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 Cornell UrsfivERsiTV Law Librak^y 
 
 The Moak Collection 
 
 PURCHASED FOR 
 
 The School of Law of Cornell University 
 
 And Ptesented February 14, 1 893 
 
 IN HEnORY OF 
 JUDOE DOUGLASS BOARDMAN 
 
 FIRST DEAN OF THE SCHOOL 
 
 By his Wife and Daughter 
 A. M. BOARDMAN and ELLEN D. WILLIAMS 
 
Cornell University Library 
 CT 775.B95 1876 
 
 Family romance :or, episodes in \t\e dome 
 
 3 1924 018 465 058 
 
The original of tlnis book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 8465058 
 
LAE)V RIEW[B®lffi®IU(StH] AN© TME i^lBIBE. 
 
 /rage, Z3 J 
 
FAMILY ROMANCE; 
 
 OB, "J 
 
 EPISODES m THE DOMESTIC ANNALS 
 
 THE ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 BT 
 
 Sm BERNARD BURKE, 
 
 ULSTER KING OP ARMS, 
 
 AUIHOE OP " THE FEEBAaE AMD BAEOKETACtE," " THE LAITDED 
 CtElfiaT," " THE TI0I8SITUDES OE PAMIIIES," &C. 
 
 Jfowrtj^ (^bilbir. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GEEAT MAKLBOEOUGH STBEET. 
 
JOHN CHILDS AlfD SON, PEIITTBRS. 
 
PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION. 
 
 Within the last half-century a new era has opened 
 upon a class of writing that may best be designated 
 as "Family History." For a long time, that portion of 
 literature had been left wholly in the hands of genealogists 
 and antiquaries, most of whom contented themselves with 
 accuracy of dates, names, and alliances, or at most with a 
 few dry details — dry, not in themselves, but in the manner 
 in which they were narrated. In addition to such repo- 
 sitories or catacombs rather of " domestic story " thus 
 derived, a fund no less ample lies buried in the ponderous 
 tomes of County History, gigantic folios that from their 
 size alone are enough to repel any ordinary reader. But 
 even the most intrepid Davids, who have taken heart to 
 struggle with these Groliaths, have been for the most part 
 glad to beat an early retreat after a few brief glances at the 
 first pages, for the writers would have thought their useful- 
 ness compromised and their value as antiquaries immeasur- 
 ably damaged had they condescended to quit for a moment 
 the bare fields of reality for the more flowery meadows of 
 anecdote and tradition. To have covered the dry skeletons 
 of the past with muscle, flesh, and colouring, so as to mako 
 them objects of interest to the world at large, would have 
 been in their eyes a sin against truth, which, say they, should, 
 to be instructive, have no decoration ; as if the proportions 
 of any structure could be marred by appropriate and elegant 
 ornaments. The first inroad upon this barren system was 
 made by Sir Walter Scott, of whom it may be said, as John- 
 son so happily said of Goldsmith, " Omne fere scribendi 
 genus tetigit; nullum tetigit quod non omavit." At the 
 touch of his pen, as if it had been tipt with the Promethean 
 fire, the forms, which had no more life in themselves than so 
 much marble, started into captivating vitality. Then all at 
 
It preface. 
 
 once Domestic History became the subject of general in- 
 terest ; it was found to unite with the graces of truth the 
 charms which had heretofore been supposed to bo exclusively 
 the characteristics of fiction, and each gained immeasurably 
 by the union. 
 
 The example thus set was followed by Lord Lindsay in 
 his " Lives of the Lindsays," a work which, while based on 
 the most rigid forms of reality, has yet aU the romantic 
 colouring of fiction. Never was there a more striking in- 
 stance of how truth itself may be made to wear the garb 
 of romance without losing the slightest portion of its actual 
 identity. The difference between the two arises stflely 
 from the powers of the narrator, a fact of which every 
 man's experience wiU supply him with every-day examples 
 in abundance. One man will tell a story in so dull a 
 fashion as to reduce it to a mere caput mortuum ; another 
 will recount the same incidents without increase or diminu- 
 tion and yet fascinate his auditors. 
 
 I have instanced these two modes of dealing with the 
 same subject simply to make it apparent that truth and in- 
 terest of detail are by no means incompatible. It is equally 
 to be owned that I have endeavoured to follow the example 
 of those whom I reverentially acknowledge as my masters. 
 At the same time I may be forgiven in deeming that my 
 little volumes have not failed in their intended object since 
 the whole series, commencing with the " Anecdotes of the 
 Aristocracy" and ending with the "Vicissitudes of Families," 
 has been favoured with a considerable amount of public ap- 
 probation. The present work, " Family Eomance," has been 
 one of the most successful of the collection, whose prosper- 
 ity I ascribe to the cause I have just referred to, the intro- 
 duction of those stories of real life, in which the romantic 
 element is peculiarly discernible. , In fine, I have sought 
 for, and, I flatter myself, I have had the good fortune now 
 and then to find that all-graceful and attractive attire, which, 
 instead of hiding the falsity of fiction, suits far better when 
 adorning the natural and imperishable beautv of truth. 
 
 ' J. B. B. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Spains Hall 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1 
 
 Maria Stella, Lady Newborough 
 
 
 . 16 
 
 The Heir of Thirlestane 
 
 
 . 27 
 
 The Swans of Closeburn 
 
 
 . 32 
 
 Colonel James Eoch, the Swimmer 
 
 
 . 38 
 
 The Prehen Tragedy 
 
 
 . 52 
 
 The true Romance of Edward "Wortley Montagu 
 
 
 . 72 
 
 leaders of Fashion, from Gramont to D'Orsay . . 
 
 
 . 88 
 
 General Dalzell's Dinner at Duddingston 
 
 
 . 124 
 
 The Bewsey Tragedy 
 
 
 . 131 
 
 Queen Elizabeth's Talisman 
 
 
 . 134 
 
 The False Testimony 
 
 
 . 147 
 
 The Star of the Pretender 
 
 
 . 149 
 
 The Beautiful Countess of Strathmore 
 
 
 . 155 
 
 A^Tale of the House of Yvery 
 
 
 . 162 
 
 Lady Ogilvy's Escape 
 
 
 . 168 
 
 Johnstone of Alva . . 
 
 
 . 171 
 
 Two Curious Family Eelics . . 
 
 
 . 174 
 
 Actresses raised to rank by Man-iage . . 
 
 
 . 176 
 
 The Beresford Ghost Story 
 
 
 . 195 
 
 Newbury and its Eecoros 
 
 
 . 199 
 
 The Wynyard Ghost Story . . 
 
 
 . 207 
 
 The Curious Claim to the Earldom of Crawford 
 
 
 . 214 
 
 The Twins 
 
 
 . 222 
 
Vi CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 
 PASB 
 
 The Pitt Biamond 
 
 
 . . 225 
 
 Westbum's Dream 
 
 
 
 . 229 
 
 The Death of Dundee 
 
 
 
 . 231 
 
 Story of the Joyces of Gleneira 
 
 
 
 . 242 
 
 The Sorrow of the Skeffingtons 
 
 
 
 . 249 
 
 The Puritan's Curse 
 
 
 
 . 252 
 
 The Earl of Hopetonn's Dinner 
 
 
 
 . 259 
 
 Portrait at Brahan Castle. .. 
 
 
 
 . 262 
 
 Visit of James III. to Lord Somerville 
 
 
 
 . 264 
 
 The Scottish Capucin 
 
 
 
 . 270 
 
 St Clair of Eosslyn 
 
 
 
 . 273 
 
 History of Valentine Greatrak's 
 
 
 
 . 279 
 
 The Earls of Mar . . 
 
 
 
 . 293 
 
 The Heart of Montrose 
 
 
 
 . 299 
 
 John Philpot Curran 
 
 
 
 . 305 
 
 Sir John Harington's famous Dog 
 
 
 
 . 311 
 
 The Eioh Spencer 
 
 
 
 . 314 
 
 The Superstitions of Cleworth Hall . . 
 
 
 
 . 320 
 
 The Legend of the Lambtons 
 
 
 
 . 326 
 
 Bess Hardwiok 
 
 
 
 . . 331 
 
FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 SPAINS HALL. 
 
 From this time forth, I never will speak word. — Shakbpeaee. 
 
 Romantic as this name may sound, it is really and truly 
 the proper designation of a fine old Gothic mansion, still 
 existing in the county of Essex. 
 
 It was so called from a certain Hervey de Ispania, who 
 held the manor under Count Alan Pergent, second son of 
 Eudo, Earl of Bretagne, and who, as his name imports, was 
 of Spanish origin. The tradition, I am about to give, relates, 
 however, to a much more recent possessor of the estate, al- 
 though from its romantic nature — bordering, indeed, upon 
 the improbable — it might well have belonged to the time of 
 Hervey the Spaniard. 
 
 Spains Hall had, by marriage with a sole surviving heiress, 
 passed into the family of the Kempes ; and about the year 
 1589, the date of my story, was held by William Kempe, the 
 loving and loved husband of a very beautiful wife. In fact, 
 he doted upon her, not with the dotage of a weak mind that 
 is yet further debilitated and made ridiculous by its passion, 
 but with the ardour of one of those firm, and almost iron 
 tempers, which, having once taken up either a liking or a 
 hatre4, cling to their adoption with irremovable pertinacity. 
 With him, to talk of a thing was to do it, and although not 
 often led away by hasty ebullitions of temper, still this firm- 
 ness — if I may call it firmness — would at times lead him 
 into unpleasant straits that never could have befallen any 
 one who held less tenaciously by his purposes. Such was 
 the case in the present instance. 
 
2 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 William Kempe had not long been married, and like most 
 ardent lovers had a more than reasonable share of jealousy. 
 It so happened that in the neighbourhood there resided a 
 young man of sufficient external attractionsto win any female 
 heart that was not otherwise engaged, and therefore, a very 
 fit subject for the suspicions of a husband. Of him, though 
 without the least cause, it pleased Kempe to be jealous in 
 the extreme, so much so that one day — 
 
 " Passion having his best judgment collied," 
 
 he bestowed upon his wife that word which sounded so offen- 
 sively to the ears that she did not choose to repeat it ; neither 
 do I ; enough, the word was spoken, and as immediately re- 
 pented of, with the same degree of fury that had attended its 
 utterance. Before the lady could recover sufficiently from 
 her astonishment to make a reply, her husband had darted 
 off like a maniac into the near woods, and thither we must 
 follow him, leaving the offended party to take counsel with 
 herself at leisure. 
 
 The cool evening ought in all reason to have brought 
 down Kempe's self-indignation to a more even temper- 
 ature, but though he had continued roaming through the 
 woods till nightfall, the fiery crater' within his bosom was 
 •still boiling over and sending forth both flame and smoke. 
 To drop all metaphor, which, perhaps, does not make the mat- 
 ter much clearer, he could not reconcile himself to himself ; 
 the fatal monosyllable which he had dropt in his fury, con- 
 tinued to haunt him like a spectre, and sundry were the terms 
 of invective that, in consequence, he launched against his 
 own head. 
 
 " I wonder," he at length exclaimed, " I wonder why man 
 is cursed with that unruly member, the tongue. The brute- 
 beasts are ten times happier in their dumbness ; with them 
 the tongue serves only for good and useful purposes, and not 
 to do mischief to themselves or others. They talk no slander, 
 they make no enemies by angry words, they poison none by 
 flattery. Had my lucky stars made a dog of me, I had never 
 been able to give utterance to my idle jealousy, — had never 
 breathed that vile imputation — never struck to the heart 
 the best, the kindest, the purest ! 'Sdeath ! I could tear my 
 tongue out by the roots, and fling it to the swine that are 
 picking up the acorns and the beech-nuts. Speech! by 
 Heavens, I'll not speak again for the next seven years ! Por 
 
SPAINS HALL. 3 
 
 so long I'll be dumb as the brute-beast, in sickness and in 
 health, in sorrow and ia joy, in passion and in calm ; and 
 if I break the vow, may canker root out my lying tongue, 
 and prevent the sin's repetition at the same time that it 
 punishes it!" 
 
 He had scarcely said this, when forth stepped from the 
 bushes a man of the next village, well known to him, as to 
 every one in the neighbourhood, under the name of Eaven 
 Poster. And what sort of being was he who rejoiced in this 
 singular baptism ? According to the best iaformed opinions 
 he was. an impostor and a vagabond, who pretended to astro- 
 logy and necromantic arts, only because he was too idle to 
 work, and found it less labour to cheat the credulous than to 
 put his hand to any useful occupation ; according to the 
 popular belief he could read the stars, converse with the birds 
 — each in its own peculiar dialect, and charm away diseases 
 that all the doctors in the neighbourhood could not cure. These 
 gifts, it was said, he derived from the circumstances of his 
 birth, being the seventh son of a seventh son, for his ances- 
 tors during seven generations were noted for large families 
 — seldom less than nine in number — and for long lives, as 
 any one might, and still may, convince himself by studying 
 the tomb-stones in their parish church-yard. From these 
 indisputable witnesses it appears that in no case had any of 
 them, male or female, died under the unusual age of ninety, 
 while some had actually passed their hundredth year. But, 
 in addition to all this, there was a peculiar circumstance at- 
 tending the birth of this seventh son of a seventh son, which 
 in the popular opinion invested him with a supernatural halo, 
 and plainly indicated that he was not a man like other men, 
 but one who, if not actually a spirit, was, at least,, akin to 
 spirits. During the whole night of his mother's pains, three 
 ravens had perched themselves upon a tree that spread its 
 branches close to the groaning woman's bed-room, where, 
 contrary to the wont of such birds, they kept up a continual 
 croaking until day-break. Hence the new-born child, when 
 taken to the font, received the somewhat ominous name for 
 a Christian, ofEaven — Baven Foster — though he was general- 
 ly known in popular parlance as the Raven. 
 
 This doubtful personage now stood before William Kempe, 
 his features at all times cunning enough, expressing an un- 
 usual degree of craft. William, feeling convinced that his 
 self-dialogue had been overheard, put a couple of guineas into 
 
4 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 the fellow's 'hand, and by placing his fingers upon his lips, 
 signified that it was thereby intended to purchase his silence. 
 
 " I know what you mean," said the Eaven in answer to 
 these dumb signs, and pocketing the money ; " I know what 
 you mean, and riot a word shall pass my lips, unless I happen 
 to forget it. To prevent that, you must refresh my memory 
 now and then with one of these golden boys." 
 
 The eyes of William Kempe flashed with indignation at 
 the vagabond's cool effrontery, and, though he spoke not, it 
 was evident that he had some difficulty in keeping his hands 
 off him. But all this did not for a moment disturb the self- 
 composure of the Kaven. He went on in the cool, impudent 
 tone, saying, " I do not want to take any advantage of you, 
 quite the contrary ; for though I shall gain by your dumb- 
 ness, seeing I should have a secret to keep, and secrets must 
 be paid for, yet, for aU that, I would advise you to think no 
 more of your oath than I should — and that's just nothing 
 at all ! " 
 
 William shook his head, his anger not being proof against 
 the man's excessive assurance, mingled as it seemed to be 
 with some touch of good feeling towards himself. 
 
 "You may shake your head," continued the fortune- 
 teller ; " but take my advice. Master Kempe, and give up 
 your dumb scheme altogether. I can't help saying so much, 
 though I shall lose many a red guinea if you do. Mark me, 
 Squire, your vow will be fulfilled in anguish, and if you 
 escape the third year and the fifth, the end of the seventh 
 will not give you speech again." 
 
 The legend has come down in so fragmentary a shape 
 that it is impossible to say what effect this conversation 
 produced at the time upon the pseudo-dumb, or whether 
 it produced any ; most assuredly, as the result shows, it no- 
 wise altered his purpose. Eeturning home when the even- 
 ing set in, he flung his whole family into confusion by his 
 sudden and to them unaccountable malady. Some suppos- 
 ed that he was under the influence of witchcraft, as more 
 than one suspected witch lived in the neighbourhood, and 
 these interpreters were for calling in the priest ; others, 
 who had little faith in demonology, and a great deal in the 
 pharmacopoeia, were no less clamorous for the doctor. 
 Eventually both expedients were resorted to ; the priests 
 prayed, and they did no good ; the doctors prescribed, and 
 they did just as much — no more. Pills and prayers, elixirs 
 
SPAINS HALL, 5 
 
 and exorcisms, were all tried in succession, but only to prove 
 the inefficiency of the operators ; dumb the patient was, 
 and, as may easily be imagined, dumb he remained. 
 
 Again the legend, detective from the wear and tear of 
 time, wants continuity. I find, after the lapse of months, 
 poor Kempe, greatly weary of his dumbness, though by no 
 means shaken in his resolution, endeavouring to amuse his 
 ennui by making a fish-pond in his grounds. This occupa- 
 tion carried him pretty well over the first twelvemonth ; but 
 the work by that time being accomplished, in a month or 
 two he again became subject to the paralysing efiects of 
 ennui ; he was even tired of admiring what had at first given 
 him so much pleasure in contemplating, as having been ef- 
 fected under his own immediate superintendence. What 
 was next to be done ? Nearly six long years of silence lay 
 before him, and how were they to be filled up so that he 
 might neither be tempted to infringe his vow, nor yet to 
 drown himself in the new-made sheet of water ? His inven- 
 tion could suggest nothing better than the forming of a 
 second fish-pond, which was accordingly commenced without 
 delay and with the happiest results. Early and late he 
 superintended the workmen, who by this time had grown ac- 
 quainted with the dumb language of his signs, and under- 
 stood them with more or less intelligence. 
 
 So passed a second year. In the third he commenced a 
 third fish-pond, with the same happy result as before, so far 
 as regarded his having something to do that both occupied 
 and amused him. And now it was that the Raven's prognostic, 
 hitherto almost entirely forgotten, would often intrude it- 
 self upon his thoughts, with a force and distinctness at 
 which he himself was astonished. Still, nothing particular 
 occurred to verify his prophecy, and it only wanted seven 
 days to the end of the year. But seven days in this world 
 are quite enough for a great deal of mischief. 
 
 He was riding home one warm, but cloudy, night — for 
 his year ended with midsummer, reckoning from the time of 
 his vow — when upon entering a wood, about two miles from 
 his own house, the horse stumbled over the root of a newly 
 felled tree, and threw him to the ground with such violence 
 that when he attempted to rise he found himself unable to 
 move, from the severe injury done to his right leg. In this 
 dilemma nothing was left for him but to wait patiently till 
 chance brought either friend or stranger that way ; but as 
 
6 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 he had gone rather out of the beaten track, the probabilities 
 of such an event were not greatly in his favour. Sitting up, 
 as v^eU as he could, he listened long and anxiously for the 
 sound of any one approaching, tiU at length he fancied he 
 heard voices in a clump of trees at no great distance. His 
 first impulse was to call out, but recollecting his vow of 
 silence, he checked himself, the rather that the speakers, 
 whoever they might be, seemed to be coming towards him. 
 In this, however, he had deceived himself, or else they must 
 have changed their minds, for again the sounds grew more 
 and more indistinct, tiU after a few minutes they had died 
 away altogether. To make matters worse, the clouds that 
 had hitherto floated in small pieces, and like silvery 
 veils, athwart a deep blue sky, now gathered in masses and 
 with portentous speed, the wind rising at the same time, 
 and bringing with it a coldness quite out of season. 
 
 As might have been expected from these tokens, in less 
 than half an hour the rain began to fall with a steadiness 
 that left no hope of its soon leaving off again. Nor did the 
 issue falsify this promise. It rained constantly the whole 
 night long, freezing him to the very marrow of his bones. 
 Tet, in spite of this, and the pain he endured from the 
 bruised or broken leg — he was doubtful which to believe it 
 — he positively slept at intervals. But it was sleep that was 
 even worse than his waking moments. It was not profound 
 enough to completely exclude the reality ; the pain that his 
 body was actually undergoing still impressed itself upon the 
 brain in a multitude of harassing visions, and when at day- 
 break he was found by some passing labourers he was in a 
 high state of fever and delirium. For this he had altogether 
 to thank his own obstinacy. The limb, upon examination, 
 though severely bruised, was yet unbroken, and in all human 
 probability little inconvenience would have arisen froin fl! 
 beyond a few days' confinement, had he availed himself of 
 the help within his reach, and been carried home, as he 
 might have been, at once. But a night spent upon the 
 ground in the open part of a wood, and under a continual 
 fall of heavy rain, had converted a trivial accident into a 
 very serious matter. 
 
 Some days elapsed before the sick man had recovered 
 from his delirium, many weeks before he could leave his 
 chamber. And had this abated his determination to con- 
 tinue dumb until the expiry of the seven years ? Not in the 
 
SPAINS HALL. 7 
 
 least ; he laugbed to scorn the fortune-teller, and took no 
 little credit to himself for so doing. " Most people," said 
 he, in thought, though not in words, " most people, now, in 
 my place, would be gulled by this coincidence into a fantas- 
 tic belief that the old impostor was actually a prophet, and 
 would abandon a set purpose in fear of the dangers he pre- 
 dicted. Out upon it ! the world, for the most part, is made 
 up of fools, gudgeons for the jacks and pikes — the knaves 
 and crafty ones, that is, to prey upon. Thank Heaven that 
 I am none of these ! if there be one thing on earth that I 
 more utterly despise and contemn than another, it is these 
 noses of wax that can be turned this way or that way, or 
 any way, by the breath of accident. I verily believe that if 
 I had promised myself to do a murder, I should do it. No 
 man was ever yet great, or deserved to be, whose wiU was 
 not iron — absolutely inflexible." 
 
 With all this resolution, however, "WiUiam Kempe found 
 that he was not proof against the demon of ennui ; the 
 every-day avocations of an idle life were not sufficient to 
 keep at the staff's end a visitor whose especial delight is to 
 plague those who have nothing else to trouble them, and 
 when a month or two of the fourth year had elapsed, he was 
 fain to take up his old amusement, and commenced a fourth 
 fish-pond. Strange to say, this expedient, though so often 
 repeated, had'lost hone of its wonted efficacy. He directed 
 here, and directed here, always by signs, digging or delving 
 — or, what amounted to the same thing, ordering others to 
 dig and delve. Often, while so employed, he would call to 
 mind the seven fish-ponds in the grounds of Chertsey Abbey, 
 which stUl remain to testify for the delicate appetites of the 
 brothers, who devoted each little canal to a separate sort 
 of fish, and he resolved to follow so good an example. 
 " One," said he to himself, " shall contain carp and tench ; 
 another, bream ; a third, roach and dace ; a fourth, eels ; a 
 fifth, pike and jack ; a sixth, roach and dace ; a seventh, I'H 
 make an experiment, and see if. trout will flourish in stiU 
 water." With such thoughts, and such occupations, 
 
 " How happily the days 
 OfThalabawentby." 
 
 The fifth year saw him, true to his self-made promise, 
 busy in forming another reservoir for fishes. All this may 
 
8 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 seem palling to the reader in its constant iteration, but 
 there is no help for it ; lite the Last Minstrel, 
 
 " I tell the tale as 'twas told to me," 
 and must not run the risk of spoiling my old narrator's le- 
 gend by any attempts to make it more pithy and concise. In 
 so doing there might be some danger of losing a necessary 
 link in the chain of events, which I am the less inclined 
 to do from well remembering how exact the old man, who 
 told me the story, was in his narration, how anxious not to 
 leave a single circumstance of it untold, and how, when he 
 had omitted some trifling detail, he would retrace his steps, 
 and go a second time over the whole ground again, from the 
 poiut he had omitted. The most truth-loving chronicler 
 could not have been more precise in these respects. 
 
 The fifth year was almost ended, when some legal affairs, 
 — the nature of them is not essential to my tale — made 
 it necessary for Kempe to pay a visit to his lawyer, in a 
 town about twelve miles of. The consultation lasted tiU 
 nightfall, having been of course much protracted from its 
 being carried on in writing, instead of by the more rapid 
 means of verbal communication. The client rose to go, 
 when, as a heavy and even fearful storm seemed impending, 
 the man of law would fain have persuaded him to remain till 
 the next day, and urged him to do so, with due and hospit- 
 able consideration for one of such reputed station. With 
 his usual obstinacy, even in small matters, Kempe per- 
 tinaciously rejected the offer, and forthwith set out for 
 home on horseback, attended by his groom, who by long 
 habit had been brought to understand his signs as well as 
 if he had spoken. In other respects he was not particularly 
 remarkable for acuteness. 
 
 The homeward-bound traveller had gone little more than 
 a mile, when the weather did ample justice to the prognos- 
 tics of the lawyer, and made Kempe half repent of having 
 declined his hospitality. The storm came down in all its 
 violence, the hail and rain beating the earth till it smoked 
 again, and the wind blowing right in his face with so much 
 fury as almost to take away the power of breathing. His 
 horse was so much distressed by it as to become almost un- 
 manageable, requiring a tight hand and no small share of 
 dexterity on the part of his rider to keep him at all within 
 bounds. At this crisis Kempe came, at a sudden bend of 
 
SPAINS HALL. 9 
 
 tte road, upon the ruins of an old castle. A single tower 
 was all that remained of what, at one time, must have covered 
 an acre of ground, if any judgment might be formed from 
 the broken masses of foundation-wall that peeped out in 
 various places' from the ground, amidst weeds and nettles, to 
 the extent mentioned. The place, it is true, laboured under 
 an ill report, as being the resort of thieves, poachers, and 
 other dangerous characters, who were said to meet there for 
 purposes best known to themselves ; " But," said, or rather 
 thought, the benighted traveller, " to encounter the worst of 
 these vagabonds can hardly be so bad as facing this tremend- 
 ous hurricane that almost blows the teeth down my throat, 
 with every chance of my horse in his fright breaking either 
 his own neck or mine before we can reach home. In any 
 case I am well armed, and a good pair of pistols may go far 
 to do away with aay advantage of numbers on their side, if 
 they should happen to come this way with mischief in their 
 heads. After all, that does not seem very likely; a wolf 
 would keep his den in a night like this, though he had been 
 starving for a fortnight." Having thus settled the affair in 
 his own mind, he made straight for the tower, and rode in 
 beneath the open archway, which had formerly been closed 
 and secured by a massive door ; but this had long since dis- 
 appeared, leaving nothing to witness that there ever had been 
 such a thing, unless it was the rusty iron staples upon which 
 the hinges used to turn. The groom seeing this movement, 
 — and by no means sorry to see it, — lost not a moment in 
 following his master. 
 
 For a time Mr Kempe rejoiced not a Kttle in this wel- 
 come place of refuge, but the experience of a few minutes 
 considerably damped his first feelings of satisfaction. Op- 
 posite the archway through which he had entered was another 
 opening, almost as large, — most probably a devastating result 
 pf time ; so that, although tolerably well sheltered from the 
 hail and rain, he found himself as much, if not more, annoyed 
 by the cold cutting wind than if he had remained in the open 
 air. What was to be done ? A .small broken staircase 
 caught his eyes as he looked around, which obviously led to 
 an upper room, and seemed to invite his trying what sort of 
 refuge was to be found above. Acting upon this sudden 
 suggestion of his fancy, he at once dismounted, and leaving 
 his horse to his own guidance, in the full conviction that 
 there was nothing in the night to tempt any quadruped of 
 
10 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 common sense and discretion to stray from his present shel- 
 ter. As to the groom, neither word nor sign seemed neces- 
 sary to direct him ; no sooner did he see his master begin to 
 ascend the narrow stone staircase, than, without waiting for 
 any further bidding, he followed his example. 
 
 The upper floor, which consisted of a single room, was 
 unquestionably a change for the better, so far as related to 
 immediate personal comfort ; but there were signs and tokens 
 at hand, which to a prudent man might well suggest ideas 
 of a very opposite nature. Upon the hearth the embers were 
 stiU glowing of what a very short time before must have been 
 a large wood-fire. Now, as fires are not made without the 
 help of hands, it followed to the dullest understanding, that 
 a party of some kind must have been here very recently. 
 "Who could they be but one of the numerous classes that 
 were known to infest the neighbourhood ? — perhaps thieves 
 — perhaps poachers — perhapsbeggars — perhaps someof those 
 nondescript animals in the catalogues of roguery, that have a 
 smack of all three occupations, without exactly belonging to 
 any one of them. Supposing the best of these cases to be 
 true, it held out nothing particularly inviting. 
 
 While Kempe was yet debating these matters in his own 
 mind, and considering what it might be best for him to do, 
 — to stay at all risks, or to brave the fury of the tempest ; 
 he heard, or thought he heard, the sound of irons. No ; it 
 was no imagination, they came to him upon the wind more 
 and more distinctly. Taking it for granted, that the object 
 of the new-comers must be anything but good, he took ad- 
 vantage of a second flight of stairs, narrower and steeper than 
 the first, to ascend into the room immediately above where 
 he then was, and which proved to be the topmost apartment 
 of the building. 
 
 This new place of refuge was dark enough, not from any 
 want of communication with the external light, had there 
 been any, for time had made a rent in the wall sufficient for 
 Palstafi' himself to have crept through ; but from the utter 
 gloom of the night, which had not a single ray at the moment 
 from moon or star, to dispel the shadows that arose from the 
 absence of either lamp or fire. This, however, was an argu- 
 ment of safety, which might not else have been found even, 
 in so remote a nook, for the floor was full of large crevices, 
 and had there been any light it is likely enough that the 
 men, whose voices they now heard in the room below, might 
 
SPAINS HALL. _ H 
 
 by some accident have discovered them. The only fear, under 
 circumstances as they now were, appertained to the groom ; 
 he might by moving or talking betray them, and it never 
 once entered into Kempe's head, that he might obviate 
 this peril by a single whisper. 
 
 An undefined, yet very natural, feeling of curiosity made 
 him, though with much caution, apply his ear to one of the 
 many gaping crevices in the floor. The very first words he 
 overheard — and this was no diflELcult matter, for they talked 
 loudly — were sufficient to convince him that the party below 
 was a desperate gang of thieves ; men who, if not familiar 
 with bloodshed, were at least not likely to boggle at murder 
 if it came in their way. A little further attention to what 
 was passing, made him aware that their conversation actually 
 coucerned himself. The first mention of his name sent a 
 thrill of horror through his veins, as thinking they were upon 
 his traces, and had come there vrith the intention of mur- 
 dering him. Again he listened, and found that the danger, 
 though stiU quite near enough, was yet more remote than 
 he had first apprehended. They were discussing, with the 
 freedom of men who thought themselves safe from all listen- 
 ers, a plan for robbing his house that very night, and waited 
 only for some slight abatement of the storm to carry it into 
 execution. It was evident, too, that this moment was not 
 far off, for though the wind continued to sob and wail, and 
 the rain to fall, jet the moon would at times look out mistily 
 from the broken clouds, and gave evident signs that the 
 weather was like to change. Taking advantage of one of 
 these brief intervals of partial light, he signed to the groom 
 that he was immediately to do as he did, and forthwith he 
 began to clamber down the outside of the tower, in which he 
 was not a little assisted by the holes and gaps which decay 
 had made in the wall, leaving projections for the hands and 
 feet, where in the better days of the ruin there had only been 
 a smooth, impracticable surface. 
 
 It so chanced that both master and man reached the 
 ground in safety, and unperceived by the robbers ; who, in- 
 deed, were much too busy carousing to pay any attention to 
 what was passing beyond their immediate circle. Without 
 losing another moment, the fugitives commenced their retreat 
 homewards, and, to shorten the way, made for a ford in the 
 river that they must necessarily pass to reach Spains Hall. 
 True, there was a bridge across the stream, but then this was 
 
12 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 at least two miles farther on, and tlie great object was to get 
 home before the robbers, that the whole household might be 
 put upon their guard to receive them. Pate, however, had 
 resolved, as it seemed, to defeat this prudent disposition. 
 On reaching the water, which upon ordina,ry occasions was 
 only a few feet wide, it proved to be so much swollen by the 
 rain that the ford was no longer passable. The groom saw 
 his master's doubtful looks, and replied to them without 
 hesitation : 
 
 " I can swim it, sir." 
 
 Kempe, of course, said nothing — he was dumb — ^but his 
 face expressed plainly enough, " That's more than I can do." 
 
 The groom, who was attentively watching him, understood 
 his dumb reply, but not having overheard a single word of 
 the robbers' plans, he had no key that could help him to in- 
 terpret where the real difficulty lay. He answered at once 
 to so much as he had comprehended : 
 
 " If you can't swim, you had better go forwards to the 
 bridge — it's not three miles about — while I take the short 
 cut home, and rouse up some of our people to meet you, in 
 case those rascals should happen to take the same way you 
 do." 
 
 Kempe for a few minutes turned the thing over in his 
 own mind. There might be danger to his family, if they 
 were not warned in time. The safest and most obvious 
 plan would have been to give the groom a verbal explana- 
 tion — for he was unable to read, and no signs that Kempe 
 was able to devise could make him understand the real 
 point of danger. Instead of this simple expedient, he tore 
 a blank page from his pocket-book, scribbled a few hasty 
 lines by the uncertain light of the moon, which just then 
 glanced for a minute or two from the clouds, and gave the 
 paper to the groom, with signs implying that it was to be 
 delivered with all speed. This was understood by the man 
 readily enough, and having secured the paper, as he thought, 
 in his belt, he dashed at once into the torrent — for torrent 
 it was now — while his master watched his progress with no 
 little anxiety. The danger, however, was soon passed ; the 
 man reached the opposite bank in safety, and Kempe sighing 
 deeply, as one relieved from a heavy burthen, immediately 
 afterwards speeded off towards the bridge. 
 
 "Man proposes, God disposes," says the old proverb; 
 and so it turned out on the present occasion. The groom 
 
SPAINS HALL, 13 
 
 had indeed reacHed the Hall in good time, and found all 
 safe ; but the water had rendered the pencil-writing alto- 
 gether illegible. Acting, therefore, upon his pre-conceived 
 notion that if there was danger to any one it must be to his 
 master, he collected all the male part of the establishment, 
 and set out with them to meet and protect him. 
 
 So long had been the circuit, or so rough the way, upon 
 the farther side of the river, that Kempe was barely iu sight 
 of the bridge when his servants joined him. A few words 
 from the groom sufficed to explain how his missive had been 
 rendered useless, and it was with serious misgivings that he 
 now hurried forward at their head to anticipate, if that were 
 yet possible, the expected attack of the thieves upon his 
 unguarded dwelling. 
 
