width was twenty-eight feet. The
great western doorway, also, was of remarkable dimen
sions, reaching the height of thirty-one feet ; and the
other portions of the extraordinary structure were not
inferior in comparative grandeur of dimensions to those
we have more particularly selected for mention.
Having once resolved to erect this palace, the energy
of him who planned it refused to submit to the slightest
delay. The eternal laws of great Nature herself were
set at nought. Night was no longer at FonthUl the
season of rest ; where Beckford chose to build, darkness
no longer reigned when the light of waning day had
fled ! Countless torches shed their lurid light around
the rising walls, and not the busy hum of labour alone,
but even the master-spirit's watchful eye often knew no
difference between night and day. Even the Sunday,
with its sacred rest, was too frequently forgotten, though
him for whose gratification all this was done had
brought home from his sojourn in Italy and Portugal, so
much of the true spirit of superstition as to carry, it is
said, a silver image of that amusing anchbrite, St.
Anthony, constantly about his person. The splendid
works at the sovereign's castle of Windsor, where the
knightly chapel of St. George was then being decorated,
had to cease for awhile, that the workmen might adorn
Beckford's young abbey ; the agriculturists of the vicinity
had to delay, postpone, and mismanage the labours of
husbandry, that there might be no lack of horses or
waggons at Fonthill. And what thinkest thou, reader,
fair or wise as the case may be, was gained by all this

FONTHILL ABBEY. 151
wondrous haste ? Mr. Beckford amazed the public : his
palace, his character, his talents, his riches were the
wonder of the moment ; and above all, by dint of these
unparalleled and almost superhuman exertions, he suc
ceeded at the close of ten years in being able to take up
his habitation in an unfinished palace which he was only
to possess iot fifteen, and of which there is now nought
but a ruined memorial remaining ! WeU might the
wisest of men exclaim, " Vanity, vanity of vanities, all is
vanity." With thick woods and lofty fences, with gloomy firs,
and cypresses, and pines, he kept at a distance from him
that vulgar world whom he ruined himself to astonish ;
he spared no expense to appropriate all the most costly
curiosities and objects of vertii, with which he crowded
walls upon which no eye but their master's was ever
willingly permitted to gaze ; and whilst his lofty tower,
built upon the highest ground in the vicinity, seemed
intended to attract the attention of, and be visible
over, half his county, he had practically rendered it
and its treasures almost inaccessible to the most per
severing curiosity. In 1796 he commenced this creation
of his brilliant fancy, in 1807 he first inhabited it, in
1822 he sold it to John Farquhar, Esq., for 340,000iJ.,
and all the articles of vertii and taste which he had spent
these years in accumulating were sold by auction in
1823. Mystery had added much to the interest felt in
Fonthill and its wonders, and such was the curiosity ex
cited by the sale, that of the catalogues admitting to the
'^'iri^ which preceded it, and which were charged one
guinea each, over eight thousand copies were sold. It is
generally believed that the decision thus unexpectedly
come to by Mr. Beckford, and which transferred this
property to others, was the unavoidable result of very

152 FONTHILL ABBEY.
serious pecuniary difficulties, which made it impossible
for him to continue the lord of these monastic haUs,
where his retinue and expenditure were on the scale of a
prince's household. He now settled at Bath, where
Lansdown Tower, its owner, and his singular life, present
as well as past, attracted as much attention as ever he
could desire, and where hedied in 1844, haring survived
by many years, Mrs. Orde, the eldest of his two daugters
(the present Duchess of Hamilton is the youngest), and
having reached the patriarchal age of eighty-four. He
is said to have left FonthiU with perfect calmness, having
previously, however, thought of residing in a small
cottage on the estate, where he said he could live in
peace on three or four thousand a-year, and letting the
noble structure, which had cost its hundreds of thousands
to erect, and tens of thousands to maintain in proper
style, become a vast and lonely ruin. But had he carried
out this wild plan, he would have lost the greater part of
the large price for which it sold, and he certainly did
more wisely in parting with it.
An anecdote related in the little biographical work
called the " Unique," from which are here given several
particulars concerning this wonderful man, makes the
story of his calmness at bidding a long good-bye to
Fonthill sufficiently likely. It is there said, that when
the great tower caught fire during the progress ofthe
building, owing perhaps to the frequent use of torch
light, the lord of the thousands which had been ex
pended upon erecting that Avhich was thus being de
voured by the flames, looked upon the wild and majestic,
but melancholy sight, with feelings apparently of the
most perfect composure.
It was not in architecture and vertu alone that Mr.
Beckford refused to know what extravagance was. His

FONTHILL ABBEY. 153
cook is said to have received 800^. per annum; and the
style in which his solitary table was kept was luxurious
and expensive beyond belief. And yet upon one me
morable occasion, he was wiUing to run the risk of
spoiling a good dinner in order to give himself a further
proof that nothing possible to man was impossible to
him. He had once sworn by his beloved St. Anthony
that he would have his Christmas dinner cooked in the
nevv abbey kitchen. The time was short, the work
severe, for much remained to be done to this portion
of the rising edifice. Still, Beckford had said it, and it
must be done ! So every exertion that money could call
forth ' was brought into play to finish the kitchen in
time. It was an impossibility. The apartment, indeed,
was finished by the Christmas morning, but the bricks
had not had time to settle steadUy into their places, the
beams were not yet thoroughly secured, the very mortar
which kept the main waUs together had not yet dried
into hardness, that winter having proved unusually
damp. However, Beckford had announced his resolu
tion, nay more, he had called the blessed St. Anthony to
witness it, and he would not depart from it. The fire
was lit, the splendid repast was cooked, a troop of
menials were carrying the many dishes through the long
passages which separated the kitchen from the sump
tuous chamber where their Sybarite master was to feast,
when the kitchen itself fell down with a loud crash.
But it was no longer a misfortune of any consequence :
no person was injured, its owner had done what he said
he would do ; and he had money enough to build a new
kitchen !
And yet, strange to say, he never completed the mar
vellous structure, and the east wing (in which, by the
bye, this very kitchen was) remained unfinished when

154 FONTHILL ABBEY.
FonthiU Abbey passed to its new proprietor, John
Farquhar, Esq., a man very different from Beckford, but
whose singularities will not permit us to pass over him
either in silence.
Born in Aberdeen, Mr. Farquhar, like so many of his
countrymen, started in early life to seek in eastern
climes that fortune which the constantly increasing com
petition of an acute and money-loving race made it each
day more difficult to acquire under the gloomier skies of
Caledonia. The interest of some relatives procured him
a cadetship in the service of the East India Company, on
the Bombay establishment : and here the young Scotch
man, like all those who held the same station around
him, had the certainty of slowly but steadily rising iu
position, and ultimately, should health be left to him, of
enjoying a respectable and independent competency.
Fortunately for him, however, he received a dangerous
wound in the leg, which first caused a painful and
constant lameness, and soon after, progressing in evU
effects with that rapidity usual with aU ailments in those
tropical climes, threatened not only general derangement
of his health, which indeed was already becoming too
apparent, but even danger to life itself. At a crisis
from the occurrence of which all his future success sprung,
he requested and obtained leave to remove for Bengal,
partly in hopes of a new and perhaps more salubrious
climate, but chiefiy in search of that medical talent
which was likely to be most abundant at the chief seat
of government.
Settled in Bengal, he necessarUy carried on almost
constant intercourse vrith the best physicians then resi
dent in that locality : their conversation, added to a love
of research and a mind naturally foud of the sciences,
led him to study the secrets of that sister to medicine.

FONTHILL ABBEY. 155
chemistry, which promises so much less, but whose per
formances are so much more valuable to humanity than
those of her ancient nurse, the alchemy of the middle
ages. His practical temperament caused him to do more
than merely pore over the theory of the science ; and as
European society in India is very small, and each mem
ber of it soon known to those around him, it was before
long generally said that the sickly cadet, whose amusing
chemical experiments were so interesting, was well fitted
to be sent into the interior of the country, where there
was a large manufactory of gunpowder established by
the government, but which was unsuccessful, nobody
exactly knew why. The young Scotchman, like Caesar,
" went, saw, and conquered ;" the gunpowder which
left the mUl was henceforth faultless ; and Mr. Farquhar
found himself manager of the factory, and shortly after
wards was made the sole contractor for this compound,
so necessary to the government of India in those days,
and we may add in these also. The governor-general,
Warren Hastings, reposed much confidence in him, and
the favour of the ruling powers, added to his own inde
fatigable rigour of mind, soon laid the foundation of a
fortune which was rapidly increased by his constitutional
and extreme penuriousness.
It was the time when wars and distresses in Europe
kept the funds so low, that fifty-five was a common
price for the three per cents, and according as his monies
accumulated, he sent large remittances to his bankers,
Messrs. Hoare and Co., for investment in those tempting
securities. When he had thus disposed of half a million,
he determined that he could afford to return to his
native land, and he bade adieu to the eastern soil, where
he had found the wealth he coveted. Landing at
Gravesend, he engaged a seat upon the inexpensive out-

156 FONTHILL ABBEY.
side of a coach, and in due time found himself the newest
denizen of the modern Babylon. Weather-beaten,
covered with dust, he asked his way to his bankers,
where he stepped up to one of the clerks, and expressed
a wish to see Mr. Hoare himself. But his appearance,
and the very economical nature of that portion of his
wardrobe which then clothed his sunburnt limbs, satis
fied the clerk that he must be some unlucky petitioner
for charity, and he was left to wait in the cash office
until Mr. Hoare happened to pass through. The latter
was some time before he could exactly understand who
Mr. Farquhar was. His Indian customer, indeed, he
knew weU by name, but of course he would affect that
Eastern pomp and splendour which then uniformly dis
tinguished the successful Anglo-Indian. At length,
however, he was satisfied as to the identity of his wealthy
visitor, who then asked for 25/., and saluting him,
retired. On first arriving in England, he took up his abode
with a relative of some rank, vvho mixed a good deal in
London society, and who, in the course of a couple of
months, decided upon introducing him to it, by giving a
grand baU in honour of his successful return to the
island of his birth.
This relative had humoured Mr. Farquhar's singular
fancies as regarded his every day attire, but his fashion
able mind was horrified when the day of the coming ball
was only a week off, and that there vv^as, nevertheless, no
sign of his intending to provide a new suit of clothes
even for that gay occasion. He ventured accordingly
to hint to him the propriety of so doing. His guest
made a short reply, retired to his room, .packed up his
things, and in a few minutes drove from the door in a
hired vehicle, not vouchsafing even a farewell to his

FONTHILL ABBEY. 157
too critical host. He then settled in Upper Baker-
street, in which clean, though not wealthy locality, his
windows were ever remarkable for requiring a servant's
care, and his whole house, for its dingy and dirty
appearance, at which we cannot wonder, when we learn
that his sole attendant was an old woman, and that,
from even her intrusive care, his own apartment was
strictly kept free. In charitable deeds he was munifi
cent to a princely extent, and often when he had left his
comfortless house with a crust of bread in his pocket to
save the expenditure of a penny at an oyster-shop, he
has given away, in the course of the day, hundreds of
pounds to aid the distressed, and to cure and care for
those who suffered from the countless ills to which flesh
is heir ; but in his personal expenditure he was parsimo
nious to an extreme, and whilst he resided in Baker-
street, he spent on himself and his household but 200/.
a-year out ofthe 30,000/. or 40,000/. his many sources
of income must have brought him in.
This was the man who succeeded the selfishly luxu
rious Beckford at Fonthill ! Truly those splendid walls
which had so lately sprung from the ground to which
they were so shortly to crumble into ruin again, must
have discovered the change of ownership, even though
their new lord had not torn from them the proud
escutcheons with which they had been adorned by him
who had erected them, haughty in the consciousness of
his descent from the rich blood of Chatelherault. Their
new proprietor, however, did not long possess those
vaulted halls. Four years after his great purchase, Mr.
Farquhar was no longer an inhabitant of the busy, idle,
talking world, which had stared at Beckford, and which
stared at him. The immense fortune he had long and
earnestly struggled to make, and to increase which he

158 FONTHILL ABBEY.
had lived a solitary and apparently comfortless life, he
made no disposal of by will; the law distributed it
among his next of kin, and those he favoured, those he
neglected, inherited equal portions. Three nephews,
Messrs. G. Mortimer, J. Mortimer, and Frazer, and four
nieces. Lady Pole, Mrs. Lumsden, Mrs. Aitken, and
Mrs. Trevezant, became entitled to about 100,000/. each.
The abbey he had sold some time previous to his death,
and it was demolished, merely enough of its ruins being
left to show where it had stood ; and to add to the inte
rest of a spot which will always be a pleasing subject of
meditation, not only to the WUtshire lover of the pic
turesque, but also to the cosmopolitan student of human
nature. There is much in the history, thus cursorily gone over,
of Fonthill Abbey and its two remarkable proprietors,
vvhich is quite as strange as the most romantic anecdote
handed down from the vanished days of love and chi
valry. To compare it with the vrild and charming tales
which sprang from the fertile brain of the now unknown
author of the Arabian Nights, would hardly be fair.
Imagination can revel in a poetry of situation and re
wards and punishments which can be but very partially
realized in the practical career of life ; and when (as in
a dream, for instance,) the mind, the spirit which we
derive from other and mightier worlds, is freed from
that enchaining control with which the body and all
that matter whicli surrounds it, impedes it when we are
awake, we all know with what rapidity and luxuriousness
of conception it can create, change, and unmake. And
j'ct there is much in the fortunes and fate of FonthiU —
much in the wayward energy of Beckford's vrill — much
in the charity of the miser Farquhar, which would have
formed a character strange and attractive enough for

FONTHILL ABBEY. 159
any courtier of the great Caliph of Bagdad. The moral
of the story would be somewhat puzzling, however,
which of the two men was the happiest ? Was either,
or were both unhappy ? It is hard to say — Beckford
wished to be a subject of wonder, and succeeded. He
wished his residence to be different from every other,
and there again he was successful. And though it must
have given him some feeling of disappointment that the
creation of his mind should be the seat of another's very
different life ; yet Mr. Farquhar, as it eventually hap
pened, possessed Fonthill for so short a time, and it was
demolished so soon after he parted with it, and so many
years before Mr. Beckford followed him to the grave,
that the latter Uved to see its last proprietor compara
tively forgotten, and the strange glories of that almost
ephemeral monastic palace have been, and ever will be,
connected by the public voice with no name but that of
its eccentric architect.
On the other hand, Farquhar also was successful. He
ardently desired a fortune, and unexpectedly he found
one. When he began to become rich, his ambition was
to find himself in the ranks of that class which is
respected before all others in England, the " Millionaires."
And there after a whUe he took his place, and showed he
held it by his purchase of Fonthill. Favoured by Provi
dence vrith the fulfilment of his hopes and wishes, he
desired a means of proring his gratitude ; could he have
a better one, than the encouragement which his great
wealth enabled him to give to the craving impulse which
leads the Christian, we must indeed add the human
heart, to deeds of charity ? It may have been in him
a proof of an ill-balanced mind that, though so noble in
charities, he was so sordid and penurious where the
other expenses of life were concerned ; it may have been

160 FONTHILL ABBEY.
a sign of utter selfishness in his predecessor that his
profusion and lavishness of money was all done for him
self alone. But we do not pretend to judge of the
absolute excellence of character which may have marked
either individual — we are only considering whether they
attained to worldly happiness; and we should guess,
where a guess alone is possible, that the gratification of
their singularities, tinged as they were in the one case
with avarice, in the other with selfishness, did not take
from, but rather add to that happiness of which we
speak. Despite the endeavours of custom, fashion, and law,
to force all mankind in these degenerate days to be of
one form and cast of mind, at least in essentials, that
which brings happiness and pain is as different as possible
to each indiridual. Procrustes, if he lived in our days,
would find men willing enough to adopt mechanical or
chemical, electrical or magnetieal means, to fit, in appear
ance at least, his tyrannical bed. And we are content,
in manners, in dress, and in cant, to be like our fellows.
But nature has made us different, and in spite of our
often willing efforts, we will never in mind be alike one
another. A shipwreck, a fire, a murder, a revolution,
wUl every now and then show us as we really are : and
so will any great rise or sudden fall in our fortunes.
The angel and the fiend, the savage and the man of
pleasure, may divide the empire over one outwardly and
apparently humdrum cockney mind : but in the day of
terror or exaltation, at the critical moment when life,
reputation or fortune is at stake, there can be but one
commander, and our own will, if strong and independent,
chance or the will of others if we be weak, vrill then
decide which nature shall henceforth rule the soul. Let
us therefore, before that time comes, (as it may suddenly

FONTHILL ABBEY. 161
and to-morrow), study our characters, and learn to curb
the bad and to aid and love the good that is in us.
Edifices in rivalry of Fonthill have since been more
than once erected. One remarkable structure is that of
Hadlow Castle, the seat of W. Barton May, Esq., situate
near Tunbridge. Mr. May, vrith an ardour worthy of
Beckford, has created a dweUing fancifuUy beautiful,
of palatial aspect, whose main tower rears itself to an
immense height above the surrounding country, and
may be seen on aU sides at many miles distance.

VOL. IIL M

162

DEATH OF SIE FEANCIS BUEDETT, Baet.

The ancient house of Burdett, descended from Hugo
de Burdett, a noble Norman, who fought under the
Conqueror's standard at the Battle of Hastings, is
imperishably associated with history, where as founders
of priories and religious houses in the days of England's
adherence to the ancient faith, knights of their shires,
preux chevaliers, and political martyrs, their names are
honourably recorded. Amongst the most distinguished,
we may particularise Sir Nicholas Burdett, Chief Butler
of Normandy and Governor of Evreux, who was slain
whUe gallantly fighting at the Battle of Pontoise in 1440.
The sad fate of Thomas Burdett, the son and heir of this
gallant knight, in connexion -vrith the story of the
White Buck of Arrow, is an historical event of never-
failing interest. The execution of this gentleman for an
impetuous, but natural exclamation upon the loss of
a favourite deer is a foul stain upon the eseocheon
of Edward IV.; but, although the story is shrouded in
considerable mystery, doubtless he feU a victim to the
politics of the times, for the contentions of the roses
were stiU unappeased, and the uncertain tenure of the
throne engendered a more than ordinary tyranny.
Great litigation foUowed the attainder and death of this
unfortunate gentleman, but, perhaps as a reward for
former sufferings, the Burdetts were afterwards permitted.

DEATH OF SIE FRANCIS BURDETT. 163
to enjoy several centuries of peace, wealth, and honour,
their property increasing with every succeeding genera
tion, even down to these unromantic days. We are not,
however, justified in altogether denying the existence of
a spirit of romance, even in our own busy times, for the
melancholy anecdote we are about to relate would at
once disprove such an idea.
The political career of the late Sir Francis Burdett is
too weU known to require much comment. Once the
idol of the people, he found that popular favour has its
turn ; and he long sur-rived the lease of their att'ections,
which he had held for upwards of a quarter of a
century. When, in 1843, Sir Francis had attained his seventy-
third year, his fine constitution, coupled with great
activity of body and mind, gave strong indications of
many years of uninterrupted health and enjoyment;
but, to the grief of his numerous friends, he died in the
first month of 1844, in his seventy-fourth year. The
circumstances of his decease have been much misrepre
sented; they are, indeed, scarcely known to any one.
Were they of an ordinary character, they would not
have been entitled to a place in these pages ; but they
offer food for the philosopher, and prove the faUacy of
the cynic's idea, that a broken heart is mere metaphor.
Sir Francis Burdett married, 5th of August, 1793,
Sophia, youngest daughter of the late Thomas Coutts,
Esq., the celebrated banker, by whom he had issue one
son, the present Sir Robert Burdett, Bart., and five
daughters, of whom the youngest. Miss Angela Burdett
Coutts, is the richest heiress in the British dominions.
Sir Francis and Lady Burdett were as much attached to
each other as ever were man and wife since the institu
tion of holy matrimony. Towards the close of 1843, her
m2

164 DEATH OF SIR FRANCIS BUEDETT.
ladyship's illness excited great alarm in the minds of
her family. She died on the 10th January, 1844. Her
death sounded her husband's kneU. She who had been
the partner and sharer of his joys and troubles for
upwards of forty years, the mother of his children, the
friend of his soul, was no more ! From that instant life
became an insupportable burthen, and, resolutely refusing
food or nourishment of any nature, he died of grief — a
real broken heart — on the 23rd of the same month, and
man and wife were buried side by side in the same vault,
at the same hour, on the same day, in the church of
Ramsbury, WUts. — Bequiescant in pace.

165

THE QUEENSBEEEYS.

The records of the House of Queensberry are rich in
famUy episodes. No name in Scottish history rivals that
of Douglas. From Bannockburn to Lailgside the
Douglas pennon was always in the van. Incidents of
the most romantic interest are associated -with almost
every generation, and few narratives would be more
attractive — more replete with stirring deeds and bright
achievements than a comprehensive memoir of this Ulus-
trious race. Let us not, however, travel back to the
days of chivalry. Let us pass by the ancient glory of
the house, and, forgetful for the moment of the dukes
of Douglas and Touraine, the earls of Angus, the lords of
Liddesdale, and all their proud doings, come at once to
the two last dukes of Queensberry, who enjoyed that
title for a period of a hundred years, and one of whom,
a degenerate scion of a time-honoured stem, became so
weU knovra. some sixty years since, as the most accom
plished roue of his time.
The former of these ducal characters, Charles, third
Duke of Queensberry, was the son of the famous states
man to whom the Scottish Union was mainly owing.
Although he inherited but a small share of his father's
powerftd mind, his grace had the affection and esteem of
all. In public life a true patriot, he devoted his best
energies to the service of his country, and in private, his

166 THE QUEENSBEEEYS.
amiable and gentle spirit, his benevolence and his
generosity, gained for him the enviable title of "the
good duke." His kindness of feeling, extending beyond
his fellow creatures, was exercised even upon his old
horses, none of which would he ever permit to be killed
or sold. The veterans of his stud had free range of the
park at Drumlanrig, and there the high-mettled racer,
worn down by time, and retired from active life, had
leave to die a natural and decent death. His duchess.
Lady Catherine Hyde, second daughter of Henry, Earl
of Clarendon and Rochester, whom he married in 1720,
was remarkable alike for beauty, wit, and eccentricity.
Her oddities were closely akin to madness, and at one
time, before her marriage, she is stated to have been
placed under restraint, on account of mental derangement.
Nevertheless, many were her grace's good qualities, and
her patronage of poor Gay, the poet, redeems much of
her foolish caprice. At an early period, Matthew Prior
depicted her irrepressible temper in a famous ballad :
" Thus Kitty, beautiful and young,
And wild as a colt untamed.
Bespoke the fair from whom she sprung.
By little rage inflamed :
Inflamed with rage at sad restraint.
Which wise mamma ordained ;
And sorely vexed to play the saint.
Whilst wit and beauty reigned.
" Shall I thumb holy books, confined
With Abigails forsaken ?
Kitty's for other things designed.
Or I am much mistaken.
Must Lady Jenny frisk about
And visit with her cousins ?
At balls must she make all the rout.
And bring home hearts by dozens ?

THE QUEENSBERRYS. 167
" What has she better, pray, than I P
What hidden charms to boast.
That all mankind for her should die.
Whilst I am scarce a toast ?
Dearest mamma, for once let me,
Unchained, my fortune try ;
I'll have an earl as well as she,
Or know the reason why.
"I'll soon with Jenny's pride quit score.
Make all her lovers fall ;
They'll grieve I was not loosed before,
She, I was loosed at all.
Fondness prevailed, mamma gave way.
Batty, at heart's desire,
Obtained the chariot for a day.
And set the world on fire !"
A very interesting little volume, " The Traditions of
Edinburgh," recounts many anecdotes of the duchess.
" Her grace was no admirer of Scottish manners. One
of their habits she particularly detested — the custom of
eating off the end of a knife. When people dined with
her at Drumlanrig, and began to lift their food in this
manner, she used to scream out, and beseech them not
to cut their throats ; and then she would confound the
offending persons by sending them a silver spoon or fork
upon a salver."
In one of Gay's letters to Swift, this peculiarity is
referred to — " As to my favours from great men," writes
the poet, " I am in the same state you left me : but I am
a great deal happier, as I have expectations. The Duchess
of Queensberry has signalized her friendship to me upon
this occasion (the first performance of the Beggar's
Opera) in such a conspicuous manner, that I hope (for
her sake) you wiU take care to put your fork to all its
proper uses, and suffer nobody for the future to put
their knives in their mouth."

168 THE QUEENSBERRYS.
"When in Scotland," continues the work to which
we have alluded, " her grace always dressed herself in
the garb of a peasant girl. Her object seems to have
been to ridicule and put out of countenance the stately
dresses and demeanour of the Scottish gentlewomen who
-risited her. A laughable anecdote is told, as arising
from her attachment to plain dealing and plain dressing.
An edict had been issued forbidding the ladies to appear
at the dravring room in aprons. This was disregarded
by the duchess, whose rustic costume would not have
been complete without that piece of dress. On approach
ing the door, she was stopped by the lord in waiting, who
told her he could not possibly give her grace admission
in that guise ; when she, -vrithout a moment's hesitation,
stripped off her apron, threw it in his lordship's face, and
walked on, in her brown gown and petticoat, into the
brilliant circle !"
Her patronage of Gay brought down upon herself and
the duke the displeasure of the court ; but, despite of its
hostUity, she never deserted the poet ; and at his death
caused a monument, with an inscription by Pope, to be
raised to his memory in Westminster Abbey. She lived
to an advanced a^e, and so recently as 1772, walked as
one of the assistants to the chief mourner at the funeral
of the Princess Dowager of Wales. The circumstance
elicited these lines from Horace Walpole : —
" To many a Kitty, Love his car
Would for a day engage ;
But Prior's Kitty, ever fair.
Obtained it for an age.''
Her two sons died issueless before her. The fate of the
elder was singularly romantic. Early in life he con
tracted himself to one lady, but afterwards married
another, the Lady Elizabeth Hope; but the former

THE QUEENSBERRYS. 169
engagement proved a bar to their happiness. He and
his wife were often observed in the beautiful demesne of
Drumlanrig, weeping bitterly together. This unhappy
state of feeling preyed so on his lordship's sensitive mind,
that during a journey to London, in Oct. 1 754, a few
months after his wedding, he rode on before the carriage
in which his mother traveUed, and shot himself with one
of his own pistols : his youthfiU widow never recovered
the shock, but died, chUdless, in 1756, in her twenty-
fir.st year.
The Good Duke thus survived both his sons, and did
not die until he had nearly completed his eightieth year,
in 1778, when his Scottish honours devolved on his
cousin, the Earl of March — the singular character whose
career we are now about to describe.
Few men occupied a more conspicuous place about the
court and town for nearly seventy years, during the
reigns of the second and third Georges. Like Wilmot,
Earl of Rochester, he pursued pleasure under every shape,
and with as much ardour at fourscore as he had done at
twenty. At the decease of his father, in 1731, he be
came Earl of March; and he subsequently, in 1748,
inherited his mother's earldom of Ruglen, together with
her famUy's estates in the counties of Edinburgh and
LinUthgow. These rich endowments of fortune, and a
handsome person, of which he was especially careful,
combined to invest the youthfiil earl vrith no ordinary
attractions, and the ascendancy they acquired he retained
for a longer period than any one of his contemporaries :
from his first appearance in the fashionable world in the
year 1746, to the moment he left it for ever, in 1810,
at the age of eighty-five, he was always an object of
comparative notoriety. There was no interregnum in
the public course of his existence. His first distinction

170 THE QUEENSBERRYS.
he achieved on the turf, his knowledge of which, both in
theory and practice, equalled that of the most accomplished
adepts of Newmarket. In all his principal matches he
rode himself, and in that branch of equitation rivalled
the most professional jockeys. Properly accoutred in
his velvet cap, red silken jacket, buckskin breeches, and
long spurs, his lordship bore away the prize on many a
well-contested field. His famous match with the Duke
of Hamilton was long remembered in sporting annals.
Both noblemen rode their own horses, and each was
supported by numerous partisans. The contest took
place on the race ground at Newmarket, and attracted
all the fashionables of the period. Lord March, thin,
agile, and admirably qualified for exertion, was the
victor. Still more celebrated was his lordship's wager
vrith the famous Count O'Taaffe. During a conversa
tion, at a convivial meeting, on the subject of "running
against time," it was suggested by Lord March, that it
was possible for a carriage to be drawn with a degree of
celerity previously unexampled, and believed to be im
possible. Being desired to name his maximum, he
undertook, provided choice of ground were given him,
and a certain period for training, to draw a carriage
with four wheels not less than nineteen miles within
the space of sixty minutes. The accomplishment of such
rapidity staggered the belief of his hearers, and a heavy
wager was the consequence. Success mainly depending
on the lightness of the carriage, Wright, of Long-acre,
the most ingenious of coach-builders, devoted the whole
resources of his skill to its construction, and produced a
vehicle formed partly of wood and partly of whalebone,
with silk harness, that came up to the wishes of his
employer. Four blood-horses of approved speed were
then selected, and the course at Newmarket chosen as

THE QUEENSBERRYS. 171
the ground of contest. On the appointed day, 29th of
August, 1750, noble and ignoble gamesters journeyed
from far and near to vritness the wonderful experiment :
excitement reached the highest point, and bets to an
enormous amount were made. At length the jockeys
mounted ; the carriage was put in motion, and rushing
on vrith a velocity marveUous in those times of coach-
travelling, but easUy conceived by us — railway travellers
of the nineteenth century — gained, within the stipulated
hour, the goal of victory.
The turf did not engross his lordship's whole attention.
With these occupations he blended, the more elegant
pursuits of high Ufe, led the fashion in dress, equipage,
and manners, and was long considered the first figure in
the brUUant circle of the aristocracy. In 1778, as we
have abeady shown, by the death of his cousin, the third
Duke of Queensberry, he succeeded to a ducal coronet,
and inherited the vast estates of that nobleman. Other
honours soon followed ; his grace became a Knight of
the Thistle, a Peer of Parliament as Baron Douglas of
Amesbury, a Lord of the Bedchamber, and finaUy, Vice-
Admiral of Scotland. On the political arena, however,
the duke gained but Uttle distinction ; almost invariably
he supported the court party; but in 1789 he sided vrith
the Prince of Wales on the Regency question, and was
dismissed from office. Few men were more assailed by
the lampoons and -vritticisms of the press. Yet his grace
appears to have submitted with a good grace, and was
perhaps one of the first to laugh at the bad puns and
coarse aUusions levelled at him. Certain it is, that amidst
all the party disputes, and the rancour and malevolence
of political factions, the name of the Duke of Queens
berry never appeared — ^if we except the contest between
Wilkes and the king.

172 THE QUEENSBERRYS.
After he quitted the turf, his life was characterised
by little else than devotion to personal enjoyments, in
which he continued to indulge whUe the faculties of re
ceiving gratification remained. His constant residence
and the scene of his pleasures was London. Almost
every fine morning, in his later years, his grace might
be seen in front of his house in PiccadUly, sitting either
in a cane chair in the balcony, or at the parlour vrindovv;!)
enjoying the sight of the passengers, and more particu
larly admiring the fair ladies who chanced to pass. To
wards the afternoon, he frequently drove to the beautiful
'rilla he had built at Richmond, on the banks of the
Thames, and there he spent his evenings, in festivity,
with music, for which he had considerable taste, and ia
the midst of a gay circle of female beauty.
His sojourn at Richmond he at last abandoned from.
a feeling of affront. The inhabitants deenaing they had
a right to a few yards of ground which the duke, uncon
scious of any invasion of parochial claims, had takeu
into his inclosure, brought an action at law to regain
possession, and obtained a verdict. The parochi#
triumph was, however, fatal to their interests; Queens--*
berry at once determined to quit for ever a locality where
he considered himself to have been wantonly insulted/'
and where, for years, and in various ways, he had been a
munificent benefactor to the poor.
Of the numerous anecdotes of gallantry disseminated
about his grace, many were false, all perhaps exag
gerated; but no man ever contrived to make so much
of life as he appears to have done. When his eye, for
he had but one, was grown dim, and his hearing almost
gone, he did not lose his spirits, or fail in making
efforts to enjoy what little was left him. The predo
minant feature of the duke's character was, to use a

THE QUEENSBFJIRYS. 173
common phrase, to do what he liked, without caring
who was pleased or displeased at it. His wealth was
enormous, and tended to enrich several distinguished
houses. The balance he kept at his bankers, Messrs.
Coutts, far exceeded that of any other nobleman or gen
tleman in the kingdom. His wUl had no less than
twenty-five codicils; the following were its principal
bequests :— 100,000/. to Lord Douglas; 150,000/., with
his two houses in PiccadiUy, and the villa at Richmond,
to the Earl and Countess of Yarmouth;-* 10,000/. to
the Duchess of Somerset; 10,000/. to Lady Anne Ha
milton; 600/. per annum to the cashier at Coutts'
bank, who managed his grace's accounts; 5000/. to
Lord Sidmouth; and 10,000/. each to Lady WUUam
Gordon and Sir James Montgomerie. Lord Yarmouth
being left residuary legatee, derived a further interest
to the amount of some hundred thousand pounds more.
The legacy duty is said to have amounted to 120,000/.
AU his grace's male domestics were amply provided for,
but none of the female, not even his housekeeper.
Another remarkable feature in the vriU was the omission
of the name of Mr. FuUer, the attendant apothecary,
who had slept by his grace's bedside every night for the
six years preceding the duke's decease.
The duke never married. In the early part of his
career he fell in love with Miss Pelham, the niece of the
Duke of Newcastle, and made an offer of his hand ; but,
whether his fortune was not at that time thought suf
ficient, or his general habits of dissipation raised a bar
rier, his suit met with no success, ^he circumstances
attending the affair formed at the time a very general
topic of fashionable conversation. The lady never mar-
* This Countess of Yarmouth (Maria Fagniani), is the present
Marchioness Dowager of Hertford.

174 THE QUEENSBERRYS.
ried, and preceded her old lover but a few years to the
grave. The peerage honours and landed estates of his grace
became dirided at his death. The castle of Drumlanrig
with the dukedom of Queensberry passed to the Duke
of Buccleuch ; the marquisate with a considerable estate
was inherited by Sir Charles Douglas, Bart., of Kel-
head ; the Amesbury property went to Lord Douglas ;
and the earldom of March devolved on the Earl of
Wemyss.

175

LOED LOVEL.