 His worst fears, and even worse than those worst, were 
 destined to be realised. On reaching Spains Hall, he found 
 that the thieves had not only been there, but, short as the 
 time had been, had accomplished their pul-pose and got 
 safely off. Their plans exhibited equal skiU in their forma- 
 tion and activity in the execution, almost seeming to indicate 
 that they must have derived their perfect knowledge of the 
 house from some one of the inmates. Nothing that was of 
 value, and at the same time light and portable, had escaped 
 them; gold, jep^els, and plate, all were carried off, while 
 other articles of scarcely less worth, but of greater weight, 
 were left untouched ; no doubt they considered a moderate 
 and safe booty as preferable to a larger spoil, which, by re- 
 quiring more time, would certainly have exposed them to 
 more danger. Had they done nothing else, the loss, though 
 considerable, might have been endured without much grief ; 
 but, either from the wantonness of cruelty, or from some 
 other inexplicable reason, they had murdered a fine little 
 boy, between seven and eight years old, the son of a distant 
 relation, and then upon a visit at Spains Hall. 
 
 If the accomplishment of the robbery in so short a 
 space seemed 'Wonderful, their subsequent defiance of the 
 search made for them was still more so. Short as the time 
 must have been that occurred betwixt the robbery and the 
 thieves' escape, they yet managed to hide themselves from 
 the pursuit which was instantly set afoot. Neither did 
 after inquiries tend to throw the least light upon the 
 matter, although directed by lawyers and magistrates, 
 well able to thread their way through such labyrinths. 
 
14 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 Divers low characters, whose general habits of life seemed 
 to justify suspicion, were taken up and closely examined, but 
 nothing could be elicited that might authorise their being 
 sent to trial. 
 
 So closed the fifth year. The prophet was again right — 
 or had chance taken the affair into its own hands, and 
 brought about so, remarkable a coincidence with his words ? 
 My readers must settle this knotty point for themselves, and 
 will, no doubt, do so according to their different ages and 
 tempers. 
 
 The sixth year passed over without any particular occur- 
 rence, unless the forming of a sixth fish-pond, as he had 
 promised himself, may be called such. 
 
 The seventh year came ; a seventh canal was begun and 
 finished, and the term of imposed silence was rapidly draw- 
 ing towards a close. Months dwindled into weeks, weeks 
 were beginning to contract into days. The joy of heart, 
 which Kempe now began to feel, might almost have been 
 considered a full compensation for the pains of his self-in- 
 flicted penance ; and so it, no doubt, would have been but 
 for the death of the poor child ; the thought that this victim 
 might have escaped, had he sent a verbal instead of written 
 message, would at times intrude itself upon brighter visions. 
 Still, upon the whole, he was pre-eminently happy — so happy 
 indeed that a Scotchman would at once have pronounced 
 him_;?e, or in that state of over-excitement which the people, 
 and sometimes wiser folks, hold to be a presage of coming 
 death — 
 
 " Against ill chances men are ever merry," 
 
 says Shakspeare's Archbishop of York ; and the same notion 
 is repeated by the poet, who of all men had the deepest in- 
 sight into human nature — 
 
 " My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne, 
 And aU this day an unaccustom'd spirit 
 Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts." 
 
 It was the last night of the seven years, and never had 
 William Kempe abandoned himself to sleep wdth lighter 
 spirits. But towards day-break a change came over him. 
 His slumber began to be disturbed by frightful dreams. 
 
 So intense was the pain that he awoke, and saw the grey 
 light of morning dimly striving with the night-shadows, but 
 he was unable to move hand or foot. Pain would he have 
 
SPAINS HALL. 15 
 
 cried out for telp, but his tongue refused to form a single 
 syllable. He had been struck by palsy. 
 
 When at a late hour of the day no Mr Kempe made his 
 appearance, the family became so much alarmed that they 
 broke open the door of his bed-room, when they found him 
 in a truly pitiable state. He had evidently some weighty 
 secret upon his mind, and the efforts he made to speak con- 
 vulsed him frightfully, yet still without producing anything 
 more than imperfect sounds. Seeing that he was so anxious 
 to make some communication, they brought him pen, ink, 
 and paper, and then first perceived that he had lost the use 
 of both hands, as well as of his feet. The physicians, though 
 they exhausted all reasonable and unreasonable remedies, 
 could do nothing. On that very day he died. 
 
 " Very wonderful," said I, when the old peasant had 
 finished his tale ; " very wonderful — if it were only true." 
 " I'll be sworn it's true," he answered somewhat sharply ; 
 " you may see the seven fish-ponds, with your own eyes, if 
 you choose it. Besides, isn't it said so on his Tomb in 
 Kempe Chapel ? " 
 
 To dissipate my doubts I strolled to the Parish Church 
 of Pinchingfield, and there, true enough, in the south 
 aisle, a handsome monument over William Kempe and 
 his wife Philippa records the vow of the seven years' volun- 
 tary silence. 
 
16 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 MAEIA STELLA, LADY NEWBOEOIIGH. 
 
 So comes it, lady, you have been mistook. — Shakspeaee. 
 
 SiE Thomas "Wtiw, Bart., descended from a very 
 ancient family in North "Wales, was created a Peer of 
 Ireland in 1776, by the title of Baron JSTewborough. In 
 1766, he married Lady Catherine Perceval, daughter of 
 John Earl of Egmont, and by her, who died in 1782, had an 
 only son John, who died without issue in 1800. Some 
 little time previous to that date. Lord Newborough was 
 resident at Plorence ; and as he was partial to theatrical 
 entertainments, he had a box at the principal Opera. Here 
 he was very much attracted by the grace and beauty of an 
 extremely youthful Ballerina, whose name was Maria Stella 
 Petronella Chiappini. 
 
 It was not long before he sought her acquaintance ; and 
 her sprightliness and charming manners completed the con- 
 quest which her winning face and twinkling feet had com- 
 menced. Lord Newborough was a man of honour and 
 worth ; and if he did not, in this instance, act with the pru- 
 dence which befitted" his very mature years, he could not, at 
 all events, be reproached with want of principle. He made 
 the acquaintance of the father of the fascinating dancing- 
 girl, and found that he had been the jailor of a country 
 town not far from Florence ; and that the same spirit of 
 cupidity which induced him to sell his pretty daughter's 
 talents to the master of the ballet, would induce him to 
 listen to the offer of a still heavier golden bribe. A bargain 
 was soon struck between the peer and the jailor, and Maria 
 Stella was transferred from the Florentine stage to the 
 mansion of her veteran admirer. 
 
 But the conduct of Lord Newborough towards his prize 
 was tender and delicate in the extreme. Trusting that his 
 unwearied kindness and affection would, in due time, remove 
 
LADY NEWBOEOUGH, 17 
 
 tlie repugnance occasioned by the unusual disparity of 
 years, he immediately made Maria Stella his wife : and car- 
 rying her to England, he introduced her to the world as 
 Lady Newhorough. It was not long before his attachment 
 met with its due reward. Maria Stella was deeply sensible 
 of her husband's kindness ; and she soon loved and honour- 
 ed him, as she was bound to do, during the years that he was 
 spared after their marriage. And this union, strange and 
 incongruous as it at first seemed, made the old peer very 
 happy, and secured the transmission of the title in his very 
 ancient and noble family. Tor although, soon after his second 
 marriage, he lost his only son by his first wife, Maria SteUa 
 made him the father of two sons, Thomas John, born in 
 1802, successor to his father, and Spencer Bulkeley, the 
 present Lord Newborough, born in 1803, 
 
 The old Lord died in 1807, leaving his large fortune to 
 his sons, with an ample provision for his widow. Lady 
 Newborough soon felt a natural desire to revisit her native 
 land, and again see her father and mother, from whom she 
 had been separated at so early an age. She accordingly re- 
 turned to Italy shortly after the death of her husband, and 
 took with her her two boys. She seems to have been a very 
 kind-hearted woman, with much genuine good feeling ; 
 though to judge from the memoir that she published of her 
 life, she never had repaired by mental culture the defects of 
 her imperfect education. 
 
 On arriving at Florence, her first care was to seek out 
 her father, whom she found settled there in a much superior 
 condition to that of his earlier career. He and all the mem- 
 bers of his family treated her with profound respect; but 
 with much distance and reserve. This distressed the affec- 
 tionate heart of Maria SteUa, who entreated them to forget 
 that she had, by marriage, become a great lady, and to act 
 towards her as their daughter and sister. The only 
 one in whose society she had any satisfaction was her 
 father, who seemed sincerely attached to her, and grateful 
 for her afiiection ; by all the rest she was treated with cold- 
 ness, but with the most deferential respect; especially by 
 her brother, who was then settled in Plorenee as a medical 
 practitioner. This unexpected demeanour on the part of 
 her relatives distressed her; and above aU she was an- 
 noyed by the constant impediments thrown in the way of 
 aU freedom of intercourse with her father. Her brother 
 
 2 
 
18 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 contrived that Chiappini and Lady Newborough would 
 never be left alone together, and when he himself was ne- 
 cessarily absent, he always arranged to station some one 
 near the old man, so that Maria Stella was never able to 
 have a word of confidential communication. 
 
 Vexed and mortified, beyond expression, by this restraint, 
 she felt the immediate viciaity of her father and his family 
 irksome to her, and, after many vaia attempts to break 
 through the ice of frigid deference, she removed with her 
 children from Plorence, and spent some time in different 
 parts of Italy. It is impossible not to feel a kindly regard 
 for Maria Stella, on account of her unsophisticated goodness 
 of heart. How few low-born girls there are, who, when 
 raised to high place by a freak of fortune, would not rather 
 turn coldly from their obscure and vulgar connections than 
 attempt to force them to associate on terms of intimacy. 
 But Maria Stella's was no sordid mind; and that, among 
 other things, may be taken as a collateral proof of her noble 
 lineage, which was, at that time, so little suspected by her- 
 self. 
 
 Lady JSTewborough and her boys contiuued to linger on for 
 some years in her native Italy ,when news was brought her that 
 old Chiappini was at the point of death. She hastened, with 
 the most anxious affection, to Florence, which she reached a 
 few days before the old man died. She found him perfectly 
 sensible and apparently delighted to see her ; but here again, 
 all freedom of intercourse with her father was denied to her : 
 the brother constantly stood in the way. And although 
 Chiappini most earnestly entreated to be left alone with his 
 child, his wishes were not attended to. There was something 
 very remarkable iu the anxious expression of the dying man's 
 countenance. He was evidently most desirous to impart 
 important information to Lady Newborough. He sometimes 
 began a sentence, which was cut short by an ominous look 
 from his son; until, at length, the fatal moment arrived 
 when old Chiappini breathed his last, with his wish to im- 
 part some secret to his daughter still xmgratified. 
 
 This scene made a most painful impression on the mind 
 of Lady Newborough. She knew not what to think or to 
 suspect. But she saw that a strange mystery existed, which 
 concerned her, which her father wished most earnestly to re- 
 veal but of which the rest of the family were resolved that 
 she, should continue in ignorance. Her affection for her 
 
LADY NEWBOEOUGH. 19 
 
 father was the only link that bound her to the Chiappinis, 
 who merited nothing but coldness from her. Accordingly 
 that link was no sooner broken than she bade them farewell 
 for ever, departed from Horence, and ceased entirely to cor- 
 respond with them. 
 
 About six months after Chiappini's death, while Lady 
 Newborough and her children were residing in a different 
 part of Italy, a packet was mysteriously put into her hands, 
 of which the superscription made her start, as it was in the 
 well-known hand-writing of her father. She had no sooner 
 opened the letter which the packet contained than her whole 
 attention was rivetted. This letter had been written by 
 Chiappini after the commencement of his fatal illness, but 
 before he was laid on his death-bed, and before Maria Stella 
 returned to Florence. But, foreseeing how difficult it might 
 be to obtain even a moment of confidential conversation with 
 her, he had taken the wise precaution of writing that 
 which he so much desired to communicate, and he had 
 intrusted the letter to a friend, in the hope that after 
 his death it might be permitted to reach his daughter's 
 hands. 
 
 "But," said he, "my daughter you are not; and this 
 denial of a relationship, which your kindness has made me 
 love, is the bitter portion of this confession. But I make it, 
 though it covers me with shame, on account of the fraud of 
 my early life, that it may be beneficial to you. Instead of 
 being the child of an obscure father in a small provincial town, 
 you are by birth that which a righteous Providence has made 
 you. When Lord Newborough married you, he was little 
 aware that you were of a rank equal, or perhaps superior, to 
 his own, and it was to me in some measure a salvo to my 
 conscience when you became a great English lady : for I had, 
 even then, begun deeply to repent of the evil injustice towards 
 you, to which I was a party. But if I was guilty, how much 
 greater was the guilt of your real father ! About four months 
 before your birth a great foreign nobleman and his lady 
 arrived in our town, with a numerous Italian retinue, and 
 
 hired the principal house from the Marchese B , and 
 
 Lord . It was said that they were Prench, and of illus- 
 trious rank and great wealth. The French lady was far 
 advanced in her pregnancy, and so was my wife. I was much 
 astonished by the affability of this great foreigner, who sent 
 for me, gave me money, made me drink wiae with him, and 
 
20 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 expressed a wisb to serve me in every possible way. After 
 repeated conversations he disclosed his purposes to me, with 
 large bribes and commands to secrecy. He told me that it 
 was absolutely necessary, on account of the weighj;iest family 
 reasons, that the child which his countess was about to pro- 
 duce, should be a son ; and therefore, he urged me, in the 
 event of her giving birth to a daughter and my wife bearing 
 a son, to allow the children to be exchanged. It was in vain 
 that I attempted to dissuade him ; remarking that his countess 
 was young and beautiful, and that he had reason to expect 
 yet many sons, even in the event of her then giving birth to 
 a daughter. The count aflBrmed that it was necessary that 
 this child should be a son, and he succeeded in over-persuad- 
 ing me, by his large bribes and groat offers of favour and 
 protection hereafter, to consent conditionally to the exchange. 
 He assured me that, in that event, my boy should be nobly 
 provided for, and that he would fill one of the highest places 
 . in Europe. Everything turned out according to the count's 
 precautions. His lady had a daughter, and my wife a son ; 
 the children were changed ; I was made comparatively rich ; 
 the'countess speedily recovered; and she, her husband, my 
 boy, and their numerous Italian suite speedily left our quiet 
 little town, and were never more heard of. I must bear wit- 
 ness to the noble liberality with which the count your 
 father fulfilled his engagements. Eor the course of seven 
 years large sums of money were remitted to me, with the 
 strictest injunctions as to secrecy, and terrible threats were 
 held out to me in the event of my divulging the strange story. 
 I was enjoined, above all, to keep the matter secret from you 
 when you grew up. My wife and my eldest son alone were 
 admitted to a full knowledge of the whole transaction. And 
 this will account for their anxiety to prevent any intercourse 
 between us, for they well knew that I had long ago repented 
 of the injury that I had done you, and that I was anxious to 
 make whatever reparation to you was yet in my power. 
 Truly thankful was I when the great English lord placed you 
 in the position to which your birth entitled you ; and great 
 was my anxiety, when you returned to Italy, to throw myself 
 at your feet, confessing the truth, and craving your pardon. 
 This was denied me in life. I hope that it may please God 
 to cause this confession to reach you after my death ; and 
 that you will even then grant me your pardon. If I had it 
 now, I should die more contented." 
 
LADY NEWBOEOUGH. 21 
 
 Cniappini then concluded his letter by giving the name of 
 the little Tuscan town where Maria Stella had been born, 
 together with the names of the Marchese, its Lord, and of 
 his steward, who, if alive, was probably still resident there. 
 They two alone were acquainted with the name of the great 
 Trench nobleman, her father, which was carefully concealed 
 from every one else. The towns-people only knew him and 
 his lady by the name of the French Count and Countess, 
 and all their servants were strangers to them, hired in 
 Florence. 
 
 It may well be imagined that Lady Newborough lost no 
 time in visiting the little Tuscan town where Chiappini told 
 her that she had been born. On inquiring for the steward 
 of the Marchese, she found him still alive. Though he was 
 now very aged, his memory was perfect, and he spoke of 
 the events which preceded Maria Stella's birth as if they 
 had happened yesterday. Lady Newborough was careful 
 not to give him any reason, to believe that she took a pecu- 
 liar interest in the circumstance, and she gradually elicited 
 from him all the information that she required. He told 
 her that the French count was indeed a man of very high 
 rank and great wealth, and that his name was the Comte de 
 Joinville. Having procured his written attestation as to 
 the facts of the case, as far as he possessed them. Lady New- 
 borough proceeded to Florence, and attempted to put her- 
 self in communication with the Marchese, the steward's 
 master. Him, however, she found quite impenetrable. He 
 aft'ected total ignorance. The probability is, that he knew 
 too much, and that if she had addressed herself to him 
 in the first instance, she never would have learned any- 
 thing. 
 
 However, here was something gained. Maria Stella was 
 not the daughter of the obscure Chiappini, but of a man of 
 great fortune and high rank — a French nobleman, the 
 Comte de Joinville. For some time she was puzzled as to 
 the next step she ought to take. After some consider- 
 ation, she resolved to prosecute her search in France. 
 She accordingly made straight for the town of Joinville ; 
 and inquired who the nobleman was to whom the prin- 
 cipal estates in the neighbourhood belonged ; and who 
 it was that, properly speaking, was entitled to be called 
 Comte de Joinville ? It was not long before she found 
 that the object of her search was no less a person than 
 
22 FAillLY EOMANCE. 
 
 his' Highness the Duke of Orleans, the first prince of the 
 blood of Prance, after the family immediately reigning. As- 
 tonished and delighted by this result, which opened to her 
 prospects magnificent beyond her wildest dreams, Maria 
 SteUa hastened to Paris. 
 
 It may be proper to state that, before the restoration of 
 the Bourbons, (after which event Lady Newborough arrived 
 at Paris,) she had contracted a second matrimonial alliance, 
 I believe as early as 1810, with a Livonian nobleman of 
 very ancient and illustrious family and of considerable for- 
 tune, the Baron Von Ungarn- Sternberg.* 
 
 The issue of this second marriage was a son. After a 
 time, Lady Newborough and the Baron do not appear to 
 have lived much together. He gave her no support or 
 countenance in the prosecution of her extraordinary claims, 
 to which she devoted the remainder of her life. Indeed, it 
 has been stated by a nephew of the Baron, that his uncle 
 
 • The family of Ungarn-Stemberg is widely spread, and is one bf 
 tile noblest and most powerful of any in the three German provinces 
 of Enssia. Livonia, Esthonia, and Courland were conquered from the 
 Pagan "VVends at a very early period by the German Knights of the 
 Sword, Schwerdt Ritter, an order of Spiritual chivalry, like the Teutonic 
 Knights, Deutsche Ritter, the conquerors of heathen Prussia. These con- 
 quering missionaries offered to the conquered, death or slavery. And, ac- 
 cordingly, they reigned over them for many centuries with an iron rule. 
 The Knights of the Sword do not appear to have long preserved the cha- 
 racter of an ecclesiastical order of chivalry. The sovereignty of the three 
 provinces fell into secidar hands. But the entire lands of the conquered 
 countries became the possession of the nearest heirs male of the conquering 
 knights, so that a noble colony of feudal lords came to be perpetuated, all 
 of German descent, who inter-married exclusively with one another's fami- 
 lies, and maintained themselves as a class, apart from the native population. 
 And even now, it is believed that scarcely any estate in Livonia, Esthonia, 
 or Courland is held by a family of Wendish blood, with the exception, 
 perhaps, of that of Prince Lieven. All are genuine German nobles of an- 
 cient feudal descent ; and all have embraced the Lutheran faith ; though 
 they are now the subjects of a zealous monarch of the Greek faith. 
 
 Among the noblest of these German lords are the Ungarn-Stembergs, 
 and the head of one of the chief branches of this family, was the husband 
 of Lady Newborough. He was the son of a very celebrated man, who ac- 
 quired a most villanous reputation, towards the end of the last century, as 
 the Lord of the island of Dago, by following the infamous trade of a 
 wrecker, as it is called in Cornwall. He hung out false lights from the 
 rocks of Dago ; which caused the shipwreck of many vessels, which the 
 Baron and his followers plundered, having murdered their crews. How- 
 ever, this very singular man was, it is said, a person of most polished man- 
 ners, who had spent his early life in courts, to which he was well entitled 
 from hie high birth and great connections. 
 
LADY NEWBOROUGH, 23 
 
 was in receipt of a large annual allowance from Louis 
 Philippe, then King of the French, to induce him to 
 withhold his aid from his energetic, though Hi-judging, 
 lady. 
 
 Maria Stella arrived in Paris, I know not in what year, 
 but during the reign of King Louis XVIII. She establish- 
 ed herself in a handsome hotel, and immediately" published 
 in all the principal newspapers this advertisement — " If the 
 heir of the Comte de Joinville, who travelled and resided in 
 
 Italy in the year 1773, will call at the Hotel de rue 
 
 he will hear of something greatly to his advantage." 
 
 Having laid this trap. Lady Newborough waited at home 
 next day to watch the result. In the course of that morning, 
 she heard the sound of a heavy man and two sticks on her 
 stairs, and the door of her saloon being throvm open, Mon- 
 sieur I'Abbe de was announced. A very corpulent cleri- 
 cal gentleman, supported on crutches, advanced towards her, 
 and addressing her with an air of perfect good breeding, in- 
 quired whether Miladi was the publisher of the advertisement 
 in the newspaper which he held in his hand, and to which 
 he pointed. Maria Stella remembered her own affiche, and 
 answered in the affirmative. " Eh bien, Miladi," replied the 
 courtly Ecclesiastic ; " je viens de la part de Monseigneur le 
 Due d'OrMans." Astonished at the success of her scheme. 
 Lady Newborough inquired in what way the Duke could be 
 interested by her advertisement ? " Assurement, Miladi, son 
 Altesse y'est vivement interessee, car elle est I'heritier du 
 Comte de Joinville." " How so ? " demanded Lady Newbo- 
 rough. " Peut etre, miladi ne sait pas," replied the Abbd, " que 
 le pere de son Altesse, feu Monseigneur le Due d' Orleans', dtait 
 aussi Comte de Joinville, et prenait ce titre la, quand U etait en 
 voyage. D'aiUeurs il voyageait, dans cette annee 1^, en Italic, 
 avant la naissance de Monseigneur le Ducactuel." Delight- 
 ed at the statement. Lady Newborough gently expressed sur- 
 prise, when the Abbe rejoined, " Eh bien, Miladi, est ce que 
 c'est un grcmd heritage que son Altesse va recevoir ? " At a 
 question so very characteristic, coming from an agent of the 
 clever, money-making Louis Philippe, Lady Newborough 
 had some difficulty in repressing a smile. She, however, 
 gave the Abbe to understand that there was no question at 
 issue concernttig any succession falling iato the hands of 
 his employer ; but that she was anxious to discover the iden- 
 
24 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 tity of a birth connected with the sojourn of the late Comte 
 de Joinville, or as he informed her, the late Duke of Orleans, 
 in Italy in 1773. The Abbe evidently perceived that he had 
 committed an egregious blunder, and made most unfortunate 
 admissions. Eising rather precipitately, he stammered some- 
 thing about a particular engagement which caused him to 
 hurry away ; and, protesting that he would speedily call 
 again, when he would be entirely at the service of Miladi, 
 and assist her in the prosecution of her researches, he made 
 a succession of profound bows, and hobbled out of the apart- 
 ment. Lady Newborough discovered that this polite gentle- 
 man who had shown himself so unwary a diplomatist, was, 
 nevertheless, a very clever man, and the confidential agent of 
 the Duke of Orleans. Indeed, he was currently said to be 
 his illegitimate brother, and the natural son of Bgalite ! Por 
 no other than he was Count de Joinville. 
 
 Maria Stella was now thoroughly persuaded that she was, 
 indeed, the eldest child of the late Duke of Orleans ; and, 
 in fact, except Mademoiselle Adelaide, his only surviving 
 child ; Louis Philippe, the present Duke, being, in her esti- 
 mate, only a changeling, and all his younger and real sons 
 having died. It may be supposed that she was not a little 
 elated at having, as she thought, made the certain discovery 
 that, next to the Duohesse d'Angouleme, she was first prin- 
 cess of the blood of ^France, and the rightful heiress of im- 
 mense wealth. 
 
 But this discovery was the ruin of her happiness, and 
 produced nothing to ber in after-life but discomfort and 
 misery ; so that it would have been well for her if she had 
 ended her days in the persuasion that she was nothing more, 
 by birth, than the daughter of the low-born Chiappini. The 
 prosecution of her princely claims caused the destruction 
 alike of her fortune and her peace of mind. She appears to 
 have had no judgment, and no knowledge of character. She 
 allowed herself to be imposed upon by one swindler after 
 another. She was betrayed and made a prey of. Her claims 
 never met with fair play. As to whether they were true or 
 whether they were false, I will not venture to pronounce 
 an opinion. But this is very evident, that they never re- 
 ceived that support or consideration to which they were 
 entitled. Lady Newborough, Baroness Ungarn Sternberg, 
 from the moment that she discovered herself to be a princess, 
 
LADY NEWBOEOUGH. 25 
 
 became a most unfortunate woman, and lived and died un- 
 happy. 
 
 She made many attempts to bring her case forward, un- 
 aided by husband or son, and she became the prey of a suc- 
 cession of sordid and unworthy advisers. She conceived her- 
 self to be persecuted by the powerful iafluence of the Duke 
 of Orleans, and by the overwhelming authority of her rival 
 when he became King Louis Philippe. It may, consequent- 
 ly, be supposed that a weak, unfriended, ahd injudicious 
 woman could effect" little in opposition to a King. She has 
 now been removed for many years from this earth to the 
 land " where the wicked cease from troubling, and where the 
 weary are at rest." 
 
 It would be tedious to enter more at length on this sub- 
 ject ; suffice it to say, that the claims of Maria Stella never 
 were investigated. And their truth or falsity will probably 
 remain a mystery until the time when all secrets shall be 
 revealed. 
 
 It may be remarked, as very improbable that a recently 
 married and youthful pair like Egalite (the former Duke of 
 Orleans) and his Duchess, should so completely have de- 
 spaired of male issue as to change their daughter for another 
 man's son. Moreover, after this exchange, they had several 
 sons, who grew to man's estate, though they died in early 
 life. On the other hand, one cannot tell what peculiar motives, 
 whether of family or of polities, may have made the birth 
 of a son in 1773 of the utmost importance to them. Louis 
 Philippe undoubtedly had little of what was princely in his 
 appearance. With first-rate abilities, and many excellent 
 qualities, there was something about him so bourgeois, that 
 one is certainly not reminded of a royal paternity. 
 
 Lady Newborough has put forth her claims in a very ill- 
 written little volame, now probably scarce. She mentions 
 two curious facts ; the first is — when she arrived in Paris 
 with her little boy, she went, as a stranger, to see the Palais 
 Eoyal, then the residence of the Due d' Orleans ; on arriving 
 before a large full-length portrait of him, the child exclaimed, 
 "O ! mamma, here is a picture of grandpapa!" being struck 
 with the remarkable resemblance of the duke to old Chiappini. 
 The second circumstance referred to by Lady Newborough 
 is this : when Louis Philippe was brought to the baptismal 
 font, his weight, it is stated, was a matter of astonishment 
 to those who held him, he being as heavy as a child of five 
 
26 ■ FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 or six months. And this would have been about his age if 
 he had been bom in the Tuscan provincial town, and secret- 
 ly smuggled to Paris. 
 
 Whatever degree of credit may be given to Lady New- 
 borough's story, it is a curious one, aud well worthy of a 
 place among episodes of " Family Eomance." Whether 
 Maria Stella was, or was not, Princess of Orleans and 
 daughter of the King of France, she was, at all events, the 
 wife, in the first place, of a Welch baronet and Irish peer, 
 and in the second, of a great Livonian noble. 
 
THE HEIR OP THIELESTANE, 27 
 
 THE HEIR OP THIRLESTME. 
 
 Misoent aoonita novercse. — Ovid. 
 
 One of the most distinguislied Cadets of the great 
 House of Buecleuch was Scott, of Thirlestane. Some gene- 
 alogists even incline to think that the head of that branch is 
 now also the chief of the great Border Clan of Scott, the 
 Duke of Buccleuch's raale descent heing derived,_not from 
 Buecleuch, but from King Charles II. Be that as it may, 
 the Barons of Thirlestane were among the foremost men on 
 the Scottish Borders, and their hereditary loyalty has been 
 attested by the deeds of arms of ages, and was rewarded and 
 commemorated by the grant of the Royal Double Tressure 
 of Fleurs de lis, as an honourable augmentation to the 
 original Arms of Scott, while the alacrity of the Baron of 
 Thirlestane, who was King James the Fifth's contemporary, 
 to hasten to the Eoyal Standard, was marked by the new 
 crest assigned to him, of a sheaf of spears, with the appro- 
 priate motto "Eeady, aye Eeady." The last in the direct 
 male line of these stalwart border chieftains, was Sir Robert 
 Scott, of Thirlestane, who flourished in the time of King 
 James the Sixth. His first wife, a beautiful and amiable 
 woman, whom he tenderly loved, was a daughter of the 
 House of Harden, now represented by Lord Polwarth. 
 She died young, leaving an only son,, the catastrophe of 
 whose untimely fate, involving, as it did, the ruin of his 
 family, I have here to record. Sir Eobert's second wife 
 was an unprincipled woman, of vindictive temper and fierce 
 passions ; and by her he had several children. This woman 
 had all the qualities calculated to make an oppressive and 
 cruel step-dame ; and accordingly her jealousy was excited 
 by the fond afiection which Sir Robert displayed towards 
 his eldest son. She knew that his rich inheritance would 
 descend to him, while her own sons would receive a very 
 
28 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 slender provision ; besides, her husband's excessive attach- 
 ment to his eldest son gave her no hope of his being per- 
 suaded to alienate from him any portion of the family- 
 property. Her jealousy accordingly grew into a disease, 
 and her mind was distracted with rage and mortification. 
 These feelings were still further aggravated, when Sir 
 Eobert built the Tower of Gamescleugh, and adorned that 
 property with all manner of embellishments, as the future 
 residence of his eldest son, who was now about to come of 
 age, and for whom he had arranged a suitable and advan- 
 tageous matrimonial alliance with a beautiful young lady of 
 high birth. The step-mother now lost all patience, and was 
 firmly resolved to compass the destruction of her hated step- 
 son. The mason-work of the new Castle of Gamescleugh 
 was completed on the young Laird's twentieth birth-day, 
 which was held as a high festival at Thirlestane. The Lady 
 resolved that his hours should now be numbered ; and she 
 accordingly prepared, on the intended festival, to execute 
 her horrid purpose. She had already secured in her interest 
 the family piper, whose name was John Lally. This man 
 procured three adders, from which he selected the parts 
 replete with the most deadly poison, and having ground them 
 to a fine powder. Lady Thirlestane mixed them in a bottle of 
 wine. Previous to the commencement of the feast at Thirle- 
 stane, the young Laird went over the Etterick Eiver to 
 Gamescleugh, to inspect the finished work, and to regale 
 the masons and other work-people, who had exerted them- 
 selves to have the Castle walls completed by his birth-day. 
 He was attended by John Lally. In the midst of the enter- 
 tainment of the workmen, the young Laird called for wine 
 to drink their healths ; and John filled his silver cup from 
 the poisoned bottle, which the ill-fated youth hastily drank 
 off. The piper immediately left the castle, as if to return 
 home. But he was never more seen. The most diligent search 
 failed in discovering him; and it is supposed that he 
 escaped across the English border. Toung Thirlestane was 
 instantaneously taken violently ill, and such was the force 
 of the poison that he swelled and burst within an hour. 
 The news was immediately carried to Thirlestane, where a 
 large party of the kith and kin of Scott had assembled to 
 do honour to the festival. But it may easily be conceived 
 what a woeful gathering it turned out to be. With one 
 accord, the guests felt and said that the young laird was 
 
THE HEIE OP THIRLESTANE. 29 
 
 poisoned, but were unable to conceive who could have done 
 so foul a deed to one so universally beloved. The old baron 
 immediately caused a bugle to be blowu, as a signal to all 
 the family to assemble in the castle court. He then 
 inquired " Are we all here ? " A voice from the crowd 
 answered, " All but the piper, John Lally ! " This sounded 
 like a knell in the ears of Sir Eobert. He knew the confi- 
 dence which his lady placed in this servant. His eyes were 
 at oice opened to the foul deed, and the conviction that his 
 most dear and beloved son had been slain by the machin- 
 ations of his wife, shocked his feelings so terribly that he 
 was almost deprived of reason. He stood very long in a 
 state of utter stupefaction, and then began, to repeat the 
 answer which he had received. And this he continued to 
 do for several days. " We are all here but John LaUy, the 
 piper ! " Sir Eobert lived in a lawless time, justice was not 
 rightly administered, and it was difficult to punish the 
 crimes of the powerful and noble. Moreover, Sir Eobert 
 could not be induced to seek to make a public example of 
 his own wife. However, he adopted a singular and com- 
 plete, though most unjust, method of vengeance. He said 
 that the estate belonged of right to his son, and that since 
 he could not bestow it upon him while living, he would, at 
 least, spend it upon him when dead. And he moreover 
 expressed great satisfaction at the idea of depriving his 
 lady and her offspring of that which she had played so foul 
 a part to secure to them. The body of the young laird was 
 accordingly embalmed with the most costly drugs and spices,, 
 and lay in state at Thirlestane for a year and a day ; during 
 the whole of which time Sir Eobert kept open house, wel- 
 coming and royally feasting a;U who chose to come. And 
 in this way of reckless and wanton profusion he actually 
 spent or mortgaged his entire estate. "While the whole 
 country, high and low, were thus feasting at Thirlestane, 
 the lady was kept shut up in a vault of the castle, fed upon 
 bread and water. During the last three days of this extra- 
 ordinary feast the crowds were immense. It was as if the 
 whole of the south of Scotland were assembled at Thirle- 
 stane. Butts of the richest and rarest wine were carried 
 into the fields ; their ends were knocked out with hatchets, 
 and the liquor was carried about in stoups. The burn of 
 Thirlestane literally ran red with wine. The vault where 
 the young laird was interred, in a kaden coffin, is under the 
 
30 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 roof of the church of Etterick, which is distant from Thirle- 
 stane upwards of a mile ; and so numerous was the 
 funeral procession, that when the leaders had reached the 
 church, those in the rear had not nearly left the castle gates. 
 Sir Eobert died soon after this, and left his family in utter 
 destitution. It is said that his wicked lady died in absolute 
 beggary. The extensive possessions of the old Baron of 
 Thirlestane were sold, and the name of the family would 
 have been swept from off the face of the earth, if it had not 
 been for the prudence and good fortune of a cousin of the 
 old knight, of the name of I'rancis Scott. He contrived to 
 buy up a considerable portion of the estate, and ostensibly 
 carried on the line of the Thirlestane family. However the 
 elder branch continued to exist, though in the deepest 
 poverty. And it is not long since, the rightful heir of 
 Thirlestane, nay, possibly, the chief of Buccleuch, was 
 labouring for his daily bread, with the sweat of his brow, as 
 a common peasant. Between twenty-five and thirty years 
 ago, the nearest male descendant of Sir Eobert Scott, the 
 last Baron of Thirlestane, in the direct line, was a poor man 
 of the name of Eobert Scott, who was then old, childish, 
 and the last of his race. He seems to have been a fine speci- 
 men of the Scottish peasant, intelligent, right-minded, and 
 with some degree of the conscious dignity of ancient blood. 
 Several interesting particulars are to be found concerning him 
 in "Eemarks on the Partition of the Lennox," a work 
 written with a view to set forth Lord Napier's claims as 
 heir of the line of the ancient Earls of Lennox, in which, 
 incidental mention is made of his lordship's paternal 
 ancestors of Thirlestane. 
 