The Lord Lovel who forms the subject of this tradi
tion, was a Uneal descendant of the Lord of Breherval and
Ivery in Normandy, one of the fierce barons that came
over vrith WiUiam to assist in achieving the conquest of
England. He may therefore be regarded as the founder
of the English race of that name, for like most of his
Norman brethren, the stout baron quickly took root in
the soU to which he had been transplanted. From the
violence of his passions, he obtained the appellation of
Lupus, or the Wolf; and violent indeed must he have
been, if he could justly lay any peculiar claims to such
an epithet, when all around him seem to have been as
little approachable as so many untamed tigers in their
cages. The name, however, of Lupus dwindled down in
his successors to Lupellus, or the Little Wolf; for, like
Dryden's Zimri, —
" None but himself could be his paraUel ;"
and the race grovring, no doubt, more tameable as they
became more remote from their founder, this was soft
ened into Luvel, and finally turned to Lovel. Hence
the name of Francis, Lord Lovel, the hero of our present
story, and one of the stanchest adherents of the House
of York. All must recollect the popular saying, ex-

J 76 LORD LOVEL.
pressive of the familiar regard in which he was held by
Richard the Third —
" The cat, the rat, and Lovel our dog."
The battle of Bosworth field had been bravely won,
and, if that were possible, yet more bravely lost ; Richard
himself was slain, and such of his most faithful retainers
as escaped from that scene of carnage owed their safety to
immediate flight, when they sought a refuge upon the con
tinent or in the church's sanctuary. Amongst the latter
was Lord Lovel. The moment he learnt the defection of
Stanley and witnessed the fall of Richard, he saw clearly
that the day was irretrievably lost, and fled from the field
as fast as his horse could carry him. But the poor animal
was well-nigh exhausted by his previous exertions in
bearing the burden of a man hea-rily armed for so many
hours through all the tumult and struggles of a heavy
fight, his pace grew slower and slower, and Lovel had
not gone far when he heard a gaUoping, as of men in
pursuit, at no great distance behind him. They gained
upon him every moment, tiU he knew by the sound they
must be within a few yards only.
" It is of no use," he said to himself, " my attempting
to fly any farther. Better face them, and die sword in
hand than be made a prisoner, with the certainty of
perishing upon the scaffold."
With this resolution he turned hastUy round, and
blindly struck at the nearest of his pursuers. The blow
was parried, but instead of being returned, a friendly
voice exclaimed in surprise, " Lord Lovel 1"
" Stafford 1" replied Lovel, even now scarcely certain
that he saw right, so bUnded was he by the heat and
dust of the battle, and the excitement of the moment.
" The same ; but on, my lord — on, for Heaven's sake.
Never look this way ; 'tis only my brother Humphrey,

LOED LOVEL. 177
and if we make not the better speed we shaU yet lay our
heads upon a bloody piUow."
For a whole week they fled across the country, per
petually driven from place to place by scattered parties
of Lancastrians, who scoured the land in all directions to
glean up what had escaped the mower Death on the
great harvest-day of battle. Upon the eighth morning,
after many hair-breadth perUs, they reached the sanc
tuary at Colchester, which the king did not as yet feel
himself in a condition to violate. When he became
more firmly seated upon the throne he did not always
pay quite so much regard to the privileges of the church,
his judges declaring that the right of sanctuary extended
not to traitors, except in some few places that could
plead especial charters of exemption.
Thus left undisturbed by any actual attempts upon
their Ufe or Uberty, the refugees had ample leisure to
consider what they should do next. Their safest plan
would in all likelihood have been an attempt to soften
the king by submission ; but nothing could have been
farther from their thoughts ; they were determined to
uphold the fallen cause of the Yorkists to the last gasp,
and privately quitting the sanctuary, they collected in a
short time a very considerable body of men, with fou^
thousand of whom Lovel advanced to York, while the
two Staffords invested Worcester. On his part Henry
was no less active. He despatched the royal forces,
under the Duke of Bedford, against the Yorkists, with
strict injunctions to avoid a pitched battle, which might
have been ruinous from the disaffection as well as the
rawness of his levies, and rather endeavour to overcome
the enemy by corrupting or dividing them. In com-v
pliance with these orders, the duke issued a proclamation
in the king's name, offering an unconditional pardon to
VOL. IIL N

178 LORD LOVEL.
all who should at once throw down their arms and
submit, upon which a rope of sand could not have fallen
more suddenly to pieces than did the army of the
Yorkists. Neither fear nor shame was able to keep the
men to their colours; they deserted by hundreds, and
Lovel quickly found himself in some danger of being
altogether abandoned by his troops, or left only with a
score or two of the stoutest, to maintain the battle
against the whole body of the royalists. Before this
should actually take place, and his safety be too far com
promised in the vain attempt to persuade those to fight
who had no stomach for the occupation, he thought it
best to withdraw. In this he had the good fortune to
succeed, esjaping to Bekansgill, the vale of the deadly
night-shade, about a mile to the south of Dalton, where
at that time the Abbey of Furness stood in all its splen
dour under the rule of the Abbot Lawrence. The pale
red stone of the walls which occupied nearly the whole
width of the dale had not then been tinted by time and
weather into the dusky brown which now discolours their
ruins, where they can be seen through the heaps of
night-shade that cluster round them, the winding-sheet,^
as it were, of their past glory. A better spot for con
cealment could hardly have been selected, for here, as
indeed through the whole of this peninsula, the ground
was covered with deep forests, chiefiy of oak, beech, and
plane-trees, whUe on one side, to a considerable extent,
the little neck of land was beaten by the Irish Sea,
seldom or ever in a state of rest.
It happened to be tunning-day, and the good Cister
cians were dispensing their usual princely bounty in the
name of St. Mary, to whom their house was dedicated.
A multitude of their tenants and others flocked there
and carried awaj with them not only abundance of

LOED LOVEL. 179
bread, but casks of beer and ale, while at the same
time a whole bevy of children poured out from the
grammar and song-school, where they had been receiv
ing gratuitous instructions from the monks, the best and
kindest landlords of that stormy period, tUl a sudden
bend of the road brought him in view of the north
gate of the abbey. At the sight of such an assemblage
he hastUy drew back again into the wood on the right,
doubtful how far it would be advisable to venture amongst
them ; they might, or might not, be favourable to his
party, and if the latter turned out to be the case, it
was very possible that the disguise he had assumed
only a short time previously would not prevent him
from being recognised.
" I wiU wait," he said, " till these people are gone,
before I crave the hospitality of the good fathers."
He retreated yet deeper into the wood, which, after
thickening for a while tUl it seemed to threaten an end
to all farther progress, on a sudden opened upon a clear
spot of no great extent, through the middle of which
ran a small brook on its way to the abbey. By the side
ofthe water sat a venerable monk, attentively poring
over one of those ponderous volumes which formed the
delight of the early ages, before reading had degenerated
from a study to a mere amusement. So wrapt was he
in the perusal, that he was not aware of Level's approach
till the latter saluted him.
" Benedicite, my son," was his courteous reply, " I
am glad to  ^but gracious Heavens ! do I see my
Lord Lovel here in a place so little wholesome to his
safety ? St. Mary shield us ! I trust that none of
the brotherhood have seen you — least of all. Abbot
Lawrence." "How so, kind father? — and how is it that you
n2

180 LORD LOVEL.
recognise me ? I do not remember having seen you
before." " But I remember having seen you a hundred times,"
replied the monk; " and from the love I bear to all true
friends of the House of York, right grieved am I to see
you now. The greater part of my brethren incline,
either from fear or favour, to the Lancastrians ; on no
account, therefore, show yourself in these parts, for the
doors of the monastery would be closed against you, and
the tenants, at the slightest hint from the abbot, which
they would be sure not to want long, would seize and
deliver you up to the new king's officers."
" After such a warning," said Lord Lovel, " I will
abide here not a minute longer, but seek refuge in  "
" Nay," hastily interrupted the good monk, " tell not
me nor any man of your place of refuge; not that I
would sell your blood — St. Mary" forbid ! — but some
unhappy chance might betray you, and I would uot, if I
may help it, that such chance should be mine. Speed
then on your way, and take with you an old man's
blessing, and his fervent prayer that it may please
Heaven in its own good time to rear up again the down-
fallen house of York."
With this they parted in haste, and Lord Lovel de
termined to seek a temporary refuge with Sir Thomas
Broughton, of Broughton. The mansion was in the
peninsula of Furness, but about thirty miles farther on,
at a short distance from the Dudden, so that, weary
as Lovel vvas by his previous exertions, there could be
little chance of his reaching the place that night. It
must be tried, however, and onward he went, continuing
his route long after the sun had set, and the moon had
risen, tiU within nine or ten mUes of his destination
he found himself unable to proceed any farther. At this

LOED LOVEL. 181
time he had again reached an open glade in one of the
woods, which used so abundantly to cover the peninsula
before they had been swept away by the encroachments
of cultivation. Here he wearily flung himself down
upon a green knoU, with no better canopy thdn the sky
above, though as it chanced to be a fine autumnal night
this was no great hardship to one who, though young in
years, was still an old soldier.
So sound was Level's sleep that he was yet dreaming,
though the sun had been up an hour or more, and fancied
himself pursued by the help of a blood-hound. The
scene of his vision was the copse by Furness Abbey, and,
as is usual in dreams, he was unable to move hand or
foot, though the baying of the hound approached more
closely every minute. And now the animal burst from
the wood, and bounded upon his chest, scorching him
with its hot breath, glancing at him with eyes like
living coals, and lolling out a huge red tongue that
seemed continually increasing to a portentous longitude.
It is probable he had never felt in his waking moments
one half the agony that he now experienced in his
.slumber. The struggles he made to escape from it
awoke him, but it was only to see the shadows of his
dream realized, for an immense dog of the mastiff-breed
was standing upon him, its forepaws on his chest,
whining however with joy, and caressing him instead of
shovring any signs of hostility. His first impulse, while
he yet wavered between sleeping and waking, was to
throw the creature from him, and start up; the next
moment he recognised in it a favourite mastiff that had
twice saved his life and always evinced towards him the
highest degree of canine attachment.
" What ! — Hector !" he exclaimed.
At the sound of his voice the dog seemed half frantic

182 LOED LOVEL.
with joy, bounding upon him and about him, and
barking incessantly.
" Down, old fellow, down !" cried Lovel. " And
how in the name of fortune did you find your way
hither?" The mastiff, who had couched himself at full length
before his master, wagged his tail in answer, aud looked
at him with eyes of such singular intelligence as to seem
almost human, though their glance did not convey the
desired information. Just then an interpreter between
them issued from the wood, in the person of Level's
faithful steward Ralph, who trusting to the dog's sure
instinct had tracked him out by what seemed little short
of a miracle, yet one that is by no means without a
precedent. The cause ef this meeting, and the conversation which
now grew out ef it, may be passed ever as unnecessary
to our present purpose. The only material point is that
they did not again separate, but went on together to
Broughton Hall, where the exhausted refugee was re
ceived with the hospitality he so much needed. Sir
Thomas being to the full as decided a Yorkist as himself,
many days were spent by them in considering how they
might best drive Henry from the throne, which, accord
ing to their view of the matter he had usurped. The
result of these deliberations was that their party in Eng
land had suffered too severely of late, and was too much
cowed in consequence to be brought into the field with
any reasonable hope ef success against a victorious
enemy, if indeed the people could be persuaded to rise at
all. Help, if any where, must come from abroad, and to
what quarter could they so well turn as to the Duchess
of Burgundy, who as the widow of Charles the Bold had
wealth and power, and as the sister of Edward the

LORD LOVEL. 183
Fourth had always shown herself a bitter enemy te the
Lancastrians? To Flanders then it was agreed Lord
Lovel should go without delay, a plan having been
arranged between him and his host by which they might
maintain a secret correspondence.
While he was thus employed, a priest ef Oxford, by
name Richard Simon, had framed a plot against Henry,
which succeeded for awhile by its very boldness, the ex-
ti'»vagance of the project making it believed by the mul
titude; always much more prone to gape and wonder
than to reason. Amongst his pupils was one Lambert
Simnel, the son ef a baker, er, as seme have said, of a
joiner. He was about fifteen years old, and having a
noble appearance, it struck his master that he might be
able to personate Edward Plantagenet, Earl of Warwick,
who just then was rumoured te have made his escape
from the Tower. When Simon had thoroughly in
structed the lad in his intended part, he carried him
over to Ireland, where the imposition was less liable to
be detected, and where the name of his presumed father,
Clarence, was held in great regard and veneration.
The Earl of Kildare, who had been allowed to remain
in the government of Ireland, although he was known
for a decided Yorkist, received the imposter as that
which he pretended to be, beliering, or what is more
probable, affecting to believe, the claims thus strangely
set up. Nothing could have happened more opportunely
for the purposes of Lovel in Flanders. The duchess,
who never seems te have had any scruples as to mea
sures when the object was te injure Henry, lent a willing
ear to his suggestions, received Simnel at her court with
all the honours due to a king of England, and furnished
him vrith two thousand German veterans, under the com
mand of Martin Swart, or Schwartz, an officer of high

184 LORD LOVEL.
reputation. With these supplies he returned to Ireland
accompanied by Lord Lovel, was crowned there under
the title of Edward the Sixth, and being joined by a
large body of Irish he then sailed for the Pile of
Fouldrey, a small island, or rock rather, in Merecambe
Bay, Lancashire. This place vvas well adapted to his
objects, for the harbour is large, and so deep that even at
low water ships of war might float there, while from its
remoteness it afforded an opportunity of landing withtut
much fear of interruption. The passage hence to the
peninsula ef Furness is short and easy, and having
passed over, he advanced to a wild moor, which from this
circumstance received, and has ever since retained, the
name, of Swart Moor, being so called after the redoubted
leader of the Germans. Here they were joined by Sir
Thomas Broughton, and a multitude of adherents, who
were either attracted by the love of adventure, or by at
tachment to the house of York. Continuing their
march they at length reached Stokefield, a small viUage
near Newark, where the king, as prompt as he was
vigilant, arrested their farther progress. It was now to
be seen who should henceforth wear the crown ef Eng
land. A battle ensued, which after three hours' fighting
terminated in favour of the king, but short as the time
was the carnage had been frightful en either side, while
en the part of the insurgents, in addition to the destruc
tion amongst the common file, nearly all their leaders
were left dead upon the field, including the earls of
Lincoln and Kildare, Martin Swart, and Sir Thomas
Broughton. " Stout Broughton, that had stood
With York e'en from the first, there lastly gave his blood
To that well foughten field."
Simnel was taken prisoner, but Henry, reading his

LOED LOVEL. 185
character with that wonderful sagacity which at all
times distinguished him, saw at once there was ne
danger te be apprehended from such a man if removed
from the influence of his former counsellors; he, there
fore, spared the mock king's life, and made him a
scullion in the royal kitchen, whence in due time he was
promoted fer his good conduct to be a royal falconer.
Lovel had ence mere the fortune to escape, though his
friends spread abroad a report that he had been drowned
in the Trent, for the wrath of Henry was now fully
kindled against him. The last, they said, that had been
seen of him was when he plunged on horseback into
that river, but the current running strong from the
recent floods, and the overwearied animal being unable to
stem it under the weight of a man in armour, they both
sunk, never to rise again. This tale for awhile obtained
credence, yet the truth could not be so whpUy concealed
but that whispers soon got abroad of his having escaped
the perils of field and fiood, and being secretly admitted
at night into Minster Lovel. Thither we must now
fellow him.
In Minster Lovel was a private hiding-place, the ex
istence of which was unknown to all except the owner of
the mansion, no uncommon thing in those days, when
from the constant recurrence ef party feuds and civil
wars, none could hold their lives secure for a single
moment, however great might be their power and in
fluence in the state. The secret of this place was now
communicated to Ralph, and to Ralph alone, and here
Lovel took up his abode, in as much safety as the cir
cumstances of the case allowed, till such time as his
friends could obtain for him the royal pardon. Henry,
it was well knojvn, was avaricious in the extreme, and
when his first anger was blown over, there could be little

186 LOED LOVEL.
doubt he would be willing to sell his mercy for a hand
some consideration. Hector, faithful in storm as in sun
shine, insisted upon being his master's companion, and
when Lovel looked round upon his dreary prison, for it
could scarcely be accounted anything better, he could
not help being pleased at the obstinacy with which the
dog resisted every attempt te coax him from the place.
In truth the gallant soldier who had braved so many
battle fields, and always been amongst the foremost com
batants, felt his heart grow faint, and his eye become
dim, now that all excitement was over, and he found
himself in his place of refuge, cut off from the world as
completely as if he had been in his tomb, and with no
great prospect of ever leaving it. He seated himself at
the table which Ralph had spread with wine and food,
but it was neither to eat nor drink, and when the
latter was about te quit the vault, he exclaimed in a
mournful tone, — " Do not as yet leave me, Ralph."
" My dear lord," replied the steward, " suppose I
should be missed ; it might excite suspicions that would
be fatal to your safety. Permit me to retire now, and
I wiU take the first opportunity of coming again to
morrow with a fresh supply of things needftil ; in the
meanwhile I may perhaps be able to pick up some more
agreeable tidings."
As Lovel made no answer, but continued with his
eyes fixed upon the ground, Ralph thought it best to
take his silence fer consent. He left the vaulted cham
ber, and drew the bolt, which was not to be undone
again for centuries.
Day after day passed, and still no Ralph came. How
they were passed we may easily imagine for ourselves,
although as none witnessed the scene in that vault, there
were none that could teU of it — none that could relate

LOED LOVEL. 187
to the breathless hearer hew the victim hungered and
thirsted, tiU, like Ugolino, in the fierceness of famine he
gnawed his own fiesh and drank his own blood — how he
raved and gibbered wildly, as the maniac in his moonlit
cell, till a sick sleep came upon him — how, when he
again woke, it was to beheld a waking vision of green
fields, and to hear the murmurings ef pleasant waters —
and then, to die.
And Ralph ? Was he a traitor to his confiding master,
or had he perished by some sudden accident before he
could communicate the secret to any one ?
Upon that, also, tradition is silent.
In confirmation of our tale, it has been said by the
antiquary, Gough, in his additions to Camden, that "the
house ef Minster Lovel, in Oxfordshire, being not many
years ago pulled down, in a vault was found the body of
a man in very rich clothing, seated in a chair, with a
table and mass-book before him. The body was entire
when the workmen entered, but upon admission of the
air soon fell te dust."
Gough's account has been pronounced a fiction, but
the story which it is meant to confirm may be true not
withstanding. And this we really believe to have been
the case, for he omits any mention of the dog, which;
however, is never forgotten in the popular version of the
legend.

188

THE M'ALISTEE TEADITION.

There is an extraordinary superstition connected with
a branch of the M'AUster family. Ages ago — for we
have never yet got an exact date from a Highlander as
to the transactions of long-past times — but many gene
rations back, in the days of a chief of great renown,
called M'^Alister Mere, either from his deeds er his
stature, there was a skirmish with a neighbouring clan'
that ended fatally for the M'^AUsters, though at the
time they were victorious.
A party of their young men set out upon a foray.
They marched over the hiUs for several hours, and at
last descended into a little glen, which was rented as a
black cattle farm by a widow woman and her two sons.
The sons were absent from home on seme excursion,
and had carried most of their servants with them, so
that the M'Alisters met with no resistance in their
attempts te raise the cattle. They hunted every
corner of the glen, secured every beast, and, in spite of
the tears of the widow, they drove her herd away.
When the sons returned, and heard the story of the
raid, they collected a strong party of their friends, and
crossing the hill secretly by night, surprised the few
M'Alisters who were left in charge of the spoil, van
quished them easily, and recovered their cattle. Such a
slight te the power ef M'AUster More could not ge

THE M'ALISTEE TEADITION. 189
unpunished. The chief himself headed the band which
set out to vindicate the honour of the clan. He marched
steadily over the rugged mountains, and arrived towards
sunset in the little glen. To oppose the force he brought
with him would have been fruitless ; the sons and their
few adherents vvere speedily overpowered, and led bound
before him ; they were small in number, but they were
gallant and brave, and yielded only to superior strength.
M'Alister More was always attended by four-and-twenty
bowmen, who acted as his body-guard, his jury, his
judges, and his executioners. They erected on the instant
a gibbet before the door of the wretched mother, and
there her sens were hung.
Her cottage was built at the foot of a craggy, naked
rock, on a strip of green pasture land, and beside a
mountain torrent ; the gibbet was a few paces from it,
on the edge of the shelf ; and the setting rays ef a bright
summer sun fell on the bodies ef the widow's sons.
They were still warm, when she came and stood beside
them. She raised her eyes on the stern chief, and his
many followers, and slowly and steadily she pronounced
her curse : —
" Shame, shame on you, M'AUster ! You have slain
them that took but their own; you have slain them
you had injured ! You have murdered the fatherless,
and spoiled the widow ! But He that is righteous shall
judge between us, and the curse of God shall cling to
you for this for ever. The sun rose on me the proud
mother ef two handsome boys ; he sets en their stiffen
ing bodies !" and she raised her arm as she spoke to
wards the gibbet. Her eye kindled, and her form
dilated, as she turned again te her vindictive foe. " I
suffer new," said she, " but you shall suffer always. You
have made me childless, but you and yours shall be

190 THE M'ALISTEE TRADITION.
heirless fer ever. Long may their name last, and wide
may their lands be ; but never, while the name and
the lands continue, shall there be a son to the house ef
M'Alister !"
The curse of the bereaved widow clung steadily to the
race ef her oppressor. The lands passed from heir to
'heir, but no laird had ever been succeeded by a son.
Often had the hopes ef the clan been raised ; often had
they thought for years that the punishment of their
ancestor's cruelty was te be continued to them ne longer
— that the spirits of the widow's sens were at length
appeased ; but M'Alister More was te suffer for ever ;
the hopes of his house might blossom, but they always
faded. It was in the reign of the good Queen Anne
that they flourished for the last time ; they were blighted
then, and for ever.
The laird and the lady had had several daughters born
to them in succession, and at last a son : he grew up to
manhood in safety — ^the pride of his people, and the
darling of his parents ; giving promise of every virtue
that could adorn his rank. He had been early con
tracted in marriage te the daughter of another powerful
chieftain in the North, and the aUiance, which had been
equally courted by both families, was concluded immedi
ately on the return ef the young laird from his travels.
There was a great intercourse in those days with France
¦ — most ef the young Highland chiefs spent a year or
two in that country, many of them were entirely educated
there, but that was not the case with the young heir of
M'AUster; he had only gone abroad to finish his
breeding after coming to man's estate. It was shortly
before the first rebellion of '15, — and being young, and
of an ardent nature, he was soon attracted to the court
of the old Pretender, whose policy it was to gain every

THE M'ALISTER TRADITION. 191
Scotch noble, by every means to his views. The mea
sures he took succeeded with the only son ef M'AUster.
He returned to his native country, eager for the ap
proaching contest, pledged heart and hand te his exUed
sovereign. In the troubles which broke out almost im
mediately on the death ef the queen, he and his father
took different sides; the old laird fortified his high
tower, and prepared te defend it to the last against the
enemies of the house of Hanover. The young laird bade
adieu to his beautiful wife, and attended by a band ef
his young clansmen, easily gained to aid a cause se
romantic, he secretly left his lady, and joined the army
of the Pretender at Perth.
The young wife had lived with her husband at a small
farm on the property, a little way up the glen, a mile or
two from the castle ; but when her husband deserted
her, she was removed by her father-in-law to his own
house for greater security. Months rolled away, and the
various fortunes of the rebels were reported, from time
to time, in the remote glen where the chief strength of
the M'Alisters lay. News did not travel swiftly then ;
and often they heard what was little to be relied on, so
much did hope or fear magnify any slight success, or
any ill fortune. At last, there came a sough of a great
battle having been fought somewhere in the west country,
which had decided the fate of the opposing parties. The
young laird and his valiant band had turned the fortune
of the day. Ajgyle was defeated and slain, and the
Earl of Mar victorious : — King James had arrived, and
was to be crowned at Scone, and all Scotland was his
own. It was on a cold, bleak, stormy November evening,
when this news was brought, by a Brae-Marr-man, te
the laird's tower. He was wise and prudent, and he

192 THE M'ALISTER TRADITION.
would give ne ear to a tale so lightly told ; but his beau
tiful daughter-in-law, sanguine for her husband's sake,
cherished reports that brightened all her prospects. She
retired to her chamber, almost hoping that another day
might see it enlivened by his presence, without whom
life to her was a dreary blank. She was lodged in a
small apartment on the third story of the tower, opening
straight from a narrow passage at the head of the wind
ing stairs. It had two small windows, which looked on
the paved courtyard of the castle ; and beyond, to what
was then a bare meadow, and the river. The moon gave
little light, and she turned from the gloomy prospect to
the ample hearth, on which the bright logs were blazing.
Her heart was full, and her mind so restless, that after
her maidens left her, she continued to pace up and down
her little chamber, unwUling to retire to rest. At length
she threw herself upon her bed, exhausted by the eager
ness of her feelings, and in the agitation ef her ideas
she forgot to say her prayers. Yet she slept, and calmly,
but her sleep was short. She awoke suddenly, and
starting half up, listened anxiously for seme minutes.
The wind blew strongly round the eld tower, and a thick
shower of sleet was driving fast against the easements ;
but, in the pauses of the storm, she thought she heard
distinctly, though at a distance, the tramp of a horse at
his speed. She bent forward and watched the sound.
It came nearer — it grew louder — it galloped over the
hard ground, and approached with the swiftness of
lightning. She gasped and trembled — it was he it
must be he, — she knew the long firm bound ef her
husband's charger. Its rapid feet struck loud on the
pavement ef the courtyard below, and in an instant
dropt dead below the great door of the castle. She had
neither power to breathe nor to move, but she listened

THE M'ALISTER TRADITION. 193
for the call ef the porter's name, and the jar of the
chains and bolts which secured the door. She heard
nothing — she grew bewildered, and tried to rise to call
for succour — but a spell was en her to keep her down.
At length, from the very bottom of the winding- stair,
came the sound of a firm foot, ascending regularly step
by step, without a pause in its motion, the several stories.
It rung en the stone passage adjoining her apartment,
and stept vrith a loud tread at her door. Ne lock was
turned, no hinge was opened, but a rushing wind swept
through the reem. Her fire had burned away, and she
had neither lamp nor taper by her, but as she started up in
an agony of terror, the heavy legs in her wide chimney fell
of themselves, and lighting by the fall, sent a blaze into
the chamber. Almost frantic with fear, she seized with
one hand the curtains of her bed, and darting a look of
horror, she saw, seated by the hearth, a figure in martial
array, without a head ; it held its arms out towards her,
and slowly rose. The scream she tried to utter was suffo
cated in her throat — she fell motionless ; the last sight she
saw was an eagle's plume steeped in blood, cast at her
feet by the advancing spectre — the last sound she heard
vvas the loud crash of every door in the castle. When her
maidens came to her in the morning, she was extended in
a swoon upon the fioor. She lay for hours cold and inseur
sible, and they thought that she was gone for ever. After
many trials she came at last to herself, but she recovered
only to hear the true tale of the battle of Sheriff-muir.
The Chevalier de St. George and the Earl of Marr
had fled the country, and many of their noble adherents
had been fortunate enough to secm'c a retreat with them
te France ; some had been pardoned ; a few had been
taken in arms, and these few were executed; amongst
them was the young heir of M'AUster.
VOL. III. 0

194

A TEIO OF
EEMAEKABLE LEICESTEESHIEE SISTEES.

More than three hundred years ago, there lived, in
one of the pleasant valleys of Leicestershire, three little
girls — the children of the same parents. They were
not mere interesting than children generally are. They
prattled, pouted, and played like other chUdren; like
other children, they had " no cares beyond to-day," yet
were there cares in store for them, and for their parents,
too — such as fall te the lot of few. In plain and humble
English, their names were Jenny, Kitty, and Polly; in
more dignified language, Jane, Katherine, and Mary;
and when it is added, that one became queen of the
most powerful kingdom in the world — that the second
had a fate more romantic than all romance — and that
the third was the wife ef a simple yeoman, the reader will
easily guess that the allusion points to Jane, Katherine,
and Mary Grey.
Probably there is no female character in the whole range
of English history so familiar to Leicestershire people as
that of the leading lady of our trio. Her strange story
is one ef the earliest of our true nursery tales, and most
of us can remember hew willing we were to hope that a
tale so sad should indeed be a tale. Few, indeed, are
there among the better classes ef Leicestershire, who

A TRIO OF LEICESTERSHIRE SISTERS. 195
have not at some time visited Bradgate, and felt how a
girl could invest with ideal beauty and thriUing interest,
a spot which, apart from association with her, would be
little more than a moorland waste.
Henry VII. left by his queen, Elizabeth (the daughter
of Elizabeth Woodville), two sons, Arthur and Henry;
and two daughters, Margaret and Mary. Arthur
married Catherine of Arragen, and died without issue ;
his brother Henry then espoused the widow, and had by
her the Princess Mary. Margaret married James IV,
of Scotland, and had children. Mary married firstly,
Lewis XII. of France, by whom she had no issue ; and
secondly, Charles Brandon, the handsome Duke of
Suffolk, by whom she had two daughters — Frances,
wife ef Henry Grey ; and Eleanor who married the Earl
of Cumberland.
Leng before her betrothal te the French king, "the
handsome, duke" had made an impression on her heart.
She had even " told her love ;" and it is probable that
but fer motives ef state policy (a reeonciliation and an
alliance with France being then a great desideratum)
her brother Henry VIII. would not have been averse to
the union. We need scarcely stop to remark that the
severance of such ties as love had woven between Charles
Brandon and the Princess Mary caused painful struggles.
The discarded duke, however, confident that he still had
a deep interest in the lady's heart, followed her to
France, and greatly distinguished himself in several
masques and tournaments held in honour of the royal
marriage. At a tournament at TourveUes, after vanquishing two
or three French knights, he brought the spoils to the
front of the royal gallery, and laying them at the queen's
feet, boldly declared that it was love for her which had
02

196 A TRIO OF REMARKABLE
nerved his arm. He also ventured to address the queen
in the character of a troubadour, and presented her with
verses expressive ef undiminished passion and future
hope. Lewis did not survive his marriage many weeks,
and his widow was not se long in assuring her first love,
that having made the greatest of all sacrifices to comply
with her brother's wishes, she was now determined to
consult her own.
On the paternal side, toe. Lady Jane's descent was
a distinguished one, — her father, the Marquis of Dorset,
having been great grandson of Sir John Grey, Lord
Ferrars of Greby, who was slain at St. Albans in 1460,
and ef Elizabeth Woodville, afterwards wife of Edward IV.
It should be remarked, also, that Lord Dorset and
Frances Brandon were nearly related before their
marriage, for Elizabeth Woodville was her great grand
mother too. But the parents of Lady Jane were as
much distinguished for their mental endowments as for
their high birth. In all the chivalry of the times Lord
Dorset bore a high part, and it will be seen in the
sequel, that his lady was a person of no ordinary
character. The education of their daughters appears to have
occupied a considerable share ef their attention, and the
selection ef Aylmer, was politic and judicious. It would
be interesting to discover whether the Lady Jane's
reported remarkable superiority in literature and
languages, in comparison with her sisters, was solely
the result ef a higher intellect, er whether it arose
from an extra share of attention being paid te her in
consequence of the chance there vvas of her sharing the
crown by a union with Edward VL, er its devolving to
her by his decease.
The records of the early life of the " Three Sisters"
are extremely meagre.

LEICESTERSHIRE SISTEES. 197
At all events. Lady Jane was still in the seclusion of
Bradgate, so favourable to the uninterrupted pursuit
of her favourite studies, and her contemplative turn of
mind, when Ascham, the learned tutor of the Princess
Elizabeth, visited her. He thus describes the inter
view : —
" Before I went to Oermanie, I came to Brodegate, in Leicester
shire, to take my leave of that noble Lady Jane Grey, to whom I
was exceeding much beholding. Her parents, the Duke and Duchess,
with all the household gentlemen and gentlewomen, were hunting
in the Parke. I found her in her chamber, reading Phjedon Platonis
in Greek, and that with as much delite as some would read a merry
tale in Bocase. After salutation and dutie done, with some other
talk, I asked her why she would leese such pastime in the parke p
Smiling, she answered me — ' I wisse all their sport in the parke is
but a shadow to that pleasure I finde in Plato : alas ! good folke,
they never felt what true pleasure meante.' ' And how came you,
Madame,' quoth I, ' to this deep knowledge of pleasure, and what
did chiefly allure you to it, seeing not many women, and but very
few men, have attayned thereunto ?'
" ' I wUl tell you,' quoth she, ' and tell you a truth, which, per
chance, ye -will marvel at. One of the greatest benefits that ever
God gave me, is that he sent me so sharp and severe parents, and
so gentle a schoolmaster ; for when I am in presence of either father
or mother, whether I speake, keepe silence, sit, stand, or goe, eat,
drinke, be merry, or sad, be sowing, playing, dauncing, or doing
anything else, I must do it as it were, in much weight, measure,
and number, even as perfectly as God made the world, or else I am
so sharply taunted, so criielly threatened, yea, presently, sometimes
¦weH jpinched, nipped, and other waeis, which I will not name for
the honour I bare them, so without measure misordered, I think
my.self in Hell till time come that I must go to Mr. Elmer, who
teacheth me so gently, so pleasantly, with such faire allurements to
learning, that I think all the tyme that I am with him as nothing.
And when I am called from him, I fall on weeping, because what
ever I do else but learning, is full of greefe, trouble, fear, and whole
misliking unto mee ; and thus my booke hath beene so much my
pleasure, and bringeth daily to mee more pleasure, more that in
respect of it all other pleasures in very deede be but trifles and
troubles to me.'

198 A TRIO OF REMARKABLE
" I remember all this talke gladly, both because it is so worthy
of memorie, and because also it was the last talke that I ever had,
and the last time I ever saw that noble and worthy ladye."
It is time te come to the Lady Jane's marriage. In those
days, one need scarcely observe, hands were joined, not
as the parties most interested might have wished, but
according to the interests or caprices of the parents.
Free choice was rarely looked for, and mere rarely per
mitted. The ambitious Northumberland saw, in the
young beauty of Bradgate, a sure way for his son's and
his family aggrandizement, and her father, the amiable
Duke of Suffolk, but toe readily caught at the bright
bait that was held out to him. Lord Guildford Dudley
seems te have been, at least, the most worthy of North
umberland's sons, and Lady Jane appears te have readily
yielded te the parental mandate that ordered her to
wed him.
There is a dark tradition of the Dudleys having poi
soned the young king Edward, and it is popularly
believed that on the night of his death the banners in
the hall waved sadly, though in a place where the wind
could net reach them. The legend is as improbable as
fantastic. The Dudleys were ambitious, but the evi
dence of their poisoning the young king rests en slight
grounds. It was probably one of those idle tales which
the vulgar first raise, and then believe, against those
somewhat rapidly elevated above them. AU the symp
toms of Edward's illness were nothing more than the
usual symptoms ef early consumption. But any story
found easy credence that had for its object the ruin of
those whose " vaulting ambition " had already rendered
them unpopular.
A doubtful or disputed succession is usually one of
the greatest calamities that can befal a nation ; in Lady

LEICESTEESHIEE SISTERS. 199
Jane's case, it was a drama of domestic rather than public
sorrow. The well-known scene of the offer of the crown at
Sion House was the first act in the tragedy. Jane's
royal progress to the Tower, attended by all the lords,
and her mother-* the duchess as her trainbearer — the
solemn proclamation by the heralds, and the bold ser
mons by Rogers and Ridley, all gave a kind of solemn
reality to the feeling that she was indeed Queen, and
not the puppet of an unmeaning pageant.
On 18th July (1553), appears her first royal warrant.
It is signed ^' Jane, the Queene." Queen Jane ! — how
oddly and unfamiliarly it sounds ! Let us pass over the
ten days' reign, and follow her, a prisoner, to that
Tower in which she had so lately been received as a
sovereign. Whatever may have been the ungrateful conduct of
her father, but just pardoned by Queen Mary, the
Lady Jane herself was no party to Wyatt's rebellion in
her behalf, which really caused her death by making it
appear necessary for the peace of the kingdom.
She penned a remarkable letter to the Duke of
SuffeUi :—
" Father, although it hath pleased God to hasten my death by
" you, by whom my life should rather have been lengthened, yet can
" I so patiently take it as I yield God more heartye thanks for
" shortening my woful days than if all the world had been given
" unto my possessions with life lengthened at my own will. And
" albeit I am well assured of your impatient dolors, redoubled
" manifold ways, both in bewailing your own woe ; and especially
" (as I hear) my unfortunate state : yet my dear Father (if I may
" without offence rejoice in my own mishaps), me seems in this I
" may account myself blessed, that, washing m}' guiltless hands
* The Duchess of Suffolk waved her claim in favour of her daughter.