 The younger branch of the Scotts continued to possess 
 Thirlestane with credit and honour. A baronetcy of Nova 
 Scotia was bestowed on Sir Erancis Scott, who married 
 a daughter of the Marquess of Lothian. His son. Sir 
 "William Scott, married the " Mistress of Napier," that is to 
 say, the lady who was heir-apparent of the Napier peerage. 
 She was the only child of Mr Brisbane, who held respectable 
 situations under government in the reign of Charles II., by 
 his vrife, the sister of the third Lord Napier, who on the 
 death of her nephew Nicolson, Baronet of Carnock, the 
 fourth Lord Napier, became Baroness Napier in her own 
 right. Sir William Scott was the father of a son Erancis, 
 who, on succeeding his grandmother in the Napier peerage, 
 
THE HEIR OP THIELESTANE. 31 
 
 became fifth Lord Napier, and thought proper to abandon 
 his paternal 'surname for that of the title which he had 
 inherited through two females. By his marriage with the 
 Lady Henrietta Hope, daughter of the first Earl of Hope- 
 toun, Francis, the fifth lord, was ancestor of the present 
 peer, and of the gallant Admiral, Sir Charles Napier, while 
 by his second wife, he was ancestor to the famous Indian 
 General, Sir Charles Napier, and his brother, Sir Williara 
 Napier, the able historian of " The Peninsular War." 
 
32 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 THE SWANS OF CLOSEBURI^. 
 
 — Wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, 
 
 Still we went coupled, and inseparable. — Shakspeabe. 
 
 At a remote period, Closeburn Castle, the ancient seat 
 of the Kirkpatrieks in Dumfriesshire, was surrounded, or 
 nearly surrounded, by a large lake, which probably served 
 the double purpose of defence and ornament ; no in- 
 different consideration at a time when no man was safe 
 for long together whose hand could not protect his head. 
 The building itself was a vaulted, quadrilateral tower, the 
 walls of which, as high as the ground-floor, were of prodi- 
 gious strength, being no less than twelve feet thick. In it 
 were three series of apartments, all separated from each 
 other by arched roofs ; and, though there is no inscription 
 in any part of the tower to decide its precise date, yet from 
 the general appearance and the mouldings of the doors it 
 cannot be less, and may be more, than eight hundred years 
 old. Near it at one time was a chapel dedicated to St 
 Patrick, which gave the name of Kirkpatrick to the farm 
 whereon it stood, and hence, no doubt, the family appella- 
 tion of Kirkpatrick. But even the ruins of this venerable 
 pile, that existed only a few years ago, have now entirely 
 disappeared. 
 
 The lake to which I have alluded was not only beauti- 
 ful in itself, but it was doubly interesting to the inhabitants 
 of the castle from the legend attached to it ; a legend not 
 without its counterpart in other localities, and even in more 
 than one district of England. Whenever any member of 
 the Kirkpatrick family was about to die, either by accident 
 or disease, a swan, that was never seen but on such occasions, 
 was sure to make its appearance upon the lake, coming — no 
 one knew whence, and passing away as mysteriously when 
 the predicted death had taken place. And who or what 
 
THE SWANS OF CLOSEBUEN. 33 
 
 was this swan ? The following legend may afford an eluci- 
 dation : — 
 
 The lake of Closebum Castle was at one time the 
 favourite resort during the brief summer season of a pair 
 of swans ; their number was never more, and never less. 
 As it is not known the utmost age to which the swan may 
 live, I cannot pretend to say that these annual visitants con- 
 tinued to be the same birds for a hundred and fifty years, — 
 and so long, at least, my legend goes back; it is possible 
 they might have had descendants, who inherited their 
 peculiar habits, and who being equally favoured by the in- 
 habitants of the castle, found their way instinctively to the 
 same spot at the same season. Be this as it may, their ap- 
 pearance was always welcome to the family at the castle, an 
 idea very generally prevailing in the neighbourhood that 
 they were ominous of good fortune to the Kirkpatricks. 
 No matter what mischance might have before impended, it 
 was sure to cease at their coming, and so suddenly as well 
 as constantly, that it required no very ardent superstition 
 to connect the two events into cause and efiiect. Was not 
 the Lady of one Kirkpatrick at the point of death, and had 
 not the disease left her at the first flutter of their wings ? 
 Had not the same thing happened at another period with 
 the heir of the house ? — the physicians had left him, as 
 they thought, at the last gasp ; the broken-hearted mother 
 knelt by the bed-side of her child, who lay there whiter 
 than his pillow, without motion, without any visible breath- 
 ing. Hope ! — what hope could there be ? — and yet she 
 hoped ! 
 
 It was near midnight — a fine summer midnight, when 
 the flowers slept softly — ah ! so softly ! — and the air was 
 full of sweet odours, and there was in all nature a calm that 
 might well be called holy, for it filled the heart with gentle, 
 loving thoughts. There was not a cloud in the blue sky, 
 not a ripple upon the lake which seemed to be spread out 
 there as a mirror for the beautiful world around it. 
 
 And yet never did night appear half so dark to the poor 
 mother. She could no longer bear to witness the last 
 struggles of the parting spirit, and turned her head away, 
 when — sight of joy ! the two swans descended as if from 
 some world above, and the next moment were sailing 
 majestica,lly upon the lake. With a beating heart, as the 
 old legend rushed upon her memory, she again turned to- 
 
 3 
 
34 FAMILY KOMANCE. 
 
 wards the death-bed — it was a death-bed no longer ; the 
 fatal hour had passed, and the child recovered. 
 
 And many similar tales were told by the aged to their 
 youthful auditors, of the good brought to Closebum Castle 
 by the two swans. New opinions had, indeed, found their 
 way into this neighbourhood, as into other parts ; the old 
 darkness, it was said, had given way to new light — was any 
 one the happier or the better .for it ? — and superstition 
 had lost many of its strongholds; yet, stiU there were 
 few who did not continue to believe in the kindly influ- 
 ence of the swans, and they were cherished and loved ac- 
 cordingly. 
 
 One hundred and fifty years had passed away ; 'tis a 
 long, and yet a short time to talk of. Strange contradic- 
 tion ! but one that has been felt by all in those moments 
 when good or evil forces the mind back upon the past. 
 One hundred .and fifty years had passed away, and Close- 
 burn Castle rejoiced much in its future lord, a promising 
 youth, not quite thirteen years of age, whose name has been 
 variously given by tradition, as James and as Robert. The 
 choice, therefore, being manifestly left in my own discre- 
 tion, I will adopt the latter, for no particular reason that 
 I am aware of, beyond the fancy of the moment. 
 
 Eobert was of a romantic nature, and so bent upon 
 carrying out any purpose which had once entered his head, 
 that few considerations could turn him from it. Mis- 
 chievous he was, as most boys of his age are, and probably 
 ever win be ; and, though ready enough to feel for the pain 
 of others, never unwilling to inflict it. Now it so chanced, 
 in one of his visits to Edinburgh, during the holydays, he 
 was allowed to visit the theatre. The play was the 
 "Merchant of Venice," and greatly was he surprised to 
 hear Portia say of Baasanio, that he should 
 
 " Make a swan-like end, 
 Fading in music." 
 
 This creed to him was not only new, but startling, and he 
 referred his doubts, naturally enough, to his lady mother, 
 who informed him that it was generally believed the swan 
 always sang when it was dying, and never till then. Bobert 
 did not for a moment doubt the fact thus announced, but 
 he became particularly anxious to verify it for himself. 
 How was this.to be done ? He had never yet seen a swan 
 
THE SWANS OF CLOSEBUEN. 35 
 
 die, and, according to all probabilities, he was as little likely 
 to come across such a sight as across that other Delilah of 
 his imagination, an aloe in its hundredth year's bloom. But 
 the devil rarely fails to provide opportunity vrhen the 
 human heart is set on evil. Not long after his holiday trip 
 to Edinburgh, Master Robert returned home, and was one 
 fine day walking by the lake with his cross-bow in his hand, 
 with the benevolent intention of killing sparrows, when, 
 unluckily, the prophetic swans came sailing majestically 
 towards him. Here was an opportunity to test his newly- 
 acquired knowledge. Whiz ! went the bolt from the cross- 
 bow, without a moment's thought, and lodged in the breast 
 of the foremost swan, killing him much too soon and surely 
 to allow of his singing, had such indeed been his custom. 
 At this catastrophe, the survivor fled with a lamentable 
 scream ; while the water, under the influence of the wind, 
 gently drifted the dead body towards the shore. 
 
 Eobert was filled with remorse for his own cruelty, and 
 the rather, perhaps, as it had turned out so unprofitable. 
 He began, moreover, to be alarmed for the probable conse- 
 quences to himself, it. being quite certain that the murder 
 of the favourite bird, when known, would draw upon his de- 
 voted head a general storm of indignation. But he de- 
 termined it should not be known ; and, to insure a thing so 
 desirable, he buried the body deep in the ground, at a short 
 distance from the lake. 
 
 Great was the surprise of all, when, the next midsummer, 
 no swans made their appearance. But Kobert kept his own 
 counsel. A second and a third year came, and it was still 
 the same, till at length it became the general opinion that 
 the birds must have died in their native home, wherever 
 that might chance to be. Just as they had come to this 
 very natural conclusion, the whole neighbourhood was sur- 
 prised by seeing a single swan return ; and still more were 
 they surprised when they observed a deep blood-red stain 
 upon his breast. The curious would fain have examined 
 this phenomenon more closely, but the bird, unlike his 
 usual habits — if, indeed, he was one of the old swans — was 
 shy even to wildness, and could not be tempted to come 
 near any one. The superstitious — and they were the multi- 
 tude — looked grave, and shook their heads, fully convinced 
 that if the two birds had brought good, the single one with 
 the bleeding breast as certainly prognosticated evil. A few, 
 
86 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 who had no great faith in anything, laughed ; but even their 
 laughter was hushed, when, in less than a week, the Lord of 
 Closeburn Castle died on the sudden without any previous 
 symptoms of disease. The bird then vanished, and was seen 
 no more for some years, till he came to prognosticate a new 
 calamity in the loss of one of the house by shipwreck. 
 
 The last appearance of the bird upon record was at the 
 third nuptials of Sir Thomas Kirkpatrick, the first baronet 
 of that name. On the wedding-day, his son, Eoger, hap- 
 pened to be walking by the lake, when on a sudden, as 
 if it had emerged from the waters, he beheld the swan with 
 the bleeding breast. Eoger knew and believed the legend, 
 and returned sad and sorrowful to the castle, with the full 
 conviction that some near evil impended over him. His 
 father rallied him on this despondency, so out of character 
 with the business in hand, and told him jestingly that it 
 proceeded from a jealous dislike of his new step-mother ; to 
 which the young man only answered, " Perhaps before long 
 you also may be sorrowful." On the night of that very 
 day, the son died. Here in truth ends the legend, but 1 
 cannot let slip this occasion of repeating an old anecdote 
 with reference to the same house. 
 
 In those good old times — when every man had, or 
 thought he had, as a principle of freedom, the right of 
 pillaging his neighbour, provided only he were strong 
 enough to do so — the doors of every house were guarded 
 with more than modem vigilance. A singular degree of 
 strictness upon this point cost one of the family of Close- 
 burn a large estate. It was the custom of this gentleman, 
 for his better security, to have the great gate barred and 
 bolted, and the keys brought to him when he sat down to 
 dinner, at which time admission was rigorously denied to all 
 comers without exception. No law of the Medes and 
 Persians could be held more inviolably ; neither rank, 
 wealth, nor relationship being permitted to interfere with 
 its observance. Now it so happened that a near kinsman, 
 the Laird of Carmichael, on his way to Drumlanrig, rode up 
 at a time when the draw-bridge had been raised, and the 
 door bolted ; and to no expostulations would or could the 
 warder give ear; his orders were peremptory, and so was 
 he. Off then flew the excluded visitor in high indignation ; 
 and, to mark his resentment of what he considered an un- 
 pardonable affront, instead of settling his estate in Eoss, as 
 
THE SWANS OF CLOSEBUEN. 37 
 
 he had previously intended, upon his relative, he bequeathed 
 it to an ancestor of the Duke of Queensbury. 
 
 In the latter part of last century, the estate of Closeburn 
 was sold to the Rev. James Stuart Menteath, vrhose son 
 Charles was created a baronet in 1838, and his son Sir James 
 disposed of the ancient inheritance of the Kirkpatricks to 
 Mr. Baird, an ironmaster. It is very remarkable that, with- 
 in a very few years, two of the most ancient family estates 
 in Scotland have been purchased by brothers of the name of 
 Baird, partners in the same wealthy iron firm ; Closeburn 
 in Dumfriesshire, for which £220,000 was paid, and Elie in 
 Fifeshire, for which £145,000 was paid. The latter estate 
 had been still longer in the possession of the baronial and 
 knightly family of Anstruther of that ilk, than Closeburn 
 had been in the possession of the Kirkpatricks. And now 
 both belong to men who, by honest industry, have raised 
 themselves from a very humble position of society, within 
 the last thirty-five years, by ability, judgment, honesty, and 
 frugality, — to which has been added a rare combination of 
 good fortune, — to the rank of the richest commoners of 
 Scotland ! The present generation have reason to be proud 
 of their poor and humble origin. Possibly their grand- 
 children may wish to cover it with the blazon of pedigree ; 
 but the fabricators of a colossal fortune have good cause to 
 glory, with thankfulness, in a rise which has been owing 
 mainly to their own merit. Thus in Dumfriesshire have 
 the Bairds supplanted the Kirkpatricks. Their story forms 
 one of the episodes of my " Vicissitudes of Families." 
 
38 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 THE STORY OF COLONEL JAMES ROCH, 
 THE SWIMMEE. 
 
 " Wliere Foyle its spreading waters 
 
 Eolls onward to the main, 
 There, Queen of Erin's daughters, 
 
 Fair Derry flx'd her reign. 
 A holy temple crown' d her, 
 
 And commerce graced her streets, 
 A rampart wall around her. 
 
 The river at her feet ; 
 And there she sate alone, hoys, 
 
 And, looking from the hiU, 
 Vowed the Maiden on her throne, boys, 
 
 Should be a Maiden still." 
 
 Chaelotte Elizabeth. 
 
 "Who tas not heard of Derry, the "Maiden City" of 
 Ireland, as her burghers jealously denominate her ? Which 
 of us has not hung entranced over the "wondrous tale" of 
 her siege, whether we read of it in the simple diary of 
 George Walker, or in the graphic pages of Harris and 
 Graham ; or, touched with' the light of romance, in the 
 glowing narrative of Charlotte Elizabeth ? What listener 
 to the record of its gallant defence and the sufferings of its 
 brave garrison, has been unmoved ? Even if our sentiments 
 differed from theirs, our sympathies were not withheld. 
 We saw that they, as well as their opponents, contended for 
 a principle ; and we recognised the might and sustaining 
 influence it afforded them, in the midst of trials almost un- 
 paralleled.* 
 
 * Not to shock my readers with the details given by Walker, of the 
 species of food to which the garrison were reduced, I will only mention 
 that, during the siege, hbrse-fiesh sold in the markets of Derry for Is. 8d. 
 
COLONEL JAMES EOCH. 39 
 
 But there was a turning point in the events of the siege, 
 to which our historians have hitherto insufficiently directed 
 attention. Like as in a dreadful sickness there is a crisis, 
 so here there was a moment when suspense was at its ut- 
 most, and despair had well nigh blotted out every gleam of 
 hope. The patient endurance of death in its ghastliest 
 forms, the weary waiting for relief, the long hoping against 
 hope, all seemed to be in vain. Human help was a mockery. 
 Human suffering had reached its limit. The world might 
 be rolling on in its accustomed course around them, but 
 within their walls trouble had thickened, and was pressing 
 down all hearts with its intolerable burden. Whither now 
 might they look for aid ? They were forsaken. They were 
 forgotten. They were given up as a prey to their enemy's 
 teeth. 
 
 That crisis passed away, and was succeeded by renewed 
 hope and more confirmed resolution to " do or die." Tidings 
 of approaching relief reached the garrison by a messenger 
 who perilled his life in conveying the intelligence. "Weak, 
 wounded, and bleeding, he persevered in his heroic resolu- 
 tion of visiting them and bringing back an account of their 
 state. Had it been in the days of old Eome, his statue 
 would have graced the Capitol, and his name would have 
 been repeated by a thousand tongues. In Ireland, his deed 
 of glory is but little known. Even Macaulay, in his famous 
 description of the deliverance of Derry, makes but slight re- 
 ference to Eoch's exploit, evidently from want of informa- 
 tion on the subject. It is greatly to be regretted that, when 
 that brilliant writer was collecting materials in Ireland, he 
 did not devote more attention to the treasures of the Eecord 
 Tower, in Dublin Castle. I have recently arranged and 
 classified the contents of this very valuable depository of the 
 
 ler pound ; "a quarter of a dog, fattened by eating the bodies of the slain 
 'rish," for 5s. 6d. ; a rat for Is. ; a mouse for 6d. ; " a small flook (i. e. 
 flat-fish) taken in the river, not to be bought for money, or purchased 
 under the rate of a quantity of meal ;" a pound of salted hides, Is. ; a 
 quart of horse-blood, Is. The statement given of the ravages of disease 
 and famine is appalling. Here is one leaf from the diary : — 
 " July 8, the garrison is reduced to 5520 (i. e. from 10,000) 
 13, „ „ „ „ 5313, loss in 5 days, 207 
 
 17, „ 5114, „ 4 „ 299 
 
 22, „ „ „ „ 4973, „ 5 „ 141 
 25, „ „ „ „ 4892, „ 3 „ 81 
 
 Total in 17 days 728 
 
 I 
 
40 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 public records, and I have discovered various documents 
 (not examined by Macaulay) which throw much light on 
 the memorable time of which I am speaking. 
 
 James Eoch, whose name is at the head of my narrative, 
 had high claims to distinction on account of hereditary 
 descent ; and gentle blood will oftenest do gallant deeds. 
 His family, ennobled in the Peerage of Ireland as Lords 
 Eoche and Permoy, was derived from Adam he ErPE, one 
 of the Anglo-Norman knights, who in 1170 accompanied 
 the Earl of Pembroke to the invasion of Ireland, and from 
 Adam de Etjpe he was himself seventeenth in lineal pro- 
 gression.* His own immediate house had their chief seat 
 at Tourin, a castle romantically situated on the river Black- 
 water, in the county of "Waterford ; but his father, along 
 with the greater' part of his kin,t had forfeited his estates 
 in the time of the Commonwealth for his devoted adhesion 
 to the fallen cause of the Stuarts, and had died an exile in 
 Planders. When the War of Succession broke out, Mr 
 Eoch's military talents were so well known, that Lord 
 Tyrconnell sent a special messenger, inviting him to cast in 
 his lot with James II., holding forth, at the same time, as 
 an inducement, high promises of a speedy restoration to his 
 lost hereditary possessions. Eemembering, however, the 
 faithlessness of the Stuarts, Mr Eoch not only peremptorily 
 refused, but directed Trant, the officer who had come on 
 the negociation, to announce to Lord Tyrconnell his resolve 
 
 * Burke's Landed Gentry : Article, Eoch of "Woodbine Hill. 
 
 f Among these was Maurice, Lord Roche and Fermoy, who when 
 outlawed by the Protector, fled to Flanders, where he obtained the com- 
 mand of a regiihent. He here met his Prince, for whom he had suffered 
 so much, also an exile ; and it is recorded that, along with his kinsmen, 
 George Eoch (father of the subject of this paper), and John Eoch his 
 brother, he daily shared with him his pay, remaining himself in contented 
 poTCrty. The Eestoration came ; but Charles had forgotten everything. 
 Lord Eoche's property was never restored to him. In 1667, he was re- 
 commended by the Earl of Orrery to the Duke of Ormonde as an object of 
 charity ; and, but for a scanty pension he then obtained, it is probable he 
 would have perished of want. " It is a grief to me," Lord Orrery wrote, 
 " to see a nobleman of so ancient a family left without any maintenance ; 
 and being able to do no more than I have done, I not deny to do for him 
 what I could do, to lament his lamentable state to your Grace." And if 
 we needed further comment on the precept — " Put not your trust in 
 princes," we have it in the fact, which has been vouched for by eye-wit- 
 nesses, that a Lady Eoche, of the second or third generation from this 
 nobleman, was seen soliciting alms in the streets of Cork ! See " Vicissi- 
 tudes of Families," 1st Series. 
 
COLONEL JAMES EOCH. 41 
 
 to take up arms immediately for the Prince of Orange. In 
 the Williamite army he soon attained the rank of Colonel, 
 and in this capacity was attached to the expedition under 
 Kirke, sent for the relief of Derry, June, 1689. 
 
 On the 7th of this month, when, from sheer famine, the 
 brave defenders of the beleaguered city were daily dropping 
 into the grave by scores, there were seen at the entrance of 
 the river three large ships, whose appearance jusbified every 
 expectation of immediate assistance. They were English. 
 They were sea-borne. Their ensigns indicated their sympa- 
 thies. The vessels pressed in under easy sail, until they 
 reached the narrow part of the river ; and here, frightened 
 by the heavy batteries of the besieging army, and the 
 mighty boom which stretched from bank to bank, they 
 paused. To the horror of the starving town's-people, the 
 crews on board, having surveyed the difficulties, and hesi- 
 tated awhile, as if uncertain in their movements, hauled 
 again their courses on the opposite tack, and sailed away 
 out of sight. A week passed over. The Cathedral bury- 
 ing-ground was gorged with four hundred additional 
 corpses, when a watcher, who had climbed the tall pinna- 
 cle of the spire, announced a forest of shipping at the 
 mouth of Lough Foyle ; and after some hours, which 
 seemed like ages, a fleet of thirty sail, the promised succours 
 under General Kirke, could be seen distinctly from the 
 town. But Kirke, who had changed sides, being either luke- 
 warm as a turncoat, or being really possessed but in scant de- 
 gree v(dth the spirit of a British soldier, proceeded no farther 
 than did the former vessels. The heavy guns of Charles' Fort, 
 the endless lines of musketeers on either shore, and more than 
 all, the fatal boom, seemed to him impassable. Signals were 
 made by the town, expressive of the extremity of its condition ; 
 and stiU Kirke wavered. He responded to their entrea- 
 ties, by hanging out certain flags, expressive of his kind 
 wishes to the garrison, and of his intention to help them ; 
 but he gave no command to his fleet to carry out these 
 views. At length, a resolution was come to ; and of what 
 nature ? That, considering relief impossible by the river, 
 he would defer any attempt until further reinforcements 
 reached him from England ; but that he would send in a 
 message to the town's-people, bidding them keep up their 
 spirits, and to " be good husbands of their victuals." * Could 
 * The words of his letter to Governor "Walker. 
 
42 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 treachery or pusillanimity descend to a lower deptli ? Here 
 were thirty ships, stored with victuals, ammunition, and other 
 supplies, for the perishing inhabitants of Derry, arrived at 
 the close of a long voyage made for this end ; and the in- 
 dividual intrusted with the sacred duty of throwing in the 
 help, falters in his purpose — doubts its practicability — and 
 ends all with determining to leave it undone ! 
 
 "When Kirke's vacillating conduct became generally 
 known throughout the fleet, it created a universal feeling of 
 disgust. It was felt to be the humiliating confession of his 
 own incompetency. And when his wish to despatch a 
 letter to the Grovemor was declared, the want of confidence 
 in his administration and the little desire entertained by 
 any to carry out his plans, were shown in the silence with 
 which his proposal was received. Not a man stepped forth 
 to undertake the duty. With many, no doubt, the extreme 
 peril of the task weighed sufficiently. The enemy were 
 masters of every approach by sea and land to the devoted 
 town ; the gibbet awaited the capture of the messenger ; 
 and, when the highest in command betrays irresolution or 
 apprehension, a panic is generated which descends through 
 all ranks to the humblest serving under him. Kirke, 
 amazed and confounded, stormed with passion, upbraiding 
 his men with cowardice (a taunt which proceeded with an 
 ill grace from such as himself !) ; and finally, changing his 
 voice to supplication and entreaty, he offered a premium 
 of three thousand guineas to the soldier who was willing 
 to become his messenger. 
 
 There was one, all this while, who stood on the frigate's 
 deck silent and thoughtful, apart from the crowd, ever and 
 anon casting wistful glances on the distant hill, whence the 
 booming cannonade proclaimed that Derry was yet untaken. 
 He had heard with astonishment the tidings of his General's 
 lukewarmness and feeble purposing. He had listened, with 
 disdain, to the golden hopes held forth for a venturesome 
 envoy. His heart burned within him, as he thought of 
 brave men, helpless women, and innocent children, sacrificed 
 to selfish imbecility ; and a bitter smile gathered on his lip, 
 as he whispered to a brother-officer near him, the over- 
 mastering sensations of his bosom : 
 
 " Can nothing be done to save them ? " 
 
 " Nothing ! " was the reply. 
 
 "ThenlgomyseK"— 
 
COLONEL JAMES EOCH. 43 
 
 And as lie spoke, Colonel Eoch (for it was he) impe- 
 tuously sought the General's presence ; and in a few brave 
 words, that thrilled all, save Kirke himself, announced his 
 determination to be the bearer of despatches to the Grovernor 
 of the city. He disclaim,ed the reward as oifered by the 
 General, allegiug that if he failed and fell, he could not claim 
 it, or would not merit it ; but that if he succeeded, the sal- 
 vation of so many of his fellow-countrymen would be its 
 own rich recompense. Kirke heard him graciously. His 
 letter, written to the heroic George "Walker, was folded in a 
 piece of bladder, to preserve it from the water, and to this 
 packet a few leaden bullets were attached, to sink it, if the 
 bearer was about to be made a prisoner. Colonel Eoch re- 
 ceived many special messages for divers of the garrison ; 
 and amidst the prayers and blessings of his companions, was 
 rowed in a small skiff down the lough, in the direction re- 
 motest from the city, and beyond the furthest sentinel of the 
 enemy. 
 
 He stepped ashore, his life in his hand, but willing to 
 lay it down in the duty he had undertaken. It was summer 
 — bright, joyous summer ! The birds carolled on every tree. 
 The green sward he pressed with his foot bore a thousand 
 insect lives on its flowers and blossoms, and sent up rich 
 perfumes that thrilled his heart with rapture. There was a 
 silence, a hallowed peace on every side. Derry stood eleven 
 mUes- distant ; not a cry of the combatants, not a single 
 echo of musketry could be heard. For a moment, it appear- 
 ed as if the scene on board the shipping he had quitted, or 
 the anguish of the town to which he was repairing, was a 
 dream. Where could such things exist, while heavenly 
 quietude had descended on earth ? How could the jarring 
 passions of men stir themselves for misery and ruin, when 
 the God of nature, the Father of mercies, had poured his 
 blessings abroad on hill- side and dale ? 
 
 The pause lasted but a moment ; images, strong stern 
 images of war and its woes rose up before him. The deso- 
 lated city, with her famine-swept streets, swam before his 
 sight too keenly, too clearly, to be counted as a vision ; it 
 was all a terrible reality. And feeling this, he nerved him- 
 self for action, and turned precipitately away. 
 
 He had marked weU the position of the town, and re- 
 solved to avail himself to the utmost of the woods, which, 
 circling the hills above him with foliage, reached down to 
 
44 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 the margin of the lough, and mirrored their dark masses in 
 its clear glassy waters. He had seen from the vessel's deck 
 that the trees stretched themselves in the direction of Deny 
 from this quarter, and grew thick and close until they almost 
 reached the suburbs. Perhaps, under their friendly shadow, 
 he might pass King James's sentinels ; and where the forest 
 would not hide him, in the immediate vicinage of the town, 
 he would commit himself to the water and be swept up, at 
 a fit time, by the current. "With the noiseless tread of an 
 Indian hunter, Eoch now sped on his journey. Every sense 
 seemed absorbed in that of hearing. Soon, full soon, the 
 dull, distant note of heavy ordnance broke the stillness, and 
 sounded "nearer, clearer, deadlier than before," as he pain- 
 fully tracked his way through the tangles of the wood. He 
 often saw the light glancing on hostile arms through vistas 
 among the trees. He often heard the measured tread of 
 soldiery passing to and fro in a road just beneath him. He 
 sometimes caught a glance of the white canvas of an en- 
 campment, and could even distinguish the refrain of tKe 
 wild songs of its inmates. And through all he passed, un- 
 seen, unnoticed ; as if, like the Trojan prince, some friendly 
 divinity had encircled him in a clouding vapour. But now 
 the trees became thin. The axe had gone among them. 
 They were felled here and there, and concealment was im- 
 practicable. It was certain destruction to go further. A 
 living mass of men, the main body of the enemy, occupied 
 the ground between him and the city. He must remaiu in 
 his present position until the shadows of night. 
 
 And so, burying himself anew ia the forest-brake, the ia- 
 trepid soldier awaited darkness. The elements were pro- 
 pitious. Heavy clouds began to gather. The wind moaned 
 dismally, and gradually increased to a tempest. The sun 
 went down in anger. Thick drops of rain began to fall. 
 They thickened, until the flood-gates of heaven seemed to 
 open and pour down their torrents on the earth. The sentry 
 tightened his jerkin about him, and ceased his methodical 
 round. His fellows drove down their tent-pins more tightly, 
 straining and fastening anew the cords ; and then, running 
 beneath the canvas, drew across the flapping drapery. The 
 dumb beasts sought the shelter of the forest. And now, 
 denuding himself of his heavy upper garments, bare-headed 
 and unbooted, Eoch creeps forth from his hiding-place. He 
 •traverses the encampment without observation. He passes 
 
COLONEL JAMES EOCH. 45 
 
 unchallenged one guard after another. He reaches the 
 water-side. The war of the elements forbids any watching ear 
 to detect a splash. The swimmer is strong for his purpose, 
 although three long miles of the river must now be gotten 
 over. The tide rushing up from the lough bears him on- 
 ward; and long before the sun has glittered on the thin 
 spire of the cathedral — ^long before his rays have lighted up 
 the enclosure of the Diamond,* a band of the 'Prentices 
 have admitted, through the ferry-gate, Kirke's wearied en- 
 voy, and the tidings he has brought are circulated far and 
 wide through the town. 
 
 And now, one day to be with them — -one day, to meet 
 their leaders, and take counsel together — one day, to go 
 among the burghers and confirm them in their resolution — 
 one day, to see with his own eyes the state of the town, that 
 he may report it on his return — one day, and the same, to 
 refresh himself ; and he will leave them. On the evening 
 after his arrival, at nightfall, Eoch is again breasting the 
 waters, and bears with him G-ovemor "Walker's reply. 
 Again, he passes the long windings of the river iu safety, 
 and reaches his lair in the forest unharmed. But the foe- 
 man has been there in the interval ; and the clothes he had 
 hidden are removed. Another messenger, despatched soon 
 after himself, had been taken prisoner and immediately gib- 
 beted ; and the whole of the wood is alive with scouts. It 
 is not long ere pursuers are upon his track. Like a hunted 
 deer, he flees away before fhem, his only hope being the 
 thick underwood. Into this he dives deeper and deeper. 
 The briars tear gashes in his uncovered limbs, and send 
 streams of gore down his person. He has escaped ! He 
 has left them behind ; and hark ! their voices grow fainter 
 and fainter, as they rush away in a wholly different quarter 
 of the forest. For nearly an hour the wearied one remains 
 in his covert, almost unbreathing ; and now he comes forth, 
 that he may retrace his steps. Por three miles he passes 
 through the forest, and comes again to the water-side. But 
 he has lost his way. Ere he can plunge into the river, he 
 is in the midst of a party of the enemy's dragoons. To 
 their cry " Bendez-vous," he makes a motion for escape. 
 Whereupon one burly trooper lifts a halbert, and inflicts a 
 
 * A parallelogram in the centre of the city of Derry, from which the 
 four principal streets radiate to the four gates. 
 
46 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 f 
 
 gtastly wound on his head, breaking his jaw-bone. The rest 
 grasp him to make him a prisoner ; but his want of clothes 
 saves him, and he slips from their hold. One effort more 
 for life ! Bloody and disfigured, Eoch leaps into the river ; 
 and none are so courageous as to follow him:. But pistols 
 are plucked from the holsters, and instantaneously a score 
 of bullets plash in the water. Three hit him, in the arm, 
 breast, and shoulder : and his whole frame is convulsed in 
 agony. Still, he strikes out ; for he will drown rather than 
 yield. Offers come to him, across the vsrater, of rich reward, • 
 if he will give up his letter. Life is promised, and liberty, 
 but aU in vain. He still persists in his effort. Shots are 
 again discharged at him, but happily without effect. He 
 grows faint in a little while from the loss of blood ; and now 
 thinks the parting moment near. But he perceives he is 
 borne back again towards the town. Its fair hilly seat 
 again comes before him. He makes one more gallant 
 struggle, and it is successful. He reaches land, and is taken 
 up by the grateful burghers, to faint and fall down before 
 them, almost a lifeless corpse. 
 
 How long he lay in this swoon, he could not tell ; but 
 kind faces were around his bed when intellect slowly re- 
 turned. The voice of prayer was going up in his behalf. 
 Walker, Baker, and other gallant souls, knelt in his chamber. 
 In a few days, he was abroad. It was no holiday time ; it 
 was no season for nursing wounds. Having failed in deliver- 
 ing to General Kirke the governor's letter, he will transmit 
 some tidings at last by telegraph ; and (according to a system 
 he had arranged before he quitted the fleet), he now signals 
 from the steeple of the cathedral, informs the shipping in 
 the lough of the state of the garrison, and of his own misr 
 adventure and wounds. The chief inhabitants, at the same 
 time, hold a meeting, at which they determine to bury them- 
 sfelves in the ruins of their city ; and the resolution is 
 adopted, that any individual who makes mention of " sur- 
 render " is to be tried by court-martial ; and shall, on its 
 sentence, immediately suffer death. 
 
 More than a month passed by. In the interval, the fleet 
 under Kirke left the river ; and the lines of circumvallation 
 were drawn closer and closer around the deserted town, yet 
 the courage of its defenders sank not. Occasional sallies 
 were made; in the hope of carrying off some of the be- 
 
COLONEL JAMES EOQH. 47 
 
 siegers' cattle, and were generally attended with success. 
 But starvation and sickness did their o£B.ces steadily ; and 
 miserable Derry became one huge chamel-liouse. The 
 mortality during the month of July exceeded 2000. On 
 the 28th and 29th alone, more than 400 of the garrison 
 perished. On the 30th, a solemn service was performed in 
 the cathedral, when Walker addressed the feeble survivors. 
 He declared that " he felt in himself an unshaken confidence 
 that they could not be entirely deserted by over-ruling Pro- 
 vidence, and reminded them of the many signal mercies they 
 had received, and of the importance of their defence of the 
 Protestant religioh ; and inferred from these considerations 
 the inference, that when at the worst they would obtain 
 deliverance." 
 
 The congregation dispersed, some to keep watch and 
 ward on the bastions ; some to climb the cathedral spire, 
 and strain their eyes towards the river in search of help , 
 some to walk moodily to lonely homes, whence " the old 
 familiar faces " had gone for ever. An hour had passed, 
 when three large vessels were espied entering the deserted 
 roadstead. The suspense and anguish of the inhabitants 
 rose to its height. , They hung out a red flag from the 
 cathedral to signify their mortal distress. They fired several 
 guns. They rushed down to the water-side, crying out now 
 OB, NETEE ! They encouraged the crews on board by every 
 species of exclamation and entreaty. The vessels pressed 
 on ; and the shore on either side became wrapped in flame. 
 The guns on the several redoubts forced their deadly missiles 
 into the ships, as they swept by ; but there were heroes on 
 board who disregarded all. And now the boom is being 
 approached ; and one gallant ship shoots past the rest, as if 
 impatient to close with it. She reaches it — she crashes upon 
 it ; the shock is irresistible ; the mighty barricade heaves and 
 groans. It breaks in twain, and the diverging sides are hurried 
 open by the tide. But the Mountjoy herself recoils from the 
 blow ; her saUs flap idly on the masts ; she is stranded imder 
 the enemy's guns ; they raise a shout of triumph, and swarm 
 down to board the vessel ; she fires her broadside among 
 them, and by the shock of her guns is carried back into deep 
 water, and floats again. But , her captain, the gallant 
 Browning, and several of his men now fall dead from the 
 musketry ; and the triumph of the moment is lost in their 
 fall. "The contest after this," writes the Eev. James 
 
48 , FAMILY EOJIANCE. 
 
 Willis,* " was quickly at an end : the three vessels entered 
 without any further impediment; they were the Phoenix 
 and the Mountjoy transports, commanded by Captains 
 Douglass and Browning, and convoyed by the Dartmouth 
 frigate, Captain Leake ; they contained a large and needful 
 supply of beef, meal, and other provisions — and the heroes 
 of Derry were saved, just when their entire provisions were 
 barely enough to keep them two more days alive. At this 
 moment there remained alive 4300 men, of 7300 originally 
 numbered within the garrison. Their provisions consisted 
 of nine lean horses, and one pint of meal per man." The 
 blockade was at an end. The besieging army drew off to 
 Strabane. Of the 20,000 men of whom it had been com- 
 posed, nearly 9000 had fallen before the walls,, chiefly from 
 the sallies of the garrison. 
 
 And Colonel Eooh — was he forgotten? JS'ot so. The 
 honourable title conferred on him by those in whose behalf 
 ■ he had so perilled life and limb, was the swimmee. By 
 this designation he was ever after known through life ; and 
 by it he is uniformly distinguished in the family records and 
 papers. Nor did King "William, when he ascended the throne 
 of England, overlook his services. In answer to a petition, 
 declaring " that he (Eoch) was sent by Major-General Kirke 
 iuto Londonderry at the time of the siege, with notice of the 
 intended relief, and did, after great hazard of his life, perform 
 that considerable service, swimming up the river into the 
 town ; and was forced to stay two nights in the water, and 
 received three wounds from the enemy's shot, which disabled 
 him in his body and prejudiced him in his health ;" the King 
 granted him, by patent, in fee, the moiety of the Eerry of 
 his native town, Kinsale, (the other moiety being in the 
 hands of Anthony Stawell, Esq., and William Brookes, by 
 title derived from the Duke of Monmouth, previous to his 
 attainder,) together with all the boats, oars, tackle, furniture, 
 and all fees and perquisites thereof, and the arrears of rent 
 due to the Crown since the forfeiture. " Two years after," 
 says Harrisjt " his Majesty made him a grant of all the un- 
 disposed Eerries of Ireland, reserving theancient crown-rents ; 
 the value of which said Eerries are recited to be worth above 
 £80 a-year." This grant embroiled him in many law-suits 
 
 t " Lives of Illustrious and Distinguished Irishmen," Vol. iii. pp. 352, 
 353. 
 
 * Life of "William III., pp. 209, 210. Dublin, 1749. 
 
COLONEL JAMES EOCH. 49 
 
 with persons setting up ancient titles to several of the said 
 IFerries, and therefore he made fresh application to the Crown, 
 that, upon surrendering his former patent, he might have a 
 grant of the forfeited estate of James Everard, in the County 
 of Waterford, reported to he worth £66 a-year, together 
 with some few Ferries near his hahitation. The King 
 complied with this application, and granted to him the said 
 estate, amounting to 1321 acres, and also the several Ferries 
 of Kingsale, Donegall, otherwise called Passage, and Eath- 
 conray, in the County of Cork ; the Perries of AVaterford, 
 Passage, and Dungarvan, in the County of Waterford ; the 
 Ferries of Wexford, Carrick-upon-Slane, and E.oss, in the 
 County of Wexford, and the Ferry of Ballynard, leading to 
 Bridge Island, on the river of Eosse,inthe Counties of Wex- 
 ford and Kilkenny ; the Ferries of Strangford, Portaferry, 
 and Narrow Water, in the County of Downe ; the Ferry of 
 Lifford, in the County of Donegall ; the Ferries of Annabegg 
 and Longhill, in the County of Limerick ; and the Ferry of 
 the Abbey of Grange, in the County of Mayo ; together with 
 all the boats, oars, tackle, furniture, fees, and perquisites, be- 
 longing to them and to every of them, and all arrears of rent 
 due thereout, and the reversion or reversions of such of the 
 said Ferries, whereof any lease or grant for any term of years 
 or otherwise had been before that time made, to be held in 
 fee-simple at several rents amounting in the whole to £34 
 28. ll^d. It appears by a subsequent application to the 
 Crown, that this was an unfortunate choice he made, and 
 that he was put to the expense of £1680, in disproving a 
 pretended settlement of Everard's estate ; and therefore the 
 King, in the eleventh year of his reign, made him a grant of 
 some other forfeited lands in the Counties of Cork and 
 Meath, returned to be of the clear yearly value of £95 
 14s. 4d. 
 
 After the death of King William, Colonel Eoch applied 
 to the Parliament of England, in 1704, for further relief, set- 
 ting forth his services, and the fuU state of his case. A clause 
 was in consequence inserted in an Act then passing the 
 Commons, which granted him the sum of £3269 7s. 7d., out 
 of certain Irish forfeitures ; but the funds from which this 
 grant was to be derived fell so far short of the stipulated sum 
 that he did not receive above one-third of the voted money. 
 In consequence, he addressed, to a subsequent Parliament, 
 the following memorial, which I here insert, as it sets forth 
 4 
 
50 FAMILY EOMAIsCE. 
 
 a graphic account of his sufferings and services, and fully 
 confirms all my previous statements. 
 
 " THE CASE OE OAPTAIIT* JAMES BOCH. 
 
 "That, in the year 1689, Major-General Kirke was sent 
 to the relief of Londonderry. 
 
 " That, while the G-eneral lay iti the Lough of Derry, 
 he received intelligence that the Town was capitulating, and 
 in three or four days was to be surrendered. 
 
 " That all the ways to the town were blocked up by the 
 late King James's forces ; so that it seemed impossible for 
 the G-eneral to communicate with the Tovra. 
 
 " That the General, considering it was a dangerous en- 
 terprise, offered a reward of 3000 guineas to any person that 
 could carry his orders into the city ; but it being a business 
 of such difficulty and danger, nobody would undertake it 
 for some time, tUl at last, the said Eoch, out of the zeal he 
 had for the late King (of glorious memory), and for the 
 Protestant Eeligion, and interest in Ireland, did undertake 
 the same. 
 
 " That the said Eoch underwent the hazard of passing 
 through the enemy's camps and guards, which extended eight 
 miles ; and when he was 'got beyond them, swam down the 
 Lough for three miles, and by God's blessing added to his 
 endeavours, got safe to the town, and delivered the general's 
 message to the Governor. 
 
 " That, after he had so done, and refreshed himself, but 
 barely for one day, by the command of Colonel Baker, the 
 then Governor,he returned to the General with the state of the 
 garrison, and took water at London-Derry, and swam back 
 three miles to the place where he had left his clothes. 
 
 " That, when he arrived there, he found his clothes taken 
 away, by which he imagined himself to be discovered ; but, 
 however, he was resolved to carry back to the General the 
 Governor's letters, which were tied in a bladder in his hair, 
 and accordingly travelled naked three miles ; but being dis- 
 covered and pursued by the enemy, he was forced to take 
 shelter in a wood, where the horse could not follow him, and 
 passed through the wood vrith such hardships and difficulty, 
 that he was torn bjr the briars, till he was gore blood. 
 
 " That, having passed the woods, which brought him to 
 
 * His tlien rank. 
 
COLONEL JAMES EOCH. , 51 
 
 the water-side, he was met by a party of the enemy's dra- 
 goons, one of which broke the said Eoch's jaw-bone with a 
 halbert, before he could get into the water, and after he was 
 in the water, shot at him several times, and wounded him 
 thrice, in the arm, breast, and shoulder, and offered him 
 £10,000 in case he would deliver to them his letters ; but 
 the said Eoch's zeal for his religion, his King, and his coun- 
 try was such, that he chose to die in the water (which he did 
 expect to be his fate) rather than betray the trust reposed 
 in him. 
 
 " That, after all these difficulties, by Grod's providence 
 he got back to London-Derry, and by signals delivered him 
 by the General before he left the fleet, gave the General notice 
 from time to time from the steeple of Deny, how long the 
 town could hold out. 
 
 " That, King William and Queen Mary, out of a sense 
 of his sufferings and services, did grant to him forfeited 
 estates in Ireland, to a very considerable value ; but the 
 same have been decreed from him by the late trustees, and 
 he never received from the said grants more than £180 12s. 
 5d., as by a report of the said trustees may appear. 
 
 "That, in the year 1704, setting forth his case to the 
 Parliament, they were pleased in compassion to grant him an 
 Act for £3269 7s. 7d., to be issued oat of the forfeitures in 
 Ireland, which did but barely re-imburse him the expense he 
 was out of pocket ; so that the petitioner has yet received 
 nothing of the reward promised him for his services. 
 
 " That, the funds upon which the said money was given 
 proving deficient, and after the expense of four years' time 
 and a great deal of money, he has only received £1148 9s. 
 Of d., and no more can be expected from that fund. 
 
 " That he has spent all the small fortune he had of his 
 own, as weU as that he had by his wife, and both contracted 
 great debts, which have very much reduced him ; and, unless 
 the honourable House of Commons will afford him some re- 
 lief he must never expect to return to his native country, for 
 which he has done such signal services, but leave his wife 
 and children exposed to the greatest hardships." 
 
 George Eoch, Esq., now of Woodbine Hill, worthily re- 
 presents his very ancient and lordly house. 
 
52 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 THE PREHEN TRAGEDY. 
 
 falsely, falsely murdered ! 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 This stoiy, taken from the page of real life, could hardly 
 be made darker or more improbable by any infusion of the 
 ordinary elements of romance. Indeed, the actual features 
 of it, such as we have them from undoubted records, require 
 rather to be softened than exaggerated, that the reader may 
 not turn away in disgust from a tale that seems almost too 
 atrocious for belief. Some criminals may be invested with a 
 poetic colouring, and thus reconciled in a degree to our 
 imaginations ; but the hero of the Prehen tragedy is a 
 thoroughly prosaic ruffian — ^he belongs to the school of 
 G-eorge Barnwell, and is utterly incapable of being elevated 
 except at the expense of everything like truth. 
 
 John Macnaghten was descended from a Scotch family, 
 which is supposed to have come over with King William the 
 Third to Carrickfergus, and to have afterwards settled at 
 Benvarden, in the county of Antrim, a place situated at 
 the north-east extremity of Ireland, about six miles from 
 Coleraine, and two from Ballimony. They were highly re- 
 spectable, and enjoyed a considerable hereditary estate. His 
 father was a magistrate for Antrim, his mother was a 
 daughter of Henry Macmanus, an alderman of London- 
 derry ; his uncle also was a magistrate, and a cornet on half- 
 pay, at the time of Thurot's landing, upon which occasion he 
 was the first to appear in arms against the invaders, at the 
 head of two hundred stout militia, whom he had animated 
 with his own spirit. 
 
 The time of John Macnaghten's birth cannot be precisely 
 ascertained, but it was somewhere about the year 1722. 
 When he was only six years old, his father died ; and this, 
 
THE PEEHBN TEAGEDY. 53 
 
 which irt any case is a great misfortune, was douhly so with 
 a boy of his disposition, who, even while at school, exhibited 
 a strong propensity to gambling, and was moreover a coward, 
 a fault of all others the least likely to find indulgence 
 amongst his countrymen. When only eighteen years of age, 
 he was challenged by a schoolfellow — but, wanting the nerve 
 to fight, he was horsewhipped and fled the field. To counter- 
 balance these evil qualities, so far as they could be counter- 
 balanced, he was shrewd, had undaunted assurance, and 
 possessed a good person, and manners so peculiarly win- 
 ning, that, in spite of his notorious character, he managed 
 to get into some of the first society in the kingdom. This, 
 however, did not avail him with his grandfather, the alder- 
 man, who was so ofiended at his love of play, that he left 
 him nothing, but bequeathed a handsome fortune to his 
 younger brother. 
 
 Macnaghten was now of age, and being put into posses- 
 sion of his own estate, had a wider field for the indulgence of 
 his gambling mania. He visited all the fashionable places 
 of public resort both in England and Ireland, played deep, 
 and with such ill success that he was obliged to sell a part 
 of his estate, and mortgage the remainder. But fortune 
 had not entirely deserted him : he contrived to engage the 
 affections of Miss Daniel, daughter of the Dean of Down, 
 and won the consent of the lady's friends to their union 
 upon his binding himself by oath never to play again. The 
 lady had in her own right about five thousand pounds, but 
 the whole of this was settled beforehand upon their younger 
 children. 
 
 To all appearance, the gambler was now reclaimed. He 
 treated his wife with the utmost kindness, and for two years 
 he abstained from every game of chance. And now appears 
 the first contradiction in his character ; so sacred was his 
 oath to him, that however urged by the one master passion 
 of his mind, he would not on any account violate it ; but he 
 fully believed that the oath was no longer binding than those 
 who had extorted it chose it should be so ; and he did not 
 hesitate to gain their dispensation of it by a falsehood. He 
 pretended to his wife, and to her mother, Mrs Daniel, that 
 he might have won a thousand pounds, had he not been tied 
 up from play, and alleging that the same chance might again 
 occur, he prevailed upon the ladies to release him from his 
 obligation. The only check upon .him being removed, he 
 
54 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 went back to the gaming table witb more zest than ever, 
 playing so deeply, that he soon became involved in fresh 
 difficulties. Several suits were commenced against him for 
 heavy debts, which ended in the issue of writs, and the 
 despatch of bailiffs to seize his person. Upon one occasion 
 the bailiffs watched their intended prey to a house where 
 he was spending the evening, but instead of arresting him 
 when he came out, they allowed him to get into a sedan, and 
 followed him to his own house. The moment the chair 
 stopped, they came forward and announced their business. 
 Macnaghten declared he would not submit to become their 
 prisoner ; the men proceeded to force, which he as stoutly 
 repelled. Unfortunately, the scuffle took place beneath the 
 bed-room window of Mrs Macnaghten, who had then lain-in 
 about a fortnight, and was anxiously expecting his return 
 home. Alarmed by the noise, she was not long in learning 
 what had caused it, when the fright, together with her dis- 
 tress at the desperate state of her husband's affairs, gave 
 such a shock to her nerves, that she fell into a sickness, which 
 shortly afterwards proved fatal. 
 
 It would seem that he was affected with genuine remorse 
 at the lady's death, occasioned, as he well knew it was, by 
 his own misconduct. So at least the world judged at the 
 time, and probably with correctness, for he was yet in the 
 novitiate of evQ, and well and wisely says the Latin proverb, 
 — " nemo repente fuit turpissimus " — "no one is utterly bad 
 all at once." But even this feeling, good in itself, yet served 
 as another step in his downward course. To get rid of his 
 grief, he suddenly plunged again into the full vortex of dissi- 
 pation, so that in a short time his affairs became more em- 
 barrassed. Tet even now, his better genius had not alto- 
 gether abandoned him. The kindness of a noble friend, 
 procured for him the office of Collector of the King's taxes, in 
 the town of Coleraine, which was an addition of two hundred 
 a year to the remnant of his fortune. It still, then, depended 
 only upon himself to be happy, if not to entirely redeem his 
 former fortunes, and he was now bound to abstain from play, 
 as much by justice, as by gratitude to the friends who had 
 become security for him upon his receiving the collector- 
 ship. He had pledged himself to do so, and it was in full 
 reliance upon his word that they had become his bondsmen. 
 But even this last sense of honour had now deserted him. 
 He no longer felt any necessity for obtaining a release from 
 
THE PEEHEN TEAGEDY. 55 
 
 his oath, but rushed headlong back to the gaming table with 
 increased appetite. The consequence may be easily antici- 
 pated. He risked the money which had come into his hands 
 as collector of the royal imposts, lost it, and at the end of 
 two years, being discovered to have embezzled the large sum 
 of eight hundred pounds, he was turned out of office, and his 
 securities had to make good the deficiency. 
 
 It would be thought that after such an event he must 
 have so completely lost all character as no longer to find ac- 
 ceptance in any decent society. Such, however, was not the 
 case. So generous is the Irish disposition, and perhaps it 
 must be added, sometimes so indulgent to moral delinquencies, 
 that he still found friends amongst the more respectable 
 classes, who could forgive his faults and admit him to their in- 
 timacy. It is still more surprising that amongst these should 
 have been one, who had a son of eighteen, and a daughter about 
 fifteen, neither of them likely to benefit by such an acquaint- 
 ance. This generous, but ill-judging, gentleman was Andrew 
 Knox, Esq . , of Prehen, Member of Parliament for D onegal, who, 
 as he had known Macnaghten from infancy, must, one would 
 imagine, have been well acquainted with his vices, and aware 
 of what such a man would be capable. Nothing of the kind 
 appeared in his conduct ; he invited Macnaghten frequently 
 to his house, treated him as one suffering, not from vice, but 
 from misfortune, and seemed, in every respect, as if he were 
 endeavouring to repair an imaginary injustice of the world, 
 by an excess of hospitable kindness. 
 
 It was now that, with a singular audacity and contempt 
 for men's opinions, the ruined gambler ofiered himself as a 
 candidate to represent Coleraine. He failed, of coarse ; but 
 so little abashed was he by the defeat, that he next set up 
 for the City of Londonderry. Here too he experienced the 
 same result, whereupon he thought of retrieving his desperate 
 fortunes by marriage. And here, properly speaking, my tale 
 begins, all this preliminary matter having been given but to 
 afibrd the reader a clearer insight into his character, and as 
 a key, in some sort, to what follows. Having witnessed the 
 growth of the tree, we shall no longer be astonished at its 
 crookedness. 
 
 The lady that Macnaghten pitched upon for his matri- 
 monial victim was no other than Miss Knox, the daughter of 
 his kind patron. True it was that every consideration of 
 honour and gratitude forbade such scheme; the generous 
 
56 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 and unsuspecting confidence of tie father ouglit unques- 
 tionably to have exempted him, if no one else, from an 
 attempt to inveigle his daughter ; but then it was this very- 
 confidence which afibrded him facilities that he was not so 
 likely to find with any other lady ; and, as to honour, it has 
 long been received for a melancholy truth that nothing 
 deadens every feeling of the kind so readily, or so com- 
 pletely, as a habit of gambliag. Macnaghten formed no 
 exception to the rule. 
 
 To vrin the afiections of Miss Knox was the first essential 
 to his scheme ; but her youth, being then hardly sixteen, 
 weighed against his knowledge of the world ; and his peculiar 
 address, so likely to captivate a female heart, made this no 
 very formidable obstacle ; the greater difficulty was to woo 
 the lady without being discovered by either of the parents, 
 who, however tolerant of him in other respects, were not like- 
 ly to admit a ruined gambler for a son-in-law. His inven- 
 tion and audacity suggested a plan in this dilemma, which 
 would hardly have occurred to any one besides himself. He 
 actually solicited Mr Knox for permission to pay his addresses 
 to his daughter, well knowing beforehand that he would be 
 refused, and meaning to make the greatest advantage of such 
 rejection. In pursuance of this plan, he sought a private 
 interview with the father, whose reply was such as to con- 
 viace him, if he could ever have doubted it, that his kind host 
 was by no means disposed to carry his romantic generosity 
 so far as to sacrifice his child to a ruined gambler. This hint 
 was enough. Instead of complaining, or in any way press- 
 ing his suit, the crafty wooer professed himself to be neither 
 hurt nor surprised at the determination; he only begged 
 that Mr Knox would not mention his request to any one, 
 as he was now made sensible of its impropriety, and was 
 anxious to avoid the mortification of its being known to 
 others that he had so asked and been refused. This petition 
 was too simple, and apparently too deserving of praise, to be 
 denied by a good-natured man like Mr Knox ; he willingly 
 passed his word to the efiect desired, and Macnaghten on his 
 part declared, with a show of gratitude and much affected 
 humility, that he would abandon his suit altogether. 
 
 The first step was thus successfully taken. Having as 
 he thought — and, as was indeed the fact — ^lulled Mr Knox 
 into a false security, he opened his batteries against the 
 daughter. This he began, by taking every opportunity of 
 
THE PEEHEN TRAGEDY. 57 
 
 talking of his hope, nay certainty, that his affairs would 
 speedily be retrieved ; not that he thought to deceive the 
 parents by such illusive statements, but he expected that, 
 out of mere kindness and compassion, they vrould not 
 contradict his assertion ; and thus they would be more likely 
 to pass for facts with the daughter than if he had stated 
 them to herself in private. At the same time he did not 
 neglect paying her those slight, yet marked, attentions, which 
 though not noticed by others, unless previously put upon 
 their guard, are perfectly well understood by the person to 
 whom they are directed. Here then was the foundation- 
 stone of his building laid solidly and securely. His next 
 measure was one of such consummate artifice that it rather 
 seems to belong to the ingenious intrigue of Spanish comedy 
 than to the events of real life. With the simulated confidence 
 of the fiend, when he whispered Eve in Paradise and tempted 
 her to eat of the forbidden apple, he told the young lady — 
 as a secret he would fain keep, but could not — that he had 
 obtained her father's consent to their union, but that the 
 old gentleman had resolved to hold his intentions private 
 for a year, partly on account of his daughter's youth, and 
 partly because of the present unsettled state of Macnaghten's 
 affairs. " He could not," he said, " deny himself the pleasure 
 of making to her this communication, but he begged that she 
 would not give the least intimation of it to any one, not even 
 to her mother, as it might mortally offend Mr Knox if it 
 should ever transpire that he had revealed what was granted 
 under a solemn pledge of secrecy." 
 
 The young lady, flattered, as he had expected, by this 
 confidence, and already most favourably inclined towards 
 him, gave the required promise without hesitation. Here 
 then was a second step in advance, and a most important one, 
 if the young lady were only as silent as she promised: and 
 that she might be so, he did not fail to warn her from time 
 to time that Mr Knox had, in private, repeated his injunc- 
 tion of secrecy, with an intimation that his consent would be 
 withdrawn if the least hint were given to any one of his pur- 
 pose. This all appeared plausible enough, and now, being 
 convinced that she was only acting as her father desired, she 
 listened readily to the suit of her crafty wooer, who did not 
 hesitate to press it, when he could do so unobserved. Her 
 illusion was yet more confirmed by the exceeding kindness of 
 both her parents towards Macnaghten, kindness which, in 
 
58 FAMILY KOMANCE. 
 
 fact, proceeded from a benevolent notion that he had been 
 too hardly dealt with, and that he really and truly repented 
 of his youthful error. Mrs Knox even went so far as to say, 
 she should be glad of so pretty a felLow for a son-in-law, and 
 this, too, in her daughter's presence, although in reality 
 without the slightest idea of such a thing. It was a foolish 
 speech, uttered without consideration, for the mere purpose 
 of showing the high regard she had for him. 
 
 Under such circumstances, it cannot be a matter of sur- 
 prise that Miss Enoi listened to her lover when he prop'osed, 
 by way of binding themselves, they should solemnly read over 
 the marriage eeremony. She gave him the required meeting 
 one morning early, at the house of a Mr Joshua Swetenham, 
 in Londonderry, where they read the matrimonial service in 
 parts, before Mr Andrew Hamilton, a young gentleman only 
 18 years old. He even prevailed upon her to kiss the 
 book interchangeably with him, and swear that she would 
 be married to him by a clergyman on the first opportunity. 
 She added, however, as the one indispensable condition of 
 her promise — " provided my father consents" — a clause 
 which, of itself, would have annulled the contract, had it 
 otherwise been binding. 
 
 The next efforts of Macnaghten were directed to the per- 
 suading her that this idle ceremony was in truth a marriage, 
 and that she ought to give herself up to him accordingly as 
 his wife. But the natural instinct of female delicacy foiLed 
 all his arts, and saved her from this snare. She refused to 
 listen to any such suggestions, whereupon he determined to 
 effect by force what he found himself unable to accomplish 
 by entreaties, for not only was his state growing more and 
 more desperate, but he had to fear every hour, lest some 
 untoward chance might arise to lay bare his villany. A man 
 of much less craft than he possessed, must have been quite 
 aware that a web so complicated and so finely spun, as were 
 his schemes, must be liable to damage from a multitude of 
 trifles. 
 
 As some slight extenuation of his next measure, we should 
 recollect that forcible abduction of women was by no means 
 considered in Ireland at that time in the same light it was 
 in other countries. Neither sex in general was inclined to 
 look upon it as anything more than a venial offence, and it 
 was even asserted that the ladies were far from being angry 
 at a little gentle violence, which served them as an excuse 
 
THE PEEHEN TRAGEDY. 59 
 
 for doing, what in their secret hearts they were well inclin- 
 ed to, while in appearance they disavowed it. At aU events, 
 such marriages often turned out as happy as unions more 
 legitimately contracted. 
 
 It so chanced that about ten days or a fortnight after 
 the performance of this mock ceremony, Miss Knox set out 
 upon a visit to William Wray's, Esq., at Ards, nearly fifty 
 miles from Prehen. Strange to say, the young lady's sus- 
 picions were so little excited by what had hitherto passed, 
 that she allowed Macnaghten to accompany her on her 
 journey. The parents on their part made no objection, 
 being kept in total ignorance of everything that could dis- 
 turb their confidence. 
 
 The distance being more than could be conveniently ac- 
 complished in one day, according to the then existing ideas 
 of travelling, and the really bad state of the Irish roads, it 
 was agreed they should pass the night at Strabane, at the 
 house of Mr M'Causland. Whether the mistress of the 
 mansion had been previously warned, or, from her own ob- 
 servation, was led to doubt Macnaghten, she thought fit to 
 place her young visitor in her own dressing-room. The pre- 
 caution proved to be no more than necessary, for in the 
 night Macnaghten endeavoured to get into Miss Knox's 
 room, and was only foiled by its situation. This discovery, 
 which he had every right to suppose would be revealed to 
 the parents, led him to precipitate measures. The next day, 
 at an early hour, he persuaded the young lady to walk in 
 the garden, and having reached a secluded spot, attempted 
 to offer her violence. Having repelled him with great in- 
 dignation, she hurried back to the house, and shortly after- 
 wards resumed her journey to Mr Wray's. Thither he 
 followed her, though at a distance, hoping that some oppor- 
 tunity might yet occur for accomplishing his purpose before 
 her friends at Prehen had taken the alarm. 
 
 There had long subsisted an intimate friendship between 
 Miss Knox and Miss Wray, the daughter of the house where 
 she was now residing, and it was not long before the former 
 related to her friend the whole story of what had passed, for 
 she considered, with great reason, that the conduct of Mac- 
 naghten had freed her from every obligation of secrecy. 
 Miss Wray lost no time in communicating the tale to her 
 father, who, fearing that Macnaghten might carry her off 
 
60 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 from his house, sent her home next day under a proper es- 
 cort, with a message explanatory of his conduct. 
 
 It was now plain to the ruffian, — for he deserves no 
 better name — that he could no longer wear the mask of con- 
 cealment, nor yet carry her off by force. He therefore 
 openly claimed her as his wife, publishing paragraphs in the 
 newspapers to that eifect, which were denied through the 
 same channels by Mr Knox. Even this last extreme act 
 of baseness did not prevent his uncle from harbouring him 
 in his house at Londonderry, which being only at a short 
 distance from Prehen, Mr Knox thought it would be pru- 
 dent to remove his daughter to his brother's house at Sligo. 
 Such was the state of law and morals in Ireland ; a father 
 could not protect his daughter in his own mansion. 
 
 Again Macnaghten set out in pursuit of the lady, and, 
 what makes the business yet blacker, accompanied and 
 abetted by his uncle. Alderman MacManus, whose patronage 
 of such villany was, if possible, even more atrocious than 
 the villany itself. If it came to a hanging matter, as in 
 reason it ought, there could be little doubt which of the two 
 deserved the higher gallows. 
 
 It was the forenoon when uncle and nephew arrived at 
 their inn at Sligo. Their first business was to inquire what 
 company was then in the house of Mr James Knox, and 
 upon learning that John Magill, Esq., a member of parlia- 
 ment and a commissioner of the board of works, was there, 
 Macnaghten, who had some slight acquaintance with him, 
 sent up his card, with a request that they might dine to- 
 gether. The answer to this was that Mr Magill "knew 
 not, or at least would not know, any such scoundrel." A 
 second demand by another messenger brought back the 
 same reply. Public as this insult was, Macnaghten took no 
 notice of it, but had even the audacity to make his appear- 
 ance at an assembly, which chanced to be held in the town 
 that evening, and though Mr Magill and Mr Thomas Knox 
 were both present, he made no allusion whatever to the in- 
 sulting message of the former. This was too much for the 
 patience of gentlemen, and, above all, of Irish gentlemen. 
 Indignant at such impudent cowardice, and anxious no doubt 
 to provoke him, Mr MagiU exclaimed, in something louder 
 than a whisper, that Macnaghten was an infamous scoundrel. 
 But neither of this did the offended person take any notice 
 
THE PREHEN TEAGEDY. 61 
 
 at the time. When, however, he had gone back to his inn 
 with a military friend, Mr Grethings, and his uncle, he seems 
 to have thought better of it, or it may be that, by their per- 
 suasions, he was induced to send a challenge to the aggressor 
 through the medium of Mr Gethings. The rest is so com- 
 pletely Irish in the gallantry and even recklessness of the 
 principal personage, that I must needs tell it in the exact 
 words of the pamphlet written at the time. 
 
 " It being now resolved that he should fight before he 
 slept, he sat up with his company, expecting Mr Magill's 
 return to the inn, where he had bespoke a bed, 'tiU four 
 o'clock in the morning, drinking only one bottle of claret. 
 About this time, Mr Magill returned, and, it being in the 
 month of May, the day was broke. As he had been drink- 
 ing very freely he was immediately shown to his chamber, 
 and began to prepare for bed ; but before he was quite 
 undressed, Mr Q-ethings brought him Maenaghten's chal- 
 lenge, and acquainted him that he was himself to be his 
 second. Though a man who had been drinking freely till 
 four in the morning, must certainly engage under great 
 disadvantage with an antagonist who, with a view to such 
 an engagement, had drunk only part of one bottle of claret ; 
 yet, as in these circumstances the challenge was sent, Mr 
 Magill readily accepted it ; and because he would occasion 
 no delay by seeking at that unreasonable hour for a second 
 on his own behalf, he at once declared that he would con- 
 sider Mr Gethings, with whom he had been sometime ac- 
 quainted, and whom he knew to be a man of honour, as 
 their common friend. Having made this declaration, and 
 again put on such part of his dress as he had pulled off, he 
 walked into a back-yard with Mr G-ethings, where they 
 were met by Macnaghten, and having taken their ground 
 each discharged a pistol against the other ; and both missed 
 their aim. They then drew and discharged, each of them, 
 another pistol ; Mr Magill had the good fortune at his 
 second firing to wound his antagonist in the leg, about two 
 inches below the calf, where the ball passed clean through 
 between the Achilles tendon and the bone." 
 
 This lucky woimd, Macnaghten thought, must be received 
 by the world in fuU. acquittance of all his past delinquen- 
 cies ; and, with his usual assurance, he addressed his late 
 antagonist with a hope " that he did not now think him so 
 great a scoundrel as he had declared he thought him in 'the 
 
62 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 Assembly Eoom." Magill replied with equal sense and 
 spirit, "By God, but I do;" and, turning his back upon 
 him, left him to the care of his second. 
 
 The principal belKgerents had now recourse to law, 
 Macnaghten endeavouring to have his mock marriage con- 
 firmed, and Mr Knox to obtain a decree pronouncing it al- 
 together null and void. The latter succeeded, and the 
 defeated suitor betook himself to England, to lodge an ap- 
 peal, as he pretended, in the court of delegates. His real 
 objects were to escape being arrested by Mr KJnox, for the 
 costs of the late law-suit, in which he had been cast, and to 
 get himself returned Member of Parliament for Carrickfer- 
 gus, as protection for the future. With this view, he went 
 to the house of a nobleman, with whom he had a slight ac- 
 quaintance, and, without any previous notice, demanded to 
 see him. Although informed that his lordship was at din- 
 ner with some friends, he insisted that his message, desiring 
 to see him upon important business, should be instantly 
 taken in. Hereupon, the nobleman came out, and upon 
 nearing the request of his troublesome visitor, declined all 
 interference, a repulse by which Macnaghten was so little 
 abashed, that a few days afterwards he sent a familiar note, 
 demanding a loan of eighty guineas, as he had been disap- 
 pointed in certain expected remittances from Ireland. This 
 was refused, and so little sense of shame was now left to 
 him, that, changing his tone and story altogether, in about 
 a week he sent again, and in a letter dated from Kingston 
 gaol, requested the loan of thirty guineas, upon a plea of 
 abject distress occasioned by his law-suits. 
 