200 A TRIO OF EEMAEKABLE
" with the innocency of my fact, my guiltless blood may cry before
" the lord, ' Mercy to the innocent.' And yet, tho' I must needs
" acknowledge that, being constrained, and as you wot well enough
" continually assayed, in taking upon me I seemed to consent, and
'¦' therein grievously offended the Queen and her Laws, yet do I
" assuredly trust that this my offence towards God is so much the
" less, in that, being in so royal estate as I was, mine enforced
" honour blended never with myne innocent head. And thus, good
" Father, I have opened unto you the state wherein I at present
" stand : whose death at hand, altho' to you perhaps it may seem
" right woeful, yet to me there is nothing that can be more welcome,
" than from this vale of misery to aspire to that heavenly throne of
" all joy and pleasure with Christ our Saviour ; in whose steadfast
" faith (if it be lawful for the daughter so to write to the father) the
" Lord that hath hitherto so strengthened you, so continue you that
" at last we may meet in Heaven with the Father, Son, and Holy
" Ghost. " Your Gracy's affectionate daughter, " Jane Dudlet."
The " Exhortation " she addressed to her sister Ka
therine the night before she suffered, still to be seen on
the page of a Greek Testament in Lord Stamford's
library, is also touching. Holinshed's account of the
last scene in the tragedy is this :—
"The tweUe of Pebruarie, being Mondaie, about ten of the
clocke, there went out of the Tower, to the scaffold on Tower HUl,
the Lord Gilford Dudlie, sonne to the Duke of Northumberland,
husband to the Ladie Jane Greie, * '* * and without the bulwarke
gate. Master Thomas Offlie, one of the Sheiiffes of London, received
him, and brought him to the scaffold ; where, after a small declara
tion, he kneeled doune and said his praiers. Then holding up his
eyes and hands to Heaven, with tears, at the last he desired the
people to praie for him, aud after he was beheaded. His bodie being
laide in a carte, and his head into a cloth, was brought into tho
chapeU within the Tower where the Ladie Jane, whose lodging was
in Maister Partridge's house, did see his dead carcasse taken out of
the carte, as well as she did see him before while living, and going
to his death, a sight, as may be supposed, to her worse than death.
" By this time there was a scaflold made upon the Greene, over

LEICESTERSHIRE SISTERS. 201
against the white tower, for the Ladie Jane to die upon ; and being
nothing at all abashed, neither with the feare of her own death, which
then approached, neither with sight of the dead carcasse of her
husband, when he was brought into the chapel, came forth, the
Ueutenant leading her, with countenance nothing abashed, neither
her eies anything moistened with teares, with a booke in hir hand,
wherein she praied untiU she came to the scaffold. Whereon, when
she was mounted, this noble young ladie, as she was indued with
singular gifts both of learning and knowledge, so was she patient
and mild as anie lamb, at her execution, and a Uttle before hir death
uttered these words : —
" ' Good people, I com hether to die, and by a lawe I am con
demned to the same.' "
Holinshed here adds these remarkable words :
" ' My offense against the Queene's Highnes was onlie in consent
to the advice of other which is now deemed treason, but it was never
of my seeking but by counseU of those who should seeme to have
further understanding of things than I, which knewe little of the
law, and much less of the titles to the crowne.' She theu goes on :
' Touching the procurement and desyre thereof by me, or on my
halfe, I doo wash my hands thereof, in innocency before God and be
fore you good Christian people, this day.' And thirwith she wrong
hir handes in which she had hir booke. Then she sayd : — ' I pray
you all, good Christian people, to bere me witnes that I dye a true
Christian woman, and that I looke to be saved by none other mene
but onUe by the mercy of God, in the merites of the bloud of his
(Jnlye sonne Jesus Christe ; and I confesse that, when T knewe the
worde of God, I neglected the same, and loved myselfe and the world,
and therefore this plague and punyshment is happely and worthely
happened unto me for my sinnes. And yet I thanke God that he
has thus geven me a tyme and respet to repent. And now good
people while I am alyve, I pray you assist me with your praiers.'
"And then kneelying down, she turned to Fecknam saying, 'ShaU
I say this Psalm p' and he said 'Yea;' then she said miserere mei
Deus, in English, most devoutly to the ende. Then she stode up,
and gave her mayde. Mistress Tylney, her gloves and her hand-
kercher, and her booke to Maister Thomas Brydges, the lyvetenant's
brother. Forthwith she untied hyr goune. The hangman went to
hir to have helped hir off therwith, but she desyred him to let her
alone, turning towards her two gentlewomen who helped hir off

202 A TRIO OF REMARKABLE
therewith, and also her Frose paste, and neckercher, giving to her a
fayre handkercher to knyt about her eyes. Then the hangman
kneeled doune and asked her forgiveness, whome she forgave most
willingly. Then he wiUed her to stand upon the strawe, which doing
she saw the hloelce. Then she sayd, ' I pray you despatohe me
quickly.' Then she kneeled doune, saying, ' Will you take it off be
fore I lay me doune P' And the hangman answered, ' No, Madame '
She tyed the kercher about hir eyes. Thea, feeling for the hloelce,
saide, ' What shall I do ? Where is it ?' One of the standers-by
guiding her thereunto, she layde her head upon the blocke, and
stretched forth her body and sayd, ' Lorde, into thy hands I com
mend my spirit,' — and so she ended."
Her signature, simply " Jane," may be seen en the
sides of the room in which she was confined in the
Tower. Mr. Brand was of opinion that there was " a latent
meaning in the repetition of the signature, Jane, by
which she at once styled herself a queen, and inti
mated that net even the horrors of a prison could force .
her to relinquish that title."
Of her sister, Katherine Grey, the second daughter.
Fuller says : —
" 'Tis a pity to part the sisters, that their memories may mutually
condole and comfort one another. She was born at the same place,
and (when her father was in heighth) married to Henry Lord Her
bert, son and heir to the Earl of Pembroke ; but the wary old Earl,
perceiving the case altered, and what was the highway to honour
turned into the ready road to ruin, got a pardon from Queen Mary,
and brake the marriage quite off. This Heraclita, or Lady of Lamen
tation, thus repudiated, was seldom seen with dry eyes for some years
together, sighing out her sorrowful condition — so that though the
roses in her cheeks looked very pale and wan, it was not for the
want of watering. Afterward Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford,
married her privately, without the queen's licence, and concealed it,
till the prospect of her being a mother discovered it. * '* * Queen
Elizabeth beheld her with a jealous eye, unwiUing she should match
either foreign prince or English peer, but follow the pattern she set
her — so for their presumption, this Earl was fined £15,000, impri-

LEICESTERSHIRE SISTERS. 203
soned with his lady in the Tower, and severely forbidden her com
pany — but he bribed the keeper to procure him frequent interviews,
and had by ber a surviving son, Edward, ancestor of the Dukes of
Somerset. Lady Katherine died in 1557, after a nine years' impri
sonment in the Tower."
Lady Maey Grey, the youngest ef the sisters, is
stated to have been somewhat deformed. Of her. Fuller
says, that, " frighted with the infelicity of her two elder
sisters, Jane and Katherine, she forgot her honour te
remember her safety, and married one whom she could
love, and none need fear — Martin Keys [a yeoman], of
Kent, who was serjeant-porter te Queen Elizabeth."
She left no issue.
The father ef this remarkable trie, the Duke ef Suffolk,
was beheaded twelve days after the Lady Jane.
And what became of the duchess ?
There have been wives and mothers who, when in
formed of such woes as hers,
" have lived but to be told !"
She appears te have been of a stronger temperament.
She found some consolation fer all these accumulated
^oes — in what ? you will ask. In marrying her horse-
keeper, Adrian Stocks.
Miss Strickland relates a good anecdote en this match :
— " Elizabeth's undisguised partiality for the handsome
Dudley excited the jealousy of the ether members of her
council ; and even the cautious Cecil could net forbear
hazarding a biting jest to Elizabeth on the subject, when
he told her of this misalliance of her cousin Frances with
her equerry. ' What !' exclaimed her majesty, ' has she
married her horse-keeper ?' ' Yea, madame,' repUed the
premier ; ' and she says, you would like to do the same with
yours !' "
Yes, this daughter of a queen of France, and

204 A TRIO OF LEICESTERSHIRE SISTERS.
mother of a queen of England, found there was wisdom
as well as safety in her lowly choice. It placed her
a I'abri from the jealous suspicions ofthe maiden queen,
and she pronounced that the sunshine was less pleasant
than the shade. She passed the few remaining years ef
her life in great domestic comfort with her humble hus
band, chiefly in the sylvan retirement of Beaumanor.
She had one daughter by Mr. Stocks, who did not,
however, live to womanhood. Adrian afterwards married
the widow ef the celebrated Sir Nicholas Throckmorton,
and dying, left his brother, William, in possession of
Beaumanor, which, shortly after — namely, in 1595 —
was purchased by the celebrated Sir WUUam Heyrick.

205

SIB JAMES LINDSAY, OF CEAWFOED.

' My arm is strong, my heart is true,
An' the Percie 's o'er the border."

" Of all the battles," says Froissart, " that have been
described in history, great and small, that of Otterburn
was the best fought and the most severe, for there was
net a man, knight, or squire, who did not acquit himself
gallantly, hand te hand with his enemy. I had my
information from both parties, who agree that it was the
hardest and most obstinate battle that was ever fought."
The defeat of the English was complete, and the Scots
chased them fer five miles. When the Scots had re
turned from the pursuit. Sir David and Sir John Lindsay
asked after their chief — Sir James Lindsay, of Crawford
— but none could give them any news of him ; whereat,
says Froissart, they marvelled and grieved much, doubt
ing not but that either he had been slain or taken pri
soner. " Now," says the chronicler, " I will tell you
what befel the said knight ef Scotland."
Sir Matthew Redman, governor ef Berwick, and com
mander, in conjunction with Sir Robert Ogle, of one of
the two great " battles," er divisions, in which Percy
had marshalled his army, had mounted his horse to fly
— very reluctantly, but still, all things considered, he
alone could not recover the day. Sir James Lindsay,

206 SIR JAMES LINDSAY, OF CRAWFORD.
noticing his departure, and being mounted on a fleet
charger, immediately galloped after him, lance in hand,
and after a chase of mere than three English leagues,*
got so close to him that he might, had he chosen it,
have stricken him with his lance. But, instead of doing
so, he shouted to him repeatedly, " Ha ! sir knight ;"
(for he saw well that he was one, though he knew not
his name), " turn ye ! — 'tis foul shame thus to fly ! —
you have only me to cope with — and if you can discomfit
me — I am Sir James de Lindsay !"
When Sir Matthew heard that, he pulled in his horse,
and wheeling round, drew his sword, and betook himself
cheerily te his defence. Sir James aimed at him with
his lance; but Sir Matthew, by writhing his body,
escaped the blew, and the point of the lance was buried
in the ground, and there remained fixed. Sir Matthew
cut it in two with his sword. Sir James then threw the
truncheon on the ground, and seized his battle-axe,
which hung from his neck, (and well he knew how to
use it !) and assailed Sir Matthew, who defended himself
bravely. Thus they pursued each other fer a long time
by the light of the moon, the one with the axe, the ether
with the sword, for there was no one to interrupt them.
During a pause in this tourney. Sir James Lindsay
asked Sir Matthew, "Knight, who art thou?" Te
which the ether replied, " I am Sir Matthew Redman."
" Well," rejoined Sir James, " since we have thus met,
I must conquer thee, or thou me."
And then began the battle again ; and they had ne
other weapons save the one his sword and the other his
battle-axe, which he used with one hand very dexter
ously, the Scots being accustomed thus to handle it.
* Troies Ueus Angloises." — Froissart.

SIR JAMES LINDSAY, OF CRAWFORD. 207
At last. Sir Matthew's sword fiew out of his hand in
a return stroke — and he stood defenceless. " Lindsay,"
said he, " I yield me."
" Rescue, or no rescue ?" asked Sir James.
" I consent. You will bear me good company ?"
" By St. George ! I will," rejoined the knight ; " and
for a beginning, since you are my prisoner, what shall I
do for you ?"
" I wish," said Sir Matthew, " that you would allow
me to return to Newcastle, and by Saint Michael's day
I will render me at Dunbar, or Edinburgh, or at any
port you choose in Scotland."
" I am wiUing," said Sir James, " let it be at Edin
burgh on the day you name."*
With these words they took leave of each other. Sir
Matthew returning to Newcastle, walking his horse
gently, as it was much fatigued.
" Now," saith Froissart the chronicler, " I will tell
you a marvellous adventure which befel the knight of
Scotland— an adventure net to be forgotten in connec
tion vrith this night of peril — a freak of fortune such as
often bechanceth in love and war. Sir James misrht
well say, ' This morning I thought to have gained much,
'* "Such," says Holinshed, "was in those days the humanity
among the borderers and both nations towards their prisoners,
which to this day doth continue between the inhabitants of those
places. Butif any do not return at the day appointed, this punish
ment is set upon him for perpetual disgrace, that in the assemblies
of true days (to demand restitutions of things and injuries done by
one nation to the other) they use that he which complaineth himself
to be deceived by his prisoner (on his promise) doth carry about a
hand or glove painted on a cloth, with a long staff or spear, to be
seen of aU men ; the which is accounted a singular infamy to the
deserver thereof. For they which have so broken their faith be ever
after hated of their friends and acquaintance ; for which dishonesty
they wiU not afford them good report or entertainment."

208 SIR JAMES LINDSAY, OF CEAWFORD.
but in sooth I have lost more than enough in chasing
the English.' I will tell you why."
Sir James had no sooner parted with Sir Matthew,
than he and his squire (who, it appears, had followed
him closely through all the vicissitudes of this eventful
night) entangled themselves in the mazes of a broad
heath, covered with furze and thickets ef low wood, and
entirely lest their road — which Sir James soon found
out, but it was then too late te remedy the evil. No
stars were visible, the moon had gone down, and the
night was dark and gloomy. Coming at last to a path
which ran, as he thought, in the right direction, he pur
sued it — alas ! it was the direct road to Newcastle ; and
he would have arrived at the gates, of his own accord,
before daybreak, but for a previous rencontre with the
Bishop of Durham, who had been too late for the battle,
and was at that very moment returning te Newcastle by
a path running, it seems, nearly parallel with the one
Sir James had taken.
Sir James's horse, scenting the English horses, began
to neigh, and caracole, and paw the ground, and press
in that direction, and the knight, thinking that they
were his friends, and that he was close to Otterburn,
gave him the rein, and, in unsuspecting confidence, rede
into the midst of the bishop's company. The bishop,
seeing the dark shadow of a horse and rider, rede for
ward and asked, " Who goes there ? friend er foe, herald
or minstrel?" To which Sir James, still unaware ofhis
situation, replied, " I am James de Lindsay."
" Ha ! sir knight," cried the bishop, " you are very
welcome ! render yourself my prisoner !"
" And who are you ?" asked the astonished intruder.
"I am Robert de NevUle, priest, and Bishop of
Durham."

SIR JAMES LINDSAY, OF CRAWFORD. 209
Sir James saw well that resistance would be useless,
surrounded as he was by five hundred men, and said only,
" Sith it must be se, God's will be done !" Thus they
rode en together te Newcastle, Sir James entertaining
the bishop with the account ef his chase and capture of
Sir Matthew.
"And where is he?" asked the bishop.
" By my faith," replied Lindsay, " I have seen nothing
ef him since I fianced him ; he started for Newcastle,
and I was on my road to Otterburn."
" In my opinion," interrupted the bishop, " you chose
your road ill enough. Sir James ! for lo ! this is New
castle which we are now entering."
"I cannot help it," answered Sir James, "I have
taken, and I am taken — such is the fate of arms ! I had
fixed Sir Matthew's day for appearing at Edinburgh,
but I think he need not trouble himself to take so long
a journey to make his fynance."
" So it seems," rejoined the bishop.*
With these words they entered Newcastle, and all
* Stewart, who, in his metrical paraphrase of Boece, has inserted
and disfigured the episode so charmingly told by Froissart, ampUfies
the bishop's self-gratulation as foUows : —
" This Uk bishop that ilk time said and leuch, (a)
' Now see I weill I am happie aneuch,
That nother gave, no yet has taen ane straik,
Ane waiUit welrman, (b) wight as ony aik, (c)
Of noble bluid, now at my pleasure here,
Lo ! I have gotten to be prisoneir !
Had all the laif (d) been as happie as I,
The Scottis had nocht win sio victory I'
" This Matthew Eedman that same time was there.
And saw the Lindsay when his face was bare," (e) &c.
(a) Laughed. (b) A chosen warrior.
(c) Oak. (d) Remainder.
(e) With his visor lifted, or without his helmet.
VOL. IIL P

210 SIR JAMES LINDSAY, OF CEAWFOED.
went to their several lodgings; Sir James continuing
with the bishop as his guest and prisoner. Guards were
set, for fear of the Scots, at all the gates, towers, and
walls, and the bishop himself watched at the principal
barrier till sun-rise.
Meanwhile, Sir Matthew Redman had also reached
Newcastle, a little before the bishop's arrival, and after
disarming himself (as a captive knight), and putting on
other clothes, he went to wait on the bishop at his
lodging, where he met Richard Hebedon, Sir James's
squire, who told him the whole story ef his master's
misadventure. Greatly did Sir Matthew marvel at this news, and
then bade the squire lead him to his master's apartment.
He found Sir James leaning against the window, looking
out, and very melancholy — doubtless for the loss of his
friend Douglas. The two knights recognised each other
immediately by daylight, having often met before on
the borders 'and at the march -meetings. "What has
brought you here. Sir James?" was Sir Matthew^s
salutation. " By my faith, Redman !" repUed the former, inter
rupting his sad thoughts, and turning to meet him —
" ill-luck !" — and then repeated the tale already told.
" I believe," he added, " there will be no need ef your
coming te Edinburgh to obtain your ransom, for we can
finish the matter here, if my master consent to it."
" We shall soon agree as to that," rejoined Sir Mat
thew, " but you must come and dine with me, for the
bishop and his men are going te attack your country
men ; I know net what success they will have, nor shall
we be informed till their return."
" I accept your invitation," answered Lindsay.
Then, concludes Froissart, did these two knights rally

SIE JAMES LINDSAY, OF CEAWFOED. 211
each other, and bandy many blythe words of merriment,
and thus said the English knight, " By my faith, little
did I think to find my master. Sir James Lindsay,
here !"
" Such," replied the Scot, "is the chance of arms. As
Uttle thought I last night to have gained so little by
chasing the English ?"*
The proposed exchange does not however seem to have
been effected, — at least ne sooner did the news of Sir
James's capture reach King Richard at Cambridge, than
he despatched a mandate, with advice ef his great
council, to Earl Henry ef Northumberland, " that he
should en no account dismiss Sir James Lindsay, of
Scotland, knight, now newly captured in battle on our
side," either for pledge or ransom, till further orders.f
We cannot say, therefore, how the affair terminated
between Sir James and Sir Matthew ; — but it was an
interference of this sort many years afterwards which
mainly contributed to the rebellion of the North under
Hotspur. Sir James Lindsay and his "six freres tons cheva-
liere " are not forgotten in the Border Minstrelsy, that
ever loves to dwell on the romance and chivalry of the
•days of Otterburn. A beautiful ballad referential to the
gallant brethren and their one fair sister, " The Rose-a-
Lindsay," will well conclude this episode in the marvel
lous and romantic history ef the Lindsays :
* Froissart, Chron., torn. xi. chap. 118, 119, 120, ed. Buchon,
tom. iu. chap. 115, 116, ed. Eegnault, 1513, — Xnyghton, who says
" de Scotis multi capti sunt, inter quos Jacobus de Lindsay, frater
reginse Scotise, vir potentissimus," Chon. ap. Twysden, col, 2728,
— Brnth., p. 332, — Mills' Sist. of Chivalry, tom. u. p. 82.
•f Rym. Feed., tom. vii. p. 607.
p2

212 SLR JAMES LINDSAY, OF CRAWFORD.

"THE EOSE-A-LYNDSAYE.
" There are seven fair flowers in yon green wood.
On a bush in the woods o' Lyndsaye ;
The are seven braw flowers an' ae bonny bud —
Oh ! the bonniest flower in Lyndsaye.
An' weel luve I the bonny, bonny rose —
The bonny, bonny Eose-a-Lyndsaye ;
An' I'll big my bower o' the forest boughs.
An' I'U dee in the green woods o' Lyndsaye.
" There are jewels upon her snawy breast.
An' her hair is wreathed wi' garlan's.
An' a cord o' gowd hangs roun' her waist,
An' her shoon are sewed wi' pearlyns.
An' 0, but she is the bonny, bonny rose.
She's the gentle Eose-a-Lyndsaye ;
An' I'll big my bower where my blossom grows.
An' I'll dee in the green woods o' Lyndsaye.
" Her face is like the evenin' lake.
That the birk or the willow fringes,
Whase peace the wild wind canna break.
Or but its beauty changes.
An' she is aye my bonny, bonny rose.
She's the bonny young Rose-a-Lyndsaye ;
An' ae blink o' her e'e wad be dearer to me
Than the wale o' the lands o' Lyndsaye.
" Her voice is like the gentle lute.
When minstrels tales are teUin' ;
An' ever softly steps her fute.
Like Autumn leaves a fallin'.
An' oh, she's the rose, the bonny, bonny rose.
An' oh, she's Eose-a-Lyndsaye !
An' I'll kiss her steps at evenin' close.
Thro' the flowrie woods o' Lyndsaye.
" Oh, seven brave sons has the gude Lord James —
Their worth I downa gainsay.
For Scotsmen ken they are gallant men.
The children o' the Lyndsaye :

SIR JAMES LINDSAY, OF CRAWFORD. 213
An' proud are they o' their bonny, bonny rose,
0' the bonny young Eose-a-Lyndsaye ;
But pride for luve makes friends like foes.
An' woe i' the woods o' Lyndsaye.
' But wUl I weep where I mauna woo,
An' the lan' in sic disorder p
My arm is strong, my heart is true.
An' the Percie's o'er the border.
Then fare-ye-weel my bonny, bonny rose,
An' blest be the bonny woods o' Lyndsaye ;
I will gild my spurs in the bluid o' her foes,
An' come back to the Eose-a-Lyndsaye.''

214

THE GENTLE JOHNSTONS.

The popular epithet of " gentl^' would seem to be net
a little at variance with the facts about to be related,
yet both belong te history ; the phrase, however, must
not be taken iu its usual acceptation, as in this case it
has no reference to any particular mildness of disposit'.on,
but to a pure and honourable lineage.
The subject ef this slight sketch. Sir John Johnston,
was the third baronet bearing that title, his grandfather,
who was a stanch cavalier, having been created a Nova
Scotia baronet by Charles I. At an early period of life
he entered the army, and is said to have distinguished
himself greatly in King William's wars in Flanders;
subsequently he fought under that monarch, with the
rank of captain, at the battle ef the Boyne, but he does
net appear to have obtained any farther promotion for
his serrices.
Amongst the military friends of Sir John, one of the
most intimate was the Honourable Captain James Camp
bell, brother te the Earl of Argyle, who had fallen in
love with the person or the fortune of Miss Mary
Wharton, an heiress possessing an estate of 1500^. a year.
She was the daughter of Sir George Wharton, then
deceased, and at the time of the event in question
was only thirteen years old, a circumstance which by ne
means tends to give a favourable colouring to the affair.

THE GENTLE JOHNSTONS. 215
It IS not at all clear from the subsequent trial — and we
have no other means ef getting at the truth — whether
the young lady was forcibly abducted, or went with her
own consent ; but carried off she was from her mother's
house in Great Queen-street, te a private lodging occu
pied by Captain Campbell, his friend Sir John assisting,
and there regularly married to him by a clergyman of
the established church. In this place the parties re
mained two days, when Miss Wharton, new Mrs. Camp
bell, wrote to her aunt, informing her of the marriage,
and distinctly stating that ne violence had been used,
but that everything had taken place with her own free
will and consent. But such a letter, under all the cir
cumstances, it is plain cannot be received as conclusive
eridence of the fact ; it might have been written under
fear or compulsion, er the lady might have thought that
te own a willingly contracted marriage with a man of
good birth and high connexions was much better than
placing herself in the doubtful position of one who had
been forcibly abducted, and whose maiden fame would
thus be brought in question, although without any fault
of her own.
Most of the lady's friends were inclined to put a good
face upon what at best was an awkward affair, and
acquiesce in the marriage, however it might have been
brought about; but not so her near relative, Lord
Wharton, who being an especial favourite with King
William, easily obtained from the government a pro
clamation offering a high reward for the apprehension
both of the principal and his accessories. Campbell had
the good luck te make his escape into Scotland, where
he lay hidden amongst his countrymen of the Highlands
until all danger was past. His less fortunate associate
being betrayed by his landlord — sold for the price of

216 THE GENTLE JOHNSTONS;
fifty pounds, the reward offered for their apprehension — •
was tried at the Old Bailey, and condemned to death,
though the people of the house in which the parties had
lodged at the time of committing the deed, as well as
the officiating clergyman, all gave evidence to the fact
of the marriage having been celebrated with the bride's
consent. This, all things considered, seems but a hard
measure of justice, er perhaps, we should rather say, ne
justice at all; but the satisfaction ef an angry and vin
dictive feeling, which being once roused must have food,
and is net very nice as te who or what is the victim. It
should moreover be considered, that although the crime
of abduction is held amongst ourselves, and very justly,
as one ef the deepest dye, yet such was not the case at
the time and in the country where the offence was per
petrated. Sir Walter Scott, in speaking of Lord Lovat, and
endeavcmring to shew how it happened, that after the
commission ef a similar crime, he not only escaped the
worst penalties ef the law, but was even admitted into
the society of men of honour, observes — " Even in ordi
nary cases, the bride was expected to affect some reluct
ance ; and the greater er less degree of violence did not
in these wild times appear a matter of much consequence.
The Scottish law-books are crowded with instances of
this sort of raptiis, or, as it is called in their Xs^-w , forcible
abduction of women. The inference seems to be, that in
some circumstances, no absolute infamy was attached
even te those acts ef violence from wliich it seems im
possible to divide it : and we remember a woman on the
banks of Loch Lomond, herself the daughter ef such a
marriage, who repelled with great contempt the idea ef
its being a real grievance on the bride, and said that in
her time the happiest matches were always so made."

THE GENTLE JOHNSTONS. 217
No considerations of this, however, or of any other
kind were allowed to avaU the gentle Johnston ; he was
hanged according to his sentence at Tyburn on the 23rd
of December, after having made a leng dying speech te
convince the spectators ef his innocence. What makes
his fate seem yet harder is that, while he who had been
ne mere than an accessory was thus suffering the ex-
tremest penalty ef the law, the principal and real
offender net only escaped all punishment, but li^red in
happiness and advanced in honour; the latter succes
sively became a captain ef dragoons, a colonel, a member
of parliament for Campbelltown in 1708, and the husband
of the Hon. Margaret Lesley, third daughter ef David,
first Lord Newark. To complete this picture of moral
justice totally reversed, he died quietly in his bed, and
left behind him a numerous issue.

218

LADY HESTEE STANHOPE.

Lady Hester Stanhope was one of these singular
beings, who occur now and then in life for the express
purpose, as it would seem, of vindicating dame Nature
from all suspicion of too much sameness in her human
productions. She believed with the Turks in predestina
tion, and would repeat in good Mahommedan fashion,
" remember, all is written," or as she often phrased it,
" all depends en the star of a persen ;" she chose, when
in the east, to dwell at a distance from any city that it
might be the more difiicult fer her slaves and servants to
escape from her despotic rule, to which it appears they
were at all times only toe well disposed ; and ne wonder,
when none were allowed to act, or even to think, but as
she was pleased to order, and she made it moreover her
especial beast " that there was nobody who could give
^uch a slap in the face when required as she could ;" she
would talk for twelve hours together, and we are told
that her doctor absolutely fainted away from the fatigue
of listening te her ; she chose her servants from the trim
of their eye-brows, er the shape of their noses, the chief
articles other creed on this subject being, — " wrinkles at
the eyes are abominable, or about the mouth ; eyebrows
making one circle, if meeting, or close and straight, are
equally bad ; those are good meeting the line ef the nose,
as if a double bridge; eyes long, and between the eye-

LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 219
brows, and no wrinkles in the forehead when they laugh,
or about the mouth, are signs ef bad luck and duplicity ;
eyes aU zig-zag are fuU ef lies ; a low flat forehead is
bad ; so are uneven eyes, one larger than the other, or in
constant motion ; if the eyebrows of a man are straight
and come nearly together, that is nothing, but if they
form an arch it is always a sign of natural hum (me
lancholy er gloominess) ; never can such a one be
contented or happy."
Such are the faint outlines of this extraordinary
woman, whose character will yet farther develop itself as
we go on.
Hester Stanhope was the daughter of Charles Earl bf
Stanhope, by Hester, his first wife, the favourite sister ef
WUliam Pitt. We have ne portrait of her, for she had
always an unaccountable disinclination to having her
likeness taken, but she has left a description of herself
which is probably not less faithful than any painted
likeness would have been — " At twenty my complexion
was like alabaster; and at five paces distance the
sharpest eye would net discover my pearl necklace from
my skin; my lips were ef such a beautiful carnation
that without vanity I can assure you very few women
had the like. A dark blue shade under the eyes, and the
blue veins that were observable through the transparent
skin heightened the brilliancy of my features. Nor
were the roses wanting in my cheeks; and to all this
was added a permanency in my looks that fatigue of ne
sort could impair."
This however is the description she gave of herself to
her doctor ; when speaking upon the same subject to her
nncle, the great William Pitt, she observes, " I know I
am not handsome : if you were to take every feature in
my face, and put them one by one on the table, there is

220 LADY HESTER STANHOPE.
not a single one would bear examination. The only
thing is that put together and lighted up they look well
enough. It is homogeneous ugliness, and nothing mere.''
When the reader has made the best ef these two some
what dissimilar accounts he has then to compare them with
what her doctor says of her — " Her head seen -in front
presented a perfect oval, of which the eyes would cover a
line drawn through the centre. Her eyebrows were
arched and fine, I mean slender; her eyes blue, ap
proaching to grey; her nose somewhat large, and the
distance from her mouth te the chin rather too long*
Her cheeks had a remarkable fine contour, as they
rounded off towards the neck, se that Mr. Brummell, as
has been related, once said to her in a party, ' Fer
God's sake, do take off those ear-rings, and let us see
what is beneath them.' Her figure was tall (I think
not far from six feet), rather largely proportioned, and
was once very plump, as I have heard her say. Her
mien was majestic; her address eminently graceful; in
her conversation, when she pleased, she was enchanting;
when she meant it, dignified; at all times eloquent. She
was excellent at mimicry, and upon all ranks of life.
She had more wit and repartee perhaps than falls to the
let of most women. Her knowledge of human nature
was most profound, and she could turn that knowledge
to account to its utmost extent, and in the minutest
trifles. She was courageous, morally and physically se ;
undaunted, and proud as Lucifer."
Some poet— we think it is Wordsworth — has observed,
that the child is father to the man, and the corollary of
the proposition is no less true, the child is mother to the
woman. This was more particularly seen in Lady
Hester, whose disposition te act for herself without the
least regard to what others might think, became ap-

LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 221
parent at a very early age. Thus on one occasion, when
she was at most only eight years old, her curiosity
being greatly excited by the bows and feathers of Comte
d'Adhemar, the French ambassador, and his train, she
resolved te go and see the country which could produce
such marvellous specimens ef humanity. A visit, which
her family made a short time afterwards to Hastings,
gave her, as she imagined, an admirable opportunity of
carrying this notable scheme into execution. One day as
she was amusing herself on the beach, she observed a
boat floating close to the shore, and, getting into it she
pushed off with the full intention ef sailing fer the
French coast, much like the bear in the fable, but with a
luckier termination to her voyage, for she had the good
fortune to be brought back again, before she had time to
run into any serious danger.
Another anecdote is told of her girli.sh days, that sets
the character of the child in a very pleasing light, since
it exhibits a strong feeling of sympathy with others, and
where certainly there could have been ne particular in
ducement to it. Her father it seems was troubled at
times with violent fits ef republicanism, in one of which
he chose to put down his carriages and horses, as un
suited to that equality which ought to prevail amongst
the children of Adam. The second Lady Stanhope, for
the earl upon becoming a widower had married a second
time, was inconsolable at being thus unceremoniously
condemned te walk afoot, er ride abroad like any ether
JiU or Joan in a hired vehicle. But how was the evil to
be remedied? the English Brutus was indexible. In
this dilemma the little Hester, unasked, and indeed
without preriously telling any one of her purpose, stept
forward to the rescue. Having provided herself with a
pair of stUts she walked about upon them in a certain

222 LADY HESTER STANHOPE.
muddy lane where she might make sure of being seen by
the earl, for he had a habit of surveying the country
with a telescope from his drawing-room window. Upon
her return the first question naturally was, " Why, little
girl, what have you been about? where was it I saw
you going upon a pair of — the devil knows what? eh,
giri?" " Oh papa, I thought as you had laid down your
carriage and horses, I would take a walk through the
mud on stilts ; for you know, papa, I do not mind any
thing ; 'tis poor Lady Stanhope who feels these things,
for she has always been accustomed to her carriage, and
her health is net very good."
The earl was evidently struck by the remark. He
looked down upon the ground, and after a short pause
said, " Well, little girl, what would you say if I bought
a carriage again for Lady Stanhope ?"
" Why, papa, I should say it was very kind of you."
"Well, well, we'll see about it. But damn it, no
armorial bearings."
Yet for all this, it does not appear in the education of
the children they had more intercourse with their
parents than is generally the custom in fashionable life.
The care of them was entirely abandoned to the French
governess, who was at constant war with nature, and
trying to torture them into something very different
from what nature intended them to be. Amongst
other medes of improving upon her handiwork, their
backs were pinched in with boards drawn tight with all
the strength the maid was capable of; and the instep
of Hester being remarkably high — "so high that a
little kitten could have walked under the sole of her
foot" — the French tormentor would insist upon forcibly
compressing it, in order to make it flat and more agreeable

LADY HESTER STANHOPK 223
to her notions of what a foot ought to be. But in truth
nature was entirely out of the question in all the family
arrangements. "Lady Stanhope," said Hester, at a
subsequent period, " got up at ten o'clock, went out, and
then returned te be dressed, if in London, by tlie hair
dresser ; and there were only two in London, both of
them Frenchmen, who could dress her. Then she went
to the opera, and from the opera to parties, seldom
returning until just before daylight. Lord Stanhope
was engaged in his philosophical pursuits, and thus we
children saw neither one ner the ether. Lucy — the
youngest of the three sisters — used te say, ' that if she
had met her mother-in-law (qy. stepmother?) in the
streets she should not have known her.' Why, my
father once foUowed, to our own door in London, a
woman who happened to drop her glove, which he
picked up. It was our governess ; but as he had never
seen her in the house, he did not know her in the
street." The early part of her life was chiefly passed at
Chevening in Kent, at her father's mansion, which
George III. used te call Democracy Hall, from the
democratic opinions of its owner. To such a pitch did
he carry his republican fancies, that the Covenanters of
old had not a greater horror of their children attending
at Wappenschaws, shooting at the poppinjay, and other
ungodly pastimes, than the earl had of his children being
at any party or amusement where royalty was to take
the lead. She could not even go to a review except by
stratagem, pretending that she wanted to see a Miss
Crump, whose plebeian name might vouch for the
democratic purity of her principles. If either of his
daughters had a prettier dress than common, or one
that, vrith the love of finery inseparable from woman in