 I next find Macnaghten playing the accomplished sharper 
 at the Bath gaming-tables ; though how he got out of Kings- 
 ton gaol — if he had ever been there — is not known ; and 
 still less is it possible to say how he acquired the necessary 
 funds for such a purpose. Suddenly the scene shifts, he is 
 again in Ireland, and again trying to force himself into the 
 presence of the unfortunate Miss Knox, who was then at 
 Swanlinbar, with her mother, for the benefit of . the 
 mineral waters. There he lurked about in the woods for 
 several days, sleeping at night in a poor shieling — but, 
 being discovered, he at once boldly avowed his real charac- 
 ter and purpose. In any other country such a ruffian 
 would have been now restrained by the strong hand of the 
 law; "but," says the pamphleteer, and there seems no 
 
THE PEEHEN TRAGEDY. 63 
 
 ground for doubting Mm, " a gentleman, discoTered in dis- 
 guise, concealed in a cottage or a wood for the love of a 
 young lady, wliom her parents only withhold from his 
 wishes, always rises into new dignity, and is regarded with 
 uncommon ardour of kindness, mixed with a kind of pity 
 and admiration by the multitude, wherever he happens to 
 be ; and Macnaghten became so popular at SwanUnbar, 
 after his discovery, that having told his story to the com- 
 mon people, if they had not been led to doubt of its truth 
 by contrary reports from respectable characters, would all 
 of them have assisted him, at whatever hazard, to carry off 
 the lady." 
 
 Few prudent families, I suspect, would choose to live in 
 so gallant a neighbourhood as that of Swanliabar. 
 
 I now come to the last act of this play, which, from 
 having been little better than a farce, much in the style of 
 the " Beggar's Opera " heroics, at once deepens into 
 tragedy. Hitherto, Macnaghten had been kept within 
 some bounds, though not very strict or straight, by the 
 hope of inheriting his uncle's fortune. But, tolerant as 
 the old man had for a long time shown himself, he was, at 
 length, so much revolted by the infamous career of his 
 nephew, that he married, with the avowed purpose, if he 
 should have no child of his own, of leaving his fortune 
 to his young wife. This made Macnaghten desperate, 
 and he became more resolved than ever to carry off Miss 
 Knox at all hazards. To effect his purpose, he spread 
 abroad a report that he was at Benvarden — and then, under 
 the name of Smith, and in the character of a sportsman, 
 repaired to the neighbourhood of Prehen. Of the twelye 
 associates he took with him, all deserted him but three — 
 George MacDougal, his plough-driver, James MacCarrel, 
 and one Thomas Dunlop, his tenant. 
 
 It was not long before he got intimation that Mr Knox 
 was to set out from Prehen with his daughter and family, 
 and having reconnoitred the country around, he at length 
 found a spot well adapted to his purpose of intercepting 
 them. This was a narrow pass, with ten outlets of escape, 
 through which Mr Knox's carriage must come, between a 
 large dunghill and a cabin belonging to one Keys, that 
 stood under a bank of oak. Behind either of these, 
 the accomplices might remain unseen till the very last 
 moment. 
 
64 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 Before day-break upon the morning of the 10th of ^^: 
 vember, he repaired with his associates to Eeys' caB^' 
 bringing with him in a sack six guns, nine pistols, several 
 ropes, and a long leathern strap— the ropes and the strap 
 being, as he said, intended for tying Miss Knox on horse- 
 back behind himself or one of his people. 
 
 It would seem that he had not kept either himseK or 
 his intentions so secret but that Mr Knox had got some 
 vague information of them. A report had got abroad of 
 his having declared he would possess himself at aU hazards 
 of Miss Knox, and that, if opposed, he would cause a scene 
 of blood in the family, which should, in after-times, make 
 the ears tingle of the child that was yet unborn. The party, 
 therefore, in leaving Prehen for Dublin, being thus fore- 
 warned, set out in sufficient numbers to be safe, it was 
 supposed, against the premeditated attack. It consisted of 
 Mr Knox, his brother James in a single horse chaise, with 
 a servant riding behind him ; young Mr Knox, with his 
 servant, both of them also on horseback ; a blacksmith 
 named MacCuUough, armed with a blunderbuss and a case 
 of pistols in his surtout-coat pocket, and James Love, Mr 
 Knox's own servant, armed with a fusee. The ladies, with 
 Mr Knox, went in the coach, the two last-named forming a 
 body-guard about them ; but, by a strange contradiction, 
 all the rest of the party, who, in numbers, formed its 
 strength, were not armed at all ; nor did Mr Knox, with 
 his servant, think it necessary to keep near the carriage, 
 but went considerably in advance, thus serving as a signal 
 for the hidden confederates to prepare for action. 
 
 It was about eleven o'clock when the coach passed the 
 cabin. And " now," says our homely narrative, " Mac- 
 naghten and two of his accomplices rushed out, each armed 
 with pistols and a gun. Maonaghten presented his gun 
 at the coachman, and threatened him with instant death if 
 he did not stop the horses. The coachman, thus terrified, 
 complied; and Macnaghten's servant coming up to him, 
 presented his gun, and threatened that if he offered to put 
 his horses on again he would shoot him. The coach being 
 thus stopped and detained, Macnaghten hastened round 
 the horses' heads to the coach door, in order to force out 
 the lady ; but MacCuUough, the blacksmith, coming up to 
 him at that instant and presenting his piece, Macnaghten 
 fired at him, and wounded him in the hand ; the fellow, 
 
' THE PEEHEN TRAGEDY. 65 
 
 however, snapped Ms Wunderbuss, but it unfortunately 
 missed fire. Macnaghten fired a second shot at him, and 
 wounded him in the knee and groin, and totally disabled 
 him. In the mean time Mr Knox snapped a pistol at Mac- 
 naghten from the coach window, but the cock flying off, 
 that missed fire also. "While this was doing, one of Mac- 
 naghten's accomplices was charging guns in the cabin and 
 handing them out ; and Macnaghten having received one 
 from him in the room of another he had discharged, ad- 
 vanced upon the fore part of the dunghill opposite to the 
 cabin, towards that side of the coach where Miss Knox sat, 
 and with his gun, presented, fired into the coach, and 
 lodged no less than five bullets in her left side. He then 
 went round by the wheels on, the other side of the coach, 
 but, as he was going about, James Love, Mr Knox's own 
 servant, fired at his back from behind a turf-stack, and 
 lodged three swan shot in his shoulders, Mr Knox at the 
 same time firing again from the coach, but without effect. 
 Macnaghten, though he felt himself wounded, got round, 
 received another pistol from the cabin, and fired that also 
 into the coach, with the intention to kill Mr Knox, but 
 providentially the shot missed him. After this, Macnaghten 
 and one of his accomplices fired each of them a random 
 shot through the coach, probably with a design to kill every 
 creature that was in it, for all the guns were loaded with 
 swan shot ; yet, in aU these discharges, the poor young 
 lady only was wounded." 
 
 It would seem as if revenge, and not the abduction of 
 the lady, had been the intention of this cold-blooded and 
 cowardly miscreant ; for, having gone thus far, he walked 
 off, attended by his accomplices, without the slightest appa- 
 rent concern, and satisfied no doubt that he had effected 
 as much evil as he could, without too far compromising his 
 own chances of escape. No sooner was the field thus left 
 clear than young Mr Knox galloped off to Strabane, to call 
 in the assistance of the InniskUlen Dragoons then quartered 
 there, and to procure medical aid for the wounded. 
 
 In the mean while Miss Knox was taken out of the 
 coach, deluged in her own blood, and placed upon a rude bed 
 in Keys' cabin. The pain from her wounds was well nigh 
 intolerable. She was continually crying out, " My side ! my 
 side ! " and calling upon God to put an end, by death, to her 
 sufferings. At length Dr Law, a physician of eminence, 
 
 5 
 
66 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 arrived from Strabane. Upon examination he found one of 
 the bullets had broken her third rib, counting upwards, 
 and buried itself in her body ; that a second had entered her 
 side, about two inches below her ribs ; a third nearly two 
 inches below that, but rather more forward ; that a fourth 
 had lodged in the head of her hip-bone ; and a fifth slightly 
 marked her groin. The doctor at once pronounced her 
 beyoiid all hope of recovery, any one of the three last 
 wounds being sufBcient of itself to produce a speedy death. 
 She was, however, removed, for more. comfort, to a decent 
 farm-house about a hundred yards off, and placed upon an 
 easy bed, if any bed could be easy to one enduring such in- 
 sufferable agony. There she lay for about four hours, 
 piercing the ears and hearts of all around with her cries and 
 groans, at which time she died. 
 
 While these things were passing in the cabin and the 
 farm-house, a party of light-horse had arrived under the 
 command of Serjeant Macjurkin, a Fermanagh man, of great 
 boldness, and by no means deficient in military sagacity, 
 following the advice of the peasants, he took the route of 
 Cumbirlady and Dungiven, and scoured the country on 
 either side, to a considerable distance. But neither of these 
 ways had Macnaghten taken. His horse, with the horses 
 of his associates, had been held for him in a little wood at no 
 great distance from Keys' cabin, and, having hastily mounted, 
 he rode off full speed to Mr Irwin's, the place where he had 
 been abiding the week before, in the feigned character of a 
 sportsman. He did not, however, stop here, but passed on 
 for about a mile, when, finding himself alone, and, as he 
 thought, unobserved, he dismounted, took the bridle and 
 saddle from his horse, concealed them in a ditch, and turned 
 the animal loose. It may here also be remarked that the 
 horse was black, with the exception of some white marks 
 upon the face, which had been coloured over to prevent his 
 being recognised. 
 
 Macnaghten now proceeded on foot to a little distance, 
 till he reached the house of one Thomas Winsley, a consi- 
 derable bleacher, and, without being seen by any of the 
 family or the servants, he managed to conceal himself in a 
 hay -loft. There he hoped to remain undiscovered, until the 
 pursuit for the day was over, when he might escape to some 
 place of greater safety. Perhaps he might have done so, 
 but that two of the pursuing pairty, Corporal Caldwell, and 
 
THE PEEHEN TKAGEDY. 67 
 
 a private light horseman, of the name of Eeed, who were 
 natives of the vicinity, had, by some unexplained means, 
 gained intelligence of his route, and even of the place where 
 he lay hidden. Possessed of this information, they made 
 their way to the bleacher's house, and boldly entered the 
 hay-loft, though the place was so dark they could see 
 nothing in it. The murderer, on the contrary, saw them 
 clearly enough from his lurking-place, as they stood against 
 the little light that found its way into the room. Without 
 uttering a word, he fired at them, and they instantly 
 returned the shot, directed only by the ilash and report of 
 his pistol, but no mischief was done on either side. The 
 horesemen then drew their broad-swords, and regardless of 
 the additional risk thus incurred,, pressed forward to take 
 him alive, when the report of another pistol came from the 
 darkness. This, it appears, Macnaghten, hopeless now of 
 escape, had levelled at his own head, but the ball having 
 dropt out, he was only scorched on the ear by the powder. 
 At the moment, the soldiers were not aware of this, yet still 
 they pressed on, although so fully sensible of their extreme 
 peril, that one cried to the other on advancing, " Come, my 
 lad, one of us must fall, but, by God, we will take the vil- 
 lain." Macnaghten, however, had not the means of further 
 resistance, even if he possessed courage enough to make use 
 of them, and he was now dragged from his concealment and 
 bound upon a car, to be secured in the nearest gaol. 
 
 Matters now^ proceeded rapidly ; a coroner's inquest sat, 
 and brought in a verdict of wilful murder against both 
 the principal and his accomplices — one of whom, Dunlop, 
 was shortly afterwards taken in a large meal-chest, belong- 
 ing to a miller, at a place called Ballyboggy. As it was 
 rumoured that some desperadoes meditated a rescue, Mr 
 Knox procured an order from the Lord Lieutenant for 
 a party of horse, in whom he placed most confidence, to do 
 duty at the prison where Macnaghten was confined. A 
 Serjeant's guard was placed within the gaol every night, and 
 two men watched continually in his cell. 
 
 I must here again notice the inconsistencies in the 
 conduct and character of this cold-blooded assassin, without 
 attempting to explain or account for them. While he 
 utterly neglected his person, he paid the utmost attention 
 to his wounds, although with the certainty of an ignomini- 
 ous death before his eyes. With this conviction — and how 
 
68 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 could he fail of it ? — such a desire to get healed could not 
 proceed from a love of life ; arid just as little could it be 
 attributed to any religious feeling ; nothing, indeed, could 
 be more remarkable than his utter want of remorse for 
 what he had done, and his total indifference to the death of 
 one whom he professed to have loved, and whom he had so 
 cruelly murdered. "Well might the Eosicruoian, Comte de 
 Gabalis, exclaim, " Le coeur humain est un abime ! qui 
 pourra le connoitre ? " 
 
 On Monday, the seventh of December, he was summoned 
 to take his trial at Strabane, but his brother did not desert 
 him in the hour of distress, guilty as he was in the eyes of 
 all reasonable beings — of all, indeed, who can distinguish 
 between right and wrong, between black and white, although 
 this would not seem to be a common quality amongst the 
 warm-hearted and impetuous Irish, who are much too apt 
 to let feeling outweigh judgment. Counsel, learned in the 
 law, was procured to defend the criminal, and a motion was 
 made to put off the trial, under pretence that he had been 
 hindered by wounds and close conSnement from making the 
 necessary preparations for his defence. Upon this the 
 Honourable Mr Baron Mountney, Mr Justice Scott, and 
 Mr Justice Smith, who were upon the bench at the time, 
 granted a postponement until the following Priday, when 
 the trial began, and, according to Serjeant Burke, in his ac- 
 count of it in his " Trials connected with the Upper Classes," 
 lasted five days. 
 
 Upon the Priday Macnaghten was again brought into 
 court on a bed, dressed in a white flannel waistcoat, with black 
 buttons and holes, a black crape about his arm, a dirty parti- 
 coloured night-cap upon his head, and a beard of a month's 
 growth. Every indulgence was extended to him that could 
 be with propriety, nor was he in the least wanting in him- 
 self. He is described as having made his defence with so 
 much eloquence and feeling as to draw tears from many of 
 the spectators. He stated, and the judges listened to him 
 with patience — that " no man ever loved a woman better 
 than he loved Miss Knox, and that he had no intention to 
 kill anybody, much less that young lady ; but that he 
 came with a party to carry off one whom he considered as 
 his wife, and had armed himself and his companions, only 
 that they might be able to oppose force by force, if he 
 should be resisted in his attempt. He declared also that he 
 
THE PEEHEN TRAGEDY. 69 
 
 did not fire at the coach till he felt himself wounded, and 
 that, in the agony caused by his wound, he neither knew 
 nor cared what he did. But these declarations, he said, 
 were not intended to obtain a verdict which might give him 
 life — his only wish being now to die — but to clear his cha- 
 racter from the imputation of murder. He was also very 
 importunate with the court to consider Dunlop, his accom- 
 plice, as acting wholly under his influence in what he did ; 
 and said, that as he did not commit any act of violence him- 
 self, but was only present at the action, he hoped they would 
 spare his life." 
 
 These few sentences, it must be owned, combine all that 
 the utmost ingenuity could devise to soften the harsher 
 features of his crime, and to excite the sympathies of his 
 audience, unless he had set up a plea of actual madness at 
 the time. This generous care for his accomplice, his indif- 
 ference to life himself, and his having fired at his victims 
 only while smarting under the agony of his wounds — all 
 these might be, and probably were, .no more than pretences, 
 but they were such as, if believed, must have gone far to 
 enlist the feelings of an Irish jury in his favour. However, 
 all Macnaghten's efforts were fruitless, and a verdict of 
 GrtriLTT was given. 
 
 The most important change in his character is now 
 to appear. That he was constitutionally timid must be 
 evident to every one ; and it was natural to expect that the 
 near approach of death, together with the depression arising 
 from wounds and imprisonment, would have made him yet 
 more pusillanimous, or else would have given him the cour- 
 age of desperation. I^either of these was the case. The 
 bravest could not have shovm himself more calm or less 
 shaken by the prospect before him. From the moment that 
 his doom was fixed, he showed no signs of flinching, but, at 
 the same time, this show of courage continued unmingled 
 with that recklessness which, to the common observer, will 
 often supply the. place of real spirit. 
 
 In a religious point of view his character also underwent 
 a total change ; but this, of course, cannot be considered as 
 anything surprising ; most men are content to fly to religion 
 for consolation when all earthly hope has left them. Al- 
 though he had repulsed the services of the attendant clergy- 
 man with contempt, he now had the sacrament administered 
 
70 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 to him at his own request, and received it with every 
 appearance of devotion. 
 
 Incredible as it may seem, Macnaghten was to the last 
 a great favourite amongst the people. " He had," says the 
 old pamphleteer, " many popular good qualities, which, with 
 the advantage of his person and address, gained him the 
 general good-will of the lower sort of people, which was not 
 lessened, even by the crime for which he died. They were 
 wholly ignorant of the ingratitude and dissimulation of his 
 devices to seduce the young lady into that contract which, 
 he pretended, gave him a right to her person. They con- 
 sidered his endeavour to get her into his possession as a 
 gallant and spirited attempt to do himself a justice ; and 
 the death of the young lady as an accidental effect, of an un- 
 just resistance made against that attempt by those, who by 
 superior power and influence would have overborne right. 
 These notions, however erroneous and extravagant, had 
 taken such possession of their minds, that there was not a 
 carpenter to be found in the country about Strabane that 
 would erect a gallows for his execution ; nor could any per- 
 son be procured to undertake it for hire. The sheriff, 
 therefore, was obliged to look out for a tree which might 
 serve for the purpose ; and upon a tree he must at last have 
 been executed, if the uncle of the unhappy young lady, and 
 a party of gentlemen, who were moved with a just indigna- 
 tion at the thought of being reduced to the necessity of such 
 an expedient to execute a wretch who had committed 
 a murder with every possible aggravation, had not them- 
 selves made a gallows and set it up. It was erected on 
 a plain between Strabane and Lifford ; and on the 15 th of 
 December, about one o'clock in the morning, Macnaghten, 
 who had been fettered upon his condemnation, was brought 
 down from his room in the prison, in order to have his fet- 
 ters taken off ; but there was not a smith to be found that 
 would do it ; and if one of those who had refused the office 
 had not been compelled by a party of the light-horse to 
 perform it, the criminal must, contrary to law, have been 
 executed with his fetters on ; and the sheriff was obliged to 
 send for the executioner, a very old man, from Cavan. 
 Everything, however, being at last ready, he was carried to 
 the place of execution, dressed in a very slovenly manner, 
 and in the very eoat which he wore when he committed the 
 
THE PEEHEN TRAGEDY, 71 
 
 murder ; declaring, but for what reason cannot be known, 
 that " he would wear no other." 
 
 Even at this last trying moment his courage did not fail 
 him, only he asked if his head was to be stuck upon the 
 gaol, and seemed much pleased when the sheriff replied 
 in the negative. He refused to address the public, but 
 assured some of his prosecutors then present, that he for- 
 gave them" his death, although he himself did not ask forgive- 
 ness of any one. Ascending the ladder with a firm step, he 
 placed the rope about his own neck, and threw himself off 
 with great violence, in hope to break the vertebrae, and thus 
 insure a speedy and less painful death. The force, how- 
 ever, was such that the rope gave way, and he fell to the 
 ground. Thereupon the sympathising crowd made an open- 
 ing in their ranks that he might escape ; but the execu- 
 tioner, and those determined that justice should be done, 
 closed around, when, notwithstanding the pain he must 
 have suffered, he remounted the gallows as calm as ever, de- 
 claring that Lord Ferrers was quite right in saying, the 
 anticipation of death was much worse than death itself. He 
 was again thrown off, and this time so effectually, that in a 
 few minutes he ceased to struggle. Dunlop was hanged at 
 the same time. 
 
 Such was the fate of John Macnaghten, a man designed by 
 nature for better things, but one in whose mind the seeds 
 of goodness were destroyed at an early period of life by 
 a passion for gambling. 
 
72 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 THE TRUE ROMANCE OF EDWARD 
 WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 The history of a philosophic vagahond pursuing novelty. 
 
 ViOAE 01' Wakefield. 
 
 It is a somewliat tackney saying, that truth is often- 
 times more wonderful than fiction ; and of this, Edward 
 Wortley Montagu affords a very complete illustration. 
 Prom his early days he was ever at tilt with the world's 
 opinions ; and, but that sufficient documents are at hand to 
 prove the reality of my narrative, I might well expect to 
 be set down amongst those who, to borrow Shakspeare's 
 censure of certain players, " imitate nature most abomin- 
 ably." Certes, there is many a romance that less oversteps 
 the modesty of nature than the simple reality of our chroni- 
 cle, and yet more care has been taken to soften down, than 
 to aggravate, the features in my hero's character. 
 
 Edward "Wortley Montagu was the son of the highly 
 gifted but eccentric Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, and 
 while yet an infant was taken by her to Constantinople, 
 whither her husband had been sent as ambassador from 
 England. The child was then only three years old, and, it 
 is very possible, may have imbibed the roving propensities 
 of his manhood from being thus early accustomed to travel. 
 With a boldness that few mothers besides herself would 
 have evinced, she tried upon him the experiment of inocula- 
 tion foj- the smaU-pox, he being the first English child that 
 had ever been subjected to it ; and, beneficially no doubt for 
 the European world, Jenner's better discovery being yet un- 
 known, the practice in this instance turned out so successful, 
 that Lady Mary VFas afterwards enabled to introduce it 
 amongst her own countrymen with a confidence that finally 
 subdued all the opposition of prejudice and ignorance. The 
 following account is given of this matter by Mr Maitland, 
 
EDWAED WORTLEY MONTAGU. 73 
 
 who attended the embassy to Constantinople in the capacity 
 of surgeon. 
 
 " About this time the ambassador's ingenious lady, who 
 had been at some pains to satisfy her curiosity in this matter, 
 and had made some useful observations on the practice, was 
 so thoroughly convinced of the safety of it, that she resolved 
 to submit her only son to it, a very hopeful boy of about 
 six years of age. She first of all ordered me to find out a 
 fit subject to take the matter from, and then sent for an old 
 -Grreek woman who had practised this a great many years. 
 After a good deal of trouble and pains I found a proper 
 subject, and then the good woman went to work ; but so 
 awkwardly, by the shaking of her hand, and put the boy to 
 so much torture with her blunt and rusty needle, that I 
 pitied his cries, who had ever been of such spirit and courage 
 that hardly anything of pain could make him cry before ; 
 and therefore inoculated the other arm with my own instru- 
 ment, and with so little pain to him that he did not in the 
 least complain of it. The operation took in both arms, and 
 succeeded perfectly well. This operation was performed at 
 Pera, near Constantinople, in the month of March, 1717." 
 
 Two years afterwards, the family returned to England, 
 when the young Edward was sent to Westminster School. 
 And now it was he began to show, that if he had inherited 
 the talents of his mother, he had also imbibed her eccen- 
 tricity; but in his case, so much aggravated, as at times 
 almost to assume a tinge of madness. 
 
 The boy had not been long at school before he began to 
 grow weary of its trammels. Whatever may have been the 
 cause, he fled from the Westminster cloisters, managing the 
 affair with so much adroitness as to baffle every effort made 
 to discover him. Handbills and advertisements were repeat- 
 edly issued, but to no purpose ; the purlieus of Covent Gar- 
 den and the recesses of St GrUes's were searched from one end 
 to the other, and under every stimulus of high rewards, yet 
 they found not a vestige of the truant. It seemed as if he 
 were lost to his family for ever ; no unlikely thing, if we con- 
 sider the state of the metropolis in those days. 
 
 It" so happened that a friend of the family, Mr Forster, 
 had some business to transact with the captain of a ship 
 then lying at Blackwall, for which place he set out, attended 
 by one of the domestics of old Mr Wortley Montagu. 
 
74 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 They had not gone far in Blackwall, when their attention 
 was caught by the sound of a familiar voice crying fish. 
 Both at the same time exclaimed, "How like the voice of 
 young Montagu! " and immediately they despatched a sailor 
 after the boy, under pretence of a wish to deal with him. 
 Unsuspecting any snare of this kind, the young itinerant 
 came back witb the sailor, carrying upon his head a basket 
 of plaice, flounders, and other small fish. "With them, to see, 
 was to be assured, in spite of all the boy's coolness in deny- 
 ing himself. "When, however, he foun'd that he was discover- 
 ed beyond any chance of concealment he flung down his 
 basket and ran away. This it was that betrayed him. It was 
 soon discovered to whom the basket belonged, and with this 
 clue they had no difficulty in finding out where the boy had 
 taken up his abode, and it now appeared that he had been 
 regularly bound by indentures of apprenticeship to a poor 
 but honest fisherman, whom, it appeared, he had served with 
 equal diligence and fidelity for upwards of a twelve-month. 
 His master was enthusiastic in his praise ; he cried his fish 
 with energy, made his bargains with shrewdness, and, what 
 might seem yet more wonderful, was punctual in bringing 
 home the produce to the old fisherman. Notwithstanding 
 the reluctance of the master and his apprentice to part with 
 each other,- the boy was taken home, and a second time sent 
 to school at "Westminster. 
 
 " One man may take a horse to the water, but a dozen 
 cannot make him drink," says an ancient English proverb. 
 80, too, Mr Forster, aided by the servant, might bring master 
 Edward home again, and his father might send him to school 
 once more, but it was soon found that to make him stay there 
 was quite another matter. In a very short time he gave them 
 the slip, as he had done before, and bound himself to the 
 master of a ship, then sailing for Oporto. This man was a 
 Quaker, and a conscientious one, who, believing young Mon- 
 tagu to be a poor, deserted, friendless creature, treated him 
 with much kindness. He clothed him decently, supplied 
 him with good and wholesome food, and made a sea-life as 
 pleasant as it could be made to one in his situation. Still 
 there was restraint, and restraint was a thing most alien to 
 his nature; so, the moment the vessel reached Oporto, he start- 
 ed oft" again, totally forgetful of the good Quaker's kindness to 
 him; and,although ignorant of thelanguage,he ventureda con- 
 
EDWAED WOETLEY MONTAGU. 75 
 
 siderable distance up the country. It was the vintage-sea- 
 son. He offered his services, was put upon a brief trial, and 
 was found useful enough to be retained. 
 
 In this way, two or three years passed in the interior of 
 Portugal, without his making the least attempt to improve his 
 situation ; till one day he was ordered to drive some asses to 
 the factory. The commission was intrusted to him on ac- 
 count of some business which could not be transacted with- 
 out a knowledge of the English language. But no sooner 
 had he arrived there, Ms good — or as he probably would 
 have termed it, his bad — stars, caused him to be recog- 
 nised by the English consul ; or, if he could have had any 
 doubt upon the subject, it was fully confirmed by his former 
 master — the old Quaker, whose vesssel happened to be 
 lying in the harbour. Thereupon, the young wanderer 
 was consigned to proper keeping, and brought home, where, 
 by the mediation of Mr Eorster with his parents, he was 
 again received into grace and favour. To this gentleman, 
 was thenceforth intrusted the care of his education, a duty he 
 discharged with so much zeal and judgment, that though the 
 pupil had lost much ground by his late wandering habits, he 
 was not long in regaining it, and making considerable ad- 
 vances beyond the point attained when he ran away from 
 "Westminster. But well and truly sings the old Epicurean 
 poet — 
 
 " Quo semel est imbuta recens servabit odorem. 
 Testa diu." 
 
 And deeply was young Edward imbued with the spirit 
 of vagabondizing ; or, as phrenologists would more delicately 
 term it, the organ of locomotiveness was singularly predomi- 
 nant with him. He ran away a third time, and eiitered as a 
 fore-mast man aboard a ship, bound for the Mediterranean, 
 to the great vexation of his father, whose patience seemed at 
 last exhausted. He absolutely refused any further interference 
 in his favour, declaring that, as he had made his bed, so he 
 must lie. But Mr Forster again played the part of mediator, 
 and after much argument prevailed so far upon old Montagu, 
 that he allowed him, if he would take the trouble, to go in 
 search of the prodigal, and bring him home again. 
 
 So determined a friend was not likely to fail in his mis- 
 sion. In a short time he had tracked out the fugitive, and 
 onCe more restored him to his father, who was even brought 
 
76 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 to consent that he should now go abroad, under the direction 
 of his kind mediator. The West Indies was chosen for the 
 place of his retreat during the next few years, and an ample 
 stipend was allotted for his support. 
 
 It would appear that this singular plan, like many other 
 empirical remedies, succeeded in effecting a temporary cure at 
 least, when more legitimate remedies had failed. He studied 
 so as to obtain a competent knowledge of the classics, and 
 what was of much more importance to his future welfare 
 than all the learning of a Porspn, he had acquired so much 
 apparent steadiness, that his father now sent for him home, 
 and ventured to place him in one of the public offices. There, 
 for a time, he kept up the same appearances, and in 1747, was 
 returned one of the knights of the shire for the county of 
 Huntingdon. It soon, however, became manifest that con- 
 sideration had not, in his case, as in that of Henry the Fifth, 
 completely done its work ; it had not " whipped the offending 
 Adam out of him," for it was not long before he had deeply 
 involved himself in debt ; and, towards the latter end of the 
 year 1751, he was fain once more to set out upon his travels. 
 
 Paris, unfortunately, was the place of his first excursion, 
 and here his extraordinary passion for gambling betrayed him 
 into an affair which, to say the least of it, had a very sus- 
 picious appearance at the time, and which has left a stain 
 upon his name, that has never been completely obliterated. 
 As the matter is one of so equivocal a nature, it is but fair to 
 give his own account of it, and nearly as may be in his own 
 words. 
 
 " On Sunday, the 31st of October, 1751, when it was 
 near one in the morning, as I was undressed and going to bed, 
 I heard a person enter my room ; and upon turning round 
 and seeing a man I did not know, I asked him calmly wJiat 
 he wanted? His answer was that I must put on my clothes. 
 I began to expostulate upon the motives of his apparition, 
 when a commissary instantly entered the room with a pretty 
 numerous .attendance ; and told me with great gravity, that 
 he was come, by virtue of a warrant for my imprisonment, to 
 carry me to the Grand Chatelfit. I requested him again and 
 again to inform me of the crime laid to my charge ; but all 
 his answer was, that I must follow him. I begged him to give 
 me leave to write to Lord Albemarle, the English Ambassa- 
 dor ; promising to obey the warrant, if his Excellency was 
 not pleased to answer for my forthcomiag. But the Com- 
 
EDWARD WOETLEY MONTAGU. 77 
 
 missary refused me the use of pen and ink, though he con- 
 sented that I should send a verbal message to his Excellency, 
 telling me at the same time that he would not wait the return 
 of the messenger, because his orders were to carry me instant- 
 ly to prison. As resistance under such circumstances must 
 have been unavailable, and might have been blameable, I 
 obeyed the warrant by following the Commissary, after order- 
 ing one of my domestics to inform my Lord Albemarle of the 
 treatment I underwent. 
 
 " I was carried to the Chatelet, where the jailors, hardened 
 by their profession, and brutal for their profit, fastened upon 
 me, as upon one of those guilty objects whom they lock up 
 to be reserved for public punishment ; and though neither 
 my looks nor my behaviour betrayed the least symptom of 
 guilt, yet I was treated as a condemned criminal. I was 
 thrown into prison, and committed to a set of wretches, who 
 bore no character of humanity but its form. 
 
 " My residence — to speak in the jail dialect — was in the 
 SECBET, which is no other than the dungeon of the prison, 
 where all the furniture was a wretched mattress and a crazy 
 chair. The weather was cold, and I called for a fire ; but I 
 was told I could have none. I was thirsty, and called for 
 some wine and water, or even a draught of water by itself, 
 but was denied it. All the favour I could obtain was a 
 promise to be waited on in the morning ; and then was left 
 by myself under a hundred locks and bolts, with a bit of 
 candle, after finding that the words of my jailors were few, 
 their orders peremptory, and their favours unattainable. 
 
 " After a few moments of solitary reflection, I perceived 
 myself shut up in a dungeon destined for the vilest male- 
 factors ; the walls were scrawled all over with their vows and 
 prayers to Heaven before they were carried to the gibbet or 
 the wheel. Amongst other notable inscriptions, I found one 
 with the following note underneath, viz. — These verses were 
 written hy the priest viho was hanged and burned in the year 
 1717, for stealing a chalice of the Holy Sacrament. At the 
 same time I observed the floors were studded with iron 
 staples, either to secure the prisoners, or to prevent the effects 
 of their despair. 
 
 " I continued in this dismal dungeon till the 2nd of No- 
 vember, entirely ignorant of the crime I was accused of; but 
 at nine in the morning of that day, I was carried before a 
 magistrate, where I underwent an examination, by which I 
 
78 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 understood tie heads of the charge against me, and which I 
 answered in a manner that ought to have cleared my own 
 innocence." 
 