224 LADY HESTER STANHOPK
any class as at any time of life, she valued more than
usual, the meddling earl would invariably interfere, and
have it changed for something coarser. Yet he appears.
to have been a man of sound understanding and kindly
feelings. All this might be very well so long as his family
continued to be children, but when they grew older, the
sagacious Hester, who detested her father's politics, and
who feared that he might one day endanger his safety
by them, went to reside in the house ef her uncle,
because, as she said, " it was better te be where I should
have Mr. Pitt by my side to help me, should he get into
any serious difficulty." By the great minister she
would seem to have been highly valued, while he cared
little for Lucy, and absolutely disliked the eldest sister,
because she was jealous of his favourite. In truth his
mode of complimenting her went beyond all reasonable
bounds, though there can be no question of his niece
having been even then a remarkable young woman.
Upon one occasion we find him saying, " Hester, what
sort ef a being are you ? we shall see, some day, wings
spring out of your shoulders, fer there are moments
when you hardly seem to walk the earth." At another
time the flattery goes even beyond this, and the zest of
it is not a little heightened by its being herself who
repeats the anecdote. " There was a man one day at
table with Mr. Pitt, an old friend of his — Canning told
me the story — who speaking of me, observed that he
supposed I should soon marry, and after some conversa
tion en the subject concluded by saying, ' I suppose she
waits till she gets a man as clever as herself ' Then,'
answered Mr. Pitt, ' she will never marry at all.' "
This is pretty well, but what follows almost equals it.
Mr, Pitt would say te her, " I have plenty of good

LADY HESTER STANHOPK 225
diplomatists, but they are none of them military men ;
and I have plenty ef good officers, but not one of them
is worth sixpence in the cabinet. If you were a man,
Hester, I would send you on the continent with sixty
thousand men, and give you carte blanche ; and 1 am
sure that not one ef my plans would fail, and net one
soldier would go with his shoes unblacked — meaning
that my attention would embrace every duty that
belongs to a general and a corporal."
Exaggerated as these praises undoubtedly were, we see
ne reason to question their sincerity. The unlimited
confidence which he placed in his niece, even to the
trusting her with state secrets, or what should have
been such, proves that he said in her regard ne more
than he really believed. In all minor affairs, such as
concerned the regulaticm of his own household, she was
of course allowed to rule with despotic sway, doing and
undoing at her own pleasure. When he went to Walmer
for the benefit of his health, she always accompanied
him, and might truly have been called, in diplomatic
language, the minister fer the home department, and
sometimes even for foreign affairs, though in justice it
should be added, that the great object of that restless
spirit vvas to gratify her uncle. The genius of Aladdin's
lamp was not more prompt te obey the wishes of his
master. Thus one day Mr. Pitt happened to observe,
that Walmer only wanted trees to be beautiful. This
hint was enough. Ne sooner had he gone to London,
than she cast about how she might best make " Birnarn
Wood remove to Dunsinane." By some means she got
all the soldiers then in quarters at Dover, and employed
them "in levelling, fetching turf, transplanting shrubs,
flowers, &c.," under her own superintendence. And
certainly, there never was a more active or successful
VOL. IIL Q

226 LADY HESTER STANHOPK
clerk of the works. She would go out — it is thus she
speaks of herself — of an evening amongst the workmen,
aud say to one, " You are a Warwickshire man, I know
by your face — although I had known it by his brogue
— how much I esteem Lord Warwick; he is my best
friend." "Were you in Holland, my good fellow?" — to
another. " Yes, my lady, in the Blues  "
" A fine regiment ; there is not a better soldier in the
army than Colonel So-and-so."
" He was my colonel, my lady."
Thus a few civil words made the work ge en rapidly,
and it was finished before Mr. Pitt's return. The garden
thus formed was, as she declares with much self-com
mendation, not an English garden, but one in the old
fashion of trim alleys, straight avenues, and other like
modes of improving nature, by torturing her into some
thing as little like herself as possible.
The great minister, who was glad while at Walmer to
get seme relaxation from the usual fatigues of office, left
a multitude of its more trifling cares to her discretion.
Speaking on this subject, she herself saj's, "When we
were at Walmer, it is incredible what a deal I got
through every day. Mr. Pitt was pleased to have some
body who would take trouble off his hands. Every week
he had te review the volunteers, and would ride home in
such showers of rain — I have been so drenched, that, as
I stood, my boots made two spouting fountains above
nay knees. Then there was dinner ; and if I happened
to be alone when I went to the drawing-room, I had to
give the secret word for spies, to see the sergeant of the
guard, and then the gentlemen would come in from the

L.U)Y HESTER STANHOPE. 227
dining-room. But if they were late, hew sleepy I got,
and would have given the world to go te bed."
But this is little to seme other of the many feats
which she loved to record of herself in familiar con
versation. Once she changed the dress of a whole
regiment ; and it is amusing to observe with what self-
complacency she narrates this achievement in her old
age, in a foreign land, and at a time when she was so
worn by sickness as te be hanging ever the very brink
of the grave. " Somebody asked me before a great
many officers what I thought of them — the Berkshire
miUtia — and I said they looked like so many tinned
harlequins. One day soon after, I was riding through
Walmer village, when who should pop upon me but the
colonel, dressed in entirely new regimentals, with dif
ferent facings, and more like a regiment of the line.
' Pray pardon me. Lady Hester,'— so I stopped as he ad
dressed me — ' pray pardon me,' said the colonel, ' but I
wish to knew if you approve of our new uniform.' Of
course I made him turn about till I inspected him round
and round — pointed with my whip as I sat on horse
back, first here and then there — told him the waist was
toe short, and wanted half a button mere — the collar
was a little tee high — and so on ; and in a short time
the whole regiment turned out with new clothes."
These times of feasting and flattery at length came
to a sudden end. Mr. Pitt died; when Lady Hester,
having obtained from government a pension of 1200^. —
1500^. nominally — she established herself in Montague-
square, with her two brothers. There fer a time she
continued te see much company, till she found her income
inadequate to the expense ; and, growing disgusted with
London, she retired into Wales, and took up her abode
Q 2

228 LADY HESTER STANHOPE.
in a small cottage at Builth, near Brecon, in a room not
mere than a dozen feet square. Independent of attending
to her dairy and other rural occupations, one of her great
amusements in this retreat was playing the part of doctor
amongst all who could be persuaded to take her remedies.
But even ef these employments she soon wearied; er,
if we are to believe her own account ef the matter, she
was annoyed by the multitude of English visiters that
broke in upon her solitude, and in consequence she re
solved to sail up the Mediterranean to the East. With
her, to resolve' upon anything was to do it ; and in this
case, as usual, the act followed close upon the deter
mination. Perhaps, too, a stronger motive than any we
have yet assigned may have contributed to this result.
Her disposition, by nature impatient of anything like
restraint, and that disposition still farther aggravated by
a vicious system of bringing up, made her rebel every
moment against the curb imposed by public opinion
upon every one, even the hardiest, unless he has the
means and the inclination to dispense with society alto
gether. In the East she would escape from this European
system of constraint, and be the mistress of everything
except her own temper, and that neither herself nor any
one else could govern. In the July of 1810 she accord
ingly quitted England.
It will be unnecessary to follow her from London to
Gibraltar — from Gibraltar to Malta — from Malta to
Zante — from Zante to Greece — from Greece to Con
stantinople — and from Constantinople to Egypt, in the
passage to which she was shipwrecked on the Isle of
Rhodes. In these wanderings she was accompanied by
a young physician, a Dr. M  , who deserves parti
cularly to be mentioned, since it is from him we have
derived so large a proportion of our materials. Such a

LADY HESTER STANHOPK 229
choice, however, of a companion may be fairly set down
amongst her singularities, for she held the craft in pro
found contempt, and when she took medicine at all, it
was generally from her own prescribing. So far, indeed,
did she carry this reliance upon herself, and scorn for
the skill ef the doctors, that even in the case of ether
people who chanced to be ill under her roof, she always
assumed the right of dictating their medicines, amongst
which a black draught seems to have been an especial
favourite with her. The constant infiux of visitors allured
to Dar Joon by the desire ef seeing so celebrated a
woman, afforded her many occasions ef gratifying this
propensity ; and neither high nor lew could escape the
inevitable black draught if any pretext, however slight,
occurred for its being administered. Even the Duke of
Bavaria, whose evil star led him to this land of plague
and pachaUsm, with a long suite of barons, painters,
musicians, and servants, came under the general doom.
One of the party had indisputable symptoms of tho
plague, and forthwith Lady Hester held a solemn council
with her physician, in which were discussed, with all the
care befitting so grave a matter, "the probabilities of
under er ever-dosing the tall captain of the guards, the
mild and delicately-framed baron, and the royal stomach
of his highness." The result ef these deliberations was
the immediate despatch of a servant, with a letter and
seven black doses, for the baron and six others ef the
suite, and a promise of eight more doses the next day
for the duke and the rest of his party.
After much rambling about various parts. Lady Hester
fixed upon Mar Elias, at Abra, for her abode, scarcely
two miles from Sayda ; and though averse to reading of
any kind, and protesting "that education was of all
things the most odious," yet she seen contrived to speaic

230 LADY HESTER STANHOPE.
and write Arabic after a fashion. In a short time she
still more completely severed herself from European
associations, by adopting the costume and many of the
habits ef the east. She dressed like a Turkish gentleman,
rode en horseback in the same style, and smoked a pipe
with as much gravity and enjoyment as if she had been
born and bred up a pacha. The description given of
her costume by the physician before alluded to, leaves
nothing for curiosity to desire on this head.
" Her turban," he says, " a coarse, woollen, cream-
coloured Barbary shawl, was wound loosely round ever
the veAfez, or tarboosh, which covered her shaved head;
a silk handkerchief, commonly worn by the Bedouin
Arabs, known by the Arabic name of keffeyah, striped
pale yellow and red, came between the fez and the
turban, being tied under the chin, or let fall at its ends
on each side ef her face. A long sort of white merino
cloak — meshlah, or abah, in Arabic — covered her person
from the neck to the ankles, looped in white silk branden-
burghs over the chest ; and by its ample and majestic
drapery and loose folds gave to her figure the appearance
of that fulness which it once really possessed. When
her cloak happened accidentally to be thrown open in
front, it disclosed beneath a crimson robe — -joobey —
reaching also to her feet, and, if in winter, a pelisse
under it, and under that a cream-coloured or flowered
gown — komhaz — folding over in front, and girded with
a shawl or scarf round her waist. Beneath the whole
she wore scarlet pantaloons of cloth, with yellow low
beets, called meat, having pump-soles, er in other words,
a yellow leather stocking, whicli slipped into yellow
slippers, er papouches. This completed her costume;
and although it was, in fact, that ef a Turkish gentle
man, the most fastidious prude could not have found

LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 231
anything unbecoming a woman, except its association
as a matter ef habit with the male sex. She never wore
pearls, precious stones, trinkets, or ornaments, as some
travellers have affirmed; indeed, she had none in her
possession, and never had had any from the time of her
shipwreck." The fact is, she imitated the Turks because she liked
them as much as she hated the Christians in Syria.
" The Turks," she said, " were a manly and kind-hearted
people, though rather 'riolent, while the Syrian Christians
were the vilest race she ever met with. As for the
Arabs, they are the boldest people in the world, yet are
endued vrith a tenderness quite poetic, and their kind
ness extends to all the brute creation."
After an abode at Mar EUas ef six or eight years, she
found that the place had been ill-chosen with reference
to her peculiar notions; it was too near Sayda; the
servants, when weary of her employ, could escape by
night, and take refuge in the city, while her slaves could
at any time run away and secrete themselves in the
houses of the Turks. This did not at all suit her notions
of arbitrary power ; she wished to be in a place where
escape from her would be well nigh impossible, and
where she might be beyond the immediate reach of that
influence and restraint which neighbourhood and society
naturally exert upon all of us. In 1813, therefore, she
removed for a while to an old monastic dwelling, two
miles from the ancient city ef Sidon, in Syria. This
was soon discovered to be too small for her establishment,
and in one of her customary rides observing a moderately-
sized house near the village of Joon, she hired it for
twenty pounds a-year, on condition that any improve
ments she might make should in the end revert free of
expense te the landlord. From the place just mentioned

232 LADY HESTER STANHOPE.
the house itself received the name of Dar Joon, dar, in
Arabic, signifying either an elevation, or a hall, in the
same sense that we apply the word to any mansion in
our own country. In the present case there would seem
to be as much ground for one derivation as the ether,
for the building stands upon an elevation, while at the
same time it has unquestionable claims to be called
a hall. A spot better suited to her purposes could not have
been chosen. The lonelj'' mountains that surrounded it,
and which abounded with wolves and jackals, presented
a difficulty by night toe appalling for any but the
boldest to venture upon, and to escape by day was well
nigh impracticable in consequence ef the insulated situa
tion of the house on the top of a conical hill, whence all
comers and goers might be seen on every side fer a con
siderable distance. Ner was this all. She was known
to have great influence with Abdallah Pacha, to whom
she had rendered many services, pecuniary as well as per
sonal, and he as a Turk was more inclined to encouraare o
than to put down despotism, while her nearest neigh
bour, the Emir Beshy'r, or prince of the Druzes, stood
too much in awe of her pen and tongue to do anything
that might offend her. If these securities were not
enough, additional ones might be found in the new
buildings she added to the original dwelling, although
this perhaps was no more than a secondary object.
The house, as we have before observed, stood upon the
top of a hill, crowned with a flat surface, somewhat in the
shape of an orange, which afforded sufficient space for a
garden, stables, and such other buildings as she might at
any time think necessary. The garden was entirely her
own creation, and abounded in covered alleys, serpentine
walks, arbours, and pavilions, but though much lauded

LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 233
by the complaisant doctor, who had se long been her com
panion, it did not obtain any particular praise from
Prince Puckler Muskau in his book of eastern travel.
Around this house, as if it had been the citadel of
some small town, she next proceeded to erect stables,
cottages, detached rooms, and even entire dwellings.
The two latter classes of buildings were intended as
asylums for those whom she expected te seek a refuge
there upon the bursting out of that general revolution
and upsetting of all things which impended net only
over the East, but over the entire world. For the
greater security ef those who should then fly to her for
refuge, these buildings were so contrived that he who in
habited any one of them was in too perfect a seclusion te
knew anything ofhis neighbour, and his neighbour all the
whUe knew just as little of him. The whole was sur
rounded by a wall more than ten feet high to the
north and east, and about six or seven on the other
two sides.
In some instances these buildings were framed as it
were between several walls, one vrithin another, so that,
with the different enclosures wherein servants of various
occupations took up their abode, a person who attempted
to go out or in surreptitiously, was sure to be seen and
stept. Two gateways gave admission to the whole, one
appropriated to men-servants and visitors, and the other
te the women, or to those who were introduced secretly
to Lady Hester's apartment. In passing through either
of these portals the stranger found himself involved in a
perfect labyrinth of gardens, court-yards, screens, and
dark passages, in such a manner that rooms actually
close together would yet by the roundabout approach to
them seem a hundred yards asunder. In addition to all
these contrivances, which inevitably remind us of those

234 LADY HESTER STANHOPE.
mysterious castles in romance, with endless passages
built only fer the accommodation of ghosts and mur
derers, there were two pavilions with trap-doors in the
floors, and steps leading to rooms under ground, from
which was a communication with the open country.
The causes for this singular style of building have
already been explained, and the event justified what else
must have seemed a mere hallucination, so far as
regarded its being an asylum fer those under persecution.
It might have been supposed that when so much
regard was paid te the accommodation ef strangers some
care would be taken ef what immediately concerned her
own comfort. But this was far from being the case.,
Lady Hester thought only of ruling in uncontrolled
sovereignty, and at any time was much more affected by
an unmeaning slight than by a real hardship. While her
income was being squandered upon others, and debts
incurred fer their benefit, she herself always wanted the
comforts, and often the bare necessaries, of life. A de
scription of one of her dinners, in confidential intercourse
with the family physician so often alluded to, may be
taken as a fair specimen ef the manner in which things
were conducted within the penetralia of Dar Joon,
notwithstanding that the mistress was the terror alike ef
beys and consuls, and a refuge to those who could find an
asylum nowhere else. " She sate on a sofa," says the
doctor, " and I opposite to her, on a common rush-
bottomed chair, with an unpainted deal table — about
three feet by two and a half — between us, covered with a
scanty table-cloth, of the kind usuaUy spread on a bed
room-table at an inn. Two white plates, one over the
ether French fashion, were placed before each of us, and
in the centre of the table were three dishes of yellow
earthenware (common in the south of France) containing

LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 2Sd
a pilaf, a yackney or sort of Irish stew, and a boiled fowl
swimming in its broth. There were two silver table
spoons for each of us, which, she said, were all she had,
and two black bone-handled knives and forks. One
spoon was for the broth, one for the yackney ; and when
the pilaf was to be served, we helped ourselves with the
same spoons with which we had been eating. The
arrangements were completed by a black bottle with
Mount Lebanon vrine in it, of exquisite flavour, and a
common water-decanter. She said that in this style the
young duke of Richelieu had dined vvith her; adding
however that her destitute state as to dishes and table-
service was not quite so deplorable prerious to the long
Ulness she had gone through; but at that melan
choly period her slaves and servants had robbed her
of everything, even to the cushions and covers of
her sofa."
It would appear from this account that Lady Hester
had gained little enough in the way ef comfort by aban
doning her own country ; if her income had proved too
limited for her support in London, or in a Welsh cottage,
it was still less adequate te maintain the position she
aspired to in Syria. The same discomfort that we have
just seen prevaiUng in the dinner-room prevailed also in
her sleeping apartment, though as this in part originated
from her determination to conform herself te eastern
customs, it brings with it less idea of distress and poverty.
Amongst the Turks there is no apartment particularly
distinguished by the name of the bed-room, fer they
have no fixed bedsteads, ne fixed washing-stands, no
fixed dressing-tables with the usual paraphernalia of a
lady's toilette ; some corner cupboard, or brass-nailed
box, contains nearly all that the Turkish fair ones
require for such purposes, and the bath supplies the rest.

236 LADY HESTER STANHOPE.
With them every apartment is a saloon, and when night
comes, a woollen mattress with a sheet is dragged from
a recess in the thick walls, and spread upon the floor.
Their dress when they lie down to rest is much the same
as what they wear by day, even to the turban, but they
cover themselves with a wadded quilt, to which the upper
sheet has been sewed to prevent its slipping. There is
nothing else in the room, which, moreover, is as much open
te ingress and egress when the ladies are a-bed as at any
other time. In some houses, where the sofas are wide
enough, even the mattress is dispensed with.
Lady Hester's sleeping-room differed from those just
described only in being somewhat more comfortless. As
she could never subdue her European repugnance to
lying on the floor, and was unable to procure a bedstead,
she substituted in its place deal boards laid on tressels,
greatly to the amusement of her hand-maidens, whose
ideas equally militated against so unheard-of an article
as a stationary bedstead. Such, however, was the custom
she chose te adopt, and here she often received her
visiters, the only difference between her drawing-room
sofa and her couch being that on one she sate, while on
the other she reclined with a short pelisse over her
shoulders, such as is worn by Polish ladies. The bath
room was her dressing-room.
Notvrithstanding these painful details of poverty,
painful as applied to the niece of Pitt, and grand
daughter ef the great Chatham — Lady Hester's house
hold was at one time upon a scale of magnitude that
must remind every one of the tales he has heard re
specting the East India mede of living. She had in her
service no less than thirty-five persons. There was one
Arabic secretary, an upper bailiff, three under ones, two
men-cooks, two porters — one for each gate — three grooms.

LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 237
two muleteers, two ass-drivers, whose sole occupation
was fetching water from the spring, and occasionally an
extra one, four maids and a girl for herself, three boys,
and eight men-servants. In addition to this large esta
blishment she kept at least a score of workmen in con
stant employ. To maintain order amongst this gang ef
thieves, fer they deserved ne other name, was an affair
demanding ne little vigilance and severity. To both ef
these Lady Hester was exceedingly well inclined, plead
ing in answer to her doctor's argument upon the subject,
that if she relaxed the strictness of her discipline in a
single instance, her own Ufe would not be safe for an
hour amongst them ; poisoning and assassination, she
protested, were familiar things with them, and there is
too much reason to believe she did not exaggerate in
saying so. As to any disgrace attaching to the want ef
common honesty, it would seem the people had ne notion
of such a thing. If the foUovring anecdote be true, and
there seems no reason for doubting it, nothing but the
fear of discovery and punishment could check their evil
propensities : —
" ' Did you observe that rider on the ehesnut horse ?
he was a government secretary at Acre, and vast sums
of money passed through his hands ; but some stuck to
his fingers, and being found out, he was bastinadoed and
sent by the Pacha to the Leman (place for convicts),
where he remained seme months. He was not badly off,
however, as he did nothing except smoke his pipe all
day. He has now been out a good bit, and is employed
again.' ' And is he well received in society after such
an exposure?' 'Why not?' replied Osman, 'he was
not quite clever enough, and he suffered for it, that's
aU.' "
It is not our intention — indeed it would occupy too

238 LADY HESTER STANHOPK
much space — te give a connected biography of Lady
Hester, but rather to present detached scenes and inci
dents, after the maimer of a moving diorama, in which
only the peculiar features of a landscape are shown,
while all the less important parts, that link the whole
together, are left to be supplied by the spectator's own
imagination. We have air cady noticed the strict discipline maintained
by her ; she could, as she said of herself, smoke her pipe
with great indifference while a slave was receiving the
bastinado ; but this did not prevent her being much
attached te animals, although that attachment was often
shown in a way which the poor things themselves might
not have quite approved of if they had been allowed a
voice in the question. Any animal, that she considered
te have served its due time was immediately placed on
the superannuated list, with strict injunctions to the
servants that they should on ne account presume te use
it; if these commands were disobeyed by any one, the
offender was forthwith punished by dismissal or other
wise, and the animal he had presumed to use was shot.
Thus when three superannuated amblers had been ridden
contrary to order, she immediately resolved upon their
being put to death, for which purpose she summoned te
her presence the uuder-bailiff, Osman Chaeesh. That
dignitary made his appearance accordingly in due state,
bearing in his hand the silver-headed cane, which was
the emblem of office, when she issued her commands in
these words, — " Osman, you wUl say to each horse,
before you shoot him, putting your mouth close te his
ear, ' you have now \vorked enough ou the earth ; your
mistress fears you might faU in your old age into the
hands of cruel men, and she therefore dismisses you
The order was executed with the

LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 239
same ceremonious gravity with which it had been issued,
fer her mysterious ways had obtained for her a won
derful power amongst this superstitious people, and there
can be little doubt that the Chaoosh fully believed in the
existence of a secret sympathy betwden his mistress and
the horses, by the power of which they understood the
message he had to them. That she herself held the
doctrine of the transmigration of souls is certain, for she
made no scruple of avowing it, as plainly as she ever
avowed any ef her mystic tenets. She believed also in
the influence of the stars upon men's destinies, in the
speedy coming of a Messiah, and that she possessed the
very horse which, according to the prophecy, was to be
born ready saddled, for the purpose of carrying the
Deity. In proof of this she showed the French poet,
Lamartine, up';n his visit to Dar Joon, a ehesnut mare
that she called Laila, with a double backbone, and a
cavity behind her shoulders se large and deep as to bear
no little resemblance to a Turkish saddle. No one was
allowed to mount this animal on account of its supposed
destination, while another mare, named Lulu, perl'ectly
white, and more beautiful, though less singular, was
reserved fer herself to ride upon when she should make
her entry by the side of the Messiah into reconquered
Jerusalem. Startling as aU this may seem, Lamartine,
no common observer, was, probably, right in saying of
her, " It is a studied, a voluntary madness, conscious
ef itself, and acting from peculiar motives. The strong
admiration whicli her genius has kindled, and still
attracts among the Arab population surrounding the
mountains, sufficiently proves that this affected madness
is but a pretence. The men in fact inhabiting this
country of prodigies — the men of rocks and deserts —
whose imagination is higher coloured and more cloudy

240 LADY HESTER STANHOPE.
than the horizon of their sands and their seas, act accord
ing to the word of Mahomet or Lady Stanhope. They
seek commerce with the stars, with prophecies, miracles,
and the second sight of genius. Lady Stanhope under
stood this, at first by the exalted views of her superior
intelligence ; afterwards, perhaps, like all beings endowed
with powerful intellectual faculties, she deceived herself
as well as others, and became the first neophyte ofthe
faith she had created for them."
A less keen observer, but one who had far more op
portunities of studying and understanding her, gives his
testimony much to the same effect. " Throughout Syria
the belief in magic and charms is universal. There is
not a single person who does net resort to some means
for counteracting the effect of the evil eye, — such as
spells by written papers, enchantments, and the like.
Impotence, estrangement of affection, the murrain in
cattle, blight in fruit trees, anything the cause of which
is not immediately obvious, is universally accounted for
by witchcraft. Lady Hester had imbibed all these no
tions, and to judge from the substance of many conversa
tions she held on the subject, ne reasonable doubt can be
entertained of the startling fact that she placed implicit
faith in them."
Those who form their judgment of Lady Hester from
her superstition and total want of anything like self-
control, may perhaps be inclined to regard her as not
much better than a half-crazy enthusiast, whose mind,
naturally strong, had been shaken from its balance by
excessive indulgence. But we have only to look at her
peculiar position, and the way in whicli she maintained
herself in it, amidst all its difficulties, to adopt the
more favourable opinion of the French poet, Lamartine.
The Emir Beshy'r, the reigning prince of the Druzes,

LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 241
a man whose power was unbounded within a certain
circle, who never scrupled to use poison or the knife of
the assassin where he could not prevail by open violence,
notorious for cruelty and hypocrisy where all were cruel
and hypocritical, both dreaded and hated her; and she
knew it, too ; yet, for all that, she dared to live within
his principality, feared not to shelter those who fied from
his persecution, and while she openly cultivated the
friendship of his rival, the Sheykh Beshy'r, despatched
to himself messages of hatred and defiance. " Tell your
master," she said to one of his emissaries, " that I know
very well there is not a more profound and bloody
tyrant on the face of the earth. I am aware no one is
safe from his poisons and daggers, but I held him in the
most sovereign contempt, and set him at defiance. Tell
him that he is a dog and a monster, and that if he means
to try his strength with me, I am ready."
It was in vain that the exasperated Emir had it cried
from the house-tops, according to the custom of the
country, that whoever brought food, or water, or any
other necessary of life, for her use, should be fined and
bastinadoed ; and ne less vain that he consulted with his
executioner on the means of taking her off; the first
scheme she compelled him after a time to abandon by
the intervention of Sir Robert Liston, the English
ambassador at the Porte; against the latter she relied
upon her own vigilance and courage. In her bedroom,
and on her own divan, she always had a mace which
was spiked round the head, a steel battle-axe, and
a dao-ger, which those who knew her well knew she was
both able and ready to use in her own defence. It is
true that all this kept her in a state ef constant turmoil;
but turmoil was the very element most congenial te her
nature. With the exception of her multifarious corre-
VOL. IIL K

242 LADY HESTER STANHOPE.
spondence, and receiving the occasional visits of travellers,
her whole time was employed in counteracting the
intrigues of her maids, or ef the Emir Beshy'r, or of
Mahomed Ali, and it never appeared that she attached
more importance to one occupation than the other.
To these troubles was soon to be added the loss of her
pension. She had fallen greatly into debt from her
excessive hospitality, and hereupon the government at
home interfered, at the desire, it was said, of the Pacha
of Egypt. The minister had no power to stop the
pension by direct means, as it had been confirmed by act
of parliament, but he did what answered the purpose
just as well. To receive this annuity, it was indispen
sable to have a consular certificate every quarter; and
before this time, although such a mode was not quite
regular, the minister had been contented with the signa
ture of any foreign consul. Now he refused to allow any
certificate that was not given under the hand of the
English agent, and this was to be withheld so long as
the debt in question remained unpaid. The spirit ot
Lady Hester fired at such proceedings. She denied the
right of the English government to interfere at all in
the matter ef her debts ; above all, she considered that
the cause of her embarrassment, originating as it did in
doing good to every one, should have exempted her from
such an insult. If the assistance she rendered to the
distressed er persecuted natives in the constant wars and
insurrections around her was not to pass for any merit
in the eyes of Englishmen, then she might plead the
asylum afforded by her to the Franks who fied from
Sayda after the battle of Navarino. Under the strong
excitement of such feelings it was that she wrote to the
queen, saying, in no very measured terms, " I shall not
allow the pension granted by your royal grandfather te

LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 243
be stopped by force; but I shall resign it for tho payment
of my debts, and with it the name of English subject,
and the slavery that is at present annexed to it."
Such a letter written to the Queen of England is
pretty well, but her next was far more extraordinary, —
so much so, indeed, that it would be scarcely credited if
told in any words but her own — " I shall break up my
household, and build up the entrance-gate to my premises;
there remaining as if T was in a tomb, tiU my character
has been done justice to, and a public acknowledgment
put in the papers, signed and sealed by those who have
aspersed me. There is no trifling with those who have
Pitt bleed in their veins upon the subject of integrity."
The resolution thus announced was carried out with
unshaken firmness. A mason was brought from Sayda,
stones aud other materials having been previously
coUected for masking the gateway with a screen, which
only left a side opening large enough for a cow te come
in at, or an ass laden with water. In two days the work
was accomplished according to her direction, and nearly
a whole year did she linger out in this living tomb, the
martyr of her own indomitable will. What that daunt
less spirit must have suffered during the time we may
easily imagine, though there was no friendly eye to
witness her protracted agonies. Racked by a painful
malady, and surrounded only by menials who were
anxiously waiting for her last breath, as the wrecker
waits for the ship that is driving upon the rocks, not te
help but to plunder, and stung by the disappointment
ef all her lofty imaginations, her condition vvas worse
than that of a condemned felon. At length in June, 1839,
death released her from any farther struggles, and she
was buried, as she had desired, in her own garden.

R 2

244

GEOEGE HANGEE, LOED COLEEAINE.

Among the notabilities ef the latter part of the last
century, George Hanger — afterwards Lord Coleraine —
held a conspicuous place. His life was a series of strange
revolutions, and exhibits a striking picture of the ills
and sufferings that attend on the man of fashion, who,
born in the ranks of the aristocracy, has not sufficient of
the goods of fortune to sustain his hereditary position.
Colonel Hanger was the youngest son of Gabriel, first
Lord Coleraine, and started in life as a military officer,
but, failing to secure promotion and employment, he
passed through many changeful scenes. At ditferent
times we trace bim, an extravagant loiterer in the circles
of the gay world, a successful gamester, a prisoner in the
King's Bench, a gallant soldier in King George's army,
fighting against the Americans, and ultimately a flattered
guest at the table of the Prince of Wales.
"As for myself (we quote the colonel's own words),
I was in early life extremely extravagant. For one
winter's dress-clothes only, it cost me nine hundred
pounds. This extravagance is likely to astonish the
reader ; but what in my opinion should strike him with
more wonder is, that I absolutely paid the tailor ; this
expense was only for dress suits. I employed other
tailors to furnish servants' clothes, and morning and
hunting frocks for myself I was always handsomely

GEORGE HANGER, LORD COLERAINE. 245
dressed at every birthday ; but for one in particular I
put myself te a very great expense, having two suits for
that day. My morning vestments cost me near eighty
pounds, and these for the ball above one hundred and
eighty. It was a satin coat ' hrode en plein et sur les cou-
tures,' and the first satin coat that had ever made its
appearance in this country. Shortly after satin dresses
became common amongst fashionable men. I had no
office of emolument, advantage, or trust about his
majesty's person, except an ensigncy in the 1st regiment
of Foot Guards, the receipts from which did not then
amount to four shillings per day ; vvhich daily pay would
not have paid my tailor his charges of one single button
and button-hole te my gala suit. I never was fend of
cards, or dice, nor ever played for any considerable sum
of money ; at least, no further than the fashion of the
times compelled me. I claim, however, no merit what
ever for abstaining from play, as it afforded me no plea~
sure ; if it had, I certainly should have gratified that
passion, as I have done seme others. But the turf I
was passionately fend ef, and indulged that pleasure to
a very great extent. I once stood three thousand guineas
on one race. Shark against Leviathan, and won it ; my
confederate, Mr. Robert Pigott, stood five thousand on
the event. I was a considerable gainer by the turf, not
withstanding the enormous expense of keeping running
horses in those days ; as every horse in training at New
market cost the owner between eighty and ninety pounds
a year, if not moved from that place ; but if he travelled
the country, it was computed, to clear himself, he must
win three fifty-pound plates during the summer. To
use the idea, but not the precise words, ef Macheath, I
can with truth say the turf has done me justice ; but the
extravagance of the times, the deUghtful pleasures ef that

2i6 GEORGE HANGER, LORD COLERAINE.
age, and the frailty of my own nature, were my ruin.
I must have been more than man, or, more properly
speaking, less than man, not te have indulged in the
pleasures of the gay world, which I could net partake of
without being at a very considerable expense ; by far
more than my income could afford. As my estate, to
gether with a house furnished, which, with seme acres of
land, I let to the best of tenants, Mrs. Crewe, the grand
mother te my worthy friend Colonel Crewe, the young
man, I mean, who was wounded in the expedition to the
Holder, for two hundred a-year, did not exceed eleven
hundred pounds. This was all I was possessed of, ex
cepting about three thousand pounds in cash as a younger
child's fortune."
It is not our intention, ner would it be to the reader's
amusement, to follow the colonel through his varied
fortunes. Suffice it to add, that after many sufferings
and vicissitudes, a coronet became his, in his old age, by
the death of his brother. Lord Coleraine, and it came
opportunely, for he had at length learned experience, and
knowing the value of the competence he had obtained,
he resolved to enjoy it. He had had enough of fashion,
and had proved all its allurements. So he took a smaU
house in a part of earth's remoter regions, no great way
from Somer's Tewn, near which stood a public-house he
was fond ef visiting, and there, as the price of his sanc
tion, and iu acknowledgment ef his rank, a large chair
by the fire-side was exclusively appropriated te the
peer. Even in the days of his earlier dissipation he seems to
have had considerable literary taste, and to have devoted
much of his time to reading. He was the author of
several pamphlets, and published likewise a very singidar
book, his " Life, Adventures, and Opinions."

GEORGE HANGER, LORf) COLERAINE. 247
Countless are the stories and anecdotes told of George
Hanger. We will content ourselves with narrating
one : —
When he was dining on one occasion at Carlton-
house, it is said that, after the bottle had for seme time
circulated, his good-humoured volubility suddenly ceased,
and he seemed for a time te be wholly lost in thought.
WhUe he thus meditated, his illustrious host remarked
his unusual quiescency, and interrupted it by inquiring
the cause. "I have been reflecting, sir," replied the
colonel, " on the lefty independence of my present situa
tion. I have compromised with my creditors, paid my
washerwoman, and have three shillings aud sixpence left
fer the pleasures and necessities of life," exhibiting at
the same time current coin of the realm, in silver and
copper, te that amount, upon the splendid board at which
he sat.
Great was his gratitude to his friend and patron, the
prince, fer his nomination to a situation under govern
ment (which, had he been prudent, might have sufficed
for genteel support) : the royal personage condescended
to observe, on the colonel's expatiating on the advantages
of his office, that " now he was rich, he would se far
impose upon his hospitality as to dine with him;" at the
same time insisting on the repast being anything but
extravagant. "I shall give your royal highness a leg
of mutton, and nothing mere, by G — ," warmly replied
the gratified colonel, in his plain and homely phrase.
The day was nominated, and the colonel had sufficient
time to recur to his budget and bring his ways and
means into action. Where is the sanguineless being
whose hopes have never led him wrong ? if such there
be, the colonel was not one of those. Long destitute of
credit and resources, he looked upon his appointment as

248 GEORGE HANGER, LORD COLERAINE.
the incontestable source of instant wealth, and he hesi
tated not to determine upon the forestalment of its profits
to entertain the " first gentleman in England." But,
alas, agents and brokers have fiinty hearts. There were
doubts, not of his word (for with creditors that he had
never kept), but ofthe accidents of life, either naturally,
or by one ef these casualties he had depicted in the front
of his book. In short, the day approached — nay, actu
ally arrived, and his pockets could boast little more than
the once vaunted half-crown and a shilling. Here was
a state sufficient te drive one of less strength ef mind to
despair. As a friend, a subject, a man ef honour, and
one who prided himself upon a tenacious adherence to
his word (when the aforesaid creditors were not con
cerned), he felt keenly all the horrors ofhis situation.
The day arrived, and etiquette demanded that the
proper officer should examine and report upon the nature
of the expected entertainment, a duty that had been
deferred until a late hour ef the day. Well was it that
the confiding prince had net wholly dispensed vvith that
form ; for verily the said officer found the colonel, with a
dirty scullion for his aide-de-camp, in active and zealous
preparation for his royal visitor ; his shirt sleeves tucked
up, while he ardently basted the identical and solitary
" leg ef mutton" as it revolved upon the spit : potatoes
were to be seen delicately insinuated into the pan beneath
to catch the rich exudation of the joint, while several
tankards of foaming ale, and what the French term
" bread h, discretion," announced that, in quantity, if
not in quality, he had not been careless in providing for
the entertainment ef his illustrious guest. Although
the colonel's culinary skill leaves no doubt that the leg
of mutton would have done justice to the cooking; and
although the dinner might have been endured by royalty

GEORGE HANGER, LORD COLERAINE. 249
(of whose homely appetite the ample gridiron at Alder
man Combe's brewery then gave ample proof), yet his
royal highness's poodles would assuredly have perspired
through every pore at the very mention of what a certain
nobleman used to term a "jig-hot;" so the feast was
dispensed with, and due acknowledgment made for the
evident proofs of hospitality vvhich had been displayed.
His lordship died, unmarried, 31st March, 1824, aged
73, and with him the family honours became extinct.

250

INNES, OF INNES.

Foe a long period the family of Innes was one ef the
most respectable in the county of Moray, as may be
gathered from the various ancient records relative te it,
which are still extant in the country. The venerable
building, with the surrounding lands, which still retain
the name ef Innes, situated about five miles from Elgin,
in a north-east direction, was, some centuries ago, the
seat of the representative of the Ulustrious family in
question. We propose to lay before our readers some
circumstances of a romantic, but perfectly authentic cha
racter, regarding the death of one of the Lairds of Innes,
towards the close of the sixteenth century.
John Innes, of Innes, the representative ef the family
in the year 1579, having had no children, settled about
this time his estate upon his heir-at-law, Alexander lunes,
of Cromy, his own cousin, granting him, at the same
time, permission to enjoy it, even in his own lifetime.
Robert Innes, of Innermarky, ef whom a sculptured
representation in stone has recently been discovered
among the ruins of Elgin Cathedral, was one of the
cadets of the same family, and felt deeply chagrined at
the conduct of the Laird of Innes, in thus voluntarily
depriving himself of the honours and infiuence te which
in virtue ef his birth he was legitimately entitled. He
had at the same time an anxious eye to the title and

INNES, OF INNES. 251
estate of Innes himself — although, of course, he was
careful te conceal, as much as possible, from John and
his other friends the ambitious aspirations by which he
was actuated. Either through threats or otherwise,
Innermarky so effectually wrought on the fears of John,
who by this time was considerably advanced in life, as
to make him so far repent of his consigning over his
honours and estates to his cousin Alexander, that he
entered into a conspiracy with Innermarky to assassinate
the former.
The only thing wanting was an opportunity of carry
ing their murderous purpose into execution, and such an
opportunity was not wanted leng. Alexander about this
time (AprU, 1580) had gone te Aberdeen for the purpose
of seeing his only son, a youth of sixteen, at this time a
student in one of the colleges of that city. During
Alexander's 'risit to his son, the latter became seriously
indisposed ; and his father's stay was consequently pro
longed until he should witness the issue of his son's
indisposition. The two conspirators, mustering a goodly
number of their attendants, proceeded to Aberdeen,
where they arrived at midnight, and immediately pro
ceeded to execute their purpose.
They found the gate of the close in vvhich their in
tended victim resided at the time, lying quite open ; but
the doors of the house were closely shut. Te have
broken open the doors by any violent means would most
probably have created an alarm in the neighbourhood,
and thus entirely defeated the objects the conspirators
had in view. It occurred to them, therefore, that the
most likely method ef succeeding in their murderous
project would be to create a pretended dispute among
their attendants, by which means the inmates of the
house would probably open the door.s, with the view

252 INNES, OF INNES.
of ascertaining its cause, and witnessing its consequences.
One of them accordingly set up a loud cry of " Help a
Gordon ! help a Gordon !" — ^the gathering word ef those
of that name, which, as Alexander Innes was warmly
attached to the interests of the Gordon family, they
knew would be the most likely means of inducing him
to come out from his bed. The stratagem was com
pletely su{!cessful : Alexander instantly jumped out ef
bed — laid hold of his sword — came to the outside — and
inquired into the cause of the dispute. Although the
night was dark, Innermarky knew him perfectly by
his voice, and, presenting his gun, shot him through
the body in a moment. A crowd of the consspirators'
attendants then rushed on their victim, and plunged
their daggers into every part of his person. John Innes,
however, as if either shocked at the brutality he wit
nessed, or repenting of his being at all engaged in se
horrible a business, stood trembling at a little distance
from the spot en which the revolting murder vvas com
mitted. Innermarky, on perceiving that Laird John
thus stood aloof from the atrocities he was witnessing,
ran up to him with a terrific expression of countenance,
and holding to his throat the dagger which was still
reeking with the blood of his victim, pretested that he
should in a moment plunge it into his bosom, if he did
not immediately follow the example he and his attendants
had set him in stabbing his dagger to the hilt into the
body ef his victim. John, aware that death would be
the certain consequence of any attempt at resistance,
reluctantly followed the example of the others, and
plunged a dagger into the body of his nearest relation,
and the most courageous individual who bore his name.
Every other person present who had net already done so
was also compelled to follow the exampl-j he had seen ;

INNES, OF INNES. 253
and so anxious was Innermarky te involve as many as
possible in the affair, in order that in the eye of the law
all might appear equally guilty, that he actually com
pelled Mr. John Innes, afterwards of Coxtoun, then a
youth at school, to rise from his bed and also plunge a
dagger up to the hilt into the body of his dead rela
tion. The next object to which the conspirators turned their
attention, was te seize the person of their victim's sen,
Robert Innes, who was then sick, with a view to his
sharing the same fate as his father. On hearing, how
ever, the cries of murder which his expiring parent
uttered while the conspirators were stabbing him, the
young man, seriously indisposed as he was, scrambled out
of his bed, and by the help of a friend, escaped out by a
back doer into a garden, whence he was taken into the
house of an acquaintance, unknown to those who were
meditating his life.
Innermarky then took off the signet-ring from the
finger of his murdered relation, and having bribed the
servant ef the deceased to assist in the execution of his
purposes, he despatched him with it to Innes House,
instructing him to present it te the wife of his deceased
master as from her husband ; and at the same time to
request, as if by his order, the box containing the papers
relative to his title and estates, under the pretence that
the Laird John, who was represented as being at the
time with her husband at Aberdeen, was desirous of
making seme important alterations which would render
them more valid in the eye of the law than they were.
And in order still more effectually to prevent her from
having any suspicions on the subject, Innermarky sent the
bribed servant on her husband's own horse, instructing
him te add, that the reason why he had sent his ring

2-0 4 INNES, OF INNES.
and his own horse, was, that he had not at the time an
opportunity ef writing her, and that he thought the
appearance of these, together with his own servant,
would be sufficient te convince Ker that all was right.
The lady of the deceased was somewhat uneasy at
receiving such a message from her husband on a subject
of so great importance ; but seeing the ring vvhich he
daily wore — the horse on which he daily rode — and the
servant who was daily in attendance en him — she could
net doubt that he had actually desired the box and
papers to be sent to him; and accordingly delivered
them te the servant, and allowed him te depart from
the mansion.
At this time there resided at Innes House a young
man, an intimate acquaintance of Lady Innes's son, then
lying indisposed at Aberdeen ; and hearing ef the ser
vant's being about to return to that city, and feeling at
the same time a strong anxiety te see his sick acquaint
ance, he asked permission of the servant to accompany
him to the place in which he lay. The servant refused
compliance with the young man's request, on various
grounds. The latter, however, was determined te go by
force if net by permission ; and, with this view, when
the servant was setting out on his journey, he jumped
up behind him en the horse's back. The servant in
sisted that the youth should dismount, while the latter
was equaUy determined he should not. A scuffle ensued
between the contending parties, and soon assumed so
serious an aspect, that the servant drew a dagger he
carried with him, and aimed a deadly thrust at his
youthful opponent ; but the latter, by a masterly and
courageous manoeuvre, wrenched it from him, and with
one deadly thrust plunged it into his bosom. The ser
vant fell from his horse, and expired almost immediately.

INNES, OF INNEiS. 255
The young man then returned to Innes House with the
box, papers, &c.
Lady Innes felt the utmost regret at the fatal scuffle
which had taken place between the servant and the
young man in question ; and while in the act of giving
full vent in copious tears to the melancholy emotions
which the event had produced in her mind, another of
her husband's servants arrived from Aberdeen, bringing
the stUl mere mournful intelligence of his murder by
the hands of his own nearest relatives. When the con
fusion and sorrow consequent on the melancholy inteUi
gence of her husband's death had somewhat subsided.
Lady Innes secured all his papers, and fled for protection
to her friends, who immediately conducted her to the
king, before whom she detailed aU the circumstances
connected with the painful affair.
The Earl of Huntley, who was related by blood to the
family of Innes, on hearing of the murder of Alexander
Innes, hastened to Aberdeen for the protection of his
sick son, whom he carried to Edinburgh, and for greater
safety placed him under the guardianship of Lord
Elphinstone, then Lord High Treasurer of the kingdom.
John Innes and Innermarky, some days after the
commission of the murder, returned so far as to Lord
Saltoun's house, then situated in the parish of Re-
thiemay ; from which, after procuring a new supply of
horses, they proceeded to Innes House, and re-invested
John in the titles and estate.
For two years afterwards,' both these men kept posses
sion between them of the estate ef Innes, but at the end
of that time they were declared outlaws ; and the son of
him they had so barbarously murdered came north from
Edinburgh, with a commission against them, and all
others who had been accessory to his father's death.

256 INNES, OF INNES.
This young man had a few months previeuly been
married to the lord treasurer's daughter, and in con
sequence ef his connexion with so influential a per
sonage, the party he came with was so numerous and
well provided with the implements of war, that they
soon laid waste the possessions, and slew a great many
of those who espoused the cause of their opponents.
John, however, fled to the south, and endeavoured to
conceal himself there, but was discovered, apprehended,
and sent back to Innes House, by the fiiends of the
lord treasurer. The young laird, however, did net make
his head the price ofhis conduct, as might, under all the
circumstances of the case, have been expected, but con
tented himself with making him adhibit his name to
various written papers, which incapacitated him from
any future mischief in regard to his property.
Innermarky fled to the hills, where he continued to
elude all the search which was made for him ; but being
soon wearied of the lonesome and unhappy life he led
there, he ventured into the house of Edinglassy, where
in September, 1584, he was surprised by the young laird
of Innes and a party of adherents, who instantly killed
him, and afterwards cut off his head and gave it to Lady
Innes, the widow of him whom he had murdered in
Aberdeen a few years before. Lady Innes was so ever-
joyed at the possession of the head of the murderer
of her husband, that she made a journey to Edinburgh,
carrying it all the way herself, fer the express purpose ef
laying it at the feet of the king.

257

ST. MARY'S ISLE.

THE EAEL OF SELKIEK AND PAUL JONES.

Paul Jones was born and bred at St. Mary's Isle,
the estate of Lord Selkirk, near Kirkcudbright; his
father, by name Paul, a steady methodical Scotchman,
being head gardener to the earl, and young Paul acting
in a subordinate capacity in the same estabUshment. In,
the gardens were two summer-houses, corresponding te
each other. One day Lord Selkirk, during his walks,
observed a man locked up in one of them, and looking
out of the window — in the other summer-house, looking
out ef the corresponding window appeared young John
Paul. "Why are these lads confined?" said Lord
Selkirk to the gardener. " My lord, I caught the
rascal stealing your lordship's fruit." " But there are
two, what has your son done, is he too guilty ?" " Oh
no, please your lordship, I just put him in for symmetry."
In this service he remained fer seme years; but at
length being detected in certain knavish tricks, which
would have entitled him to confinement in the summer-
house on stronger grounds than "symmetry," he was
dismissed, and following the bent of a wild and ardent
disposition, betook himself to a seafaring life, for which
his habits, and the practical knowledge gained by long
residence near a sea-pert, had fully prepared him. He
VOL. IIL S

258 ST. MARYS ISLE.
commenced his naval career as a common sailor ; but his
talents soon rendering him conspicuous, he was appointed
mate, and in these capacities made several voyages to
the West Indies, where he finally became master of a
vessel. Seen after the rupture between this country and
America, happening to be at Piscatuway, in New Eng
land, he was induced te desert his national colours, and
enlist under those of the revolutionists, prompted partly
by a vindictive spirit, and partly by the predatory pros
pects offered by the approaching war — at the same time
changing his name from John Paul te Paul Jones.
For this new sphere of action his enterprising cha
racter and talents were admirably adapted : and these,
added to his thorough knowledge of the northern coasts
ef England, soon brought him into notice, and pointed
him out as a fit actor in the marauding schemes then in
agitation. Accordingly, in the latter part of 1777, he
was actively employed as commander, in fitting out the
Ranger privateer, mounting 18 guns, besides swivels,
and manned with a desperate crew of 150 men. In the
course of the winter he put to sea, and made two captures
on the European side of the Atlantic, both of which were
sent into a French port. In the month of April, 1778,
he for the first time appeared in the neighbourhood of
his native place, and forthwith proceeded to execute a
well-digested plan for burning the town and shipping of
Whitehaven. Having made the land, he cautiously
kept in the offing te avoid observation, but at the close
of evening, the necessary preparations being completed,
he stood in for the shore, and at midnight, having ap
proached sufficiently near, his boats well manned, and
armed by thirty daring fellows, in deep silence pushed
off from the vessel. A small battery commanded the

ST. mary's isle. 259
bay and entrance of the harbour ; it was necessary to
secure this before they could venture on ulterior mea
sures ; accordingly, having made good their landing, the
party rushed upon the garrison before any alarm could
be given, and made them prisoners. The guns were im
mediately spiked, and everything seemed to favour the
final success of their enterprise. It was dead low water,
aud the vessels were lying side by side without a chance
of preservation, should the flames once get head. Little
expecting such a visit, no watches were on the look-out,
and the inhabitants were buried in sleep. In full security
and confidence, the armed force dispersed themselves, de
positing matches ready primed amidst combustibles on
the decks and rigging. Nothing more was required for
their destruction than the signal for lighting the trains.
At this critical moment a loud knocking was heard in
the main street, and voices of alarm were heard in every
direction. It was evident that they were discovered, and
nothinsT remained but te commence in haste the vvork of
destruction, for the alarm had now become general, and
crowds were seen running towards the piers, attracted
by the lights which the retiring party were hastily
throwing on board the vessels, fortunately without
effect ; one only being seriously scorched, the crews and
townsmen succeeded in extinguishing the flames before
they reached the rigging. Foiled in their attempt, the
privateer's men regained their beats, and putting off,
reached their ship in safety. On mustering, one only
of the party was missing, and to him were the people ef
Whitehaven indebted fer their preservation ; for, in
fluenced either by conscientious motives or self-interest,
he quitted his companions when engaged about the
¦harbour, and running up the main street, knocked at
S2

260 ST. mary's isle.
every doer as he passed, roused the sleepers from their
beds, calling upon them to rise, and save their lives and
property. Having failed in this enterprise, Jones stretched across
the Solway Firth, towards the coast of Scotland, and
with the early dawn entered the river Dee, forming the
harbour of Kirkcudbright. A little above its junction
with the sea, the river widens into a sort of estuary, an^
here on a promontory, or rather island, where the river
is about a mile and a half in width, stands St. Mary's
Isle, the castle of Lord Selkirk; and here, within a
short distance of a spot endeared to him by the strongest
ties and earliest associations, soon after sunrise Jones
dropped his anchor, vrith feelings, if we may judge from
the tenour of a letter which will be mentioned in the
course of the following narrative of that day's proceed
ings, very different from those which the public gave
him credit for, proving that with aU his faUings, his
heart was still susceptible of impressions which might have
raised him, as much as his unjustifiable deeds had hitherto
lowered him, in the estimation of his countrymen. Early
in the morning, the privateer had been observed making
her way up the river, her guns and warlike appearance
attracting much attention and curiosity, for vessels of
her description were seldom seen working up the intri
cate passage of the Dee. Not a suspicion was enter
tained of her real character ; but the male part ef the
population conjectured her to be a visitor equally unwel
come — a ship of war coming up for the purpose of im
pressment. Accordingly, at an early hour (Lord Selkirk
being fortunately in London) Lady Selkirk was informed
ef the circumstance, and a request was made by the men
servants that they might absent themselves for the pur-

ST. mary's isle. 261
pose of concealment. The vessel had no sooner anchored
than an armed boat was despatched.
The crew on landing seemed te have no particular
object in view; and after remaining some time, strolling
up and dewm the country, took te their boat and
returned on board. Before, however, the people had
recovered from their first alarm the boat was again
observed to push off, and in a few minutes a strong body
of armed men landed on the beach, without interruption;
not as before did they stroU about, but, forming in
regular order, marched directly to the castle, which they
im'mediately surrounded, and then, for the first time,
a suspicion of the real character of such unexpected
visitors was excited. Lady Selkirk, who, with her
children, were the only members ef the family then
resident in the castle, had just finished breakfast, when
she received a summons to appear before the officer
commanding the detachment; she obeyed with con
siderable fear, which was not diminished upon a nearer
view ef the visitors, whose ferocious looks and ragged
dress too plainly showed their hostile intentions ; and,
as it was erident that plunder was their object, the worst
might be expected in case of resistance. They were
armed with every variety of weapon, muskets, pistols,
swords; and one savage-looking fellow bore an American
tomahawk over his shoulder. Two officers had the
command of the party ; one ef them coarse and rude in
language and behaviour ; the other, en the contrary, was
not only courteous and respectful — but even apologized
to Lady Selkirk, regretting the unpleasant duty in
which it was his unfortunate lot to appear as a principal.
Their first inquiry wag fer Lord Selkirk : on being
assured that he was not in the country some disappoint-

262 ST. mary's isle.
ment was manifested. After a short pause, the latter
officer said he must then request her ladyship to produce
all her plate. She replied, that the quantity in the
castle was very small, but what there was should be
immediately given up ; and accordingly the whole was
laid before them, even to the silver tea-pot used at
breakfast, which had not been washed out. The officer
on receiring it directed his men to pack up every article,
again apologizing for his conduct on an occasion which
he called a dirty business, and then taking leave, at the
head of his men returned to the vessel, leaving the famUy
net a little rejoiced at their escape. Still, however, as
the ship did not get under weigh, fears were entertained
of a second visit, and Lady Selkirk lost ne time in
sending off her children, and remoring whatever property
was likely to become a source of temptation, to a place
of security. Her fears were fortunately groundless, and
in a few hours she had the satisfaction to see the
privateer under weigh without offering further moles
tation. Some days after this occurrence. Lady Selkirk received
a letter from Paul Jones himself, written in a romantic,
almost poetical style. He entreated her ladyship's
pardon for the late affront, which he assured her was so
far from being planned or sanctioned by him, that he
had done everything in his power to prevent its taking
place ; but his officers and crew insisted on the attempt,
hoping te secure the person of Lord Selkirk, for whose
ransom a considerable sum might be expected. This he
declared was the object of their first visit, and having
failed in it, they returned on board, when, after seme
murmuring, they insisted on again landing and plunder
ing the house. To this he was obUged te consent, though

ST. mary's islk 263
with great reluctance, adding, as a proof ef his innocence,
that he would endeavour to purchase the plunder they
had se disgracefully brought off, from the crew, and
transmit (if not the whole) whatever he could procure,
to her ladyship. Several years however elapsing without
anything further being heard, aU hope of course was
given up of the fulfilment ef his promise, when, to Lady
Selkirk's great surprise, in the spring of 1783, the whole
was returned, carriage paid, precisely in the same state
in which it had been carried away, to all appearance
never ha-ring been unpacked, the very tea-leaves
remaining in the tea-pot, as they were left after the
breakfast on the day ef capture. The report ef his
landing rapidly spread through the country, attended
with every variety of exaggeration by the time it
reached London. Lord Selkirk received it vrith the
.additional particulars that his family were all made
prisoners, and his castle burnt te the ground. He
immediately hurried to the north, and it was not
untU he had gone half way that he learned the real
truth.

264

MES. MACFAELANE.

Ip it were possible fer any one man te have read
everything, and to have heard every legend, and frag
ment of a legend, from the Land's End te the Orkney
Isles, Sir Walter Scott would unquestionably be that
gifted individual, that Wandering Jew of literature.
Read what we may, an old ballad or a Latin poem of
the middle ages, a black-letter ghost story or some re
mote print of county history, Danish or Swedish, Spanish,
German, or Italian, we are sure te find that the inde
fatigable author of Waverley has been gleaning in the
field before us ; and we never met yet with a student,
however various his reading, who could not with equal
truth avouch the same thing. It is little wonder, then,
that in this true stery of Mrs. Macfarlane we find an
incident exactly similar to an early scene in Peveril of
the Peak. We mention this beforehand that it may not
be imagined we have borrowed on this occasion the mys
terious appearance ef the Countess of Derby in the
gilded chamber to Julian and little Alice Bridgenorth,
fer the purpose of passing off a fiction for a reality, while
the real truth is that Sir Walter had heard and remem
bered this anecdote amongst the innumerable legends
that found a place in his retentive memory, and turned
it, as he did everything, into pure gold.
Sunday has always been kept in Scotland with a
gloomy strictness more akin to the teaching of Geneva

MRS. MACFARLANE. 265
from which its mede ef dissent was chiefly borrowed,
than to the custom of merry England, where at one
time, when church was over, the peasant was not only
aUewed, but encouraged, to amuse himself with all sorts
of holyday pastimes, so that it was done with soberness
and discretion. A custom se innocent in itself, and so
full of humane consideration for the humbler classes,
who could have ne other opportunity of diversion, must,
one would have thought, have found approval every
where. Such, however, was not the case. At the period
of our anecdote the observance of religious forms had
attained amongst the Scotch to such a height that it
threw a gloom over everything. No sooner did the bell
begin to ring for divine service than the master of each
famUy, with all belonging to him, whether old or young,
man-servant or maid-servant, sallied forth, and having
locked the street-door, marched to church as to a funeral,
leaving the house to take care of itself. The sick, or
the mere suckling, if there happened te be either in
the establishment, were alone exempt from this con
scription ; urchins of two years' eld, who could hardly
be expected to derive much benefit from the preacher's
exhortations, even if they did net fall asleep, were yet
dragged along vrith their parents, upon the simple prin
ciple that, although they might not get any good, at
least they were out of harm's way, and that was always
something gained. As to cooking en a Sunday, such
an enormity was not to be dreamt of for a single in
stant ; first, because it would make it necessary for one
servant to stay at heme when aU ought to be at church ;
and secondly, because it filled men's minds with the
thoughts of creature-comforts at a time when the whole
heart and soul should be exclusively given up te spiritual
matters.

266 MRS. MACKARLANE.
Now it so happened that on a certain Sunday in the
autumn of 1719, Sir John Swinton, of Swinton, in Ber-^
wickshire, found himself obliged to leave his daughter
Margaret at home, when as usual he set out for church
with the rest of his family. The child, it seems, had
been for some days labouring under an indisposition,
which made it requisite for her to keep within doors,
although it did not actually confine her to her bed, but
as she was extremely intelligent for her age, it was not
thought necessary that a servant should be left behind
to take care of her. The only precaution observed was
the customary one of locking the outer door.
Though Margaret Swinton possessed as much courage
as could be reasonably expected from a girl of ten years
old, she had yet her full share of the superstitious feel
ings which are common to all children, and to Scotch
children more than any other, excited as their infant
fancies are sure to be by the dark legends they are con
stantly hearing from every one about them. To beguile
the time of their absence, her mother left with her the
" Pilgrim's Progress," and as the book had aU the charms
of novelty, the little cloisterer was at first fuU of pleasant
expectations ; and, perhaps, had she dared to confess the
truth in such a matter, was better pleased to stay at
home and amuse herself with reading, than te endure
the tedium of a service which seldom lasted less than six
mortal hours. It was, however, quite another thing when
she heard the locking ef the outer door, and found herself
actually alone, for there is something in the solitude ef a
deserted mansion very different from the solitude of the
open air. The silence has something unnatural in it,
and though it might net affect any one of maturer years
very strongly, we can easily understand its making a
painful impression upon the irritable nerves and feeble

MRS. MACFARLANE. 267
.judgment of a sick chUd, and that child at the age of
little Margaret. It was in vain that she tried to fix her
attention upon the book ; her eye might wander over its
pages, but they conveyed no distinct image to her mind,
while ever and anon some apprehended noise, or the in
distinct sense that something fearful was at hand, made
her look up in sudden alarm, and almost wonder that
she saw nothing beyond what was usual. Then the tales
of ghosts, and bogles, and the black bull of Norway, and
good neighbours, as the fairies were called by those who
dared not breathe their real name, crowded upon her
memory, and excited her fears, till the loneliness became
well-nigh intolerable. If any one should think this pic
ture exaggerated, we must remind him that it was not
with Margaret Swinton in 1719, as it is with the
children of the present day. The interval ef time is
certainly not much beyond a century, but the difference
of past and present feeling cannot so be measured. With
us such tales are mere matters of idle amusement, but
to Margaret they were told as real occurrences, removed
indeed from the common course ef natural events, yet
which had happened vrithin ne very distant period to
others, and were therefore Ukely enough te happen to
herself. Wearied out with these imaginary terrors, the poor
little thing, after the lapse ef an hour or mere, deter
mined te escape from them by retreating into the parlour
below stairs. It was the remotest part of the house from
her own room, which she had brought herself to fancy
was the post of danger, and besides its bay window com
manded a direct view of the avenue by which the build
ing must be approached, and thus at all events she would
catch the first sight of her friends upon their return from
church. UnluckUy, there was a trying space to be got

268 MRS. MACFARLANE.
over between this desired haven and the room where
she now was, and who could say how many ghosts and
goblins might occupy it in ambuscade? There was,
however, no alternative ; and so screwing up her courage
as best she might, and gallantly humming a border tune,
she made her way to the parlour, though net vrithout
expecting every moment that some visible or invisible
being would seize her by the hair of the head and forcibly
drag her back again. With every step this fear grew
stronger, and her pace more hurried, till on reaching
the parlour it had taken such complete possession of
her that she rushed in almost headlong with a joyful
scream, and hastUy bolted the door to shut out the
imaginary spirit close behind her. But her joy was not
of leng continuance. On turning round, what should
she behold but the supernatural appearance from which
she had been so earnestly flying? The sight rooted her
to the spot in speechless wonder. And yet the vision, if
vision it were, had nothing so peculiarly terrible in it.
To all seeming it bore the figure of a tall lady, splendidly
attired, whose features, though expressive of deep melan
choly, were remarkably handsome, and evinced signs of
tenderness rather than of anger or any worse feeling.
Was it the enchanted queen ? — or a disembodied spirit ?
— er one of the good neighbours, who were noted for
their propensity to carrying off children into the fairy
land ? At any rate the appearance, whatever it might
be, inspired Margaret with less alarm than she had felt
a few minutes before, when the cause of apprehension
had existed only in her fancy; and, indeed, after the
first impulse of surprise had passed away, there was more
of curiosity than of alarm in her fixed and silent gaze.
The spell which held her was at length broken by the
stranger in a gentle voice desiring her to take courage.

MRS. MACFARLANE. 269
and draw nigh. It was then a mere mortal, after all ! —
but a kind and loving one, who with that sweet smile
and these soft eyes could intend no mischief; and
Margaret, though still with a throbbing heart, ap
proached as she was bidden. The lady took her by the
hand, addressed her by name, and, after a few trifling
questions, eridently asked, as lav^ers examine their own
witnesses, with a "riew te familiarize the chUd with her
situation, she assumed a graver and mere impressive
tone, —
" Margaret," she said, " you may speak of what you
have seen to your mother, but for your life te ne one
else. If you de, much evU may come of it, a portion ef
which wUl fuU surely Ught upon yourself. You are
young, yet I think you understand me, when I say you •
must premise to be silent as the grave itself in this
matter." The child, deeply awed by the lady's manner, gave the
required pledge; when the latter, apparently satisfied,
resumed her gentler tones, and desired her to look out ef
the bay -vrindow, and see if the family were yet returning
from church.
" I would not," said the lady, " be willingly seen by
any strangers, and perhaps they may bring seme one
home with them."
Margaret, proud of being an agent in so mysterious
an affair, looked out upon the avenue; but when she
turned round again te say that as yet no one was coming,
the stranger had disappeared, though the door stUl re
mained bolted.
" She must then be a fairy, or a nixy, or something
of the kind," murmured the little maiden to herself; " or
how else could she have got out of the room ? the door
is locked, and the windows fast, so she must have

270 MRS. MACFARLANE.
v\ liisked through the keyhole, and who but a fairy could
have vanished in that manner ?"
There have been many arguments put forth by learned
folks as sound to all appearance as this logic of Mar
garet's, and yet not a whit more true when they came to
be fairly sifted. Strange to say, she did not fly from the
haunted parlour, but remained there, pondering on what
she had seen, tUl the family came home from church.
Sir John Swinton was not a Uttle surprised at finding
the invalid out of her bed-room, and demanded to know
the reason ef it, and above all, why the door was locked.
But Margaret, who was discreet beyond her years, and
remembered her promise to the stranger, replied — as was
indeed the truth, though net the whole truth — that she
had been frightened, she knew not why, at the solitude
of her own room, and had bolted herself in the parlour,
by way of keeping out the good neighbours. Sir John
only laughed at the child's idle fears, and tried te caress
her again into spirits; but Lady Swinton, who better
understood her, easily saw there was something behind
which she had not chosen to communicate; she there
fore got her back again as soon as possible to the sick
room, and the moment they were alone insisted upon
knowing the whole truth. To this Margaret made no
objection now that she could do so without disobeying
the injunctions of the strange lady, which, as we have
just seen, did not extend to her mother.
Lady Swinton listened to her tale not only without
surprise, but with evident marks of satisfaction; and
when she had concluded, kissed her tenderly, and parting
the fair locks that clustered about her forehead, said,
w ith a smile : " You are a good little girl, Margaret.
Since you have kept the secret so well, you shaU knew
something more of this strange lady, though it may not

MRS. MACFARLANE. 271
be proper as yet to let you into the whole of her
story." If Margaret's heart had before throbbed high with
fear, it now beat, as high with joy at the promise
implied in these words, for with all her discretion she
was not entirely devoid ef the curiosity natural te a
chUd and a female. Gladly did she trip back again at
her mother's side to the parlour; and great was her
surprise when she saw Lady Svrinten push aside one of
the oaken panels, discovering a smaU room beyond, in
which sate the mysterious stranger. On the table
before her a snSall folio lay open, apparently a Bible,,
from its grey edges and sober binding. She toe seemed
surprised, and even discomposed, at their presence, but
Lady Swinton hastened te anticipate all remark by
saying that as Margaret had accidentally learnt se much,
she thought the best way to insure her secrecy was to
let her know the rest, or at least so much as might be
suited to her years.
" Rely upon it," she said, " if you leave her curiosity
nothing to work upon, you wUl be quite safe. And
now, Margaret, dear, listen te me. This lady is pursued
by cruel men, who if they find her will certainly take
her Ufe. She is my guest, she is now yours ; and I am
sure I need not tell you that the meanest peasant in all
Scotland wordd shame to betray his guest."
Delighted, as her mother had expected, by this mark
of confidence, which seemed all at once to make a woman
of her, the little Margaret protested she would never
breathe a word to any one about the mysterious lady ;
and most faithfully did she keep her promise. What was
more surprising stiU, she on no occasion sought te learn
who or what the stranger was, and many years passed
over her head before the secret was revealed to her.

272 MRS. MACFARLANE.
" Margaret," said Lady Swinton one day, " have you
forgotten the fairy, as you once thought her — the appa
rition of the little parlour ?"
Margaret, now a young woman of twenty, confessed
that she had well-nigh forgotten the whole affair, or, if
she ever thought of it at all, it was only as ef any other
tale ef her chUdhood. "But," she added, "your men
tioning the subject almost makes me curious to know
something mere about the lady."
"In plain words," replied Lady Swinton, smiling,
" you would like to knew who she was, and what brought
her into such great peril. WeU, Margaret, you kept the
secret trusted te you, when you were only a chUd, and a
word from your lips might have cost her life, so I can
see no great harm in telling you the whole now that
you are old enough to know the value of discretion, and
that it would not much signify even if you were to
chatter. At the same time it is just as well te be
sUent." With this slight warning. Lady Swinton began her
tale as follows : —
Mrs. Elizabeth Macfarlane, whose maiden name was
Ker, the mysterious lady of the panelled chamber, was
the daughter of a gentleman in RoxburghshUe, who lost
his life in the insurrection ef 1715. The friends that
survived him would fain have saved his estate for his
orphan daughter, just then emerging into womanhood:
but the probability of success grew fainter and fainter
every day, and meanwhile she was in a state ef utter
destitution. With that generous spirit of kinship, which
nowhere exists so strongly as in Scotland, and in Eng
land is scarcely found at all, the relations agreed
amongst themselves to receive her in turn upon short
periodical risits, so that the burthen ef her support

MRS. MACFARLANE. 273
might be less felt by being equally dirided. While she
stiU remained in this state of dependence, which, how
ever their kindness might qualify it, could not be other
wise than irksome to her proud spirit, she was suddenly
surprised by an offer of marriage from Mr. Macfarlane,
a respectable but elderly law agent, who had been em
ployed by her father. Under any other circumstances,
such an alliance woiUd have implied a degradation not to
be thought of for a single instant ; as it was, the high
blood of her noble kindred fixed at the idea, and one and
all did their best to dissuade her from it ; but her present
situation made any haven desirable, and in spite of their
remonstrances she accepted the agent's offer. It was
not long, however, before the young wife found that she
had only exchanged one evil for another, different in
kind, but net a whit more tolerable. The pride ef caste
was as strong at that time in Scotland as it ever was
and still is amongst the Hindoos, and the humble Pariah
might as well think of mingling his blood with the pure
stream ef the Brahmin as the " doer's wife" — so were the
law-agents called — expect to be received amongst chiefs
and nobles. The relations, who had so generously pitied
and relieved the distress ef Elizabeth Ker had no sym
pathy whatever with Mrs. Macfarlane ; or if they thought
of her at aU, it was to express scorn and hatred for her
unworthiness. Such treatment in a short time produced
its usual demoralizing effects, people seldom practising
the virtues for which they can no longer gain any credit.
She in turn began to hate and despise the world which
had thrown her off, and to show her contempt for those
qualities and observances it most holds in respect, although
stiU cautious to do nothing that might lower her in her
own estimation. It was a freedom of manners, not a
laxity of principle, that she adopted.
VOL. III. T

274 MRS. MACFARLANE.
Amidst the general neglect she experienced from those
of her own class, there was yet one portion of them
which did net think it necessary te repudiate the society
of a young and beautiful woman because het husband
was a law-agent, although they might net treat her.
with the same deferential observance that they had used
towards the Miss Ker of a happier period. This class,
or rather a portion ef one, bore no slight resemblance to
the London Mohocks, that cut such a figure in the pages
of the " Spectator." They were for the most part young
men ef good birth but debauched habits, many of them
being descendants of the old cavaUers, who, being ex
cluded by their politics from the usual roads to wealth
and honour, sought to indemnify themselves for this pri
vation by unlimited indulgence in the lowest riot and
excesses. Their forenoons were spent in dicing and
golfing. In the evening they would stagger from the
table, in fiowing perivrigs and with glittering canes, to
Heriot's Green or Lady Murray's Garden in the Canon-
gate, when their great amusement was staring out of
countenance the citizens' wives and daughters who ven
tured te intrude upon these fashionable promenades.
Their nights were always passed in true Comus fashion;
it was with them as with Milton's enchanter : —
 " Welcome joy and feast.
Midnight shout and revelry,
TipSy dance and joUity."
These Bacchanalian orgies, as a matter of course, led to
broils and quarrels, which had to be settled in cold blood
the next morning at St. Leonard's Crags or in St. Anne's
Yards, and many " a son of night," as Moore delicately
terms these desperadoes, paid dearly for his Bacchanalian
riot.