 He then goes on to explain the nature of the charge in 
 the following words : — 
 
 " Abraham Payba, a Jew, under the name of Eoberts, 
 gives an account of his leaving England with Miss Eose; 
 intending to make the tour both of France and Italy, being 
 provided with bills for considerable sums upon the Bank of 
 England and several eminent bankers in London. He then 
 sets forth that, coming to lodge at the Hotel d' Orleans, he 
 was greatly surprised by my pretending to visit him, as he 
 had no manner of acquaintance with me. That next day 
 he set out for the country, from whence, returning on the 
 23rd of September, he found a card from me, inviting him 
 to dine, which he was polite enough to comply with ; and 
 that at my lodgings he dined with a large company of Eng- 
 lish. That I forced him to drink, till I perceived he was 
 fuddled, of several sorts of wines and other liqueurs during 
 dinner, which was not over till about six in the evening, 
 when the company retired to my apartment to drink cofi'ee. 
 That after this all the company went away, excepting Mr 
 Taafe, my Lord Southwell, and myself; and that Mr Taafe 
 took a pair of dice, and, throwing them upon the table, 
 asked, who would play ? That the complainant, Eoberts, at 
 first excused himself because he had no more than two 
 crowns about him ; upon which the other said that he had 
 no occasion for money, for he might play upon his word of 
 honour. That he (Eoberts) still excused himself, alleging 
 that he had occasion for all his money for a journey, on 
 which he was to set out on the "Wednesday following. But 
 that Mr Taafe, Lord Southwell, and I, insisted so strongly 
 on his playing that, being flustered with wine, and not 
 knowing what he did, he at last yielded ; and that, taking 
 advantage of his situation, we made him lose in less than an 
 hour, 870 Louis-d'ors, and that we then suffered him to go 
 about his business. That, next day, Mr Taafe sent him a 
 card, inviting him to supper, but he excused himself ; and 
 on Sunday, the 26th of September, he received a letter from 
 the same gentleman desiring him to send the 400 Louis-d'ors 
 he had won of him ; and that he (Eoberts) wrote him in 
 answer that he would pay him a visit on the Thursday 
 following. But that, on the 27th of September, between 
 
EDWARD WOETLEY MONTAGU. 79 
 
 eleven and twelve at night, Mr Taafe, Lord Southwell, and 
 I, knocked with, great violence, menaces, and imprecations 
 at his gate, where, getting admittance, we informed him that 
 if he did not give to each of us a draught for the several 
 sums we had won of him, we would carry him instantly to 
 the Bastile — the archers, with the governor of the BastUe, 
 waiting below for that purpose. That we told him it was a 
 maxim in France, that all gaming-debts should be paid 
 within twenty-four hours after they were contracted ; and 
 at the same time we threatened to cut him across the face 
 with our swords if he should refuse to give us the drafts we 
 demanded. That, being intimidated with our menaces, and 
 ignorant of the customs of France, he gave us drafts for our 
 several sums upon Mr Walters, the younger, banker in 
 Paris, though he had no money of his in his hands. That 
 the complainant, well knovrihg the drafts would be. refused, 
 and thinking his life in danger, resolved next day, being the 
 28th, to set out for Lyons ; that there, and since his return 
 to Paris, he understood that Mr Taafe, Lord Southwell, and 
 I, on the very day of his leaving Paris, came early to his 
 lodging, where, meeting only with Miss Eose and her sister, 
 Mr Taafe persuaded the former to leave the complainant and 
 to go with him to the Hotel de Peron, promising to send 
 her over to England in a short time. After this, that he 
 searched all the trunks, portmanteaus, and drawers belonging 
 to the complainant, from whence he took out in one bag 
 400 Louis-d'ors, and out of another, to the value of 300 
 Louis-d'ora in French and Portuguese silver ; from another 
 bag, 1200 livres in crown pieces, a pair of brilliant diamond 
 buckles, for which the complainant paid 8020 livres to the 
 Sieur Pierre ; his own picture set round with diamonds to 
 the amount of 1200 livres, beside the value of the picture, 
 which cost him 10 livres to the Sieur MaroUes ; a shirt 
 buckle set with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, which cost 
 him 650 livres, to the Sieur Pierre ; laces to the amount of 
 3000 livres ; seven or eight women's robes, or gowns ; two 
 brilliant diamond rings, several gold snuff-boxes, a travelling 
 chest containing his plate and china, and divers other effects, 
 which he cannot call to mind ; all which Mr Taafe packed 
 up in one box, and, by the help of his footman, carried in a 
 coach, which waited for him at the corner of the street of 
 the Little Augustines, to his own apartment. That after- 
 wards Mr Taafe carried Miss Eose and her sister in another 
 
80 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 coach to his lodgings, where they remained three days, and 
 then sent them to London, under the care of one of his 
 friends." 
 
 The accusation, it must be allowed, carries upon the face 
 of it many improbabilities. In the first place, the Jew does 
 not make his complaint tiU a full month after the date of 
 the supposed transaction. Secondly, it does not seem very 
 likely that this Payba or Eoberts should hare gone off quietly 
 to Lyons, leaving such large sums of money in his lodging 
 on the very day when his formidable enemies must have 
 been most incensed against him by the non-payment of his 
 drafts, and were, according to his own estimate of them, 
 capable of any daring attempt to right themselves. Then, 
 again, the character of the Jew must be weighed against 
 that of the accused. AVortley Montagu was no doubt a 
 wild, daring spirit, capable of many strange things, but 
 nothing in his previous or subsequent career would induce a 
 belief that he was capable of robbery. Now the Jew was 
 notoriously a fraudulent bankrupt, who sought shelter in 
 Prance from the penalties he had incurred in England. 
 Then, again, it is not easy to understand how a cunning Jew 
 should have been so simple as to believe, or Mr Montagu 
 so absurd as to assert, that he had brought with him the 
 archers and the governor of the Bastile. Lastly, upon the 
 examination of Payba' s witnesses, they all contradicted each 
 other to such an extent as to be unworthy of belief. 
 
 The result of the whole was that the court, in the first 
 instance, pronounced the innocence of the accused, and con- 
 demned the Jew to pay aU costs and make reparation of 
 honour in the presence of twelve persons elected by the 
 injured party. Prom this sentence, Payba appealed to the 
 High Court of La Tournelle in Paris, when the judgment 
 was reversed, and the parties definitively dismissed the court. 
 Hereupon Montagu appealed in his turn, but we are left 
 totally' in the dark as to the termination of this matter, 
 which appears to have been a gambling transaction of no 
 very honourable nature to any of the parties implicated. 
 The Jew, it would seem, having lost his money by one fraud, 
 was willing to regain it by another of a yet worse description'; 
 and such, it would seem, must have been the opinion of the 
 higher court. 
 
 Having, as he says of himself, played the petit maiire at 
 Paris for a season, Montagu returned to England, and in 1754 
 
EDWARD WOETLEY MONTAGU. 81 
 
 was returned member for Bossiney. The duties, however, of 
 a Member of Parliament were by no means sufficient to 
 occupy the time of a mind so active and so intelligent. He 
 tells us, " that to search out and adore the Creator through, 
 his works is our primary duty, and claims the first place in 
 every rational mind. To promote the public good of the 
 community of which we are born members, in proportion to 
 our situation and abilities, is our secondary duty as men and 
 citizens. I judged, therefore, a close attention to tbe study 
 of history the most useful way of employing that time which 
 my country recess afibrded, as it would enable me to fulfil 
 this obligation ; and, upon this principle, I take the liberty 
 of ofiering these papers as my mite towards the public 
 good." He alludes to a work called " Eeflections on the 
 Eise and Pall of the Ancient EepubUcs, adapted to the 
 present state of Q-reat Britain," a work he unquestionably 
 wrote, but the authority of which was much disputed by 
 some, who, in defiance of the contradictory evidence of dates 
 that made the thing impossible, would persist in believing 
 the claim set up to it by his former friend and tutor, Mr 
 Porster. 
 
 It is said that the success of this work greatly propitiated 
 his father. However this may be, the old man's will evinced 
 no particular confidence in his moral merits. It bequeathed 
 him an annuity of one thousand a-y ear to be paid him during 
 the joint lives of himself and his mother. Lady Mary ; and 
 after her death, an annuity of two thousand a-year during 
 the joint lives of himself and his sister. Lady Bute. By the 
 same will he was empowered to make a settlement on any 
 woman he might marry not exceeding eight hundred a-year ; 
 and to any son of such marriage he devised a considerable 
 estate in the West Riding of Yorkshire. This last clause 
 led to an action, not the least singular in his singular career, 
 which will be recorded ia its proper time and place. 
 
 He now resolved to travel again, previous to which, how- 
 ever, he contrived to give some mortal ofience to his mother 
 — of what kind is not known, and perhaps, after all, it was 
 nothing more than that she was too eccentric herself to put 
 up with any eccentricities in another, although the deceased 
 parent might truly have said of his son's peculiarity, — 
 
 " He had it not from me, but from Ms mother." 
 
 In 17G2 we find our traveller at Turin. But he did not 
 6 
 
32 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 waste Ms time here as he had done in Paris, in frivolity and 
 vice ; or, if some leaven of his former vrildness remained, it 
 was in great measure redeemed by his love of literature and 
 science. It was here that he wrote two letters to the Earl 
 of Macclesfield, which were read before the Eoyal Society, 
 and afterwards published in a quarto pamphlet, entitled " Ob- 
 servations on a supposed Bust at Turin." 
 
 In the same year his mother died, and, like so many other 
 parents, retaining the ruling passion strong in death, be- 
 queathed, him a solitary guinea, with the sarcastic observa- 
 tion that, " his father had amply provided for him." In con- 
 sequence of this will an enormous property devolved to the 
 Earl of Bute, who had married his sister, but who, with a 
 generosity very xmusual in such cases, bestowed upon the 
 disinherited a considerable portion of what he had thus lost. 
 Nor does he appear to have taken much to heart this disap- 
 pointment of his natural expectations. The maternal be- 
 quest was brought to him while he was on his travels, and 
 he presented it, as the tale goes, with much gaiety of heart 
 to his companion, Mr Davison. 
 
 He now set out for the East, where he remained for three 
 years, and though we have no account of much of the time 
 spent there, still one important portion of his travels has 
 been preserved to us in a letter written by himself to his 
 friend, Dr Watson, detailing a journey from Cairo in Egypt, 
 to the Written Mountain in 8inai. 
 
 Of the events of Wortley Montagu's residence in the 
 East little more is known than an adventure in which he was 
 implicated while at Alexandria, and which will hardly find 
 grace from any but those who adopt, in its widest extent, the 
 code of Ovid, 
 
 "Jupiter ex alto perjuria ridet amantum." 
 
 The tale is told by Abbe Winkelman, in his letters, ac- 
 cording to whom, Mr Montagu got acquainted with the 
 Danish ambassador, who had the misfortune, as it proved in 
 his case, to possess a handsome wife. Under various pre- 
 tences our traveller persuaded the consul to go to Holland, 
 and some time afterwards showed a feigned letter to the lady, 
 containing an account of her husband's death, whereupon 
 she was induced to marry him. Not long afterwards the 
 Danish resident at Constantinople received from the Texel 
 advices of the supposed dead consul; but the catastrophe of 
 
EDWAED WOETLEY MONTAGU. 83 
 
 this unpleasant affair is not given. The Abbe only tells us 
 that the seducer carried his victim with him into Syria, and 
 that he was not safe in any of the Grand Seignor's (or 
 Sultan's as he is now called) dominions when the cheat was 
 discovered. 
 
 "We next find him performing quarantine at Venice, a per- 
 ' feet Asiatic in dress as well as manners ; his beard, which he 
 had suffered to grow for two years and a half, reached down 
 to his breast, his head-gear was Armenian, his bed the ground, 
 his food rice, his drink water or coffee, and his greatest lux- 
 ury a pipe. All the English at Venice made a point of visit- 
 ing him, an attention which gratified him highly, and which 
 he repaid by the narration of the different wonders he had 
 met with. Of the Arabs and their country he spoke in 
 glowing terms, declaring that if a man were to drop his cloak 
 in the highway, he would find it there six months afterwards, 
 an Arab being too honest to pick up what belongs to another ; 
 and were you to offer money for the provision you met with, 
 the Ajab would demand why you had so mean an opinion of 
 his benevolence as to suppose him capable of accepting a 
 gratification. From Venice it would seem that he went to 
 Pisa. The account he gives of himself in a letter dated 
 from this city, and addressed to the learned Pather Lami at 
 Florence, is highly characteristic of the man, and shows at 
 the same time how little we know of his foreign travels. In 
 this letter he says, " I have been making some trials that 
 have not a little contributed to the improvement of my 
 organic system. I have' conversed with the nobles in Gei'- 
 many, and served my apprenticeship in the science of horse- 
 manship at their country-seats. I have been a labourer ia 
 the fields of Switzerland and Holland, and have not disdained 
 the humble profession of postilion and ploughman. I as- 
 sumed at Paris the ridiculous character of &petit maitre. I was 
 an abbe at Eome. I put on, at Hamburg, the Lutheran 
 ruff, and with a triple chin and a formal countenance I dealt 
 about me the word of God so as to excite the envy of the 
 clergy. I acted successively all the parts that Pielding has 
 described in his Julian. My fate was similar to that of a 
 guinea, which at one time is in the hands of a queen, and at 
 another is in the fob of a greasy Israelite." 
 
 Notwithstanding the Abbe Winkelman's statement of 
 our traveller not being safe in any part of the Grand Seignor's 
 dominions, I find it stated in the public papers of 1766, 
 
84 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 that he had been received with uncommon respect at Con- 
 stantinople, after having passed through Salonica, and having 
 visited the islands in the Archipelago. 
 
 In the beginning of the year 1773 he was at Eosetta, 
 in Egypt, as appears from a letter to a medical friend in 
 London ; and which, from its graphical account both of him- 
 self and of the country, is well worth that we should mate 
 a few brief extracts from it. " I am much obliged," he says, 
 " for the compliment that you pay my beard ; and to my 
 good friend, Dr Mackenzie, "for having given you an account 
 of its advantages enough to merit the panegyric. I have 
 followed Ulysses and JEneas — I have seen all they are said 
 to have visited, the territories of the allies of the Greeks, as 
 well as those of old Priam, with less ease, though with more 
 pleasure, than most of our travellers traverse Prance and 
 Italy. I have had many a weary step, but never a tiresome 
 hour ; and however disagreeable and dangerous adventures 
 I may have had, none could ever deter me from my point ; 
 but, on the contrary, they were only stimuli. I have cer- 
 tainly many materials, and classical ones too, but I am always 
 a bad workman ; and a sexagenary one is, of all workmen, 
 the worst — as perhaps with truth the fair sex say. This is 
 very true ; but the Patriarchs only began life at that time 
 of the day ; and I find that I have a patriarchal constitution. 
 I live as hardly and simply as they did. Inured to hardship, 
 I despise luxury ; my only luxury is coffee and the concomi- 
 tant of claret, exceptis esocipiendis. I stayed a considerable 
 time at Epirus and Thessalia, theatres on which the fate of 
 the world was the drama. I took exact plans of Actium and 
 Pharsalia. ... I am totally taken up with the study of 
 the Arabic language." 
 
 In the June of this year he quitted Eosetta, and in the 
 same month we find him in the Lazaretto, off Leghorn. 
 Erom that place he went to Venice, where he stayed two 
 years, but more than ever enamoured of Oriental customs, 
 and fully purposing a journey to Mecca and Medina. Dur- 
 ing his residence at Venice he was visited by the Duke of 
 Hamilton and Dr Moore, the latter of whom has left us a 
 singular account of his habits and appearance. " He met 
 his G-race," says Dr Moore, "at the stair-head, and led us 
 through some apartments furnished in the Venetian manner, 
 into an inner room quite in a different style. There were no 
 chairs, but he desired us to seat ourselves on a sofa, whUe he 
 
EDWARD WOETLEY MONTAGU. 85 
 
 placed himself on a cushion on the floor, with his legs crossed, 
 in the Turkish fashion. A young black slave sate by him ; 
 and a venerable old man with a long beard served us with 
 coifee. After this collation, some aromatic gums were 
 brought and burnt in a little silver vessel. Mr Montagu 
 held his nose over the steam for some minutes, and snuffed 
 up the perfume with peculiar satisfaction ; he afterwards 
 endeavoured to collect the smoke with his hands, spreading 
 and rubbing it carefully along his beard, which hung in hoary 
 ringlets to his girdle. This manner of perfuming the beard 
 seems more cleanly, and rather an improvement upon that 
 used by the Jews in ancient times. "We had a great deal of 
 conversation with this venerable-looking person, who is, to 
 the last degree, acute, communicative, and entertaining, and 
 in whose discourse and manners are blended the vivacity of 
 a Frenchman with the gravity of a Turk. We found him, 
 however, wonderfully prejudiced in favour of the Turkish, 
 characters and manners, which he thinks infinitely preferable 
 to the European, or those of any other nation. He describes 
 the Turks in general as a people of great sense and integrity ; 
 the most hospitable, generous, and the happiest of mankind. 
 He talks of returning as soon as possible to Egypt, which he 
 paints as a perfect paradise. Though Mr Montagu hardly 
 ever stirs abroad, he returned the Duke's visit, and as we 
 were not provided with cushions, he sate, while he stayed, 
 upon a sofa with his legs under him, as he had done at his 
 own house. This posture, by long habit, has become the 
 most agreeable to him, and he insists upon its being by far 
 the most natural and convenient ; but, indeed, he seems to 
 cherish the same opinion with regard to all customs which 
 prevail among the Turks. I could not help mentioning one 
 which I suspected would be thought both unnatural and in- 
 convenient by at least one half of the human race, that of 
 the men being allowed to engross as many women as they 
 can maintain, and confining them to the most insipid of all 
 lives within their harems. "No doubt," he replied, "the 
 women are all enemies to polygamy and concubinage ; and 
 there is reason to imagine that this aversion of theirs, joined 
 to the great influence they have in all Christian countries, 
 has prevented Mahometanism from making any progress in 
 Europe. The Turkish men, on the other hand, have an aver- 
 sion to Christianity equal to that which the Christian women 
 have to the religion of Mahomet. Auricular confession is 
 
86 FAMILY EOMAJSTCE. 
 
 perfectly horrible to their imagination; no Turk of any 
 delicacy would ever allow his wife, particularly if he had but 
 one, to hold private conference with a man on any pretext 
 whatever. I took notice that this aversion to auricular con- 
 fession could not be a reason for the Turks' dislike to the 
 Protestant religion. That is true, said he, but you have 
 other tenets in common with the Catholics, which render 
 your religion odious to them. Tou forbid polygamy and 
 concubinage, which, in the eyes of the Turks, is an intoler- 
 able hardship. Lastly, the Christian religion considers 
 women as creatures upon a level with men, and equally en- 
 titled to every enjoyment both here and hereafter. When 
 the Turks are told this, they are not surprised also at being 
 informed that women in general are better Christians than 
 men ; but they are perfectly astonished that an opinion, 
 which they think so contrary to common sense, should 
 subsist among the rational, that is to say, the male part of 
 Christians." 
 
 The best and indeed the only comment requisite upon 
 these doctrines, is what Mr Montagu said of himself, " that 
 he had never once been guilty of a small folly iu the whole 
 course of his life." Nor will it surprise any one to be told 
 that from the Protestant religion he went over to the faith 
 of Eome, and from that again deserted to Mahomedanism, 
 strictly maintaining all its observances, except in the one 
 article of circumcision. A neglect of this ceremony, upon 
 one occasion, nearly cost him his life. 
 
 Amongst other singularities he was anxious that the 
 Turks should believe he was a son of the G-rand Seignor, and 
 many wero credulous enough to receive him for that which 
 he pretended to be. But the head of all his offences against 
 the usages of life, was the following advertisement, intended 
 to defeat one of the absurd conditions of his father's will, 
 mentioned in the commencement of my narrative. It ran 
 thus — 
 
 " MATEIMONT. 
 
 " A gentleman, who hath filled two succeedmg seats in 
 parliament, is near sixty years of age, lives in great splendour 
 and hospitality, and from whom a considerable estate must 
 pass, if he dies without issue ; hath no objection to marry 
 any widow, or single lady, provided the party be of genteel 
 birth, poHshed manners, and five, six, seven, or eight months 
 
EDWARD WOETLEY MONTAGU. 87 
 
 gone in her pregnancy. Letters directed to Brecknock, 
 
 Esq., at Will's coffee-house, facing the Admiralty, wiU be 
 honoured with due attention, secrecy, and every possible 
 mark of respect." 
 
 It is said that a lady was actually found to answer the 
 terms of this advertisement, but the termination of this ex- 
 traordinary man's career was rapidly approaching. While 
 dining at Padua, with the artist Roinney, a partridge-bone 
 stuck in his throat. His attendants, thinking he was about 
 to expire, called in a priest, at which he was highly indig- 
 nant, and being asked in what faith he would leave the 
 world, he replied, " I hope a good Mussulman." 
 
 Inflammation supervened, and in a few days he died, 
 leaving a son, Edward Wortley Montagu, then in the East 
 Indies, a daughter Mary, who was a nun, in the TJrsuline 
 convent at Eome, and a reputed son, Fortunatus, otherwise 
 Massond, a black boy thirteen years old, who resided with 
 him both at Venice and Eosetta. 
 
 The remains of this most eccentric of travellers were de- 
 posited under a plain slab, in the cloisters of the Her- 
 mitants at Fadua. 
 
88 FAMILY KOMANCE. 
 
 LEADERS OF FASHION. 
 
 TEOM GEAMOITT TO B OESAT. 
 
 ■ ■ These strange flies, these fashionmongers, these pardonnez-moys, who 
 stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old 
 bench. — Shakspeaee. 
 
 Leadees of PasHon ! — and why shoiild they not have 
 their biographies as well as Doctors, Lawyers, or Soldiers ? 
 If they have not done as much good in their career, they have 
 done some at least, and far less harm ; besides, life, to make it 
 tolerable, needs its lighter refinement as well as its graver 
 accomplishments . 
 
 Coxcombry is of very ancient date, and not only the weak- 
 witted, but some of the wisest men the world e'er saw have 
 had their share of it. Sardanapalus was a pure coxcomb, but he 
 was a soldier, and a brave one too. Alcibiades, a hero, comes 
 down to posterity, his heroism obscured by his magnificesnt 
 foppery. Pericles, too, the illustrious Pericles, was some- 
 what of a fop. Poppery might be shown to have existed iu 
 full force amongst the Hebrews. "Was even Solomon. free 
 from it ? The conquerors of both Hebrews and Grreeks, the 
 Eomans, have had very accomplished fops amongst their 
 mightiest. Personal vanity ruined Coriolanus ; and even 
 Osesar was ashamed of his bald head, and was glad to cover 
 it with laurels. Among those young Eoman soldiers who 
 subdued the world, were exquisites who painted, rouged, and 
 curled their hair, and wore rings light or heavy, according to 
 the season. Kings, in more modern times, have counten- 
 anced, by their example, the race of dandies ; aa, for instance, 
 Louis-le- Grand of Prance, who never allowed even his own 
 valet to see him without his full-bottomed wig. And what 
 could not be said of Charles II. and hia Cavalier courtiers with 
 
LEADERS OF FASHION. 89 
 
 their love-loclss ? Nor have statesmen, and others of the higli- 
 est talent, escaped the infection of the beau malady. There 
 never was a more arrant fop in his way than Cardinal Eiche- 
 lieu. Petrarch, in writing to his brother, says, " EecoUect the 
 time when we wore white habits, on which the least spot, or a 
 plait ill plaited, would have been a subject of grief, and when 
 our shoes were so tight that we suffered martyrdom." The 
 Abbe Delille was one of the most charming poets of France. 
 His " Jardins " is a masterpiece of rural verse, and his 
 translations of Virgil and Milton are among the very best 
 translations ever made : his " Georgics," particularly, ccime 
 very close up to, and by some are thought to rival, the origin- 
 al. Tet the gentle Abbe Delille was more proud of his 
 person than his poetry, and that, although he was considered 
 by aU, except himself, a very plain man. He was, it is reported, 
 in the habit — even when advanced in life — of dressing his 
 hair with rose-coloured powder. Byron confesses that in 
 his minority he had a touch of dandyism; and adds that 
 " he had retained enough of it to conciliate the great ones at 
 four-and-twenty." The celebrated Austrian minister. Prince 
 de Kaunitz, wore satin stays, and passed a portion of every 
 morning in walking up and down a room, in which four valets 
 puffed a cloud of scented powder, but each of a different 
 colour, in order that it might assume the precise shade that 
 was most agreeable to the taste of the grave diplomatist. 
 Still more surprising is it to find such fierce vanities Lurking 
 in the breast of a pious man like Eobert Nelson, the reputed 
 author of the " Whole Duty of Man." Eaffaelle Urbin, the 
 Prince of Painters, even, has been subject to an imputation 
 of coxcombry, but he was young and of great personal beauty. 
 The world lost him in his thirty-eighth year. All Eome 
 wept at the sight of his corpse still beautiful in death, as it 
 lay in state in the Vatican before his own immortal produc- 
 tion, "The Transfiguration," and all admitted that blame 
 could hardly attach to any self-estimation on the part of such 
 a, man. Would it be too curiously to consider, as Hamlet 
 says, if one were to surmise whether Eaffaelle's two com- 
 panions in supreme immortality, Shakspeare and Cervantes, 
 who, by the way, both died on the same day some hundred 
 years after him, were of foppish taste or habits ? Tet how 
 well did Cervantes and Shakspeare understand and describe 
 every phasis of foppishness. In all his madness, there was ever 
 a little of the fop peeping out of Don Quixote, and there was 
 
90 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 a ludicrous deal of it about Ms friend and conqueror, that 
 learned prig, the Bachelor Sampson Carrasco : but incom- 
 parable among fops stand those of Shakspeare, such as the 
 fop of Hotspur's apology, and Malvolio, and Don Adriano 
 de Armado, who confessed to being a gentleman and a 
 gamester, because they were " both the varnish of a com- 
 plete man." To pass from the ages of artistic and literary 
 excellence, to an age of eloquence, I regret to find Charles 
 James Fox a perfect maccaroni in his youth, and, like his 
 friends, Lord Carlisle, a poet and a man of exquisite taste 
 and erudition, and Lord Essex, wearing red-heeled shoes. 
 Political fame however destroyed personal vanity: as Fox 
 grew older, he turned a sloven. The late Marquis Wellesley, 
 one of the brightest intellects of his age, carried the spirit of 
 foppery so far, that he would often play the coxcomb' solely 
 for his amusement. There he would sit in his own room for 
 hours, with no other spectator than what he saw reflected in 
 the mirror, dressed out in full costume, and decorated with 
 the blue riband and the garter, as if he meant to appear at 
 a chapter of the order or a royal levee. All this shows that 
 foppery and coxcombry were far from being inconsistent 
 with the very brightest genius : but to now come to those 
 who were fops by profession and predominantly so. 
 
 I open the ball — or, perhaps, I should rather call it mas- 
 querade of beaux — withPHiiiBEET, CotrifT de Gtbamont, who 
 appears to have possessed much the same medley of vices and 
 virtues that I shall presently find distinguishing his immedi- 
 ate successors in the fashionable world. In three points 
 they all closely resembled each other ; they were gamblers 
 and wits, and dressed — not foppishly, but with the most per- 
 fect taste. A thorough knowledge, too, of mankind was com- 
 mon to them all. 
 
 In those days, every French gentleman, if not an Abb£, 
 commenced life as a soldier ; sometimes they united the two 
 characters, however discordant, and such, it is said, was the 
 case with Gramont, when he assisted at the siege of Irino. 
 Then, war bad two faces, being much what Voltaire said of 
 the French themselves — a compound of the tiger and the 
 monkey ; men laughed and joked in the very face of death ; 
 a ball or a play the night before a battle was no uncommon 
 thing. In such a camp, G-ramont was quite at home, as 
 much so as in the salons of Paris. He was the brother of 
 Antony Duke de Gramont, and his birth gave him entree 
 
LEADERS OF FASHION. 91 
 
 every-where. His family was one of centuries of position and 
 renown. They were the Gramonts who had been Vice- 
 roys of Navarre : had been marshals and warriors, cardinals 
 and bishops, statesmen and ministers. His blood told ; but 
 it was his wit and his extravagance that made him welcome to 
 aU, and when he had exhausted his own funds, he replen- 
 ished his purse by the arts of the gambler ; arts, alas ! then 
 more honoured than blamed in a nobleman or gentleman. 
 
 The campaign ended, Q-ramont passed over.to Turin, and 
 intrigue being an essential part in the character of a man of 
 fashion, he devoted himself to the levities and libertinism of 
 the times. The subject, however, is not one into which I 
 need care to enter. 
 
 This gay adventurer came first to England for no other 
 
 Eurpose than to see Oliver Cromwell, whose bad-elevation 
 ung like a mighty shadow over all Europe, filhng the bold- 
 est states with awe and apprehension. 
 
 Gramont's second visit to England was under very diifer- 
 ent circumstances, when the Puritans had, though free men 
 and the founders of modern freedom, practised an absurd 
 tyranny over the minds and amusements of the people, and had 
 thus opened a way for the Restoration. In a little time, he 
 became a general favourite in the court of Charles the Second ; 
 gambling, intriguing, dressing, and scattering about repartees 
 with the most brilliant of that brilliant but naughty circle. 
 The king, with his usual profuseness and a good nature 
 that disregarded public expense, offered to settle a handsome 
 pension upon this gay and profligate foreigner, but De Gra- 
 mont had the good sense to refuse it ; why, indeed, should 
 he not, when he had an enchanted Peru in the gailiing-table ? 
 To secure the favour of Charles, he now procured from 
 Paris a handsome chariot, valued at two thousand guineas, 
 and presented it to the king. The unlucky chariot, however, 
 proved a mere apple of discord. The Queen desired to ap- 
 pear first in so bright a vehicle with the Duchess of York. 
 Lady Castlemaine had a no less violent longing, and, being 
 enceinte at the time, vowed she would miscarry if her demand 
 were not complied with. Finally, Mrs Steward protested 
 that she never would be enceinte, if the vehicle were not first 
 lent to her. The threats of the last carried off the prize from 
 her competitors. 
 
 A letter from Madame de Chaumoit announced to D© 
 Gramont that Louis permitted his return to the French court, 
 
92 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 from which he had so long been banished. He accordingly- 
 returned, but on meeting his brother, he learnt that the good 
 wishes of Madame had anticipated reality. The king had 
 given no such permission, and Grramont, nothing loth, once 
 more returned to England, where for a time he followed his 
 usual course of dissipation. It was then that he pro- 
 mised to marry Miss Elizabeth Hamilton, daughter of Sir 
 George Hamilton, fourth son of James, first Earl of Aber- 
 corn. The engagement thus made he was in no hurry to 
 fulfil, and had even once more set out for Prance, in all pro- 
 bability to escape from it. At Dover he was overtaken by 
 two of the lady's brothers, who significantly asked him " if 
 he had not forgotten something ? " " Yes, indeed," he replied, 
 without losing his usual self-possession, "I have forgotten to 
 marry your sister." And forthwith he returned to London, 
 and was married. He died on the 10th of January, ].707. 
 
 After Gramont, three leaders of fashion principally divided 
 amongst them, in pretty equal ratios, the honours of the 
 fashionable empire. These were Sir George Hewett, Bart., 
 of Pishobury, Herts., and Beau Wilson, and Beau Pielding. 
 Hewett, who afterwards became an Irish viscount, as Viscount 
 Hewett jf Gowran, was generally supposed to have been the 
 original of Etheredge's Sir Fopling Mutter, in the comedy of 
 The Man of the Mode. He it was, say the chroniclers of small 
 things, who softened the rough damn me of earlier days into 
 damme, which, after-times, growing yet more delicate, atten- 
 uated into demme, thus enjoying the luxury of an oath with- 
 out ofifence to the refinements of a tender conscience. It is 
 noticed in " Eochester's Farewell." 
 
 " Had it not better been, than thus to roam, 
 To stay and tie the craYat-string at home ! 
 To strut, look big, shake pantaluon, and swear 
 "With Hewett, Damme, there's no action here." 
 
 Beau Wilson, the second-named of the triumvirate, wis 
 a far more remarkable character, as much unexplained mystery 
 having hung about him as about any hero of romance. He 
 belonged to the family of Wilson whose present head and 
 representative is Lord Berners, and whose fame has been re- 
 cently enhanced by a gallant scion of the house, the hero 
 of Delhi, Major General Sir Archdale Wilson, Bart, and K. 
 C. B. I have however gone so much recently in my Second 
 Series of " Vicissitudes " into detail about Beau Wilson's 
 
LEADERS OF FASHION. 93 
 
 origin and parentage, that, to avoid repetition, I need only 
 refer to the article there. Wilson entered life as an officer 
 in the army, having nothing else to look to for support but 
 his profession. The war broke out, or at least was fought, 
 in Planders, then, as it has been often since, the common 
 battle-ground of Europe, where thousands of combatants left 
 their bones to fertilise the soil, as some compensation for the 
 havoc they had occasioned. Wilson, however, who was called 
 out upon duty, seems to have thought, with Falstaff, " that 
 the better part of valour is discretion, " or probably in his 
 case " dissipation." Though he did not mind the fighting, he 
 could not bear the slavery and drudgery of active service, 
 and so he very discreditably resigned, and was glad to bor- 
 row, whether in real or feigned want, forty shillings from a 
 friend to return to England. 
 
 Thus poor, and with sullied repute, it might be concluded 
 that he was crushed, beyond all possibility of again rising. 
 No such thing. To the astonishment of every one, he sud- 
 denly burst upon the world of fashion as one of its brightest 
 ornaments ; his dress, table, stud, equipages, all being of the 
 highest order, and his hospitality boundless. How was all 
 this done ? — he seldom played, and was not known to have 
 any intrigues, which might have supplied the means of this 
 extravagance. Some surmised that he had discovered the 
 philosopher's stone, and was enabled to transmute the baser 
 metals into gold, a theory that was sanctioned by the general 
 belief, even of the learned, in those days. Others, less cre- 
 dulous, or more disposed to evil constructions, did not hesi- 
 tate to whisper — and that pretty loudly — that he had played 
 abroad another part in which gentlemen of those days were 
 wont to figure — that of highwayman, and that he had rob- 
 bed a Dutch mail of a parcel of rough diamonds. Possibly 
 he lighted in fair or freebooting war on this plunder, and 
 that would account for a man brave as he — for brave 
 he certainly was — quitting the army so suddenly, and con- 
 cealing his unshared spoil under the guise of poverty. Be 
 the truth as it may, Wilson himself preserved an inflexible 
 silence upon the subject, and knew how to evade the curi- 
 osity of his friends, while wearing the appearance of the ut- 
 most frankness in his conduct and conversation. 
 
 One solution of this mystery, though not altogether free 
 from doubt, has been given in some intercepted letters append- 
 ed to the Memoirs of the Court of England, in the Reign of 
 
94 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 Charles the Second, a work published about a hundred and 
 fifty years ago. It is there stated that he was enabled to sup- 
 port these expenses by the liberality of the Duchess of Cleve- 
 land, with whom he had an intrigue. The thing, not other- 
 wise improbable, is yet rendered somewhat doubtful by the 
 singularity and minuteness of the details. 
 
 The end of this singular character was in accordance with 
 his reckless and daring disposition. Rivalry about a lady, 
 Elizabeth Villiers it is said, afterwards Countess of Orkney, 
 was the cause of "Wilson's quarrel with another fop of the 
 day, Beau Law — a man however whose foppery was tempo- 
 rary only, for he was to be a great man soon, no other than 
 the Law of the Mississippi scheme, and the Comptroller 
 G-eneral of the Exchequer in France. Wilson and Law fought 
 a duel in the centre of Bloomsbury Square, having gone each to 
 the scene of action in a coach drawn by four horses. Law 
 killed Wilson, and had to fly to France, where his vast plans 
 apparently made all the people rich at once, and where their 
 own madness fast brought them to worse poverty and ruin 
 than they endured before. To crown the mystery of Wilson's 
 life, a small sum of money only was found after his death 
 amongst his efi'ects, and yet, at the same time, to increase the 
 wonder, he left not a single debt. 
 
 I should here speak of the famous John Law — at least 
 of that period of his life when he was a London Beau, but I 
 prefer referring the reader to the article " The Laws of 
 Lauriston," to which I have already alluded in the recent 
 Second Series of my "Vicissitudes." Law's career should be 
 all recounted together, for he ought not to be looked on as a 
 mere Beau : he was really a man of wonderful genius and 
 resource, and as such belongs to the history of France, 
 where he made so great a figure, and where his descendant be- 
 came a Marshal and a Marquis, and where, too, his family, of 
 ancient Scottish descent, are stiU in the enjoyment of no- 
 bility and high credit and position. 
 