MRS. MACFARLANE. 275
To men of this kind the supposed degradation of
Mrs. Macfarlane by her marriage was a matter of little
consequence. They paid the same public homage to
her beauty that they would have rendered to any other
woman whose lew station laid her open te their atten
tions, which however flattering in one sense, were any
thing but complimentary in another. On her part it is
to be feared that Mrs. Macfarlane did not keep these
debauchees at a sufficient distance; and certainly she
did not treat them as she would have dene had she still
retained her earUer position. In fact it was soothing to
her pride, when those of her own sex and former rank
would pass her with the slightest possible recognition,
to be thus honoured by men, who although notorious
fer their debaucheries, were still aUowed to possess the
reputation of rank and fashion. This remark, however,
must not be considered as implying anything derogatory
to her honour; on the contrary, whUe she coquetted
with these revellers on the Castle HiU or other public
places, she vvas extremely cautious not to give the
slightest encouragement to their visits. Still it threw
a shadow upon her character, and what was worse, it led
the mere dissolute to believe she was a fit subject for
temptation. It was about two years after the insurrection of 1715,
when the fashionable world of Edinburgh — that is, the
dissipated part of it which we have just been speaking
of — received an important accession in Mr. George
Cayley, a young English gentleman, who had been sent
down as one of the Commissioners of Forfeited Estates.
His coat was of the newest fashion, having been made,
as report said, at Paris, after one worn by the Regent
Orleans ; his oaths were of the latest coinage ; he had
no want of money; and was, moreover, so manifestly
t2

276 MRS. MACFARLANE.
superior in profligacy, that he at once became the
coryphaeus of the Edinburgh debauchees. Soon after
his arrival, this redoubtable personage was introduced to
Mrs. Macfarlane, who had, indeed, desired his acquaint
ance under the idea that he might possibly be ef service
te her husband in his intended attempt te recover the
family estate. On his part, he was from the first smitten
by her beauty and the elegance of her manner, mingled
with something like indignation that they should be
thrown away upon such a husband and such a city, for
in those days Edinburgh was far behind London in
refinement. A pure and genuine affection — one that is
really deserving ef the name of love — is not often
perhaps conceived at first sight, or net, at least, in its
full vigour; it requires time to ripen into full maturity,
and, like everything else in nature, is lasting in exact
proportion to the slowness of its growth. It is quite
another thing with a mere sensual passion of the kind
such as the English debauchee felt for Mrs. Macfarlane ;
kindled in an instant, it at the same time had nearly
reached its height, and he set about compassing her ruin
with aU the skill derived from practice, and all the energy
of a passion that might be truly called frantic. To
indulge in the constant pleasure of seeing her, he
removed from his first lodgings to a house in the High
Street, opposite the attorney's, where, in a great measure
neglecting his usual pursuits and amusements, he spent
nearly the whole day in watching her from the window.
Mr. Macfarlane, who — no uncommon case with husbands
— was totally blind to all this, encouraged his visits, in
the hope of securing his interest with his brother com
missioners in the affair of the Ker estate. Nor in this
expectation had he deceived himself. The young English
man entered heart and soul into the business, and was

MRS. MACFARLANE. 277
only too glad by his exertions during the day, to have
an excuse for visiting the lawyer's house in the evening
that he might report progress.
Under such circumstances of encouragement, the
passion of Cayley increased — if, indeed, it were capable
of increase. At aU events, it was well nigh ungovernable,
when the lawyer was called away from Edinburgh to
attend a cUent in the Highlands. His absence was
expected to last about a week.
Although Mr. Macfarlane had been se completely
blind as to see nothing extraordinary in the conduct ef
his new acquaintance, it was not so with his wife. She
understood him perfectly weU, and in the absence ef her
husband did everything to repress his attentions, and
confined herself as much as possible to the society of her
child. Above aU, the late hour at which he paid his
visits displeased her, as being likely to give rise to
reports injurious te her character now that Mr. Macfar
lane was away, and nobody in the house but herself and
the maid-servant. ^ She therefore gave strict orders to
the girl not to give him admission under any pretext
after a certain time in the evening. What, then, was
her surprise, when one night — the fifth of her husband's
absence — ^notwithstanding these injunctions, Mr. Cayley,
vrithout any announcement, entered the room where she
was sitting ? The unexpectedness of his appearance, and
his face heated as with drinking, made her start up in
alarm, for she had recently begun to think him capable
of anything ; ner was her terror at all diminished when,
in a quiet, composed tone, very much at variance with
bis leeks, he requested her to be seated. Without
noticing, or even seeming to hear his words, she hurried
to the bell, and rang it violently.

278 MRS. MACFARLANE.
" You may spare yourself that trouble," said the un
welcome risitor; "your servant has gone out."
" Gone out 1" exclaimed Mrs. Macfarlane — " without
leave ! and at such an hour !"
" Gone out," reiterated the young Englishman ; " I
have taken the liberty of sending her abroad on a Uttle
errand of my own."
Being new thoroughly aroused, and quite as much
frightened as angry, she would have left the room, but
he placed himself between her and the door, saying that
he had come upon particular business, and must request
her attention for a few moments.
" Ge on then, sir," she exclaimed, " since it must be
se ; but I shall know hew te guard against such intru
sions another time."
" On the contrary, madam," replied the Englishman,
with the greatest coolness, "we shall for the future
meet more frequently and more confidentially than we
have yet .done. But pray be seated."
" No, sir ; net for a single instant ; whatever you
have to say, I shaU hear it standing."
" As you please, madam ; upon that point I shall not
contradict you, only hoping you will as little thwart me
en those of more importance."
With the same imperturbable coolness that he said
this, he went on to explain that he had leng loved her,
that he was fully determined to carry her off — a coach
was even then waiting before her door for the purpose-^—
and that if she consented, it was new in his power to
obtain a reversal of her father's attainder, and with it
the restoration of the family estates.
" Never, at such a price," cried the lady, indignantly.
" I am sorry for it," he replied ; " as in that case you
vrill not only lose your property, but your character also.

MRS. MACFARLANK 279
If you refuse my offer, I shaU whisper, but loud enough
for all Edinburgh to hear it, that you have been as kind
as I could wish you to be, and no one knows better
than yourself how readily any tale will find credence
when it is to the prejudice ef Mrs. Macfarlane."
The lady was thunderstruck, as weU she might be, at
this cold-blooded avowal ef a vUlany almost too atrocious
for any one to have conceived. She stormed, she wept,
she threatened, she implored, but all without making
more impression than if she had been addressing a
marble image. He was net to be shaken in his purpose ;
and at length, when he found that her resolution was no
less immovable, he burst into a sudden fit of frenzy,
and dashed out of the room, with bitter imprecations
upon her, and worse upon himself, if he did not do all
that he had threatened.
The next day she was not leng in discovering that he
had kept his vow only too weU. By the whispers he
had spread abroad her character was completely ruined.
Not one of the "female acquaintances upon whom she
called would admit her ; not one ef all she met in the
street would acknowledge her greeting.
Every thought of her brain, every feeUng ef her heart,
was new concentrated upon one point. She returned
home, and wrote a letter to Mr. Cayley, requesting him
to caU at her house immediately ; and as she gave it te
the servant fer delivery, there was a peculiar smile about
her Ups, such as we may suppose Satan te have worn
when he beheld Eve first eating of the forbidden apple.
Upon receiving this summons, the happy lever hur
ried to her presence, in the full confidence that he was
now about te reap the fruit of his infamous daring.
But no sooner had he entered the room, than she hastily
locked the door, placed the key in her bosom, and

280 MRS. MACFARLANE.
snatching up a brace of pistols from the table behind
her, presented them at his head.
"Wretch!" she exclaimed, "you have blasted the
reputation of a woman who never did you the sUghtest
wrong ; you have fixed an indelible stain upon the child
at her besom ; and all this because, coward as you are,
you thought there was no one to take her part. You
were a fool in your belief — she can take her own."
At the same instant she discharged one of the pistols
at him, but the effort of drawing the trigger had too
much depressed the muzzle, and the ball struck the
ground close at his feet. Before he could recover enough
from his surprise to attempt disarming her, she fired the
second pistol, and vrith truer aim, for the bullet passed
through his breast. He dropt immediately, gave one
convulsive struggle, and all was ever.
Everything had been arranged for her escape before
hand ; and without pausing a moment upon her bloody
work she fied te the south, where, as we have just seen,
she was received and sheltered in the house ef her dis
tant kinsman. Sir John Swinton. With him she re
mained in hiding till the first heat of pursuit was over,
when she secretly withdrew to the continent, and died
there, but at what time, or in what particiUar place, is
not known ; for, as may be easily believed, her relations,
though they supported her in exUe, seldom spoke of one
whose name and tragical story they would gladly have
buried in oblivion.

281

ONE OF THE HEEOES OF FEOISSAET.

The reign of Edward III. forms the most martial and
chivalrous period of English history. On the roll of the
military " worthies " it produced — and the briUiant cate
gory includes Edward the Black Prince, Audley, Chandos,
and Manny — few names stand mere prominently forward
than that of Sir Hugh Calveley, of Lea. Froissart's
romantic pen commemorates with graphic force the
achievements of the Cheshire knight, and it is indeed
observable that the old chronicler rarely touches on Sir
Hugh vrithout placing him in the very foreground of
his Uving pictures. The family from which this re
nowned warrior sprang, was a branch ef the ancient
house of Calvelegh of Calvelegh, in the hundred ef
Edisbury, which is traced te Hugh de Calvelegh, who
became Lord of Calvelegh in the reign ef King John by
grant from Richard de Vemon.
Sir Hugh Calveley succeeded to Lea, at the death of
his father David, and was the celebrated soldier, whose
achievements have rendered the name se famUiar to the
historic reader. He first appears in the public events of
his time as one of the thirty combatants who, in 1351,
engaged in mortal strife an equal number of Bretons, for
the purpose of deciding seme differences which had
arisen out of the disorders committed by the English
after the death ef Sir Thomas Daggeworth. The Bretons

282 ONE OF THE HEROES OF FROISSART.
gained the victory by one of their party breaking on
horseback the ranks of the English, the greater number
of whom fell in the engagement. KnoUes, Calveley, and
Crequart were captured and carried to the Castle of
Jesselin. The Lord ef Tinteniac, en the enemy's side,
and the gallant Crequart, on the English, obtained the
prizes of valour. Such was the issue of the famous
" Combat of Thirty." A cross, stiU existing, marks the
battle-field, known to this day as " Le champ des
Anglais." In a few years after. Sir Hugh commanded
a division ef the English forces at the battle ef Auray,
to which Froissart refers in the following interesting
narrative. " Sir John Chandos formed three battalions and a rear
guard. He placed ever the first Sir Robert "KnoUes, Sir
Walter Huet, and Sir Richard Burley. The second
battalion was under the command of Sir Oliver de Clis
son, Sir Eustace D'Ambreticourt, and Sir Matthew
Gournay. The Earl of Montfort had the third, which
was to remain near his person. There were in, each bat
talion five hundred men-at-arms and four hundred archers.
When he came te the rear-guard, he called Sir Hugh
Calveley to him, and said, ' Sir Hugh, you vrill take the
command ef the rear-guard of five hundred men, and
keep on our wing, without moving one step, whatever
may happen, unless you shall see an absolute necessity
for it ; such as our battalions giving way, or by acci
dent broken ; in that case, you will hasten to succour
these who are giving way, or who may be in dis
order ; and assure yourself you cannot this day do a
more meritorious service.' When Sir Hugh heard
Sir John Chandos give him these orders, he was much
hurt and angry with him, and said, ' Sir John, Sir John,
give the command of this rear-guard to some other, for

ONE OF THE' HEROES OF FROISSART. 283
I do not wish to be troubled with it ;' and then added,
' sir knight, fer what manner ef reason have you thus
provided for me ; and why am I net as fit and proper
to take my pest in the front rank as ethers?' Sir
John discreetly answered, ' Sir Hugh, I did not place
you with the rear-guard because you were not as good a
knight as any of us ; for, in truth, I know that you are
equaUy valiant with the best ; but I order you to that
post because I know you are beth bold and prudent, and
that it is absolutely necessary for you or me te take that
command. I therefore most earnestly entreat it of you ;
for if you will de so we shall all be the better for it, and
you yourself vrill acquire great honour ; in addition, I
promise to comply with the first request you may make
me.' Notwithstanding this handsome speech of Sir
John Chandos, Sir Hugh refused to comply, considering
it as a great affront offered him, and entreated, through
the love ef God, with uplifted hands, that he would send
some other to that command ; for, in fact, he was anxious
te enter the battle with the first. This conduct nearly
brought tears to the eyes of Sir John. He again addressed
him, gently saying, ' Sir Hugh, it is absolutely necessary
that either you or I take this command; now, consider
which can be most spared.' Sir Hugh having considered
this last speech, was much confused, and replied, ' Cer
tainly, sir, I knew full well that you would ask nothing
from me which could tum out to my dishonour ; and since
it is so, I wUl very cheerfuUy undertake it.' Sir Hugh
Calveley then took the command called the rear-guard,
entered the field on the wing of the others, and formed
his Une. It was on Saturday, the Sth of October, 1364,
that these battalions were drawn up facing each other,
in a handsome plain, near to Auray, in Brittany. I
must say, it was a fine thing to see and reflect on ; fer

284 ONE OP THE HEROES OF FROISSART.
there were banners and pennons flying, with the richest
armour on each side ; the French were so handsomely and
grandly drawn up, it was great pleasure to look at them."
Froissart proceeds to narrate the vain efforts made by
the Lord de Beaumanor to bring about a treaty of peace,
and then eloquently describes the result. " Sir John
Chandos returned to the Earl of Montfort, who asked,
' Hew goes en the treaty ? What does our adversary
say?' 'What does he say 1' replied. Chandos, ' why he
sends word by the Lord de Beaumanor, who has this
instant left me, that he vvUl fight with you at all events,
and remain Duke ef Brittany, or die in the field.' This
answer was made by Sir John in order to excite the
courage of the Earl of Montfort; and he continued,
saying, ' Now, consider what you wiU determine to do,
whether te engage or not.' ' By St. George,' answered
Montfort, ' engage will I, and God assist the right cause.
Order our banners to advance immediately.' " We need
net relate the details, romantic though they be, as de
tailed in the glowing language of the chronicler ; suffice
it te add, that the post assigned to the knight of Lea
proved net inglorious, that, in mere than one emergency,
the failing forces of the English were sustained by his
reserve, and that among the leaders who contributed in
the most eminent degree to the famous victory ef Auray,
no small share ef the glory may, with justice, be given
te Sir Hugh Calveley.
We next find our hero, not very reputably engaged,
as a captain of the Free Companies, composed partly of
disbanded soldiers and partly of banditti, who had en
listed in the service of Henry of Trastamare against
Pedro the Cruel. Shortly after, however, the Black
Prince having joined the army of the King of Castile,
Sir Hugh placed himself under the command of his eld

ONE OF THE HEROES OF FROISSART. 285
general, the illustrious Chandos, and distinguished
himself by many feats of valeur at the bloody battle of
Navarette. In 1377, HoUnshed relates, " Sir Hugh Calvelie was
sent over to CaUs, te remain upon safe keeping of that
town as deputie there ; and in the same year, eomming
one morning to BuUougne, he burnt certeine ships,
which laie there in the haven, to the number of six
and twentie, besides two proper barks, and having spoiled
and burnt the most part of the base towne, returned to
Calls, with a rich beetle of goods and catteU." The same
historian further informs us that this doughty knight
recovered the castle of Marke, which had been betrayed
by "certeine Picards stipendiarie soldiers in the said
CasteU," and gees on to state that " Sir Hugh slept
not at his business. Shortly after Christmas, a.d. 1378,
he spoUed the town of Estaples, the same dale the fair
was kept there," and in the next spring, as Admiral of
England, conveyed the Diike of Brittany te a haven near
St. Maloes, and repeUed with the most dauntless bravery
a sudden attack made by the French vessels. In 1380
he encountered the tremendous storm which destroyed
a large portion of the expedition to Brittanj'', and was
one of eight who took to the masts and cables, and were
dashed on shore by the violence of the storm.
The crusade of the Bishop of Norwich against the
Clementists, brings Sir Hugh Calveley once more for
ward, "an opponent of his leader's measures in the
cabinet, but a vigorous supporter in the field," until
after a series of successes, his troops were surprised in
Bergues by the French king, with superior numbers, and
Sir Hugh abandoning the contest as hopeless, returned
to Calais. The following is Froissart's interesting de
scription of the event : —

286 ONE OF THE HEROES OF FROISSART.
" Sir Hugh Calveley, on his arrival at Bergues, quar
tered himself and his men in the different hotels and
houses of the town; they were in the whole, including
archers, more than four thousand men. Sir Hugh said,
' I am determined te keep this tewn ; it is of good
strength, and we are enough to defend it. I expect we
shaU have, in five er six days, reinforcements from
England : for they will learn our situation, and also
the force of our enemies.' All replied, ' God assist us !'
" Upon this he made very prudent regulations ; on di
viding his men under pennons and into companies, to
mount the walls and guard the gates, he found he had
numbers sufficient. He ordered aU the ladies, women,
children, and lower classes of inhabitants to retire into a
church, from whence they were not to stir.
" The King of France was at the abbey of Ranem-
bergues, and learnt that the English had retreated to
Bergues. A councU was held on the occasion, when it
was ordered that the van, with the constables and
marshals, should advance beyond the town, and encamp
on one ef its sides. And the King of France, vrith the
Dukes of Berry, Burgundy, and Bourbon, would follow
with the main army ; that the Count de Blois and the
Count d'Eu, with the rear division, should lodge them
selves on the other end of the town, and thus surround
the English.
" This plan was executed ; and the king set out from
Ranombergues, attended by his whole army. It was a
beautiful sight to beheld these banners, pennons, and
helmets, glittering in the sun, and such numbers of men
at arms that the eye could not compass them. They
seemed like a moving forest, so upright did they hold
their lances. Thus they marched, in three dirisiens,
towards Bergues, to enclose the English in that town. .

ONE OF THE HEROES OF FROISSART. 287
"About eight o'clock in the morning, an English
herald entered the to'wn, who, by the courtesy of the
lords of France, had passed through their army; he
waited en Sir Hugh Calveley in his hotel, and spoke
so loud that every one heard him. ' Herald, whence
dost theu come?'
" ' My lord,' replied the herald, ' I come from the
French army, where I have seen the finest men at arms,
and in such vast numbers that there is not at this day
another king who can show the like.'
" ' And these fine men at arms which you are speak
ing of,' said Sir Hugh, 'what number are they?'
" ' By my faith, my lord, they are full twenty-six
thousand men at arms; handsomer nor better armed
were never seen.'
" ' Ha, ha,' replied Sir Hugh, who was much provoked
at the latter part of this speech, ' thou art a fine fellow
to come and mock us with this pompous tale. I knew
weU thou hast lied ; for many a time have I seen the
armies ef France, but they never amounted to twenty-
six thousand ; no, net even to six thousand men at arms.'
" As he said this, the watch of the tewn, who was at
his post, sounded his trumpet, for the van of the enemy
was about passing near the walls. Sir Hugh then,
addressing the knights and squires present, said : —
" ' Come, come, let us go and see these twenty-six thou
sand men at arms march by, for our watch blows his horn.'
" They went on the walls of the place, and leaning on
them, observed the march of the van, which might have
consisted of about fifteen hundred lances, with the con
stable, the marshals, the master of the cross-bows, and
the Lord de Courcy. Next came the Duke of Brittany,
the Earl of Flanders, and the Count de St. Pol, who had
under his command about fifteen hundred lances more.

288 ONE OF THE HEROES OF FROISSART,
Sir Hugh Calveley, who thought he had seen the whole
army, said, ' Now see if I did not say truth. Where are
these twenty-six thousand men? Why, if they be three
thousand men at arms, they are ten thousand. Let us
go to dinner, for I do not yet see such a force as should
oblige us to surrender the town. This herald would
frighten us well, if we were to believe him.'
" The herald was much ashamed, but he said, ' My
lord, you have as yet only seen the van guard. The
king and his uncles are behind with the main army, and
there is besides a rear division, which consists of more
than two thousand lances. You vrill see the whole in
four hours, if you remain here.'
" Sir Hugh paid not any attention to him, but re
turned te his house, saying he had seen everything,
and seated himself at table. He had scarcely done so,
than the watch again blew his horn, and so loud as if he
would burst it ; Sir Hugh rose from the table, saying he
would see what was the cause of this, and mounted the
battlements. At this moment the King of France
marched by, attended by his uncles, the Duke Frederick,
the Duke ef Lorraine, the Count of Savoy, the Dauphine
of Auvergne, the Count de la Marche, and their
troops. In this battalion were full sixteen thousand
lances. Sir Hugh felt himself much disappointed, and
said to the herald who was by his side, ' I have been in
the wrong to blame you ; come, come, let us mount our
horses and save ourselves, fer it vrill do us ne good to
remain here; I no longer know the state ef France, I
have never seen such numbers collected together by
three fourths as I new see and have seen in the van —
besides the rear division is still to come.' Upon this Sir
Hugh Calveley left the walls and returned te his house.
All the horses being ready saddled and loaded, they

ONE OF THE HEROES OF FROISSART. 289
mounted, and haring ordered the gates to be opened
which led to Bourbourg, they set off without any noise,
carrying with them aU their pUlage.
" Had the French suspected this, they could easUy
have stopped them, but they were ignorant of it fer a
long time, so that they were nearly arrived at Bour
bourg before they heard of it.
" Sir Hugh Calveley halted in the plain to wait for
his rear and baggage. He was very melancholy, and
said to Sir Thomas Trivet and others who had come to
meet him, ' By my faith, gentlemen, we have this time
made a most shameful expedition ; never was so pitiful
or ¦vrretched a one made from England. You would
have your vriUs, and placed your confidence in the
Bishop of Norvrich, who wanted to fly before he had
wings ; now see the honourable end you have brought it
te. There is Bourbourg ! If you choose it retire
thither; but for my part I shall march to Gravelines
and Calais, because I find we are not ef sufficient
strength te cope \rith the King of France.'
"The English knights, conscious they had been to
blame in several things, replied : ' God help us ; we
shaU return to Bourbourg and wait the event, such as
God may please to ordain.' Sir Hugh on this left them,
and they threw themselves into Bourbourg."
None of the blame attending this misadventure fell on
Sir Hugh, and he retained te the time of his decease the
government of Guernsey, and the care of the royal
castle and the park of Shotvrick. Haring acquired from
his estates in Cheshire, his various official appointments,
and the fruits of his predatory warfare, enormous wealth,
he devoted a portion to the establishment of an hospital
at Rome, and sanctified the end of his days by an act of
similar piety in his own country — the foundation of the
VOL. III. U

290 ONE OF THE HEROES OF FROISSART.
college of Bunbury in Cheshire — which appears te have
been completed before the decease of its founder, which
event occurred en the feast of St. George in 1394. An
armed efS.gj, reposing en one of the most sumptuous
altar tombs of which the county of Chester can boast,
still remains in the chancel of the college ef Bunbury,
marking the spot where were interred the mortal re
mains of the warrior knight, the gallant Sir Hugh
Calveley of Lea. Tradition assigned te him fer bride no
less a personage than the Queen ef Arragen, but recent
researches have altogether refuted this popular error. In
all probability, he never married, and to a certainty, he
left no issue.

291

COLONEL MONTGOMEEY
AND CAPTAIN MACNAMAEA.

Colonel Montgomeey, the unfortunate victim of a
ridiculous quarrel, was the younger son of Sir William
Montgomery, Bart., ef Magbie Hill, and brother of the
present Mrs. George Byng, of Wrotham Park. He
entered the army early in life, rose to be Colonel of
the 9th Foot, and distinguished himself on many occa
sions by his gallantry and courage. In the Dutch expe
dition, the Russians being put to fUght, Col. Mont
gomery's regiment was thrown into confusion, and
retreated. At this moment, a drummer being kiUed,
Montgomery, who stood alone, took up the drum, beat
it to raUy his men, reformed the ranks, and retrieved
the honour of the day. In Egypt and Malta he ren
dered equal serrice to his country. In persen he was
remarkably handsome, and was always dressed in the
height of the fashion. In London he went by the name
of the Duke ef HamUton's double, being generally the
exact counterpart in dress of that nobleman. The Prince
ef Wales and the Duke of York were among the colonel's
intimate friends.
Captain Macnamara was a naval officer, who had dis
tinguished himself in two er three actions as commander
of the Cerberus frigate. At the time of his fatal meeting,
V 2

292 COLONEL MONTGOMERY AND
with Colonel Montgomery he was only just returned
from the West Indies.
On the 6th April, 1 803, as Lieutenant-Colonel Mont
gomery and Captain Macnamara were riding in Hyde
Park, each followed by a Nevribundland dog, the dogs
fought; and Colonel Montgomery, who did not see
that Captain Macnamara was near, after separating the
animals, exclaimed, " Whose dog is that ? I wUl knock
him down !" To which Captain Macnamara repUed,
" Have you the impudence to say that you vriU knock
my deg dovm ? You must first knock me down !" An
altercation ensued, an exchange of cards foUowed, and
an appointment te meet at seven o'clock in the evening,
near Primrose Hill; the consequence of which proved
fatal. Captain Macnamara's ball entered the right side
of his opponent's chest, and taking a direction to the
left, most probably went through the heart; the colonel
instantly fell, without uttering a word, but roUed over
two or three times as if in great agony, and groaned.
Colonel Montgomery's baU went through Captain Mac
namara, entering on the right side, just above the hip,
and passing through the left side, carrying part of the
coat and waistcoat in with it, taking part of his leather
breeches and the hip-button away with it on the other
side. Colonel Montgomery was carried by seme ef the per
sons standing by into Chalk Farm, where he was laid on
a bed, attended by Mr. Heaviside. As they were carry
ing him, he attempted to speak and spit ; but the blood
choked him. His mouth foamed much; and in about
five minutes after he was brought into the house, he
expired with a gentle sigh.
Crowds of people assembled for days after te view the
spot where the colonel feU, which was covered vrith

CAPTAIN MACNAMARA. 293
blood. Great was the public sympathy, and the Prince
of Wales shed tears, it is stated, on hearing the melan
choly news. Captain Macnamara recovered of his
wound, and was tried for murder at the Old BaUey,
22nd of AprU.
His defence, which was prepared by Lord Erskine
(then Mr. Erskine), stated : — " I am a captain of the
British navry. My character you can hear only from
others. But to maintain my character in that situation
I must be respected. When caUed upon to lead ethers
into honourable danger, I must not be supposed to be a
man who sought safety by submitting te what custom
has taught others to consider as a disgrace. I am not
presuming te urge anything against the law of God, or
of this land. I knew, that in the eyes of duty and
reason, obedience to the law, though against the feelings
of the world, is the first duty, and ought to be the rule
of action; but upon putting a construction upon my
motives, so as to ascertain the quality of my actions, you
wiU make aUowance for my situation. It is impossible
to define in terms the proper feelings of a gentleman,
but their existence has supported this country for many
ages, and she might perish if they were lest."
Lords Hood, Nelson, Hotham, and Minto, and many
other distinguished persons, spoke most favourably of
Captain Macnamara. Mr. Justice Heath summed up the
eridence, and gave as his opinion that the verdict must
be " Manslaughter."
The jury were however of a different opinion, and
returned, after a quarter of an hour's deliberation, a
verdict of " Not GuUty."

294

SPENCEE COWPEE.

Shakespeke is abundantly philosophical upon the
simple fact, that one man in his life plays many parts ;
how, then, would he have moralized could he have seen
the same individual at one time taking his trial on a
charge of murder, and at another sitting on the Judge's
bench, and pronouncing sentence upon those in his own
former situation. Such was the case with Spencer
Cowper, who, after haring stood accused at the bar of
a criminal court, came te be Chief Justice of Chester,
and a Judge ef the Court ef Common Pleas.
Mr. Spencer Cowper was the descendant of an eld
and wealthy family that had long flourished with good
reputation in the county of Berkshire. In 1641,
WiUiam Cowper, the then representative of the famUy,
was created a baronet by Charles I., to whose cause he
faithfuUy adhered through storm and sunshine, through
good and evil report, and in the end paid for his loyalty
when the republicans had got the upper hand, by a long
and severe imprisonment. His eldest son, who had
shared the same fate, died in confinement ; and thus,
upon his own death, he was succeeded in the family
inheritance by his grandson. Sir William. The latter
had two children, the eldest of whom became Lord
Chancellor and Earl Cowper ; the second was Spencer
Cowper, the subject of our narrative, and grandfather to
the poet, William.

SPENCER COWPER. 295
¦ The extraordinary events here narrated occurred in
1699. Mr. Cowper (a married man, be it observed)
was a barrister of the Heme Circuit, and at the Spring
Assizes of that year set out from London fer the tewn
of Hertford on horseback, according to the custom
then prevailing amongst gentlemen ef the bar, even
of the highest rank and character. He had agreed,
by letter sent down beforehand, to lodge as usual with a
Quaker lady of the name of Stout, with whom he had
long been on terms of intimacy, and who had an only
daughter. Upon entering the town, instead of going
straight to her house, he alighted at an inn, kept by one
Barefoot, that he might get rid of the soUs and stains of
his journey, and be more fit to appear before the ladies.
At the same time he sent on a man to Mrs. Stout's with
his horse, and a message that he intended dining vvith
them. Accordingly, at the usual hour of dinner he made
his appearance, and stopped till four o'clock, when he
left them, with a promise of returning to pass the night
there, as he had done on previous occasions.
It is immaterial to inquire how, Mr. Cowper employed
himself in the interval. At the time promised he re
turned, and having supped with the young lady and her
mother, he sat up in conversation with them till about
eleven o'clock, when orders were given te the maid in
his hearing, and vrithout any objection on his part, to
go and warm his bed. The maid did as she was told ;
but after having waited long for his coming, began to
wonder what could possibly detain him below. Sud
denly she heard the street-door slam. This at such an
hour seemed exceedingly strange ; and going down stairs
she was yet mere astonished at finding no signs of the
young lady or of Mr. Cowper. Being alarmed at this,
=he hastened to communicate her fears to Mrs. Stout,

296 SPENCER COWPER.
who it seems had left the young people to themselves, as
she had often before been in the habit ef doing. She,
toe, wondered at what had happened, but se great was
her confidence in Mr. Cowper, that neither alarm nor
suspicion ef any evU mingled with her surprise ; but in
the momentary expectation of their return, she deter
mined to sit up for them, the maid being desired te keep
her company. One thing seemed to be quite plain — ^the
young people must have gone out together, for, as was
distinctly stated in the subsequent trial, " the nature of
the door was such that it makes a great noise at the
clapping of it, so that any particular person in the house
may be sensible of another's going out."
Nothing was heard of the daughter the whole of
that night, nor did Mr. Cowper ever return to the house
again. The next morning about six o'clock, as one Berry, a
miUer, went down to the stream, fer the purpose of
shooting a fiush ef water, he saw part of a female dress
floating upon the surface, and going up to examine it
more closely, he discovered the body of Miss Stout. She
floated en her right side, a few inches only under the
water, with her head and right arm between the stakes
of the weir, which stood about a foot asunder. The
corpse did not appear at all sweUed,. the eyes were vride
open, the teeth clenched, and there were ne weeds under
it, or anything that might prevent it from sinking. One
witness, a surgeon, deposed, that haring been sent by
Mrs. Stout to examine the body, he had observed a little
swelling on the side ef the neck, and a blackness en both
sides, particularly on the left. There was a similar dis
coloration between the breasts up to the cellar bene, as
also between the ears, with a slight settling of blood, all
of which he considered were marks denoting that violence

SPENCER CO'WPER. 297
had been used. Another surgeon gave yet more decisive
testimony. Six weeks after the event, the friends of the
deceased had caused the body to be exhumed, when, being
called upon to examine it, he found the intestines per
fectly whole ; from which he inferred, that the woman
could not have been drowned, as, in that case, there
would have been water in the stomach, and the viscera
would have rotted. It must be observed, that all these
'vritnesses, medical er otherwise, go upon the idea that a
dead body is incapable of receiving water through the
guUet, and therefore floats by reason ef the air within
it ; whereas, in the act ef drowning, the air is in a great
measure expeUed by the water, and the body conse
quently sinks by its own weight te the bottom.
Supposing aU that has been advanced to be literally
true, we should have as strong circumstantial eridence
as could be desired upon two peints — first, that Miss
Stout had been murdered ; and, secondly, that the deed
had been done by Mr. Cowper and the three attorneys,
who were accused of being accessories before the fact.
Yet, irresistible as this body of evidence must seem to
be, it is quite clear that ne murder had been committed;
and that, if any had been, Mr. Cowper could not
possibly have had any hand in it. Let us pull the
evidence to pieces, and see how much it is really worth.
Great stress was laid upon the supposed fact of the
body ha'ring been found floating. We need not stop to
inquire how far the medical inference drawn from such
fact is true, since the thing itself, under all the circum
stances ef the case, was utterly impossible. Every one
who deposed to this point, agreed that the body was
found lying on its side ; now a human corpse would no
more float upon its side than a flat board would float
edgewise. In addition to this, if any addition could be

298 SPENCER COWPER.
needed, the parish officers who dra,gged the body unani
mously stated that it lay much beneath the surface, and
had got wedged in amongst the piles — a circumstance
that admits of every explanation ; when the body, which
had sunk to the bottom, had reached the weir, and could
go no farther, the force of the current would naturally
lift it up, and its entanglement amongst the stakes
would be inevitable. As te the bruises, some of the
witnesses denied them altogether, and even had they
existed there is no occasion for supposing them produced
by any human agency ; the rolling of the corpse en the
stones below, under the influence ef the current, and the
constant beating of it against the piles by the same
agent, would sufficiently account for any slight discolor-
ations. Let it be remembered, toe, that the young
woman laboured under hypochondriasis, if net actual
insanity, as the following evidence proves beyond the
shadow of a doubt.
Mrs. Low testified, that the deceased often complained
she was melancholy, and confessed she was in love ; that
she said she would take her full swing of melancholy
when her mother was abroad, and lay a-bed a week ;
that at another time she said, her melancholy had occa
sioned an intermitting fever ; and being advised to send
fer a physician, she said, her distemper lay in her mind,
and not in her body : she would take nothing, and the
sooner it killed her, the better ; and that now she
delighted neither in reading nor anything else.
Then Mrs. Cowper, wife ef the prisoner's brother, Mr.
William Cowper (afterwards Lord Chancellor), being
called as a witness, testified.
That she was frequently in the company of the
deceased, both at London and in the country, and she
was extremely melancholy ; and the witness suspecting

SPENCER COVYPER. 299
it was upon Mr. Marson's account, asked, why she did
not marry him, and make herself easy ? but she said, she
could not; that she appeared disturbed also at the
preaching ef a Quaker waterman, who gathered a rabble
of people about him before her mother's door ; and,
preaching to them, arraigned her conduct; that the
deceased once having a fever, said, she was in great
hopes it would carry her off, and neglected herself with
that 'vie'w, often vrishing she were dead : that, at another
time, being very melancholy, the prisoner's wife said, for
God's sake, keep such thoughts out ef your head as you
have had : talk no more of throwing yourself out of a
vrindow. Te which the deceased answered, I may thank
God that ever I saw your face, otherwise I had done it ;
but I cannot promise I shall not do it.
Under aU the circumstances then we may safely affirm
that there was no proof whatever ef Miss Stout having
been murdered, but every possible cause for beliering
she made away with herself. But allowing that she had
been murdered, a single fact will be sufficient to prove
that Mr. Cowper could not have been the murderer.
The maid-servant distinctly stated in her evidence that
it was a quarter to eleven, or less, when she heard the
door slam ; but a dozen respectable witnesses swore to
having seen Mr. Cowper at the Glove and Dolphin
before the clock struck eleven, while the distance be
tween the inn and the mill-stream was at least half an
hour's walk. How then could the accused have been at
two places so remote from each ether at nearly the same
time? It may be asked why did not Mr. Cowper return to
sleep at Mrs. Stout's as he had promised ? The explana
tion involves the most curious part ef the stery.
We have already observed that the young lady was

soo SPENCER COWPER.
hypochondriacal, if net actually insane. It may now be
added that her character was not altogether above the
suspicion of reproach, and that it is unquestionable she
entertained a violent passion for Mr. Cowper. The two
foUovring letters, unwiUingly produced by the prisoner
in self-defence, are sufficiently decisive ef the fact, for-
though without a signature, there was no attempt made
by the accuser to disprove their authenticity. The first
of these, in aU likelihood te prevent suspicion, was
addressed to Mrs. Jane Ellen, at Hargrave's Coffee
House :
" Sir, March the Uh.
" I am glad you have not quite forgot that there is
such a persen as I in being! but I am willing te shut
my eyes, and net see anything that looks Uke unkindness
in you, and rather content myself with what excuses you
are pleased to make, than be inquisitive into what I must
not know. I should very readily comply with your pro
position of changing the season, if it were in my power
to do it; but, you know, that lies altogether in your own
breast. I am sure the winter has been too unpleasant
fer me te desire the continuance of it: and I wish you
were te endure the sharpness of it, but for one hour, as
I have dene for many long nights and days, and then,
I believe, it would move that rocky heart ef yours, that
can be so thoughtless of me as you are; but if it were
designed for that end, to make the summer the more
delightful, I wish it may have the effect so far, as to
continue it to be so toe, that the weather may never
overcast again : the which, if I could be assured of, it
would recompense me for all that I ever suffered, and
make me as easy a creature as I was the first moment
I received breath; when you come te H  pray let

SPENCER COWPER. 301
your steed guide you, and do not do as you did the last
time ; and be sure order your affairs to be here as soon
as you can, which cannot be sooner, than you wUl be
heartUy welcome to your " Very sincere friend."
" T'or Mrs. Jane Mien, at Mr. Hargrave's, near
Temple-Bar, London."
Then another letter from the deceased to the prisoner,
dated the 9th of March, was read, and is as follows: —
" Sir,
" I wT:ete to you by Sunday's pest, which I hope you
have received ; however, as a confirmation, I wUl assure
you, I know of no inconvenience that can attend your
cohabiting with me, unless the Grand Jury should there
upon find a bUl against us; but I wUl not fly fer it; for
come life, come death, I am resolved never to desert you;
therefore, according te your appointment, I wiU expect
you, and then I shall only teU you that I am
"Yours, &c."
It was in consequence of these letters that the prisoner's
brother adrised him not to stay again at Mrs. Stout's,
but to take the lodgings at Mr. Barefoot's which he
himself had hired, and could net from circumstances
occupy at present. Mr. Cowper acceded to this advice,
and when he went to Mrs. Stout's it was only to pay
over some money he had received fer her, and to excuse
himself for net coining to lodge there as he had premised.
Foreseeing that such a declaration was likely te give rise
to a scene on the young lady's part, he had been unwUling
to speak in the presence of the servant, and this had made
him sUent when the order was given for warming his

302 SPENCER COWPER.
bed. The explanation therefore took place when the two
were alone, and it seems highly probable that the insane
passion of the unhappy girl led her, en finding herself
thus deserted, to the commission ef suicide. As to the
door not being heard to slam a second time, it is clear
that with such a purpose in view she would close it as
gently as possible, not to alarm her mother.
Upon the hearing of these contradictory facts and
statements, the jury withdrawing for about half an hour,
returned with their verdict, that neither Mr. Cowper,
nor any one of the other three prisoners, were Guilty ;
and thereupon they were all discharged.
Mrs. Stout, the mother of the deceased, being stiU
unappeased, procured an appeal of murder to be lodged
against the verdict, at the suit of Henry Stout, the heir-
at-law, a child ten years of age. Toller, the under-
sheriff ef Herts, having made no return to this writ,
accounted to the Court ef King's Bench fer his neglect,
by stating, that he had given the writ to the appellant,
who stated that he had burnt it. Fer this, the under-
sheriff was fined one hundred marks. Mrs. Stout then
petitioned the Lord Keeper for a new writ of appeal, but
the time, a year and a day, having elapsed for suing
out a writ, her petition was, ef course, rejected.
Mr. Spencer Cowper was net prevented by the trial
from attaining rank and repute, both in his profession
and in Parliament. On his brother's elevation to the
woolsack, he succeeded him in the representation of
Beeralston, and sat afterwards for Truro ; adhered vrith
inflexibility to the Whig party, was a frequent and suc
cessful speaker, and one of the managers in the impeach
ments of Sacheverell in 1710, and of the rebel lords in
1716. On the accession of George the First, he was
appointed attorney-general to the Prince of Wales ; in

SPENCER COWPER. 303
1717, chief justice of Chester; and'in 1727, a judge of
the Common Pleas, retaining also, by the especial favour
of the Crown, his former office until his death in De
cember, 1728. His second son, John, as above stated,
became the father of WiUiam Cowper, the poet.
In a note to the State Trials, Mr. Spencer Cowper
and Miss Stout are stated to have been the Mdsco and
Zara of Mrs. Manley's New Atalantis.

304

GEOEGE VILLIEES,
FIEST DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.

The well-deserved prominence which the VUliers
family has again obtained in the nation's eyes renders
anything having reference to former distinguished mem
bers of it peculiarly interesting at the present juncture.
It has been said that " beauty was their inheritance,"
but it would not be difficult to show that talent has
also been hereditary among them. The influence which
one man may exert on a nation's destinies was rarely
ever more strongly manifested than in the case of
Geoege Villiees.
He changed a nation's taste — he ruled two kings — ^he
captivated a queen — and, after passing like a meteor
before men's eyes, he left behind him, at the age of
thirty-six, a character which people were too dazzled to
appreciate in his lifetime, and which has net always
been rightly appreciated since.
In any age George VilUers would have been a re
markable man. In an age when chivalry was not yet
extinct, and when pedantry by royal practice and ex
ample passed for scholarship, be became a compound ef
the preux chevalier and fashionable courtier, something
very like what Raleigh had just ceased to be. There
were, indeed, many points of strong resemblance betweeh

FIRST DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 305
these Ulustrious men. In beauty ef persen and courtly
grace " the phUosophic soldier " was as much excelled by
Villiers as he exceUed ViUiers in the higher gifts of
mind and in the acquirements which a good use ef them
procured him. The origin of the Villiers family, when
first the subject ef these remarks began te engross so
large a portion of public attention, was considered to be
extremely obscure. This opinion arose from the retired
life led by his immediate ancestors, and was by no means
consistent with fact, for they could justly claim a very
remote and honourable descent. Aymer de Villiers, a
distinguished courtier ef the time of Philip the First
of France (1064), being their direct and undoubted
progenitor. It was in the old haU of the truly sequestered hamlet
of Breoksby, and in the year 1592, that George, the
second sen of Sir George VUUers and that extrp-ordinary
lady of dubious parentage, afterwards Countess of Buck
ingham, first saw the Ught. The first years ef a Ufe
that was te be one of such unusual glitter was spent
partly at Breoksby and partly at Goadby Marwood, both
in Leicestershire, and it would be difficult to find two
places better calculated to fester a love of rural quiet and
to check the promptings of ambition. It was at the
little school of BUlesdon, a few miles from Breoksby,
that ViUiers received the first rudiments ofhis education.
He was what is stUl called a weekly boarder, and with
his brothers John and Christopher, was fetched home
every Saturday, and sent back on the Monday morning.
At thirteen he lost his father, after which the widowed
Lady VUliers took George from school, and removed to
her jointure house at Goadby. Here he continued three
years under the care of his mother. How this obscurely
bom lady had acquired the requisite accomplishments for
VOL. in. X

306 GEORGE VILLIERS,
training such a youth is certainly a mystery ; but she-
whose personal or mental attractions enabled her to raise
herself from the rank of a serving-maid to be Lady
Villiers and Lady Compton by marriage, and Countess
of Buckingham by creation, could not have been an
ordinary woman. The eminently handsome person and
bright parts of her son George, soon suggested te this
discerning mother the chance of future distinction ; and
to add the finishing stroke to his education, she sent him
te complete his education in France, where he spent two
or three years in all the exercises at that time practised
by the peiished French youth. Returning to England,
when he had reached his majority, he rejoined his brother
at Goadby. The now accomplished and handsome
Villiers, though but a second son (an object even then
shunned by scheming mothers who had marriageable
daughters), soon threw seme gentle hearts into a fiutter, .
and a daughter ef Sir Roger Aston appears to have
captivated him. But for the adrice of Sir John Graham,
a gentleman ef the king's privy chamber, it is very pro
bable that Villiers would have married Lucy Aston.
" Look higher," said Sir John ; " woo fortune at the
court, and cease to think of a girl who, though a very
Hebe, has not portion enough to buy her own pocket'^
handkerchiefs." VUliers acted on this advice. It was Graham who
first suggested that he should be thrown in James's way,
whose foible for having handsome men about him he
knew so "well, and who owed the then favourite, Somer-'
set, a mortal grudge. Historians are not agreed where
the first interview between the king and Villiers took
place, — seme asserting that it was at Apethorpe, in
Northamptonshire ; others at Ambridge, whither James,
while hunting at Newmarket, had been invited by the

FIRST DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 307
scholars to witness a play called "Ignoramus." Sir
lienry Wootton, in his " Reliquiae Woottonianse," fixes
it at Cambridge. But no matter where. Lord Claren
don says, " the king at ence conceived a liking fer the
young stranger, and resolved to make him a master
piece, and te mould him, as it were Platonically, to his
own idea." Hume tells us, that James was " se ashamed
of this sudden attachment that he endeavoured te con
ceal his partiality for the handsome stranger." He
explains what Clarendon meant by " Flatonically ," when
he says, " James's real intention was te play the tutor to
his favourite, and to train him up in the rules of prudence
and politics." Socratically would, perhaps, have been a
better word — ^the king wished, in fact, to play Socrates,
and make VUliers his Alcibiades. It is evident, however,
that the king discovered intellectual powers in the first
interriew, for Clarendon adds, "I have net the least
purpose ef undervaluing his good parts when I say, that
the first introduction into favour was purely from the
handsomeness of his person."
" Gratior ^pulchro veniens in corpore virtus."
Hume is savagely severe upon ViUiers's apparent
want of other than merely personal recommendations — ^yet
it would be by uo means difficult to show that he pos
sessed high quaUties of head and heart, and that even
when royal favouritism had dene its worst to speU him,
he was far from the fiippant character that too many
have believed him — namely, the courtly coxcomb of a
court in which coxcombry was rampant.
• The decline of the Earl of Somerset's influence with
the king happened fortunately for young Villiers.
Somerset had played Hephsestion to James's Alexander,
and in his case personal beauty had doubtless been the
x2

308 GEORGE VILLIERS,
sole recommendation to royal favour, for Carre was a
shallow, ill-informed person — but the king was now going
to try his hand philosophically, as we have said, in
moulding a new Alcibiades. He blamed Buchanan fer
not having still further moulded himself into his beau
ideal of a man — viz., the perfection of bodily beauty with
the highest mental gifts and graces superadded. The
first, James was vain enough mistakenly to believe he
possessed ; and if he had net the latter in perfection, the
fault was aU Buchanan's ! ! The royal raw material
which Buchanan had to work upon was, however, a
worse subject than Villiers. The son of the handsome
Mary inherited neither his mother's personal nor intel
lectual graces.
Somerset was not long in seeing that VUliers had the
very qualities necessary to supplant him, and he tried
every art to keep the new favourite in the shade. Thus
when it was the king's pleasure to promote him from
cup-bearer to gentleman ef the bedchamber, Somerset,.
" moved that he might only be sworn a groom." This
opposition of the falling star proved unavailing. ViUiers
not only received the honour, but with it an annual
pension of 1000^., made payable out of the Court of
Wards. The rapidity with which all the honours that
the crown could confer were now showered upon him,
proves how much he had won upon the king's affections.
His great conversational powers, and a fascination of
manner which James had never found in his Scottish :
court, and but rarely in his English one, were the con
stant theme of the monarch's praise. Knight Com
panion ofthe Garter — Justice in Eyre — Baron Whaddon't ¦
Earl — Marquis — and subsequently, without any ceremony
* After the attainder of Lord Grey de Wilton, the fine estate of
Whaddou •was also granted to Villiers.

FIRST DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 809
but the delivery of the patent, Duke of Buckingham— ^
Lord High Admiral — Master of the King's Bench — .
High Steward ef Westminster, and Constable ef Windsor
Castle, were honours and offices conferred, except the
Dukedom, in the short space of eighteen months ! If
Villiers had not been somewhat spoiled by what Cla
rendon calls "this prodigious ascent," he must have
been the most moderate of men.
But not only were all honours conferred upon him, he
was the sole channel or fount from which others could
obtain titles and preferment; and se active or generous
was he in the procurement, er rather bestowal, of these,
especially on his relatives, that it became a saying in
Leicestershire that " he and his kin were so constantly
accumulating titles that nobody knew how te address
them." When royal munificence had done aU it could there
was stUl a higher honour awaiting " James's paragon,"
viz., the hand of the loveliest and richest woman in the
land. In 1620 — ^that is in his 28th year — the Marquis
of Buckingham espoused Catharine Manners, "the Rose
of the Vale," the only daughter ef Francis Earl of Rut
land. The wooing was a strange one, if one may credit
Arthur Wilson : —
" The marquis having tempted her, and carried her to
his lodgings in WhitehaU, kept her there for some time,
and then returned her to her father. Upon which the
stout old earl sent him this threatening message : —
' That he had too much of a gentleman to suffer such in
dignity, and if he did not marry his daughter te repair
her honour, no greatness should protect him from his
justice.' Buckingham, who perhaps made it his design
to get her father's good wUl this way, she being the
greatest heir in the kingdom, had no reason to mislike

310 GEORGE VILLIERS,
the union, and therefore he quickly salved up the wound
before it grew into a quarrel." Wilson adds, that
Catharine was " bred a Papist by her mother, but that
after her marriage she was converted by Dr. White, and
grew a zealous Protestant, but that, like the morning
dew, it quickly vanished, for the good old Countess of
Buckingham never left working by her secret instru
ments, the Jesuits, tUl she had placed her on her first
foundation."* WUson's authority with regard to the
last fact at least seems very questionable, for no proof
whatever exists of the duchess ha'ring professed Ca
tholicism during her first husband's Ufe-time. After her
second marriage te Randolph Macdonald, Earl, and
afterwards Marquis of Antrim, she certainly openly con
formed to that religion.
Sir Simonds D'Ewes, in his MS. journal, thus quaintly
describes a passage ef arms, in which the duke bore a
conspicuous part shortly after his nuptials — " 1620-21,
Monday, Jan. 8, in the afternoon, I went to the tUt
yard, over against Whitehall, where fowre couples ran to
showe the before-mentioned French embassadour, Cadnet,
and divers French lerdes that came with him, that mar-
tiall pastime. Prince Charles himself rann first vrith
Richard, Lord Buckhurst, Earl of Dorset, and brake
their speares verie successfully. The next couple that rann
was the belovedf Marquesse of Buckingham and Philip
Lord Herbert, Earle of Montgomerie, younger brother to
WiUiam Earl of Pembroke ; but had very bad success in
aU the courses they made. Marquesse Hamilton, a Scet-
* See Memoirs of Illustrious Persons, 1711, p. 7, 11.
t In what sense does Sir Simonds use this epithet — beloved?
Tauntingly, as alluding to the royal favouritism ? or honestly, as
expressing the general love entertained towards the all-accomplished
duke?

FIRST DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 311
tishman, and the King's near kinsman, with Sir Robert
Rich Earle of Warwrike, performed their course almost
as gallantUe as the Prince and Earle ef Dorset ; but the
last couple did worst of all, not breaking a staffe. After
this, most ofthe filters, excepting the prince, went uppe
to the French lerdes in a large upper roome of the
howse, standing at the lower end of the tilt-yard, and I
iCrowding in after them, and seeing the Marquesse ef
Buckingham discoursing with two or three French mon-
sieurs, I joined them, and most earnestUe heard him for
about halfe an houres space at the least ; which I had
the opportunitie the more easilie to accomplish, because
he stood aU that time he talked bare-headed. I saw
every thing in him full of delicacie and handsome fea
tures ; yet his hands and face seemed to me especialUe
effeminate and curious. It is possible he seemed the
more accompUsht because the French monsieurs that had
invested him were verie swarthie hard-favoured men.
That he was afterwards an instrument ef much mischief,
both at heme and abroad, is see evident upon recorde as
noe man can denie; yet this I dee sxi'p'pose proceeded
rather from some Jesuited incendiaries about him than from
his own nature, which his verie countenance promised to be
affable and gentle''
It was in 1623, that Buckingham suggested to Prince
Charles what in previous times would have been called a
piece ef knight-errantry, and in the slang of modern
times " a good lark." This was a journey in disguise to
the court of Spain to escort home the betrothed Infanta.
The king vehemently protested against this absurdity,
but Buckingham had so fiUed the prince with the beUef
that this mode ef wooing would be deemed graceful and
chivalric by the court of Spain, that his majesty could
net resist the prince's soUcitations, and Buckingham's

312 GEORGE VILLIERS,
impetuosity to undertake it. " The prince and Buck
ingham vrith their two attendants, and Sir Richard
Graham, Master of the Horse te Buckingham, passed
disguised and undiscovered through France. They even
ventured into a court-ball at Paris, where Charles saw
the Princess Henrietta, whom he afterward espoused, and
who was at that time in the bloom of youth and beauty.
In eleven days after their departure from London they
arrived at Madrid, and surprised every one by a step
se little usual amongst great princes. The Spanish
monarch immediately paid Charles a visit, expressed the
utmost gratitude for the confidence reposed in him, and
made warm protestations of correspondent confidence
and friendship. By the most studied civiUties he showed
the respect he bore his royal guest."* It is almost
superfluous, however, te add that se far from this
Quixotic scheme having forwarded the Spanish match, it
was in fact the very cause of its being broken off, for
a comparison of the Infanta with the then beautiful
Henrietta was so favourable to the latter, that Charles
had no hesitation in coming to a fixed purpose te wed
her. Clarendon says, " It is certain the king was never
well pleased with the duke after this journey into Spain,
which was infinitely against his will." Yet this opinion
seems hardly reconcilable with the fact that he gave
Buckingham a fresh proof of his regard by creating him,
during his absence, Duke ef Buckingham and Earl of
Coventry (May 18, 1623) . As irrecencUable with circum
stances are the vague allegations that the king, before
his death, grew weary of the favourite, and that he
would have deprived him of his almost unlimited power.
Equally erroneous were the expectations of Buckingham's
* Hume.

FIRST DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 313
enemies that Charles on coming te the crown would dis
card him — so far was the young king from doing this,
that his affection for the duke and his confidence in him
seem even te have exceeded his late father's. He who
had been Steenie to his sire should be mere than Steenie
to him.*
It was a natural consequence of his rivals' chagrin at
Buckingham's standing so well with the new sovereign,
that he became odious to them^ and that they laboured
hard to render him odious te the nation. The Earl of
Bristol being accused of high treason, recriminated by
charging the duke with the same offence— but just
grounds for the charge were never established. An
impeachment in the Commons had no better success.
Here the charges were, the uniting many offices in his
own person — ^the obtaining of two by purchase — the
neglect of his duty as Lord High Admiral — the accept
ing of extensive grants from the crown — the " physicking
of the late king," &c. &c. "It must be confessed,"
says Clarendon, " that the Duke's answer in these parti
culars, as in all the rest, is so clear and satisfactory, that
it is impossible to refuse an assent to it. * * * *
Rapacity and avarice were vices vrith which he was en
tirely unacquainted."
Even while under impeachment, he was chosen chan
ceUor of the university of Cambridge, and the court
interest exercised to procure him that distinguished
honour, shows how much they had erred who had ex-
* This diminutive of Stephen was a familiar name given to
Buckingham, in allusion to his fine fa<!e — and " it was," says Hearne,
" a very singular compliment to the splendour of his beauty, alluding
to Acts vi. 15, where it is said of St. Stephen : — ' All that sat in the
council looking steadfastly on him, saw his face as it had been the
face of an angel.' "

314 GEORGE VILLIERS,
pected less affection towards him in the young monarch
than his royal father had entertained : —
"Trustie and wel-beloved, wee greete you well, &
wheras upon our pleasure intimated unto yow by the
Bishope of Durham for the choyce of your chanceUor,
you have vrith such duty as wee expected, highly satis
fied us in your election, and wee cannot of our owne
princely nature (who are much possest with this testi
mony ef your redy and leyall affection) ferbare to let
you know how much you are therein made partakers ef
our reyall approbation ; and wee shaU ever conceave that
an honour done to a person wee favour, is out of reyall
respect had unto ourseUe. And as wee shaU ever repute
Buckingham worthie of this your election, see shall you
find the frute of it; for wee that have found him a
faithful servante to our deere father of blessed memory
and ourselves, can best undertake that he vrill prove such
a one unto yow, and shall assist him with a gratious
willingness in anything that may concern the good ef
your Universitye in general, er the particular merits ef
any student therein." *
The duke's acknowledgment of the honour is charac
teristic, and at the present time, when the chancellors
are so zealously alive to all that concerns their respec
tive universities, may prove peculiarly interesting : —
" Mr. Vice-Chancellor and Gentlemen, the Senate of
the University of Cambridge :
" There is noe one thinge that concerns me in this Ufe
I should more desire than the opinion of learned and
honest men, amongst which number as you have ever
* From the " Common Place Book" of Colonel Walter Slingsby,
in the possession of the Earl of Harborough.

FIRST DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 315
held the first ranke in the estimation of the Common
wealth and fame of the Christian world, see in cenferinge
this honour ef your Chancellorshippe upon mee, I must
confess you have satisfied an ambition of mine owne
(which I hope wiU never forsake me) : which is to be
weU thought of by men that deserve well, and men of
your profession ; yett I cannot attribute this honour to
any desertes ef myne, but to a respect yow beare te the
sacred memory of my dead master, the Kinge of Schollars,
who lov'd yow and honour'd yow often -vrith his pre
sence ; and te my gratious master now livinge, who in-
heritts with his blessed father's virtues, the affection hee
bore your Universitie. I beseech yew as yew have now
made choyce, with so many sound and noble circum
stances (for the manner is as much te mee as the matter)
soe assure your feloes you have cast your voyces upon
your servante who is apprehensive of the time yow have
shewed your affection in, as of the honour you have given
him. And I earnestUe request you all, that you will be
pleased not to judge me comparatively vrith the sucksesse
you have had on your former choyce ef Chancellors, who,
as they knew better (perchance by advantage of educa
tion in your Universitie) how te value th6 desertes of
men ef your qualities and degrees, soe could they not be
more wiUinge to cherish them than myselfe, who will
make amends for want of schoUershippe in my love to
the professors of it, and to the sorce from whence it
comes ; havinge now just cause to employ my utmost
endeavours, with what favour I may from a royal master,
to the mayneteyninge of the charters, privileges, and
immunities of your Universitie in generall, or the ad-
vancinge of the particular merittes of any student therein.
And since I am soe far engaged in yow, I must presume
upon another curteysye, which is that yew would bee

316 GEORGE VILLIERS,
pleased to support mee with your advrice, and suggest a
way unto mee (as I myself shall not fayle to thinke upon
seme meanes) how yow may make posteritye remember
yow had a thankfull Chancellor,* and one that both
really loves yow and your Universitye, with a resolution
written in an honeste harte, by him that wants much to
express his affection, who wUl ever live your faithful!
frend and humble svrvant, " Geoege Buckingham.
" Whitehall, June the 1th, 1626."
A fresh proof of royal favour was shown to Bucking
ham in 1627, when his son James having died an infant,
and his daughter, Mary,t being then his only child, he
obtained, by letters-patent, dated Cambury, August 31,
a creation fer this child of the title of Duchess ef Buck
ingham, immediately after the death of her father, in case
he should die without issue male, and the dukedom was
entailed on her heirs for ever, vrith all privUeges belong
ing unto a duke, and the fee of 40^. a-year.
In proportion, however, as the duke's influence in-
* When sent with the Earl of Holland to the States to negotiate
the restoration of the Palatinate, the Duke purchased the curious
collection of Arabic MSS., penned by Erpenius, with the design of
presenting them to the university, and which the Duchess presented
after his death. Por these he purposed to erect a repository, after
the Oxford model, at his own expense. See Reliquics Woottonianm,
p. 235. The beadle staves or maces, still in use, were the duke's
gift, who had forgotten or forgiven an offence he had taken a few
years before at a play which had been acted by the scholars of
Ben'et College. — Masters, p. 137.
t The Lady Mary Villiers was twice married, first to Charles
Lord Herbert, who died at Plorence, in 1635, s.p., and, secondly, to
Esme, Duke of Eichraond and Lennox, by whom she had one son,
Esme, who succeeded to his father's titles, but died at ten years of
age ; and one daughter, Mary, married to Eichard, Earl of Arran,

FIRST nUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 317
creased with the king, it diminished with the parliament
and the people. The very persons who had profanely
called him " Our Saviour," for bringing the prince safe
out of Spain, now raised the cry that the Spanish war,
following the breaking off of the Spanish match, was all
his doing. A war with France was equally imputed te
him ; and acrimonious expressions used by the parliament
and people greatly heightened the indignant hauteur
with which he treated those who resisted him.
This last war is said to have arisen solely from a private
motive ef resentment en the part of Buckingham. The
duke's reasons fer urging the sovereign into a rupture
with France, are thus accounted for : —
Charles I. married the Princess Henrietta of France
by proxy, and the duke was despatched to Paris te grace
the nuptials and conduct the new queen to England.
Never had such a sensation been caused in that gay
capital by the arrival ef any foreign potentate as by that
of the renowned Villiers. The eyes of the whole French
court were directed towards the man who was the reputed
absolute governor of three kingdoms. " The extreme
beauty ef his person, the gracefulness of his air, the
splendour ef his equipage, his fine taste in dress, festivals
and carousals," says Madame de MottevUle, "corresponded
to the prepossessions entertained in his favour, vyhile the
affability ef his manners, and the magnificence of his
expense, increased stiU further the general admiration."
In every courtly scene he appears to have been regarded,
even by the polished Parisians, as —
" The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
The observed of all observers."
Encouraged by the smiles of the court, he dared even
to address the queen (Anne of Austria) in the language

318 GEORGE VILLIERS,
of love ! Nor did he faU (as he had dene in Spain*) to
make an impression on a heart not indisposed te the
tender passion. " The attachment at least of the mind"
says Clarendon, " which appears so delicious and is so
dangerous, seems te have been encouraged by the princess;
and the duke presumed so far on her good graces, that
after his departure, he secretly returned upon some
pretext, and paying a visit to the queen, was dismissed
vrith a reproof which savoured more of kindness than ef
anger."t Richelieu, cardinal as he was, had conceived
a passion for the queen, and chagrined at the preference
manifested towards the younger and far handsomer
Englishman, he resolved on counter-working the amorous
projects ef his rival. Haring obtained information of
this stolen interview between the queen and Buckingham,
he scrupled net to incense the king's mind vrith some
exaggerated particulars of it. When the duke, therefore,
was contemplating another embassy te Paris, which he
had recommended to' Charles on political grounds, but
which was in reality te furnish a fresh opportunity of
prosecuting his amour with the queen, Richelieu easUy
persuaded Louis to convey to the English court an
intimation that Buckingham's presence at Paris was net
at all desired. In a romantic passion he swore he would
see the queen in spite ef all the power of France,J and
from that moment he was determined te engage England
in a war with that country.

* Tradition says, that while at the Spanish court he had attempted
an intrigue with the Countess of Olivarez ; and that she made ample
discovery of his gallantry to her husband, who concerted with her a
very dreadful revenge — the substitution oi a, fille dejoie.
t The queen was eight years the duke's junior, having been born
in 1600.

FIRST DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 319
Amongst the Harleian MSS. in the British Museum
(7356, No. 4), written in 1634, is a paper which some
what varies these particulars.
" At the time of his being in France about the king's
marriage and to bring over the present queen, he fell
into a great affection or pretence of it, towards the Queen
Regent, and was (as it was conceived) accepted in his
pretences ; but the queen was so narrowly looked to that
he could get ne opportunity or convenience ef access ;
whereupon he grew more passionate and loud in his
chase, which (as was then imagined) was discovered and
disdained by the French king. After he had taken his
leave and the whole train was attending the princess
(now Queen of England) to the ships, he pretended
some business ; and having by his scouts, Mr. Montague
and Mr. Jarmin, held private correspondence with the
queen and her ministers, posted a day's journey to meet
her, but without success; and this subtle aud violent
prosecution made the design notorious and so his person
unacceptable to the King of France and that nation.
Upon receiring the princess (new Queen) into his ship,
he kissed her lips and ' bade her welcome into his juris
diction, for he was admiral,' yet his enemies thought this
boldly done, and upon question, would have objected it
against him had he ever faUen in grace. His affection
and purpose on the French queen continued still ; and it
was conceived the intercourse was with good liking
prepared on beth sides ; and that he might new again
stand capable of such advantages he prevailed with the
King of England to be sent ambassador to that king.
The King of France absolutely disliked it ; and, as much
as in him lay, opposed him coming thither; but when he
saw ne remedy was contented. But the duke, by his
secret intelligence, found another entertainment provided

320 GEORGE VILLIERS,
for him than he expected ; for no doubt if he had gone
on vrith that design of the embassy, he had been then
murdered ; and se resolved to give over that expedition,
that, since he might not enjoy her peaceably, he would .
see her with an army. And this occasion was conceived
by many the only motive to the French war at Rhee ;
and yet happily his malice was soon after allayed."
To recite the particulars of the disastrous descent on
Rhee would be tedious. His ill success abroad gave his
enemies at home a fresh handle against him, and obstacles
were no doubt thrown in the way of the despatch of
succour that would have relieved him. After a miserable
retreat, and with the less ef the flower of his army,*
Buckingham with difficulty reached his ship. He was
the last man that quitted the French shore, but this
proof of personal courage afforded peer consolation for
the ill success of his measures, and he acknowledged to
his secretary. Dr. Mason, that he was utterly heartsick.
On regaining Plymouth harbour he found the Earl of
Holland just on the point of leaving it with the fleet that
was to have relieved him. He scarcely stayed a moment
at Plymouth, but mounting a horse set off on his way
to London. A special messenger vrith a letter from
Lord Goring met him. This letter advised him net to
come by the usual read te London, for a plot was laid
to assassinate him. He read the letter without apparent
perturbation, and with eight attendants continued his
route. When he had proceeded about three miles farther
an old woman rushed up to his horse's side, and having
earnestly inquired if the duke was of the company, and
* Clarendon says, "In this fatal expedition there was scarce a
noble family in the kingdom that did not lose a son, a brother, or
near kinsman, without such circfumstances as are the usual consola
tion and recompences for such losses."