 The last of the Hewett, Wilson, and Fielding triumvirate 
 was Beau Fielding. Swift speaks of him as one of those 
 " who made mean figures upon some remarkable occasions," 
 an indefinite kind of censure, that may signify anything. 
 However it is to be interpreted. Fielding was of a good family 
 in Warwickshire, and, being intended for the bar, he was sent 
 to London, where he soon yielded to the temptations of fash- 
 ionable life, and abandoned his profession. At this time he 
 
LEADERS OP FASHION. 95 
 
 was the possessor of two qualities, which, although good in 
 the abstract, are dangerous gifts, if not ballasted by a moder- 
 ate stock of prudence — he was young, and he was handsome, 
 so handsome indeed that he attracted the particular notice 
 of Charles the Second, who called him " the handsome Field- 
 ing." His brain seems to have been pretty well turned 
 before, by the admiration which his person and dress so ge- 
 nerally excited ; but this sentence from the lips of royalty 
 settled the matter. Commanded by a prince, he became the 
 prince of fops, and while sparing no expense in his own dress, 
 he was equally lavish and fantastic ia the attire of his foot- 
 men, who usually wore yellow liveries with black sashes, and 
 black feathers ia their hats. Like Wilson, it would seem, 
 he was more than sufficiently ready to draw his sword, and 
 not always so bravely ; for instance, he ran a poor link-boy 
 through the body ia St. Martin's Lane. One evening, in 
 pushing forward to show off his finery at the theatre in Lin- 
 coln's Inn Fields, he was unlucky enough to tread upon the 
 toes of a young lawer called Fullwood, who instantly called 
 him out. The result was, that the beau got severely wound- 
 ed ; but it might be some comfort to him, that his antagonist, 
 who seems to have been a remarkably pugnacious gentleman, 
 became involved in a second duel, the same night, with a Cap- 
 tain Cusac, who kiUed him, greatly, one would think, to the 
 peace and quiet of Lincoln's Inn Fields. 
 
 The patrimony of Fielding was at length eaten up by his 
 excesses, and for a time he subsisted upon his intrigues, and 
 the supplies obtained from the gaming-table, where he was 
 usually successful. Probably even these combined re- 
 sources were insufficient to meet the demands of a life like 
 his, and he in time found a more certain way of reestablish- 
 ing his shattered fortunes, by marriage into a family to which 
 it is said Dean Swift belonged, viz. that of Barnham Swift, 
 Viscount Carlingford. This Viscount died without male issue, 
 and his title became extinct ; he left an only daughter, 
 Mary, the heiress of his wealth. Fielding married her. Mary 
 Swift was a devoted adherent of the Church of Eome, 
 and she made a convert of her husband. Fielding now figured 
 as a Catholic and a Cavalier: he attached himself to the 
 cause of James the Second, raised a regiment in his own 
 county for the king's service, and followed the royal exile 
 into France, where he was liberally supported by remit- 
 tances from his wife until aU her money was exhausted. The 
 
9© FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 extravagance of the beau preyed on the affection of the wife. 
 The whole Swift property was scattered to the winds, and poor 
 Mary, broken-hearted at being no longer able to sustain one 
 whom she looked on as a martyr to loyalty and religion, died in 
 grief and poverty. Kelding found himself in as great diffi- 
 culties as ever, to remedy which he again had recourse to 
 wedlock. This time he was completely taken in. The ob- 
 ject of his new courtship was a Mrs Deleau, of "Waddon, a 
 widow of large fortune. But unfortunately Pielding did 
 not get at the right Mrs Deleau. He was in a very ludi- 
 crous way made the victim of a false personation, and, under 
 the idea that he was actually marrying Mrs Deleau, he was 
 fast wedded to an adventuress, one Mary Wadsworth, with- 
 out a shilling. Upon discovering how grossly he had been 
 deceived, he would not admit the marriage, and forsook the 
 deceiving bride. He then married Barbara Villiers, Ducheas 
 of Cleveland, at the time in her sixty-first year, who had 
 been mistress of Charles II. But Kelding discovered to his 
 cost that his marriage to the sham Mrs Deleau was a good 
 one. The Duchess, being treated by him with much bru- 
 tality, was glad to hear of the affair with Mary Wadsworth, 
 and at once handed Melding over to the law. He was in- 
 dicted for bigamy, and on the 4th Dec, 1706, was tried at 
 the Old Bailey, and found guilty. Sentence was according- 
 ly about to be passed upon him, but he craved the benefit of 
 clergy, and was allowed it, and, further producing the 
 Queen's warrant for suspending the usual burning in the 
 hand, he was admitted to bail. The Court of Arches an- 
 nulled the marriage between the Duchess and Fielding. 
 The whole of this singular story and trial appear at length in 
 Serjeant Burke's " Celebrated Trials connected with the 
 Aristocracy." The ugly result of Fielding's courtship, 
 ending as it did in confirming the Wadsworth espousals, 
 seems to have operated in reconciling him to the treacher- 
 ous Mary Wadsworth. They made up, and in his will he 
 styles her " his dear and loving wife." He died of a fever at his 
 house in Scotland-yard, in the year 1712, when he was sixty- 
 one years of age. "The Tatler," a periodical devoted to 
 passing events and living characters, gives the life of hita 
 under the fictitious name of Orlando. " His descent," says 
 Bickerstaff, " was noble, his wit humorous, his person charm- 
 ing. But to none of these recommendatory advantages was 
 his title so undoubted as that of his beauty. His complexion 
 
LEADERS OF FASHION. 97 
 
 was fair, but his countenance manly ; his stature of the tall- 
 est, his shape the most exact ; and though in all his limbs 
 he had a proportion as delicate as we see in the works of the 
 most skilful statuaries, his body had a strength and firm- 
 ness little inferior to the marble of which such images are 
 formed." 
 
 " His equipage and economy had something in them more 
 sumptuous than could be received in our degenerate age ; 
 therefore his figure, though highly graceful, appeared so exotic 
 that it assembled all the Britons under the age of sixteen, 
 who saw his grandeur, to follow his chariot with shouts and 
 acclamations ; which he received with the contempt which 
 great minds affect in the midst of applauses. I remember I 
 had the honour of seeing him one day stop and call the youths 
 about him, to whom he spoke as follows : — 
 
 " ' Good bastards, go to school, and do not lose your time 
 on following my wheels. I am loath to hurt you because 
 I know not but you're all my own offspring. Hark ye, you 
 sirrah, with the white hair, I am sure you are mine ; there's 
 half-a-crown for you. Why, you young dogs, did you never 
 see a man before ? ' ' If ever such la one as you, noble general,' 
 replied a truant from Westminster. ' Sirrah, I believe thee ; 
 there is a crown for thee. Drive on, coachman.' " Making 
 the necessary allowances for the colouring of a humourist 
 like the Tatler, I have no doubt this caricature is yet a su£B- 
 cient likeness of one whom nothing could put out of coun- 
 tenance ; and yet he occasionally met with some tolerably 
 sharp lessons. Thus, for instance, when he had given, on his 
 carriage, some part of Lord Denbigh's arms, Basil, the fourth 
 earl of that family, got a house-painter to daub his coat of 
 arms all over in the public ring of Hyde Park, in broad day. 
 
 To the trio just described, succeeds in our phantasmagoria 
 the somewhat less celebrated Beau Edgeworth, a member of 
 that family which in later times has been so distinguished by 
 the literary talents of Eichard Lovel Edgeworth and his 
 daughter Maria, the admirable authoress ; and by the courage- 
 ous devotion of the Abbe Henry Essex Edgeworth who 
 attended Louis XVI. on the scaffold. Beau Edgeworth has 
 found a niche in the extensive portrait-gallery of the "Tatler." 
 Steele, in speaking of him, says, " There is a very handsome, 
 well-shaped youth frequents the coffee-houses about Char- 
 ing Cross, and ties a very pretty ribbon with a cross of jewels 
 at his breast. This being something new, and a thing in which 
 
 7 
 
98 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 the gentleman may offend the Herald's Office, I have ad- 
 dressed myself to him, as I am Censor — 
 
 'Dear Countryman,— "Was that ensign of honour which 
 you wear given you by a prince or a lady you have served ? 
 if you bear it as an absent lover, please to hang it on a black 
 ribbon ; if as a rewarded soldier, you may have my license 
 to continue the red. — Your faithful servant, 
 
 ' BicKEESTAri', Censor.' " 
 
 Alas for the subject of this poignant, yet good-humoured 
 satire! Bdgeworth eventually became mad, and died in the 
 Dublin Bridewell. 
 
 I next come to the celebrated Beau Eichard Nash. Eich- 
 ard Nash was born at Swansea, in Glamorganshire, in 1674 ; 
 and after having finished his education at Jesus College, 
 Oxford, he abandoned his intended profession of the law, and 
 bought an ensigncy, under the idea that a red coat was the 
 most promising costume for a man of pleasure. He soon, 
 however, discovered that a military life had its duties, and 
 some of them more than sufficiently onerous. He therefore 
 sold his colours, and, betaking himself to the law, contrived, 
 though with very scanty means, to dress well and mingle in 
 the first ranks of fashion. He even now showed symptoms 
 of that glory which, at a later period, was to raise him in 
 Bath to the throne of Kling Bladud, and by his intrepid as- 
 surance persuaded his compeers to look upon him as , 
 
 " The glass of fashion, and the mould of form." 
 
 It being resolved by the members of the Inner Temple, of 
 which Nash was a member, to give an entertainment in 
 honour of King William, he was appointed to arrange and 
 preside over the whole. In this office he gave such general 
 satisfaction, that the king offered to knight him, but equally 
 impudent and sagacious, he replied, " Please your Majesty, if 
 you intend to make me a knight, I wish it may be one of 
 your poor knights of Windsor, and then I shall have a fortune 
 at least able to support my title." But William had too 
 many rapacious Dutch favourites, and too many needy Eng- 
 lish partisans, to take a hint of this kind. Tet with all the 
 follies of his head, Nash was of a kind and generous disposi- 
 tion, of which the " Spectator" gives us a humorous example. 
 When he was to render his accounts to the Masters of the 
 Temple, he charged, amongst other items, " For making one 
 man happy, Ten Pounds." Upon being asked to explain so 
 
LEADEES OF FASHIOBT. 99 
 
 singular a charge, lie replied, that happening to overhear a 
 poor man declare to his wife and a large family that 
 ten pounds would make him happy, he could not refrain from 
 trying the experiment. If, however, they objected to the 
 item, he was quite willing to refund the money. To the 
 honour of the Masters he it said, that they not only ac- 
 quiesced in their treasurer's demand, but ordered the sum to 
 be doubled, in proof of their satisfaction. 
 
 Some singular anecdotes are told of Nash at this early 
 period of his career, and aU equally characteristic of the man 
 as he appears in after-life. 
 
 Thus, upon one occasion, happening to lose all his money 
 at York, some of his companions agreed to equip him with 
 fifty guineas, on condition that he would stand at the great 
 door of the Minister in a blanket, as the people were coming" 
 out of church. Unfortunately 'he was recognised by the dean, 
 who exclaimed in surprise, " What ! Mr Nash in masque- 
 rade ? " " Only a Yorkshire penance, for keeping bad com- 
 pany," replied the unabashed beau, pointing to his compa- 
 nions, who stood near, laughing at his exposure. But 
 horse-play of this kind was the fashion of the age, and, as ap- 
 pears from another instance, was sometimes carried to out- 
 rageous lengths. Upon this occasion he was invited by some 
 officers to dine a-board a ship, then under sailing orders, when, 
 having been completely intoxicated, he was carried off by his 
 facetious hosts, and compelled to make the cruise with 
 them. 
 
 In this voyage he was present at an engagement, in which 
 a particular friend was killed at his side, and he himself, as 
 he used afterwards to teU the story, wounded in the leg. 
 This tale, however, was so far from meeting with general be- 
 lief, that a lady one day openly expressed her incredulity, 
 when he was relating it for the hundredth time in the public 
 rooms at Bath. " I protest, madam," replied Nash, " it is 
 true ; and, if I cannot be believed, your ladyship may, if you 
 please, receive further information ; feel the ball in my leg." 
 
 Our hero was now thirty years of age, without fortune, 
 and without the talents to secure one, except it were his talents 
 for the gaming-table. To this he trusted chiefly for his sup- 
 port, but the vice was too common and too genteel in those' 
 days to infer any loss of character. Now here, it must be 
 allowed, was a " nodus vindice dignus," and accordingly the 
 " Deus ex machina " was not long wanting. 
 
100 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 Previous to this time the worn-out votaries of fashion had 
 no agreeable summer retreat, where they might recruit them- 
 selves after the fatigues of a winter campaign in London. 
 They spent that season amidst a solitude of country squires 
 and parsons' wives, and were sadly in want of some place 
 where they might unite the pursuit of health with the pursuit 
 of pleasure. Bath too, but in a humble way, was enlisted 
 into the service of the exhausted fashionables. The compan 
 assembled there was numerous enough to form a country 
 dance upon the bowling-green, to the music of a fiddle and a 
 hautboy. In fine weather they usually sauntered in the 
 grove, between two rows of sycamore trees, while the real, 
 or supposed, sick drank the waters. For the better main- 
 tenance of order a master of the ceremonies was elected, the 
 -immediate predecessor of Nash being a certain Captain 
 "Webster ; but he appears to have been a very feeble mon- 
 arch, and to have had little power over his independent sub- 
 jects ; the gentlemen smoked and wore boots in the public 
 rooms, and the ladies made their appearance in aprons. If 
 the company liked each other, they danced till morning ; if 
 any one lost at cards, he might insist on the winner's con- 
 tinuing the game till luck changed, or he wanted means to 
 pursue it any further. The lodgings for visitors were paltry, 
 though expensive ; the rooms were floored with boards, 
 coloured brown with soot and small beer to hide the dirt ; 
 the walls were covered with unpainted wainscoat, and the 
 furniture was no less contemptible, consisting of nothing but 
 a few oak chairs, a small looking-glass, and a table, with 
 a pair of tongs and fender. The pump-house was vsdthout 
 any director, and the chairmen permitted no ladies or gentle- 
 men to walk home at night without insulting them. To crown 
 all, a fashionable physician of the place having been offended, 
 he declared, in revenge, " he would cast a toad into the 
 springs," meaning of course that he would vote against the 
 use of them. 
 
 It was at this juncture that Nash happened to visit Bath. 
 Hearing of the doctor's threat, he replied to it in the same 
 strain, assuring the people that he would charm away the 
 toad's poison in the same way that the Neapolitans cured 
 the bite of the tarantula — namely, by musie. His ofier was 
 accepted by the alarmed Bathites ; he was fully invested 
 with powers to try the eflicacy of a band of music in oppo- 
 sition to the doctor's reptile, and his nostrum having sue- 
 
LEADERS OP FASHION. 101 
 
 ceeded, tlie throne of Bath was decreed to him hy the popu- 
 lar suffrage. 
 
 The first care of the new monarch was like that of his 
 brother kings — to call upon the people for subsidies to sup- 
 port the honours of his throne. This new tax appeared in 
 the shape of a subscription of one guinea each for a band of 
 six, performers, who were to divide six guineas a week for 
 their trouble. Moreover, he allowed two guineas for the 
 sweeping and lighting of the rooms, and paid the corpora- 
 tion an annual rent for the use of the pump-rooms, which 
 he placed under the care of a proper officer, called the 
 Fum'per. 
 
 In the first year, the good subjects of King Nash con- 
 tributed no less a benevolence than seventeen or eighteen, 
 hundred pounds. New and more commodious houses be- 
 gan to be built, the streets were better paved, cleaned, and 
 lighted, the chairmen were reduced to order, and an Act of 
 Parliament was obtained, exempting invalids, who came to 
 bathe or drink the waters, from aU manner of tolls in going 
 out of the city for recreation. 
 
 His next care was to prevail upon one Harrison to erect 
 an assembly-room, the company having been till then 
 obliged to drink tea, and game in a mere booth. At the 
 same time he provided a better band at a double salary, and 
 paid Harrison three guineas a week for the use of his room 
 and candles, besides establishing public promenades, and 
 improving the suburbs, in spite of the opposition made by 
 the corporation, who looked upon all such improvements as 
 likely to prejudice their city. 
 
 Having brought things to this pitch. King Nash began 
 to think it was high time to legislate for his subjects, and 
 accordingly he hung up his new code in the pump-room. 
 These laws he attempted to season with humour, and this 
 seasoning, it must be allowed, was a little piquant. JHcoo 
 signum — 
 
 " That no gentleman give his ticket for the balls to any 
 but gentlewomen — unless he has none of his acquaintance. 
 
 " That the elder ladies and children be content with a 
 second bench at the ball, as being past, or not come to per- 
 fection i 
 
 " That all whisperers of lies and scandal be taken for 
 their authors." 
 
 This last regulation wiU call to the mind of most of my 
 
102 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 readers Sir Peter Teazle's denunciation, the main idea being 
 the same, though rendered a thousand times more poignant 
 by the terse and brilliant style of Sheridan. " Surely," says 
 Mrs Candour, " you would not be quite so severe on those 
 who only repeat what they hear ? " — " Tes, madam," replies 
 Sir Peter, " I would have law merchant for them, too ; and 
 in all cases of slander currency, whenever the drawer of the 
 lie was not to be found, the injured parties should have a 
 right to come on any of the endorsers." 
 
 The balls, by Nash's direction, began at six, and precisely 
 as the clock struck eleven he would give a sign to the band, 
 whereat the music ceased. Nor could any considerations of 
 rank induce him to deviate from his rules. The Princess 
 Amelia upon one occasion having applied to him for one 
 dance more after the usual warning had been given, he re- 
 plied that the laws of Bath, like the laws of Lycurgus, were 
 immutable, and actually continued inexorable to her en- 
 treaties. This, it must be owned, was going tolerable 
 lengths, but he went even further. In his detestation of 
 white aprons, he one evening tore the prohibited article 
 from off the Duchess of Queensbury, who had somehow 
 contrived to smuggle herself in, and he threw it amongst the 
 ladies' women upon the hinder benches, observing, that 
 none but abigaUs appeared in white aprons. The Duchess, 
 like other ladies, submitted with a good grace to the ukase 
 of the Bath autocrat. 
 
 But the gentlemen were much more refractory than his 
 lady lieges. It cost him no little exertion to banish boots, 
 to which the squires adhered for a long time with wonderful 
 pertinacity. The chapter of wearing swords was a yet more 
 difficult one, but he had resolved to put an end to this prac- 
 tice, which led to many duels in the heat of the moment, 
 which, but for the weapon being so ready at hand, might 
 perhaps have been avoided. 
 
 " How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 
 Makes deeds ill done;" 
 
 "Whenever he heard of a challenge being given, he had both 
 parties arrested, and thus, as he himself expressed it, " hin- 
 dered people from doing what they had no mind to." 
 
 Another of the new monarch's regulations provided that 
 whenever any fresh visitant came to Bath, he should be 
 welcomed by a peal of the abbey bells, and afterwards by 
 
LEADERS 01' FASHIOX. 103 
 
 tlie music of the city waits, for which, of course, he was ex- 
 pected to give an adequate remuneration according to his 
 rank and fortune. 
 
 The amusements of the day usually began with bathing, 
 the hours appointed for this purpose being from six to eight 
 in the morning. " In the morning," says our old chroni- 
 cler, " the lady is brought in a close chair, dressed in her 
 bathing clothes, to the bath ; and, being in the water, the 
 woman who attends presents her with a little floating dish 
 like a bason, into -which the lady puts a handkerchief, a 
 snuflf-box, and a nosegay. She then traverses the bath ; if a 
 novice, with a guide ; if otherwise, by herself; and having 
 amused herself thus while she thinks proper, calls for her 
 chair, and returns to her lodgings." 
 
 The amusement of bathing was immediately succeeded 
 by a general assembly of people at the pump-house, some 
 for pleasure, and some to drink the hot waters. Three 
 glasses at three different times were the usual portion for 
 every drinker, and the intervals between every glass were 
 enlivened by the harmony of a small band of music, as well 
 as by the conversation of the gay, the witty, or the for- 
 ward. 
 
 The gentlemen withdrew to their coffee-houses to read 
 the papers, or converse on the news of the day, with a free- 
 dom and ease not to be found in the metropolis. 
 
 People of fashion made public breakfasts at the assem- 
 bly-houses, to which they invited their acquaintances, and 
 they sometimes ordered private concerts ; or, when so dis- 
 posed, attended lectures on the arts and sciences, which 
 were frequently taught there in a pretty superficial manner, 
 so as not to tease the understanding, while they afforded 
 the imagination some amusement. The private concerts 
 were performed in the ball-rooms, the tickets a crown each. 
 Concert breakfasts at the assembly-house sometimes made 
 also a part of the morning's amusement, the expenses of 
 which were defrayed by a subscription among the men. 
 Persons of rank and fortune, who could perform, were ad- 
 mitted into the orchestra, and found a pleasure in joining 
 with the performers. 
 
 Thus passes the tedious morning of a day at Bath in Nash's 
 reign. When noon approaches, and church — if any please 
 to go there — is done, some of the company appear upon the 
 parade and other public walks, where they continue to chat 
 
104 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 and amuse each other till they have formed parties for the 
 play, cards, or dancing for the evening. Another part of the 
 company divert themselves with reading in the booksellers' 
 shops, or are generally seen taking the air and exercise, some 
 on horseback, some in coaches. Some walk in the meadows 
 round the town, winding along the side of the river Avon 
 and the neighbouring canal, while others are seen scaling some 
 of those romantic precipices that overhang the city. 
 
 When the hour of dinner draws nigh, and the company 
 have returned from their different recreations, the provisions 
 are generally served with the utmost elegance and plenty. 
 Their mutton, butter, fish, and fowl, are all allowed to be 
 excellent, and their cookery still exceeds their meat. 
 
 After dinner is over, and evening-prayers ended, the com- 
 pany meet a second time at the pump-house. Prom this 
 they retire to the walks, and from thence go to drink tea at 
 the assembly-house, and the rest of the evening is concluded 
 either with balls, plays, or visits. A theatre was erected in 
 the year 1 735 by subscription, by people of the highest rank, 
 who permitted their arms to be engraven on the inside of the 
 house, as a public testimony of their liberality towards it. 
 Every Tuesday and Priday evening it concluded with a pub- 
 lic ball, the contributions to which were so numerous that 
 the price of each ticket was trifling. 
 
 This picture of Bath as it was, is worth preserving, now 
 that these manners and customs have nearly all passed away, 
 and with little chance, as it would seem, of their ever re- 
 turning. 
 
 The expenses of IN'ash soon became more extravagant 
 than ever. His usual mode of travelling to Tunbridge Wells, 
 which formed a sort of subsidiary to Bath, — I believe his por- 
 trait hangs in the assembly-room at Tunbridge Wells to this 
 day, — was in a post-chariot drawn by six greys, with outriders, 
 footmen, French horns, and every other appendage of expens- 
 ive parade. The gaming-table was his Peru, yet, unlike others 
 of this desperate trade, he could be honest even in dishonesty, 
 andnumerous instances are recorded of his generosity to losers, 
 involving, upon more than one occasion, the return to them 
 of several thousands. The greatest blot in his character 
 was his countenancing, and, in fact, sharing the spoils of cer- 
 tain sharpers, who set up banks and E.O. tables. But with 
 all his experience, he was no match for people of this de- 
 scription. After a time, they defrauded him of his portion, 
 
LEADEES OP FASHION. 105 
 
 and, while the tables were flourishiiig, he was reduced to the 
 ver J brink of ruin. In the dilemma, he had recourse to the 
 law, but all he got by this was the exposure of his connec- 
 tion with the sharpers, which, before, had scarcely been sus- 
 pected. 
 
 Never, perhaps, was there a more compound character 
 than that of Beau Nash, the king of Bath, and also of Tun- 
 bridge "Wells, a colony sent out from the parent state. I 
 have already noticed his generosity, but he had other redeem- 
 ing qualities. He was essentially kind-hearted, and disposed 
 to serve every one, and so determined an enemy to slander, 
 that he would not allow the ladies their natural privilege of 
 running down each other. In those days, the men of gal- 
 lantry, as they called themselves, held much the same opin- 
 ion with Clarindore in the Farliament of Love, and con- 
 sidered it a matter of glory to publish to the world any 
 victories they might have obtained over female weakness. 
 
 "After victor J-, 
 A little glory in a soldier's mouth 
 Is not uncomely ; love being a kind of war too, 
 And what I did achieve was full of labour 
 As his that wins strong towns, and merits triumphs, 
 I thought it could not but take from my honour 
 If it had been concealed." 
 
 But the monarch of Bath repressed all such practices 
 with a high hand, and thereby gained the friendship of many 
 ladies of rank, who had been harshly treated by the slander- 
 ers. The widow of the hero of Blenheim, the old Sarah, 
 Duchess of Marlborough, in particular, entertained much re- 
 gard for Nash, often taking his advice in worldly affairs, as 
 well as matters of mere taste. From the cut and colour 
 of a livery, to letting leases, building bridges, or forming 
 canals, Nash was her Grace's chosen counsellor, and, consider- 
 ing the general sagacity of the then antiquated Duchess Sarah, 
 this was saying not a little for him. Before public gaming 
 was suppressed by Act of Parliament, and while Nash was 
 yet in the meridian of his fortunes, his benefactions were 
 generally found to equal all his other expenses. The money 
 he got without pain he gave away without reluctance ; and, 
 when unable to relieve distress, he was often seen to shed 
 tears. Of this many instances might be given, enough to 
 fill, if not a volume, yet a lengthy chapter. I will take 
 only two or three. 
 
106 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 A gentleman of broken fortune standing behind his chair 
 one day, as he was playing a game of picquet for two hun- 
 dred pounds, and observing with what indifference he won 
 the money, could not help whispering to a by-stander, 
 " Heavens ! how happy would that money make me ! " This 
 chanced to be overheard by Nash, who immediately thrust 
 the money into his hand, and exclaimed, " Gro, and be happy." 
 
 A clergyman brought his family to Bath, his wife being 
 afflicted with a lingering disease, which, according to the 
 doctors, could only be removed by the use of the hot wells. 
 His living amounted to only thirty pounds a year, and it 
 may be easily supposed that he was soon reduced to severe 
 distress, the greater part of his clothes being gradually sold 
 to obtain a temporary relief. At length, his appearance be- 
 came so shabby, that, from the number of holes in his coat 
 and stockings, Nash used to nickname him Dr Cullender. 
 This, however, was but the momentary thoughtlessness of 
 one who seldom suffered anything to stand in the way of a 
 joke, even when, as in the present case, it was not remark- 
 able for brightness. No sooner did he learn the real state of 
 affairs with the poor parson, than he set about making a 
 collection for him, and to stimulate the public generosity, 
 himself subscribed five guineas. In less than three hours a 
 couple of hundred pounds were raised, a piece of good fortune 
 that did more for the wife's recovery than all the Bath waters. 
 Nor did Nash's kindness for a mere stranger stop here. 
 He solicited and obtained from a nobleman a living for the 
 poor curate, of a hundred and sixty pounds a year. 
 
 Another and higher instance of his generosity remains 
 to be recorded ; higher, because it involves the exercise of a 
 rare magnanimity, and one which for a moment must make 
 us forget the natural frivolity of his character. 
 
 In the early part of his life, Nash had made proposals of 
 marriage to a young lady of rank and fortune, and being then . 
 in high favour with the nobility, and moreover in affluent 
 circumstances, the father listened to his suit with much satis- 
 faction. When, however, he opened the affair to the lady 
 herself, she at once candidly told him her heart was already 
 given to another. The father, upon being informed of this 
 avowal, became furious, and insisted upon his daughter's com- 
 pliance. Things were carried to the last extremity, when 
 Nash undertook to settle the affair. He sent for his fa- 
 voured rival, with his own hand presented his mistress to him) 
 
LEADERS OF FASHION. 107 
 
 and presented her with a fortune equal to that which her 
 father had intended to bestow upon her. The Consequence 
 was, a complete reconciliation between the old gentleman 
 and his daughter. 
 
 But he, who had so often and so munificently relieved 
 the distressed, became at length reduced tp a very pitiable 
 state of want. He was now more than eighty years old, 
 and the faults, as well as the infirmities, of age began to 
 steal rapidly upon him. He became rude and fretful, and in 
 the midst of his vain longing after pleasures that he could 
 no longer enjoy, was ever haunted by the fears of death. 
 Tet he had already lived much too long for his repute or 
 happiness, and at length died in his own house in St John's 
 Court, Bath, on the 12th of February, 1761, when he was 
 aged eighty-seven years, three months, and some days. 
 
 His funeral was celebrated by the corporation of Bath 
 with much splendour, and amidst a very general expression 
 of grief, not only the streets, but even the house-tops, being 
 filled with anxious spectators. 
 
 I have already entered somewhat at large into the cha- 
 racter of this singular, and I must add, with all his faults, 
 good man ; yet, after all, he is best painted by his actions. 
 "Under that impression I will venture to give another anec- 
 dote of him, somewhat out of place perhaps, but the addition 
 must be taken as the postscript of a letter, which supplies 
 what the writer, following only the natural current of his 
 fancy, and narrating without art, had previously omitted. 
 
 His object was to establish a hospital at Bath by public 
 subscription. Once while walking round the rooms with his 
 hat in his hand for that purpose, a certain duchess entered, 
 at no time remarkable for charity. Nash planted himself 
 directly in her way, when the lady, finding escape impossible, 
 gave him a tap with her fan, saying, " Tou must put down a 
 trifle for me, Mr Nash, for I have no money in my purse." 
 "With pleasure, madam," was his reply, "if your G-race 
 win tell me when to stop." And taking a handful of guineas 
 out of his pocket he began to count them into his hat. 
 " One, two, three, four, five." " Hold, hold, sir," cried the 
 duchess; "consider what you arc about." " Consider your 
 rank and fortune, madam;" said Nash, and continued drop- 
 ping in the guineas ; " six, seven, eight, nine, ten." The 
 duchess now grew angry, and called again to him to stop. 
 " Bray compose yourself, madam," said Nash respectfully, 
 
108 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 " and don't interrupt the work of charity — eleven, twelve, 
 thirteen, fourteen, iifteen." Here her Grrace actually seized 
 hia hand. " Be calm, madam," said Nash, going on with his 
 performance, " your name will be written in letters of gold, 
 and on the front of the building, madam — sixteen, seven- 
 teen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty." " I shan't pay a far- 
 thing more," exclaimed the duchess. " Charity hides a mul- 
 titude of sins," replied Nash; "twenty-one, twenty-two, 
 twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five." The lady now 
 seemed to be exhausted with vexation, and about to faint, 
 exclaiming, "ISTash, I protest you frighten me out of my 
 wits ; I shall die." " Madam," said the imperturbable 
 Nash, " you will never die of doing good ; or if you do, you 
 will be the better for it." 
 
 Other stars were not long in rising in the fashionable 
 hemisphere, but they could hardly be called stars of the first 
 magnitude; compared with their predecessors, they would 
 seem to have shone with diminished brilliance. I shall run 
 through them with a brevity suited to their inferior im- 
 portance as lights of fashion, whatever their abilities in 
 other respects. 
 
 I have already spoken of Charles James Pox. The Earl ' 
 of March seems to have gone somewhat farther. He writes 
 to his friend George Selwyn, in Paris, 1776. " The mitfjon 
 sent me by the Duke of Eichmond I like prodigiously, vastly 
 better than if it had been tigre, or of any glaring colour ; 
 several are now making after it." And again in 1776, he 
 writes, " Pray bring me two or three bottles of perfume to 
 put amongst powder, and some patterns for velvets that are 
 new and pretty." 
 
 His friend, Q-eorge Augustus Selwyn, was yet more dis- 
 tinguished, his wit and peculiarities giving him a high place 
 in the world of fashion. He was born on the 11th of Au- 
 gust, 1719, and was the second son of Colonel John Selwyn, 
 of an ancient family in Gloucestershire, and who, in his youth, 
 had been aide-de-camp to the Duke of Marlborough. At 
 Eton School he was a contemporary with Gray and Horace 
 "Walpole. He then proceeded to Hertford College, Oxford, 
 which he left before the time to take a trip upon the conti- 
 nent, returned to College, and got expelled for an idle jest, 
 which his superiors considered blasphemy. 
 
 His father's influence soon procured for him a lucrative 
 situation in the Mint. In 1747 he obtained a seat in Par- 
 
LEADERS OF FASHION. 109 
 
 liament, and in the November of 1751 — tis brother having 
 died before his father — he inherited, upon the decease of 
 the latter, the whole of the family estates. 
 
 One of the most remarkable features in his character was 
 a morbid love for sights of death and execution. This, in- 
 deed, has been denied, by showing the fallacy of some of the 
 many anecdotes circulated — no very difficult matter — but such 
 was evidently the belief of his contemporaries. Thus, when 
 the first Lord Holland, upon his death-bed, was told that his 
 friend Selwyn had called to inquire after his health, he replied, 
 " The next time that Mr Selwyn calls, show him up ; if I am 
 alive, I shall be delighted to see him ; and if I am dead he 
 will be glad to see me." Thus, too, Horace Walpole, in a 
 letter to Sir Horace Mann, "This old Craggs — who was 
 angry with Arthur More, who had worn a livery too, and 
 who was getting into a coach with him — turned round, and 
 said, ' Why, Arthur, I am always going to get up behind, 
 are not you ? ' I told this story the other day to George 
 Selwyn, whose passion is to see coffins, and corpses, and exe- 
 cutions ; he replied that Arthur More had had his coffin 
 chained to that of his mistress. ' Lord ! ' said I, ' how do 
 you know ? ' ' Why, I saw them the other day in a vault 
 at St Giles.' " _ 
 
 One more instance of the same kind, and I have done 
 with this part of the subject. Being attacked by some ladies 
 for his want of feeling in being present at the beheading of 
 Lord Lovat, he replied, " Well, I made amends by going to 
 the undertaker's to see his head sewed on again." And this 
 excuse was no more than fact. He had duly assisted by his 
 presence at this revolting ceremony, and no sooner was it 
 concluded, and the perfect corpse placed in its coffin, than 
 imitating the voice and manner of the Lord Chancellor at 
 the trial, he exclaimed, " My Lord Lovat, your lordship may 
 arise." 
 
 Strange to say, the man who could thus sport with death, 
 and enjoy the pain of others, was anything but deficient in 
 feeling. He was passionately fond of children, and possessed 
 a heart always open to the appeal of wretchedness. His 
 friendships, too, were warm and lasting. 
 