FIRST DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 321
being told that he was, became very importunate to
speak to him in private. He rede aside with her, and
she then told him that, " in the very next town through
which he had to pass, and which was now in sight, she
had heard a band of desperate men solemnly vow his
death." Upon this the whole company urged him te change
his route, and take te the bye ways ; and on his refusal,
the young Lord Fielding, his nephew, rode up to him
and earnestly begged that he would at least honour him
with his coat and blue ribbon for the rest ef the journey,
pleading that " his uncle's life, in which the hope of the
whole family centered, was of all things under heaven
the most precious to him" — that he could so muffle him
self in his cloak as to pass for the duke, and that his life
was comparatively valueless. The noble youth was indeed
willing to say,
" Me me adsum qui feci in me convertite ferrum."
With all his faults Buckingham had strong sensibility,
and catching his nephew in his arms in a transport ef
gratitude and admiration, he kissed him, while beth
sweUed into tears — "No," said he, "sooner would I
perish a thousand times than risk a Ufe so precious as
that now offered in my defence 1"
In riding through the town pointed out by the old
woman the duke's bridle was rudely seized, and there
was an evrident attempt ta stop him; but this was
prevented by one of the company riding sharply at the
man's arm.
The murmurs of the people on Buckingham's arrival
in London knew no bounds. In vain did he try te shift
the blame of the failure to other shoulders ; at him and
him alone was directed aU the vengeance; and every
VOL. IIL Y

322 GEORGE VILLIERS,
man's countenance, whether rich or poor, expressed con
fusion, trouble and resentment. To the state of feeling
first caused by these circumstances, may probably be
traced those struggles between the sovereign and the
people which were so soon to involve the nation in the
horrors ef civil war. A parliament was caUed. Its first
act was to declare the duke the cause of all the pubUc
miseries. The king siding with the favourite, imme
diately adjourned the house. On re-assembling, the
same subject again engrossed all their time, and a de
claration ef the duke's crimes was ordered to be inserted
in the journals. The king also received a "remon
strance," and replied to it by a message to put an end to
the session at a short day. In the meantime he caused
an order to be made in the Star Chamber with respect to
the allegations against the duke, " that his majesty
knowing them te be false, they should, tiagether with
the duke's answer, be taken off the file, that no memory
might remain upon record against him which might
tend to his disgrace."
The distressing state of the Rochellers, and their
strong cry for help, communicated by deputies sent over
to England, increased the indignation against the duke,
and it was only adding fresh fuel to the fire when it be
came known that he was again to be trusted with the
command ef the expedition about to be sent for their
relief. Sir Simonds D'Ewes, a relation of the Duchess of
Buckingham, thus describes the duke's preparations
for this second enterprise, and the fatal occurrence that
prevented it :
" He was most of this month (August, 1628) at or
neere Portsmouth, preparinge a fieete for the releife and
victualling of Rochel, which the French had besieged both

FIRST DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 323
by sea and land, and had soe strongely blocked upp the
water channel be fore it as it was very probable hee could
never have relieved it had hee lived te have gene with
the navie himselfe. Whether he meant sincerely in thus
deferring long his journie I know not ; but most certaine
it is had sufficient stoore ef come onlie been sent in but
six or seven months before, which tenn saile ef merchant
ships might have carried into the toune, that inestimable
piece had been saved from mine. The duke -himselfe
seemed confident hee shoiUd doe the werke, and there
fore made all the hast he could to get all things in a
readiness for his departure. Some of his friendes had
advised him how generally he was hated in England, and
how needful it would bee for his greater safetie to weare
seme coate of maile, or some other secret defensive
armour, which the duke sUghting, saied : ' It needs not — ¦
there are no Roman spirits left.'
" August 23rd being Saturday, the duke having eaten
his breakfast between eight and nine of the clock in the
morning, in one Mr. Mason's house, in Portsmouth, hee
was then hasting away to the king, who lay at Reswicke
(Southwick says Clarendon), some five miles distant, to
have seme speedie conference with him. Being come to
the further pest ef the entrie leading out of the parlour
into the haU of the howse, hee had there some conference
vrith Sir Thomas Fryar, knt., a coloneU ; and stooping
down and taking leave of him, John Felton, gentleman,
having watched his opportunitie, thrust a leng knife
vrith a white halfte he had secretUe about him, with
great strength and violence, into his breast under his
left papp, cutting the diaphragma and lungs; and pierc
ing the verie heart itself. The duke bavin received the
stroake, instantUe clapping his right hand on his sword
t2

324 GEORGE VILLIERS,
hilt, cried out, ' God's wounds ! the villaine has kiUed me !'
* * * Hee was attended by manie noblemen and leaders,
yet none could see er prevent the stroake.
" His duchesse and the countesse of Anglesey, the
wife of Sir Christopher Villars Earle of Anglesey, his
younger brother, being in an upper roome, and hearing
the noise in the hall into which they had carried the
duke, ran presentlie to a gallerie that looked dewne into
it and ther beholding the duke's blood gush out abun-
dantlie from his breast, nose, and mouth, (vrith which
his speech after those his first wordes had been imme
diately stopped), they brake into pitiful outcries, and
raised great lamentations. Hee pulled out the knife
himself; and, being carried by his servants unto the
table that stood in the same hall, having struggled with
death neare upon a quarter of an hewre, at length hee
gave up the ghost aboute ten ef the clocke the same
forenoon, and lay a long time after he was dead upon the
haU table ther."
On the motives that actuated Felton it does not seem
necessary to dilate, but it is probable that the assassina
tion was first suggested to him by the many predictions
of the duke's approaching end which were then current
among the people. Lady Lucy Davys (wife of the At
torney-General fer Ireland) had confidently foretold
that it would take place in 1628; and a Latin distich,
headed by what was called a chronogram, was in very
general circulation : —
" GeorgIVs DVX BVCkinghaMIa MDCXVWIII.
Lseto jam sEeclo tandem sol pertulit annum ;
Noni non videat, qusesumus, Alme, diem."
The ghostly warning which the duke had of his approach
ing end is very curious. The best account of this is con
tained in the " Letter from Edmond Wyndham, Esq., to

FIRST DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 325
Gervase HoUis, Esq., a faithful coUector ef antiquities
and of things rare; of which sort this being one I
thought fitt to place it in this booke that it may be pre
served for the view of posteritie."*
The MS. in the British Museum, already cited, some
what varies the particulars of this singular narrative,
and it adds that shortly after the spirit's message had
been communicated to the duke, his grace repeated it to
his mother in a private discourse, whereat she wept and
took on extremely. The duke himself was kiUed before
the day (St. Bartholomew's) ; and the countess seemed
to be so forewarned of the mishap that she loas nothing
doubled or amazed at the act that all Christendom won
dered at?
Clarendon considers that the ghost story was wholly
planned by the countess and the person to whom the ap
parition was said to have appeared, as a final effort
to convince the duke of his great danger, but Wynd-
ham's letter would seem to refute this supposition.
Thus fell one of the most extraordinary men of any
times or of any country. Men's actions are too often
estimated by the good or Ul success that attends them —
" their vices live in brass : their virtues are writ in
water." And it may well be believed that had the
French expedition been successful, and Buckingham's
career had not been prematurely terminated, he would
in his soberer years have exerted for his country's good
the great statesmanlike qualities with which he was
certainly endowed. It would be strange if his sudden
exaltation, unbounded royal favour, and even his re-
* Heame's Life of King Eichard IL, p. 406 (appendix), where
will be found a mutilated copy of this singular production. Nichols,
however, in his History of Earl Goscate, correctly supplies all
Hearne's omissiohs.

326 GEORGE VILLIERS,
«
markable beauty, had not fiUed men's minds with envy,
and led them to exaggerate his faults and depreciate his
undoubtedly great talents and good properties. They
did so : and when envy was permitted to paint his
picture, it was not to be wondered at that she should
do her best to blacken it, er that she should represent
him as — " Linked with one virtue and a thousand crimes."
Lord Clarendon (hew singular that this title should
now be rendered illustrious by one of the ViUiers family)
appears to us to be nearly the only writer who did justice
to the duke's memory. He says of him, — " This great
person was ef a noble nature and generous disposition,
and of such ether endowments as made him very capable
of being a great favourite to a great king. He under
stood the arts ef a court, and aU the learning that is
professed there, exactly well. By leng practice in busi
ness, under a master that discoursed excellently and
surely knew all things wonderfully, aud took much de
light in indoctrinating his young and unexperienced
favourite, who, he knew, would always be looked upon
as the workmanship of his own hands, he had obtained
a quick conception and apprehension of business, and
had the habit of speaking very gracefiUly and perti
nently. He was of a most flowing courtesy and affa
bility te aU men who made any address to him ; and so
desirous to oblige them, that he did not enough consider
the value of the obligation or the merits of the person
he chose to oblige ; from which much of his misfortune
resulted. He was of courage not to be daunted ; which
was manifested in all his actions, and in his contests
with particular persons of the greatest reputation, and
especially in his whole demeanour at the isle of Rhee,

FIRST DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 327^
both at the landing and at the retreat, in both of which
BO man was more fearless or mere ready te expose him
self to the highest dangers. His kindness and affection
to his friends were so vehement, that they were as so
many marriages for better or fer worse, and so many
leagues offensive and defensive, as if he thought himself
obliged to love all his friends and to make war upon all
they were angry vrith, let the cause be what it would.
And it cannot be denied that he was an enemy in the
same excess, and prosecuted those he looked en as
enemies vrith the utmost rigour and animosity, as was
not easUy induced to a reconciliation. His single mis
fortune (which was indeed productive of many greater),
that he had never made a noble and worthy friendship
with a man so near his equal, that he would frankly
advise him for his honour and true interest against the
current, or rather the torrent, of his impetuous passion.
And it may reasonably be believed that, if he had been
blessed vrith one faithful friend, who had been qualified
vrith wisdom and integrity, he would have committed as
fewfaults, and dene as transcendent worthy actions, as any
man who shined in such a sphere in that age in Europe.
He was in his nature just and candid, liberal, generous, and
bountiful ; nor was it ever known that the temptations
of money swayed him to de an unjust or unkind thing.
If he had an immoderate ambition, with which he was
charged, it doth not appear that it was in his nature, or
that he brought it vrith him te court, but rather found
it there. He needed no ambition, who was seated in
the hearts of two such masters."
What the quaint Fuller says ef this extraordinary man
is toe good to be emitted.
" Being debarred (by his late nativity) frdm his father's
lands, he was happie in his mother's love, maintaining

828 GEORGE VILLIERS,
him in France tUl he returned one of the compleatest
courtiers in Christendom, his body and behaviour mutu
ally gracing one another. Sir Thomas Lake may be
said to have ushered him te the English court, whilest
the Lady Lucy Countess of Bedford led him by the
one hand, and William Earl of Pembroke by the ether,
supplying him with a support far above his patrimonial
income. The truth is, Somerset's growing daily mere
wearisome made Villiers hourly more welcome to K.
James." After reciting his rapid accumulation of titles, FuUer
goes on —
" And now offices at court (net being already void)
were voided for him. The Earl Worcester was per
suaded to part with his place of Master of the Horse, as
the Earl of Nottingham with his office of Admiral, and
both conferred on the duke. He had a numerous and
beautiful female kindred, so that there was hardly a
noble stock in England into which one of these his clients
was net grafted. Most of his nieces were matched with
little mere portion than their uncle's smUes, the fore
runner of some good office of honour to follow on their
husbands. Thus by the same act did he both gratifie
his kindred and fortifie himself with noble alliance.
" It is seldom seen that two kings (father and son)
tread successively in the same track; but here King
Charles had as high a kindness for the duke as K. James.
Thenceforward he became the plenipotentiary in the
English court, some ef the Scottish nobility making
room fer him by their seasonable departure out of this
life. The Earl of Bristell was justled out : the Bishop
of Lincoln east fiat on the floor ; the Earls of Pembroke
and Carlisle content to shine beneath him : HoUand be
hind him ; none even with, much lesse before him. But

FIRST DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 329
it is generally given to him who is the little god at court
to be the great devil in the countrey. The commonalty
hated him with a perfect hatred, and aU miscarriages in
church and state, at home, abroad, at sea and land, were
charged on his want of vrisdom, valour, and loyalty.
When Felton, a melancholy, malcontented gentleman,
and a suUen souldier, apprehending himself injured,
could find no ether way to revenge his conceived wrongs
than by writing them with the point of a knife on the
heart ef the duke, whom he stabbed at Portsmouth, anno
demi 1620 {sic in origi). It is hard to say how many of
this nation were guilty ef this murther, either by public
praising, or by private approving thereof.
" His person, from head to foot, could net be charged
•vrith any blemish, save that seme hypercriticks conceived
his brows somewhat pendulous, a cloud which in the
judgement ef others was by the beams of his eyes suffi
ciently dispelled. The reader is remitted fer the rest ef
this character to the exquisite epitaph on his magni
ficent monument in the chappel of Henry the Seventh."*
And " exquisite" indeed this epitaph is. It forms so
complete a summary of his character — his virtues and
his failings — and is expressed in such beautiful Latinity,
that we regret that our confined limits wUl not permit
its insertion here.
The monument itself, with the statues of the duke and
duchess (for she, too, was interred beneath it), with its
fine gilt brasses and other appendages, is one of the
most remarkable in Westminster Abbey.
It has been asserted, that so obscure was the Villiers
famUy, that at the time when George was ennobled he
was obliged, for want ef any arms belonging to his
ancestors, to adopt the coat of a gentleman in Kent.
* FuUer's Worthies, p. 130.

330 GEORGE VILLIERS,
This is utterly inconsistent with fact. The VUliers"
pedigree is enriched with very fine blazons ef arms, used
by the family long before the duke's time. The windows
of Breoksby church contain seventeen different shields,
all belonging to Villiers. Indeed, the highest of our
aristocracy may well be proud to have the Villiers' blood;
and it could be plainly showm, if it were net too per
sonal, that there are many living proofs of the truth
of an ancient observation, viz., that both personal
beauty and high mental endowments are hereditary in
the family.
Granger says, there was an excellent whole length
painting of the great duke, by Vandyke, at the Duke ef
Queensberry's, at Amesbury. Pennant mentions, at
Gorhambury, "a portrait of the beautiful George Villiers,
Duke of Buckingham, in white, with a hat and feather
en a table."
The duke appears to have been a patron of art, and,
if we may judge from the following notice of Lord
Orferd's, he was also a connoisseur and collector.* "A
catalogue of the curious , collection of pictures of George
Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, containing such parts
only of the museum of that magnificent favourite as
were preserved by an old servant of the family, Mr.
Traylman, and by him sent to Antwerp to the young
duke, to be sold for Ms subsistence, great part having been
embezzled when the estate was sequestered by the
Parliament. Seme ef the pictures, on the assassination
ef the first duke, had been purchased by the king, the
Earl of Northumberland, and Albert Montague. The
collection was kept at York House, in the Strand, and
had been bought hy the duke at great prices. He gave
10,000^. for what had been collected by Sir Paul Rubens ;
* Prefixed by Lord Orford to the catalogue.

FIRST DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 331
and Sir Henry Wootton, when ambassador at Venice,
purchased many other capital ones fer his grace (parti
cularly a Madonna and Child, by Titian, and Abishay
brought to David, by old Palma). One may judge a
Uttle how valuable the entire collection must have been
by the list ef what remained, where we find ne fewer
than 19 by Titian, 8 by Pahna,
17 „ Tintoret, 3 „ Guido,
21 „ Basson, 13 „ Eubens,
2 „ Julio Eomano, 3 „ Leonardo di Vinci,
2 „ Giorgione, 2 „ Correggio,
13 „ Paul Veronese, 3 „ Eaphael,
besides other esteemed and scarce masters.
Mr. Duart, of Antwerp, bought seme ef them, but
the greater part were purchased by the Archduke Leo
pold, and added to the noble collection in the castle of
Prague. He bought the chief picture — the Ecce Homo
of Titian — in which were introduced the portrait of the
Pope, the Emperor Charles V., and Solyman the Magni
ficent. It appears by a note ef Mr. Vertue, in the
original MS., that Thomas Earl of Arundel offered the
first duke 7000^. in money or land for that single piece.
There is a copy in Northumberland House."
Scarcely inferior in interest te the life ef the first duke
was that of his son and successor — who with parts ef
even greater brUUancy, and a person of ne less beauty
than his father's, was, however, still surpassed in beth by
his younger brother. Lord Francis. Had the limits we
are bound to observe been mere extensive, it would have
been delightful, not only to continue our narrative through
the lives of the two last extraordinary men, but te ge
through the whole history of the Villiers' family. Abler
pens will teU of the distinguished Viceroy of Ireland,
and of the other eminent statesmen of the line ; and if

332 FIRST DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.
the union of the VUliers' blood with that of the great
legislator whom a whole nation is new deploring does
net furnish subjects fer history's page, talent is not
hereditary, and lineage is not worth recording.*
* Sir John Villiers, the first duke's elder brother, married Frances,
daugjiier of Sir Edward Coke, the richest heiress of the time. He
was twice her age, and she soon eloped with Sir John Howard, by
whom she had a son, who was not allowed to inherit on account of
illegitimacy. — See Lord Campbell's Lives of Chief Justices, in which
some curious particulars of this match are recorded.

333

THE FAMOUS SIEGE OF LATHOM HOUSE.

Lathom House, near Ormskirk, stood, according to
an old biographer, upon marshy ground, and seemed in
other respects as if nature had intended it for a place of
strength. " Before the house," as he tells us, " te the
south and south-west, is a rising ground so near it as to
overlook the top of it, from which it falls so quick that
nothing planted against it en those sides can track it
further than the front wall ; and on the north and east
sides there is another rising ground even to the edge of
the moat, and then falls away so quick that you can
scarce, at the distance of a carbine shot, see the house
over that height, so that aU batteries placed there are so
far below it as to be of little serrice against it (of which
mere hereafter), only let us observe by the way that the
uncommon situation of it may be compared to the palm
of a man's hand, flat in the middle, and covered with a
rising round about it, and so near to it that the enemy in
two years' siege were never able to raise a battery against
it, so as to make a breach in the wall practicable to enter
the house by way of storm."
The mansion thus protected by nature was surrounded
by a strong wall, six feet in thickness, having upon it
nine towers that flanked each ether, and each tower had
six pieces of cannon, three of which played in one direc
tion, and three in the opposite. The moat beyond the

334 the FAMOUS SIEGE OF LATHOM HOUSE.
wall was eight yards wide an'd two yards deep, and upon
the inner side of it — that is, between the graff and the
wall — there ran a stout palisade. In addition to these
defences, there was in the centre of the house a buUding
called from its superior height, the Eagle Tower, for it
rose considerably above all the rest, while two other
towers less elevated, but equally strong, stood at either
side of the gate-house.
Upon the tops of these, in the entrance to the first
court, were placed the choicest marksmen ofthe defenders,
selected from the keepers and others, who usually at
tended the earl in his field sports, men that from long
habit were peculiarly dexterous in the use of their wea
pons, as was soon te be seen in the haveck they made
amongst the ParUamentarian leaders. They were armed
with long fowling-pieces, and with what the eld writer
terms " scrued guns," meaning, most probably, a rude
sort ef rifle.
Before his sudden departure for the Isle of Man, the
Earl of Derby had hastily got together what men and
arms he could procure at the moment for the defence of
Lathom liouse. These, however, were manifestly in
adequate to the purpose intended, and the countess — the
ever memorable Charlotte de la Tremouille — now set
about supplying the deficiency with equal energy and
prudence, making as little noise as possible with her
preparations, and doing nothing that might induce the
enemy to hurry on the attack, which she well knew was
meditated. Every day of respite thus gained was sure
to be of incalculable advantage to the defence, since it
gave time for the better disciplining of her men, for the
most part altogether unused to war, and whom it was of
the last importance te gradually familiarize with its
terrors. For their better management she divided them

THE FAMOUS SIEGE OF LATHOM HOUSE. 335
into six bands, each under its respective captain, the
whole being subordinate to Captain Farmer, a Scotch
officer who had served ¦vrith much credit in the Lew
Countries, and who, being reputed a man ef skUl and
courage, was now advanced to the temporary rank of
major. Having completed her preparations so far as the
circumstances of the time admitted, the countess abided
with an undaunted heart the approach of the enemy, her
only fear being lest, when it came to the point, her ad
herents might net be animated with equal resolution.
Her quick eye no doubt detected many an anxious face
amongst them, and one can hardly help imagining the
doubtfiU smUe into which those haughty yet beautifiil
lips must have relaxed, when declaring that she did not
desire them to venture upon any perU in which she was
not the first and foremost.
At length, on the 28th of March, 1644, the storm so
long expected began to roll its near thunders. The
enemy had advanced to Ormskfrk, about two miles from
Lathom, when Sir Thomas Fairfax sent an officer with a
trumpet te desire a conference, in order, if possible, to
come te an amicable understanding. To this the countess
assented ; but at the same time, to prevent a surprise,
and stUl more to impose upon the visiters by the appear
ance of greater strength than was really there, she lined
the whole way with soldiers, from the main guard in the
first court down to the great hall where Sir Thomas was
to have his audience, while the rest of her men were
disposed in open sight upon the waUs and tops of the
different towers, so as to make it appear she was quite
ready to meet any assault they might choose to give.
The parliamentary general now arrived with a select
party of officers, and after the usual interchange of
civiUties, informed the countess that they had been

336 THE FAMOUS SIEGE OF LATHOM HOUSE.
ordered to reduce Lathom House to their obedience ; but
were at the same time commissioned to allow her to
remove in aU honour and safety with her children, ser
vants, and goods ef every description — arms and cannon
alone excepted — to the earl's house at Knowsley. There
she would be permitted to enjoy one moiety of his
English estates for the support pf herself and famUy.
To this offer, which it is probable intimated rather
the aristocratic bias of the general himself than the
feelings of his employers, the countess craftily replied,
in the hope of gaining farther time, "That she was
there left under double trust — one of loyalty and faith
to her husband, the other of allegiance and duty to her
sovereign : that tiU she had obtained their consent, she
could net give up that house without manifest disloyalty
and breach of trust te them both; therefore, desired
only one month's time to know their pleasure therein,
and then if she obtained their consent, she would quietly
yield up the house ; if not, she hoped they would excuse
her if she endeavoured to preserve her honour and obe
dience, though to her own ruin."
Little disposed as Fairfax evidently was to adopt harsh
measures, he did net dare to comply with such a request
as this, but answered, and no doubt with perfect truth,
that it exceeded their commission to aUow her any farther
respite fer consideration than that one day. Less than
this Fairfax could hardly have said without betraying
his military trust, and exposing himself to reproach, if
not te something worse, and so far it was plain he was
unprepared to go, whatever might be his secret inclina
tions. His conduct, however, though a brave as well
as honest man, was marked by a feebleness of purpose
that we do not find for a single moment in his high-
spirited and sagacious opponent ; and his indecision was

THE FAMOUS SIEGE OF LATHOM HOUSE. 337
yet farther increased by a very simple artifice. The
countess's chaplain, Mr. Rutter, afterwards Bishop
Rutter, purposely threw himself in the way of one ef
the general's foUowers, to whom, as being an old friend,
he communicated in well-affected confidence the great
secret that Lathom House was abundantly stored with
men and arms, and therefore not to be attacked without
much danger to the assailants, but that, being short ef
provisions, they might be easily starved into submission.
The deluded inquirer lost no time in carrying the intel
ligence to Fairfax, who, too much inclined to half mea
sures before, was then convinced that the safest plan
would be the best plan. Let us, however, charitably
hope that a humane anxiety te save all unnecessary
bloodshed had a share in this decision. If the fortress
could be reduced by the dread of famine, why should he
waste the lives ef his people, or the lives of the besieged,
merely to gain possession of it a few hours earlier than
might othervrise be the case? Instead, therefore, ef
carrying Lathom House by storm, as he full surely
might have done had he set about the work at ence, he
quietly sat himself down with his troops before the man
sion, in daily expectation of receiving proposals of sur
render from the famished inmates. On her part, the
countess employed the time in a very different way; and,
indeed, it seemed as if they had mutually exchanged
their respective weapons of the distaff and the truncheon,
the general amusing himself with the former, whUc the
lady wielded the staff ef command — and wielded it to
good purpose. In excuse, however, for Fairfax, it should
be remembered that untU the appearance of Cromwell
upon the scene, though blows were given and taken vrith
right good will, yet the war on the side of the Repub
licans moved after a very slow and ponderous fashion ;
VOL. III. Z

338 THE FAMOUS SIEGE OF XATHOM HOUSE.
there was much courage but little enterprise in it ; when
once brought into the field, the Roundheads fought stub
bornly enough ; but they seldom seemed te be in a hurry
te get there, not from want of courage — ^for in that
quality they were by no means deficient — but from lack
of that active spirit of daring which makes men of ardent
temper seera to love peril for its own sake. In fact, their
conduct in the early period of the civil war reminds us
not a little of BeauUeu and his sluggish Austrians, who
were quite shocked at the irregularities of their little
Corsican opponent, flying aboiit, as he did, from place to
place, like some wild meteor — ^now in their front, now
in their rear, and new again upon their flanks— never
where he ought to be, according te every legitimate cal
culation, but always beating them in a most unoi'thodox
fashion. Net a single rule of fence did he observe; but
aimed his most deadly blows with the left hand, when a
man of any science would have used his right. Strange
enough, that at a later period Napoleon himself should
have brought the very same sort of complaint against the
English, ireproaching them with much bitterness for their
insular stupidity in not knowing when they were beaten.
Te return to Lathom House.
At the end of fourteen days, when, according to the
chaplain's deceitful promises, the garrison should have
been tamed by hunger into submission, Fairfax sent
them a summons to surrender. The countess, who had
employed the intervTal in perfecting her defences, and in
disciplining her men, as well as accustoming them to
stand fire by making occasional sallies, returned for
answer, " That as she had not lost her regard for the
Church of England, nor her aUegiance te her prince, nor
her faith to her lord, she could not, therefore, as yet,
give up that house ; that they must never hope te gain

THE FAMOUS SIEGE OF LATHOM HOUSE. 339
it tiU she had either lost all these, or her life in defence
of them."
This sarcastic reply opened the general's eyes, though
somewhat of the latest, to the deception practised upon
him. He now clearly saw that the place, if taken at aU,
must be taken by the strong hand; but just at this crisis
he was called away by express orders from the Parliament,
.either because they really thought his presence more
essential to their interests in another quarter, or because
:they doubted his :good will te the task he had in hand.
However this might be, he yielded a ready obedience to
their commands, and left the farther prosecution of the
siege to Colonel Egerton, assisted by Colonel Rigby,
and Major Morgan, who was reputed te have some skill
in engineering.
The affair was now carried en in a more earnest feshion,
and it is not a little amusing to see how indignant the
old biographer of the house of Stanley becomes at this
change in the besiegers' mode of proceeding. " Colonel
Egerton," he exclaims, "pushed on by the inveterate
malice and spite of Colonel Rigby, gave orders for
dravring a line ef circumvallatien round about the
house," as if they had not been there for the express
purpose of doing their best to possess themselves ef the
rq^nsion. The countess, however, and- her associates,
looked at the affair in a much mere soldierly point of
view. Fully aware of the peril to be apprehended from
such near approaches, they resolved to interrupt them by
a vigorous sally; and so successfully vvas it conducted,
that with the loss of only two men on their part, they
killed about sixty of the besiegers, and made prisoners
of as many more. Thereupon the Roundheads, aban
doning their intended ground as too dangerous, drew
fresh lines about the house at a safer distance, and
z2

340 THE FAMOUS SIEGE OF LATHOM HOUSE.
though often unpleasantly interrupted in their work by
sallies from the besieged, they managed te complete it
by the end ef five weeks, being assisted by the country
people around, whom they had pressed into the service.
They then made a deep trench near the moat, and erected
a strong battery, upon which they placed a mortar, sent
to them from London fer the purpose. From this new
species of artillery — new, that is, to the raw levies of the
garrison, who had probably never seen such an engine
in their lives before — they discharged huge stones and
shells, te the infinite wonder and dismay ef the besieged.
One of these so dreaded missiles exploded in the room
where the countess and her children sat at dinner with
her officers; but though it destroyed everything around,
yet, by an accident as wonderful as it was fortunate, not
a single individual was hurt by it.
It will easily be supposed that while the terrible
mortar was playing se principal a part in this military
concert, the cannons were not silent, and though they
caused less alarm, as being things ef custom, it would
seem that in reality they did much more mischief. On
one occasion, the countess herself had a narrow escape,
a heavy bullet passing through the window of her bed
chamber. The siege, at last, ill conducted as it was,
grew se hot that it became a matter of serious considera-.
tion with the royalist leaders how long the courage of
their men might hold out against the pelting of the
pitiless storm, which it was clear their feeble batteries
were totally unable to keep under. In consequence,
a council of war was held, and though councils of war
are not usually noted for recommending the most vigorous
expedients, yet upon this occasion the spirit ef their
leader communicated itself to those around her, and it
was unanimously agreed to make a vigorous sally, and

THE FAMOUS SIEGE OF LATHOM HOUSE. 341
endeavour to destroy the batteries, which otherwise
seemed likely to destroy them. At break of day, the
countess, no less pious than heroic, held a solemn prayer
in her own chapel, those soldiers and officers attending
who had been selected te bear a part in the approaching
conflict, and who were thus animated by every feeling
that is most powerful over the human mind — the zeal of
religion, the spirit of loyalty, and that devotion of man
to woman which originated in chivalry, and was a dis
tinguishing characteristic of the Cavaliers. If ever men
felt the threefold inspiration, so simply, yet energetically
described by the eld romancer, it must have been felt by
this little band of heroes :
" A Dieu mon ame.
Ma vie au roi ;
Mon coeur aux dames ;
L'honneur pour moi ! "
Prayers being over, the gallant troop filed rapidly
through the gates, and made a sudden dash at their
enemy, the countess, marching with them up te the very
trenches, by her voice, look, and action, breathing
courage into the faint-hearted, if any such could be
supposed amongst them. The onset was tremendous.
All the fanaticism of the Roundheads could not enable
them te sustain se fierce a contest fer more than half an
hour, when they broke and fled, and the victors lost ne
time in naUing up their cannon, or rolling them into
the moat. The mortar itself, the grand source of
annoyance to the besieged, was dragged off in triumph
te Lathom House, destined henceforth, like seme
deserter, to play the same part against its eld friends
that it had so recently played fer them.
During the whole day the cavaliers remained masters

342 THE FAMOUS SIEGE OF LATHOM HOUSE.
of the works and trenches they had so bravely taken,
and which they now no less bravely busied themselves in
demolishing, so far as the time allowed. By nightfaU'
the Roundhead leaders had rallied their broken forces^.
whereupon their opponents deemed it the most prudent
plan to retire again within their citadel, and they had
thus an opportunity of repairing their damaged works.
For five weeks did they labour incessantly at this task,
but not without frequent and dangerous interruptions.
Fired by their recent success, the besieged made several-
desperate sallies, and though always in the end com
pelled to retreat, it was seldom before they had done
considerable mischief.
The energetic spirit ef Colonel Rigby rebelled against
these tedious and unsatisfactory proceedings of his su
perior. He complained te the Parliament, accused
Colonel Egerton of indolence and incapacity, and suc
ceeded in getting a commission from them to supersede
one, who, in their own phrase, was doing the work of
the Lord so negligently. If the new commander did
not evince more skill than his predecessor, he at least
carried en the war with a more unflinching zeal, not to
call his conduct ferocity,, to which it seems to have had a
good title. " He denied a pass to three sick gentlemen
to go out ef the house, and would not suffer a midwife
to go into the house to a gentlewoman in travail, nor a
littlie milk for the support of young infants, but was
everywhere severe and rude beyond the barbarity of a
Turkish general." In short, the pious colonel evidently
considered that everything was lawful which could in
any way add to the sufferings of the besieged, and there
by hasten a surrender.
For nearly a fortnight this "Turkish general" was
allowed to do as he pleased without much interruption

THE FAMOUS SIEGE OF LATHOM HOUSE. 343
on the part of the garrison, from their want of gun
powder ; but then they were lucky enough by a bold and
weU directed sally to get an abundant supply, and the
war re-commenced as vigorously as ever; the loss of the
besieged in these freqiient encounters bearing not the
s:hghtest proportion: te that inflicted upon their enemies.
StiU, at the end of about four months it became manifest,,
that unless relieved by the royalists, the- house must
speedUy surrender. To hasten an event so diesirable
every way to the Republicans, Colonel Ri'gby despatched
a letter to the countess, conceived in a tone very different
from the speeches and messages of Fairfax. Instead of
assuming a delicacy which it was net in his nature te
feel, he wrote to say, " that he required and expected the
lady would forthwith deliver up the house te the serrice
of the Parliament; that there was no hope of any relief
from the king's forces, which were then in a low and
desperate condition ; and that if she refused te deliver it
up upon that summons, she must hereafter expect the
utmost severity of war."
The countess, who had for so many months turned
a deaf ear to the report of guns and mortars, was not
likely to be scared by a few big words. Refusing to
send any written answer, she replied by the trumpet
who had brought the message, " Tell that insolent rebel,
Rigby, that if he presumes to send any other summons,
I will hang up the messenger at the gates."
The boldness of this reply would probably have cost
our heroine dearly, for there was little chance of the
place being able to held out much longer, but that the
earl himself, hearing of her "distress, hastened to King
Charles, and obtained his consent that Prince Rupert,
who was about to march te York, should in his way
thither relieve Lathom House. The tables were thus

344 THE FAMOUS SIEGE OF LATHOM HOUSE.
completely turned. Rigby, seeing himself threatened by
the approach of such superior numbers, raised the siege
of Lathom House, and sought refuge with all his troops
in Bolton, were he, who had se lately been the besieger,
was now in his turn the besieged. He wanted however
the skill, or the courage, er the good fortune of his late
opponent, for Bolton was taken by assault, though he
himself escaped.
Shortly after these events, the earl finding his pre
sence again requisite in the Isle of Man, took with him
the countess and their children, for he well knew that
upon the least reverse in the king's affairs Lathom
House would be laid siege te a second time. And so
indeed it fell out. The victory over the Royalists at
Marston Moer left the Roundheads at liberty te attack
and storm it, when, having the place in their possession,
they utterly demolished it, that it might not serve
another time as a stronghold to their enemies.

345

GEOEGE, THIED EAEL OF OEFOED,

THE SPOETSMAN.

No man ever sacrificed so much time or so much pro
perty to practical or speculative sporting as the third Earl
of Orford. Among his experiments, was a determina
tion to drive four red-deer stags in a phaeton, instead of
horses, and these he had reduced to perfect discipline for
his excursions and short journeys upon the road; but,
unfortunately, as he was one day driving te Newmarket,
their ears were saluted with the cry of a pack of hounds,
which, soon after crossing the road in the rear, caught
scent ofthe "four-in-hand," and commenced a nevv kind
ef chase, with " breast-high" alacrity. The novelty of
the scene was rich beyond description : in vain did his
lordship exert all his charioteering skill — ^in vain did his
well-trained grooms energetically endeavour to ride be
fore them ; reins, trammels, and the weight of the car
riage, were of ne effect, for they went with the celerity
of a whirlwind ; and this modern Phaeton, in the midst
of his electrical vibrations of fear, bade fair to experience
the fate of his namesake. Luckily, however, his lord
ship had been accustomed to drive this set of " fiery-eyed
steeds" to the Ram Inn, at Newmarket, which was most
happily at hand, and to this his most fervent prayers

346 THE EARL OF ORFORD.
and ejaculations had been ardently directed. Into the
yard they suddenly bounded, to the dismay of ostlers
and stable-boys, who seemed to have lost every faculty
upon the occasion. Here they were luckily overpowered,
and the stags, the phaeton, and his lordship, were aU
instantaneously huddled together in a barn, just as the
hounds appeared in full cry at the gate.
This lucky escape effectually cured the earl of his
passion for deer-driving ; but his zeal for coursing, and
his rage for its improvement, remained to the last. No
day was too leng — no weather too severe for him. The
singularity of his appearance used to excite universal
amusement. Mounted on a stump of a piebald pony
(as broad as he was long), in a full suit of black, without
either great coat or gloves; his hands and face crimsoned
with cold, and in a fierce cocked hat, facing every wind
that blew, hisilordship rode, regardless of the elements
and the sand-gathering blasts of Norfolk.
On two occasions symptoms of insanity showed
themselves, and it was found necessary te place the
earl under restraint. The second attack, induced by
regret at the death ef his favourite female companion,
was attended with increased violence, and confined his
lordship to his chamber, under the surveillance of an
attendant. ,
One morning, during its continuance, his lordship,
with that latent artifice which is often the associate of
mental wandering, contrived by some plausible pretext
to get his keeper out of the room, and instantly jumped
out of the window, ran te the stables and saddled his
quaint little pony, at the very moment he well knew the
grooms were all engaged. On that day his favourite
greyhound. Czarina, was to run a match of considerable

THE EARL OF ORFORD. 347
importance : the gamekeepers 'had already taken her to
the field, where a large party were assembled, equally
lamenting the absence of the earl and its melancholy
cause, when, at the very moment of condolence, who
should appear at full speed, en the well-known piebald,
but the very object ef the field's commiseration. None
had power to restrain him ; every attempt, every entreaty
was in vain ; the match he was determined to vritness,
and there he resolutely remained. At length, all efforts
failing to induce the poor invalid to forego the delight
he anticipated in his favourite amusement, the grey
hounds started, and Czarina won ; but the excitement of
the scene, his ardour in the contest, and the eagerness
of triumph, were too much for his shattered nerves. He
feU from his pony, and almost immediately expired.
" Still lived the ruling passion strong in death.''
The Earl of Orford was deeply and deservedly lamented.
A man of more simple manners, more liberal construc
tions, or mere courteous deportment, never existed. All
the urbanities of Ufe, all the benevolence of the human
heart were his; and the sweetness ef his nature won
general regard and affection. Acquainted as he was from
his rank, as well as from his sporting pursuits, with every
condition of people, from the prince to the peasant, his
conversation was happily suited to each, and equally
winning vrith all.
The Prince of Wales, when occasionally risiting at
Houghton, his Iprdship's fine old mansion in Norfolk,
used te say he saw at no ether place such a profusion of
game of every description, such a display ef attendant
gamekeepers, such a noble though plain hospitality; and
a park so curiously and infinitely stocked vrith every

348 THE EARL OF ORFORD.
original in beast and fowl of almost all countries, from
the African bull to the pelican of the wilderness.
His lordship never married. At his melancholy death,
which occurred in 1791, the family honours reverted to
his uncle, the famous Horace Walpole, who then became
fourth Earl of Orford.

THE END.

SaTiQ and Edwards, Printers, Chandoa-atreet, Covent-garden.

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