 Of his witticisms, many are on record ; but, like most 
 colloquial flashes, they lose much of their brilliancy when 
 read instead of being heard. The joke which sparkles when 
 
110 FAMILy ROMANCE. 
 
 uttered, becomes too often vapid and pointless when com- 
 mitted to paper. A few instances, therefore, will suffice : 
 
 At the trials of Lords Kilmarnock and Balmerino, ob- 
 serving a Mrs Bethel, who was remarkable.for a hatchet-face, 
 looking earnestly at'them, he exclaimed with affected com- 
 passion, " What a shame it is to turn her face to the pri- 
 soners before they are condemned !" — an allusion to the 
 custom of the executioner's turning the edge of his axe to- 
 wards the prisoner when condemned, and reversed be- 
 fore sentence has been passed. 
 
 On another occasion, observing Mr Ponsonby, the 
 Speaker of the Irish House of Commons, tossing about bank- 
 bills at a hazard-table at Nevsrmarket, he exclaimed, " Look ! 
 how easily the Speaker passes the money-bills." 
 
 The beautiful Lady Coventry was one day exhibiting to 
 him a splendid new dress, covered with large silver spangles, 
 the size of a shilling, and asked him what he thought of it ? 
 " I think," replied the wit, " you will be changed for a 
 guinea." 
 
 JSxpede Serculem — for it would occupy more canvas than 
 can here be spared to paint our Hercules in his full propor- 
 tions. It will be enough to add that he died on the 25th of 
 January, 1791; and in his seventy-second year. 
 
 I now come to one of the most celebrated heroes of 
 fashion, and to a new system of foppery. This hero was 
 George Bryan Brummel : his system was termed Dandyism. 
 Brummel's strange career has occupied more than one 
 biographer. The Westminster Eeview has ably discoursed 
 upon him, and Captain Jesse has written a capital life of 
 him — a book indeed too good for the minor importance of 
 its subject. A Norman author and a man of note in the 
 French literary world, M. J. A. Barbey D'Aurevilly, has 
 produced a talented and remarkable essay, entitled, "Du 
 Dandyism, et de Gr. Brummel," which he published in quaint 
 form under the editorship of the learned M. Trebutien, in 
 the very town of Caen, where Brummel died. Prom aU 
 these writers I borrow in the following account. George 
 Bryan Brummel was the son of William Brummel, Esq., 
 Trivate Secretary of Lord North. There is some doubt 
 as to the original station in life held by Brummel's pa- 
 rents. His grandfather followed a business of some kind 
 in Bury Street, and, as usual with the denizens of that lodg- 
 
LEADEES OF FASHION. Ill 
 
 ing-hoTise locality, added to Ma means by letting out a. large 
 portion of his house. While Brummei's father was yet a 
 boy, Sir Charles Jenkinson, afterwards a member of Lord 
 North's cabinet, and Earl of Liverpool, came to lodge there, 
 and this led to his being employed in a Government-olfice 
 when his lodger and patron had attained to eminence. The 
 Jenkinson patronage brought WiUiam Brummel under the 
 notice of that " god of Emoluments," as he was called, Lord 
 North, and favour and fortune followed the iatroduction. 
 He became High Sheriff of Berks. 
 
 Beau Brummel, though perhaps not so remarkable for 
 wit as George Selwyn, was certainly more distinguished as a 
 leader of fashion. Although not a fop, he was the best dress- 
 ed man of his day, the tie of his neckcloth, and the polish of 
 his boot-tops, being the general objects of admiration. His 
 good taste led him to avoid all peculiarities of appearance ; to 
 perfect dandyism in fact. 
 
 George Bryan Brummel, the Beau, was born in "West- 
 minster the 7th of June, 1778, and his father, while Lord 
 North's Secretary, having increased his wealth by specu- 
 lating in the funds, sent him, at the proper age, to Etqn. 
 Here, although a very general favourite, he did not rise above 
 the average of boy-students, beiug much more distinguished 
 for fun and frolic than for study. Even at this early period 
 he affected a peculiar elegance, and obtained from his school- 
 fellows the soubriquet of " Buck Brummel," the term dandy 
 not being then iu use. In those days, Brummei's humour 
 had already got much of that peculiar character which after- 
 wards distinguished him, and which is more easily illustrated 
 by example than made clear by explanation. The following 
 is an instance : — 
 
 Contests between the Etonians and the bargemen were 
 frequent. Upon one of tliese occasions, an unlucky barge- 
 man, or bargee — the latter is the Eton term — fell into the 
 hands of the schoolboys, who, in resentment of their having 
 been roughly handled by him in some previous quarrel, were 
 well disposed to fling him over the bridge into the river. In 
 the midst of the tumult, and when nothing else could have 
 saved the poor fellow, Brummel made his appearance amongst 
 them, exclaiming, " My good fellows, don't send him into the 
 river ; the man is evidently in a high state of perspiration, 
 and it almost amounts to a certainty that he will catch cold !" 
 — From drowning to the almost certainty of catching cold ! 
 
112 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 — what an exquisite instance of pathos ! It proved irresistible, 
 and laughter succeeding to indignation, the bargee was suf- 
 fered to escape. 
 
 Prom Eton, Brummel went to Oriel College, Oxford ; 
 but he could not have remained there long, for he was not 
 much more than sixteen when his father died, and it was 
 only three months afterwards ■ that he was gazetted to a 
 eometcy in the 10th Hussars, at that time commanded by 
 the Prince of Wales. This was on the I7th of June, 1794. 
 
 He had, when a boy at Eton, been presented to the Prince 
 on the terrace at Windsor. It now seems that some of the 
 heir-apparent's boon companions mentioned to him the young 
 Etonian as having grown up into a second Selwyn, where- 
 upon his Koyal Highness expressed a wish to see him. As he 
 had no undue bashfulness to stand in the way of his prefer- 
 ment, he was soon received into a high degree of favour. His 
 assurance, indeed, was sublime, leading him to do and say 
 things which would scarcely have entered into the head of 
 any one but himself. Take this for an example : — 
 
 A great law-lord, who lived in Eussell Square, had one 
 evening given a ball, at which a Miss J., one of the beauties 
 of the day, was present. All the young men were of course 
 anxious for the honour of dancing with her, and numerous 
 were the applications made to her as she sat enthroned in an 
 arm-chair. Being, however, to the full as proud as she was 
 beautiful, she refused them all, till the young hussar made 
 his appearance, and he having proffered to lead her out, 
 she at once acquiesced, greatly to the wrath of the dis- 
 appointed candidates. In one of the pauses of the dance, 
 he happened to find himself close to an acquaintance, when 
 he exclaimed, " Ha ! you here ? Do, my good fellow, tell 
 me who that ugly man is leaning against the chimney-piece ? ' ' 
 " Why, surely you must know him," replied the other ! " 'tis 
 the master of the house." " No indeed," said the cornet 
 coolly, " how should I ? I never was invited." 
 
 This was a feat that, perhaps, no one except Theodore 
 Hook ever rivalled. 
 
 No sooner had thenovelty of a soldier'slife worn off than 
 Brummel grew weary of it, though the reason he assigned 
 for quitting the army was quite in keeping with the character 
 of the man. His regiment, being at ]3righton, was suddenly 
 ordered to Manchester. The news arrived in the evening, 
 and early the next day Brummel made his appearance before 
 
LEADERS OP FASHION. 113 
 
 the Prince, who was not a little surprised at so unseasonable 
 a visit. After due apologies made and received, Brummel 
 proceeded to explain. — " Why the fact is, your Koyal Highness, 
 I have heard that we are ordered to Manchester. Now you 
 must be aware how disagreeable this is to me ! I really could 
 not go ; think, your Royal Highness — Manchester ! Besides, 
 you would not be there. I have, therefore, determined, with 
 your Royal Highness' permission, to sell out." The flattery 
 was well timed, and secured the Prince's acquiescence. How 
 changed is Manchester since Brummel's days ! Little could 
 he foresee how the then mere mart of manufacture was to be- 
 come a city of public and private palaces, bringing fashion- 
 able crowds from all Europe to its Exhibition, to be opened 
 by a Prince who found in the home of its Mayor a residence 
 that might vie with many a royal abode. A year after Brum- 
 mel had thus so disdainfully treated Manchester, then a giant 
 rude in incipient growth, he came into possession of his for- 
 tune, which, having accumulated during his minority, amount- 
 ed to thirty thousand pounds, whereupon he took up his 
 abode in May Pair, and soon was distinguished for the ex- 
 cellence and simple elegance of his dinners. The Prince of 
 "Wales himself is said to have been more than once a guest 
 at his table. 
 
 At this time of his life he has been thus described by his 
 biographer. " His face was rather long, and complexion fair ; 
 his whiskers inclined to sandy, and hair light brown. His 
 features were neither plain nor handsome, but his head was 
 well shaped, the forehead being unusually high, showing, ac- 
 cording to phrenological development, more of the mental 
 than the animal passions ; the bump of self-esteem was very 
 prominent. His countenance indicated that he possessed 
 considerable intelligence, and his mouth betrayed a strong 
 . disposition to indulge in sarcastic humour ; this was predo- 
 minant in every feature, the nose excepted, the natural regu- 
 larity of which, though it had been broken by a faU from his 
 charger, prevented his countenance from degenerating into 
 comicality. His eyebrows were equally expressive with his 
 mouth, and while the latter was giving utterance to some- 
 thing very good-humoured or polite, the former, and the eyes 
 themselves, which were grey and full of oddity, could assume 
 an expression that made the sincerity of his words very 
 doubtful." 
 
 Brummel now established his peculiar system, that of 
 8 
 
114 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 Dandyism, which, based on the principle of Horace, the " M 
 admirari," consisted in a perfect elegance in dress and man- 
 ner, with an avoidance of all that might be remarkable or outre 
 in either. Dandyism, says one enthusiastic writer on the 
 subject, " introduced the calm of antiquity into the agitations 
 of modem life. It was impassibility gracefully in action." 
 Dandyism grew rapidly into public favour, but was carried 
 by many far beyond the foppish simplicity Brummel would 
 inculcate. The dandies as they multiplied became very un- 
 like their founder. However, under their paramount inilu- 
 ence, the Bucks and Maccaronies passed into utter oblivion. 
 It would be doing little justice to the character of Brummel 
 to set him down for such a mere coxcomb as might be found 
 among dandies generally. On the contrary, he was a man of 
 infinite shrewdness and observation, was naturally refined in 
 taste and elegant in manners, his very affectation being as 
 much assumed as the folly of Touchstone ; and it might truly 
 be said of him, " under the presentation of that he shoots his 
 wit." Mere foppery could never have made him, as he was, 
 the intimate friend of so many men, distinguished by birth 
 and education ; nor could it have made his society so much a 
 matter of fashion with the higher classes. Something, no 
 doubt, he owed to his satirical spirit, which in a short time 
 made him dreaded, and thus established himself as the auto- 
 crat of that world in which he moved. It has been said 
 that Madame de Stael was in awe of him, and considered 
 her having failed to please him as her greatest misfortune, 
 while she placed the Prince's having neglected to call upon 
 her only as a secondary cause of lamentation. The great 
 French authoress, however, was not without reason in her 
 regrets ; to ofiend or not to please Brummel was to lose 
 caste in the fashionable world, to be exposed to the most 
 cutting sarcasm, the most poignant ridicule, and, in many 
 cases, to be made the subject of practical jokes, that in jus- 
 tice should have drawn down a horsewhipping upon the 
 shoulders of the perpetrator. A single instance of this kind 
 will be quite enough to justify the assertion. The victim 
 was an old French emigrant, whom Brummel met on a visit to 
 "Woburn or Chatsworth, into whose hair-powder he managed 
 to introduce some finely-powdered sugar. The next morning 
 the poor marquis, quite unconscious of his head being so well 
 sweetened, joined the breakfast-table as usual ; but scarcely 
 had he made his bow, and plunged his knife into the Perigord 
 
LEADERS OF FASHION. 115 
 
 pie before him, than the flies began to desert the walls and 
 ■windows to settle upon his head. The weather was exceed- 
 ingly hot, the flies of course numerous, and even the honey- 
 comb and marmalade upon the table seemed to have lost all 
 attraction for them. The marquis relinquished his knife 
 and fork to drive off the enemy with his handkerchief. But 
 scarcely had he attempted to renew his acquaintance with 
 the Perigord pie, than back the whole swarm came, more teaz- 
 ingly than ever. Not a wing was missing. Those of the 
 company who were not in the secret could not help wonder- 
 ing at this phenomenon, as the buzzing grew louder and 
 louder every moment. Matters grew still worse, when the 
 sugar, melting, poured dovm the Frenchman's brow and face 
 in thick streams, for his tormentors then changed their ground 
 of action, and having thus found a more vulnerable part, 
 nearly drove him mad with their stings. Unable to bear it 
 any longer, he clasped his head with both hands and rushed 
 out of the room in a cloud of powder, followed by his per- 
 severing tormentors, and the laughter of the company. 
 
 The following is an instance of how closely excess of af- 
 fectation may often resemble humour. 
 
 An acquaintance once, in a morning call, who had then 
 been recently travelling in the north of England, persisted 
 in cross-questioning Brummel about the lakes — which did he 
 like best ? — Tired at length of his guest's affected raptures, 
 Brummel turned to his valet, who chanced to be in the room 
 — " Eobinson ! "— " Sir ? "— " Which of the lakes do I ad- 
 mire ? " — " Windermere, sir," replied the valet, who had 
 acuteness enough to understand his master's humour. " Ah ! 
 yes, Windermere," repeated Brummel ; " so it is, Wiader- 
 mere." 
 
 He pretended to look upon the city as a sort of African 
 region, unknovm to the civilized world, except from the re- 
 port of certain adventurous travellers. Being asked by an 
 eminent and wealthy merchant to dine with him in the city, 
 he replied, " With pleasure, if you'U promise faithfully not to 
 tell any one." 
 
 The intimacy between Brummel and the Prince of Wales 
 lasted for some years, much longer, indeed, than might have 
 been anticipated, all circumstances colisidered. The quarrel, 
 which eventually broke up this intimacy, has been attributed 
 to various causes ; some said it was owing to Brummel's 
 desiring the Prince to ring the beU, who, on doing so, ordered 
 
116 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 Brummel to be sliowii out. This story was always denied by 
 Brummel himself ; Moore makes the Prince say, 
 
 " Neither have I resentments, nor wish there should come ill 
 To mortal, except, now I think ou't, to Beau Brummel; 
 "Who threatened last year, in a superfine passion, 
 To cut me, and bring the old king into fashion." 
 
 Others said, and with more probability, that the dispute arose 
 from the friend's too open ridicule not only of the Prince, but 
 — and this was really unpardonable — of the excellent Mrs 
 Ktzherbert. The Prince was growing stout, and Brummel 
 called him Big-Ben, and Mrs Fitzherbert Benina. This 
 came to Q-eorge's ears, and one certainly cannot blame him 
 for not putting up with such ribaldry. Brummel however, 
 with his usual intrepidity of assurance, protested that it was 
 he who had cut the Prince. " Non nostrum est tantas com- 
 ponere lites," says one of Brummel's biographers, but it 
 seems to me that a Prince such as George is far more likely 
 to have been the abandoning than the abandoned party. 
 
 The loss of his royal friend estranged many from Brum- 
 mel to whom he had before been a welcome visitant, but they 
 generally suifered for their time-serving, his unrelenting wit 
 as little sparing them as it did the Prince himself. A notable 
 instance of this was seen in the case of a fashionable lady, 
 by name Thompson, living near Grosvenor-square, who had 
 a formidable rival, so far as giving parties went, in a Mrs 
 Johnson, an inhabitant of the terra incognita, Pinsbury- 
 square, or its immediate vicinity. The West End dame was 
 giving a grand ball, at which his Eoyal Highness had consent- 
 ed to be present, in consequence of which Brummel, of course, 
 was not invited. Great then was the lady's surprise when, 
 upon the eventful night, and at the moment she was" sanxi- 
 ously expecting the ]?rince's arrival, who should walk in but 
 the unasked and obnoxious Beau Brummel. Suppressing her 
 indignation as best she could, the lady walked forth from the 
 circle of her friends, and informed him that he had not been 
 invited. " Not invited, madam, not invited ? " said the un- 
 welcome visitor in his blandest tones ; " surely there must 
 be some mistake ;" and leisurely feeling in all his pockets to 
 spin out the time, and give a better chance for the Prince's 
 arrival, while the hostess was in an agony, he at length drew 
 forth a card, which he presented to her. At a glance she 
 saw it was that of her rival at the East End, and returning it 
 
LEADERS OF FASHION. 117 
 
 hastily, exclaimed, " That card, sir, is a Mrs Johnson's ; my 
 name is Thompson." " Is it, indeed ?" replied Brummel, af- 
 fecting much surprise. " Dear me," how unfortunate ; really, 
 Mrs John — Thompson, I mean ; I am very sorry for this 
 mistake : hut you know, Johnson and Thompson, Thompson 
 and Johnson, are so much the same kind of thing. Mrs 
 Thompson, I wish you- a very good evening." And making 
 one of his most elaborate hows, he retired slowly and minc- 
 ingly, amidst the ill-suppressed laughter of all present, ex- 
 cept the hostess herself, who was bursting with indignation, 
 and totally at a loss to reply to such matchless effrontery. 
 
 For years did Brummel maintain his supremacy in the 
 fashionable world, notwithstanding his having been cast off 
 by the Prince, and the neglect of some in consequence. 
 But though even royal disfavour could not seriously lower 
 him, he managed in the end to do that which no one else 
 could do — he ruined himself: the gaming-table, in the long 
 run, deprived him of all his fortune. Then came bills to 
 supply the deficiencies of the hour, and, with that, the con- 
 summation which they never fail to bring about when ne- 
 cessity has recourse to them. A quarrel ensuing with the 
 friend joined in one of these acceptances, and who accused 
 him of taking the lion's share, he was obliged to quit Eng- 
 land, and take up his abode at Calais. It has been said, 
 ludicrously enough, that Brummel and Bonaparte fell toge- 
 ther. The Moscow of the former, according to his own ac- 
 count, was a crooked sixpence, to the possession of which 
 his good fortune was attached, but which he unfortunately 
 lost. 
 
 Brummel's reign lasted from 1794 to 1816. On the 
 16th May of the latter year, after dining on a capon and a 
 bottle of claret, he quitted London : on the 17th he was at 
 Dover, on the 18th he was at Calais. There, with the wreck 
 of his property, he settled in a handsome house, and was 
 for some years stiU. sought after by nobles and gentlemen of 
 fashion, who would, as they passed from one country to the 
 other, visit the Arch-dandy in his graceful seclusion. Lord 
 Westmoreland stopping one day at Calais, invited Brummel 
 to dine with him at his hotel at 3 o'clock. Brummel sent 
 back a refusal, stating that he never ate at such an hour. 
 Brummel, after a time, came to that miserable mode of sup- 
 port, borrowing. It took a tolerable long period before he 
 exhausted all his friends, from some of whom he was con- 
 
118 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 tinually receiving eyen large sums of money, so much in one 
 instance as a thousand pounds. He was thus enabled to go 
 on in a way suited to his usual refined habits, and, to charm 
 his retirement, he set seriously to work at acquiring the 
 French language. In this he so well succeeded, that in a 
 short time he could both write and speak it with tolerable 
 fluency and correctness, a sufficient proof that he was by no 
 means deficient in understanding. Brummel went once to 
 Paris, but did not like it. He and his dandyism were things 
 unknown and unintelligible to the Parisians, and he came back 
 to Calais, the St Helena of his fashion. 
 
 It will naturally be supposed that, as time went on, the 
 tide of bounty towards him rolled in a constantly decreasing 
 stream. Some friends were lost to him by death, others 
 perhaps grew weary of relieving him. A visit of George the 
 Fourth to France held out to him a momentary gleam of hope. 
 The King on his way to Hanover stopped a night at Calais. 
 He was half inclined to see Brummel and to be reconciled 
 with him. But Brummel foolishly coquetted and held back 
 in hope of the honour or reparation of a special summons to 
 the royal presence. The opportunity was lost. The Monarch 
 of England haughtily passed on, and never again noticed the 
 fallen sovereign of dandyism, Still he was not so wholly 
 bereft of friends, but that he continued from time to time to 
 receive remittances from England; and, at length, by the 
 friendly intervention of the Duke of Wellington with Wil- 
 liam, IV., a monarch ever ready to do a kindness, Brummel 
 was made British Consul in Caen, the historic and learned 
 capital of Lower Normandy, a city of much architectural 
 beauty and much classic refinement — the Oxford of France. 
 Many English of the betterclass resided there then, but Brum- 
 mel when he was appointed was altogether on the wane. He 
 was, too, so deeply involved in debt that he could scarcely ob- 
 tain the means of arranging with his creditors before pro- 
 ceeding to the seat of his Consulate. 
 
 It may be supposed that, with the consular income, Brum- 
 mel regained a state of ease and comfort ; but this was far 
 from being the case ; the large deductious made from his in- 
 come to discharge the arrears of debt incurred at Calais, left 
 him a very insufficient overplus for a man of his habits. He 
 soon got involved at Caen, as he had before been at Calais, 
 And what was worse, every day proved him to be more 
 and more incapable of his office — one certainly of no great 
 
LEADERS OF FASHION. 119 
 
 difficulty. But the man was quite listless and broken, and 
 the very post sunk into insignificance under his incapacity. 
 He perceived this falling off, but unfortunately not the cause, 
 and in the vain hope of getting a more lucrative, or at any 
 rate a still more sinecure, situation, he wrote home that the 
 consulate at Caen was perfectly useless to the English nation. 
 The government thanked him for the information, abolished 
 the consulate, but forgot to provide him with any other situa- 
 tion. A vice-consulate was established and given to Mr 
 Armstrong, a highly respectable tradesman at Caen. Brum- 
 mel was thus once more thrown upon the charity of his friends 
 without a single sixpence in his pocket. To relieve him from 
 these difficulties, enhanced as they were by illness, his ac- 
 quaintance, Mr Armstrong, the vice-consul, in a most ge- 
 nerous spirit undertook to see what could be done for him 
 in England. Thei mission was so successful that he returned 
 with money enough to pay off the most pressing of the de- 
 mands upon the ex-consul. 
 
 Evils now began to throng thick and fast upon Brummel. 
 He had more than one attack of paralysis, and to crown all, 
 he was flung into prison at Caen by his Erench creditors, 
 What such a man, so fastidious in all his habits, must have 
 suffered when he found himself locked up in a wretched 
 room, floored with stone, and many common decencies of 
 life disregarded, may be easily imagined. The details would 
 be too painful for these pages. Caen itself came to his 
 rescue. The authorities there and the inhabitants both 
 French and English subscribed for his relief. These efforts, 
 and a second visit of Mr Armstrong to England, were so 
 successful, that Brummel was enabled to leave his prison, 
 after having been confined there for upwards of two 
 months. 
 
 It would be as painful as useless to follow him through 
 his decline — sickness, loss of memory, and absolute imbecility, 
 till at last his manners became so coarse, that he could no 
 longer be allowed to eat at the public table of the hotel he 
 frequented. His final state was one of perfect idiotcy, — 
 unable to distinguish bread from meat, or v^ine from coffee. 
 Happily there was still a refuge. Caen once more, with 
 Christian spirit, put forth a saving hand, and gave the poor 
 sufferer a last asylum, in its magnificent hospital of the Bon. 
 Sauveur, one of the most admirable institutions in Europe, 
 
120 FAMILY .EOMANCE. 
 
 within whose extensive precincts, the lunatic, and the deaf 
 and dumb are cared for, and the poor instructed, and various 
 other works of charity carried out by an order of nuns. 
 Here Brummel was placed in a comfortable room, and here 
 he died on the evening of the 30th of March, 1840. Mr 
 George M. Musgrave, in his excellent " Eamhle through 
 Normandy," in describing the famous hospital of the Bon 
 Sauveur, gives the following eloquent and feeling description 
 of Brummel's sojourn in that asylum. " It was in a quiet 
 secluded little quadrangle of the men's compartment, planted 
 with evergreen shrubs and flowers, and basking in the 
 pleasantest sunshine on one side, a cool delightful shade 
 proifering shelter on the other ; that, upon request to be 
 shown the quarter I am about to particularize, I was led 
 into the parlour, and afterwards into the bed-room, occupied 
 at the time of his death on the 30th March, 1840, by George 
 Brummel, of unhappy celebrity, once Consul of Caen. * * 
 Brummel, through the intervention of the most benevolent 
 of strangers, rather than by any direct act of his few re- 
 maining friends, became an inmate of this enviable asylum 
 in the year 1838, and remained in it the greater part of two 
 years, in fact, to the day of his decease. I conversed for 
 some time with the gardener, Pierre Dubois, who acts as an 
 over-looker and attendant among the patients lodged in the 
 section of St Joseph, as this part is called. He said Brum- 
 mel was so paralyzed in body, as to require the arms of 
 two persons to support him when walking about the garden : 
 that he always appeared to be totally unconscious of his 
 melancholy condition, and spoke of himself as the owner of 
 large possessions. He would occasionally intimate to each 
 of the attendants, who waited upon him by turns, that he 
 had made ample provision for them in his will, and that 
 through his application at head-quarters, every one of them 
 would find himself promoted to situations of distinguished 
 trust in England. His animal spirits appeared to have 
 been generally good. His voracious appetite never failed ; 
 but he drank barley-water only, mixed with a very small 
 quantity of wine, as his usual beverage. 
 
 " While I was listening to Pierre Dubois's account, an 
 elderly sister joined us who remembered Brummel well, 
 and had often tended him during his last illness. She 
 mentioned him as un Ion enfant; which would lead one to 
 
LEADERS OF FASHION. 121 
 
 infer he had ingratiated himself, fatuous as he was, with 
 those who had access to him in his depressing solitude. 
 Apart from the condition of mental darkness in which this 
 singular man went down to the grave, his days in this de- 
 lightful retreat comprised, in all probability, a period of far 
 greater contentment and comfort, than he had ever tasted 
 in the zenith of his prosperity and, I might say, of his power ! 
 All that the unwearied solicitude and kindness of the best of 
 nurses could do in mitigation of human sufferings, in aid of 
 decrepit feebleness and failing faculties ; all that could soothe 
 the excitement of feverish paroxysm, allay disquietude, and 
 make all the bed of a moribund patient tranquil and easy 
 in his last sickness, was done, and nobly done here. Like 
 ministering angels, these holy women live in the continual 
 discharge of these offices ; and wherever and whenever 
 endemic pestilence, contagion, and death, have from time to 
 time raged within the wards, or desolated the homes of the 
 population lying within the range of their activity, there 
 have they, in fearless faith and self- devoting zeal, 
 
 "Tended tlie sick, busiest, from couch to couch," 
 
 and by these were our fellow-countryman's pillow smoothed, 
 his wants anticipated, his wishes humoured, and his eyelids 
 closed. They cared for the selfish, seK-sacrificed, and ruined 
 man, to the last ; and whoever shall henceforth visit that 
 Zoar, that little refuge, where passing by I beheld their 
 devotions (and deeds to such professions answerable), and 
 learned how worthily these recluses bear the name of Him 
 who went about only to do good, wiU gaze with no light 
 wonder and interest on the resources of consolation abound- 
 ing in that foreign home, where, fed, clothed, and solaced by 
 Samaritan charities, this stranger exile died. The bed-room 
 occupied by Brummel during his residence as an Aliene 
 (a patient in a state of mental derangement) in the Hopital 
 du Bon Sauveur at Caen, and the parlour underneath, were 
 the habitation of the celebrated De Bourrienne (Napoleon's 
 unfaithful Secretary), who died here on the 7th February, 
 1834, at the age of sixty-four. He, also, never recovered his 
 reason." 
 
 "When Brummel's reign ceased, like that of James II., by 
 retirement to Prance, there was no successor to his vacant 
 throne. Dandyism declined, despite of the attempts of 
 
122 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 Lord Petersham, afterwards Earl of Harrington, and of a 
 few others to sustain it. " Swelliam," as it is called, suc- 
 ceeded, and had for a time a bad predominance. The gentle 
 foibles of the Brummel school made way for coarser customs, 
 Boxing came into fashion, and whenever boxing does grow 
 fashionably popular, it is a bad sign for fashionable refine- 
 ment. Men of rank usurped the coachman's office, and 
 drove gigs and public four-horse coaches. Night riots in 
 the street were thought clever and even aristocratic. Tom 
 and Jerry was the drama most in vogue. But suddenly a 
 terrible event put a stop to all this — at least with gentlemen. 
 Thurtell, a leader among swells, committed an infamous 
 murder, and died the felon's death. His trial brought out 
 many ugly revelations, and created a thorough disgust 
 towards all of his class. Swellism when exposed to the light 
 of day appeared mere blackguardism. Men of character 
 however exuberant their spirits, forsook it altogether ; and 
 gradually fashion returned to the refinement, without the 
 gambling of the Nashs and the Brummels. Some few years 
 since a gentleman of elegance and erudition assumed Brum- 
 mel's sceptre. This was Alfred, Count D'Orsay. His reign 
 was short but brilliant. An aristocrat by birth and alliance, 
 a scholar by education, an artist by nature, and a thorough 
 adept in all manly sports and exercises — one of the best 
 equestrians of his time ; a man too of a kind disposition and 
 most courteous and pleasing manners, D'Orsay, whatever 
 may have been his faults, had a beneficial influence on public 
 fashion. All he did tended to refinement, and, curiously, 
 during his rule, boxing was quite in the shade, and smoking 
 was not as prevalent as now. He encouraged art, and he 
 had many men of genius for his friends ; among them, no 
 less a personage than the present imperial ruler of France, 
 who assisted him to the last. Misfortunes, it is to be 
 feared, hastened D'Orsay's death, — but enough — his career 
 has been too recent to fully descant upon it. I would only 
 add, that on a green eminence in the village of Chambourcy, ' 
 beyond St German-en-Laye, where the rustic churchyard 
 joins the estate of the G-ramont family, rises a marble 
 pyramid. In the sepulchral chamber, there is a stone 
 sarcophagus on either side, each surmounted by a white 
 marble tablet ; that to the left encloses the remains of Mar- 
 garet, last Countess of Blessington, who died the 4th June, 
 
LEADERS OF FASHION. 123 
 
 1849 ; that to the right received, on the 7th August, 1852, 
 the body of her step-daughter's first husband, Alfred, Count 
 D'Orsay, the leader of fashion during the reigns of William 
 IV. and Queen Victoria. This gifted and highly accom- 
 plished gentleman — the exquisite artist, the able sculptor, 
 and the general " arbiter elegantiarum " — leaves a void not 
 yet fiUed up. "With the wit of Gramont, the refinement 
 and kind-heartedness of Nash, and the elegance of Brum- 
 mel, D'Orsay combined mental acquirement and considerable 
 genius. His successor, to inherit his qualifications, must be 
 a man of no ordinary stamp. 
 
124 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 GENERAL DALZELL'S DINNER AT DUDDINGSTON. 
 
 • Our foe 
 
 That is hitherto come in spite 
 
 To scorn at our solemnity this night, 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Content thee * * let him alone, 
 
 He hears him like a portly gentleman.— Shakspeaeb. 
 
 LoED Dundee, Scotland's " Bonnie Dundee," has found 
 nlany admirers, but no voice has ever yet been raised in 
 favour of another fierce Cavalier opponent of the Cove- 
 nanters, Greneral Thomas Dalzell. Yet, in this stern exe- 
 cutor of the behests of his sovereign, there were gleams of 
 kindly and amiable feeling, with which the exercise of his 
 authority was occasionally tempered. 
 
 Thomas Dalzell was the son of the Laird of Binns, an 
 estate which had not been long in his family. It was 
 more anciently possessed by the House of Meldrum, and 
 belonged to the " Esquire Meldrum," who is the hero of 
 one of the poems of Sir David Lindsay of the Mount, of 
 which there is an interesting account in Lord Lindsay's 
 charming family biography. The father of Thomas Dalzell 
 must have been a country gentleman of good fortune, to 
 judge from the mansion-house of Binns, which was built, or 
 at least re-modelled, by him. In the old drawing-room, a 
 chamber of spacious dimensions, there is a beautiful orna- 
 mented plaster ceiling, with heraldic devices, in which, the 
 arms of the father and mother of the General are often re- 
 peated. The former are those of Dalzell, Earl of Cam- 
 wath, without any difference ; so that it is probable that 
 the family of Binns were cadets of that house ; while the 
 latter being those of Bruce of Kinloss, show that the 
 reddest blood in Scotland flowed in the veins of the 
 
GENERAL DALZELL'S DINNER. 125 
 
 General. Thomas DalzeU was early imbued with the 
 most devoted sentiments of loyalty to the King, and all his 
 influence as a country gentleman was exerted in behalf of 
 Charles the Krst. After the murder of that monarch, he 
 allowed his beard to grow, in token of mourning ; and until 
 the close of his life, he never suffered it to be shaved or 
 trimmed, but used a large comb, which is stiU preserved as 
 a relic in the family. Disgusted with the Commonwealth, 
 DalzeU sought military service abroad. He entered into 
 the Eussian army, and soon obtained high rank. He was 
 Lieutenant- G-eneral to the Czar Ivan, and distinguished 
 himself in the wars which that monarch waged against the 
 Tartars. He was a stern, commanding old soldier, with 
 high notions of military discipline, strict and conscientious 
 views of what he considered his duty, and loyalty to his 
 master, which could not be shaken. Although his rank 
 was high and his power was great at the court of the Czar, 
 he could not resist the impulse of his loyal feelings, which 
 urged his return to his native country on the restoration of 
 the Stuart line ; and he came back to Scotland an old and 
 war-worn veteran, to consecrate bis latter days to the ser- 
 vice of the son of that master whom he had dutifully de- 
 fended when alive, and for whom he had never ceased to 
 mourn. The diploma which General DalzeU received 
 from the Czar, shows the value which was entertained for 
 his services, and how much he was appreciated by that 
 sovereign. He also accumulated considerable wealth in 
 the Eusaian service, and his descendants still preserve the 
 inventories of the rich and costly plate with which he re- 
 plenished the buffet at Binns — cups of gold and vessels of 
 silver in profuse abundance. Those were days when the 
 Scottish soldier of fortune became the companion of princes. 
 A curious story is related of General DalzeU, which is 
 noticed by a popiQar historian of the present day. In the 
 course of his continental service, he had been brought into 
 the immediate circle of the Court of the Emperor of Ger- 
 many, possibly having been despatched on some diplomatic 
 mission by the Czar to the successor of the CsBsars. He 
 had the honour to be a guest at a splendid Imperial ban- 
 quet, where, as a part of his state, the German Emperor 
 was waited on by the great feudal dignitaries of the empire, 
 one of whom was the Duke of Modena, the head of the 
 iUustrious house of Este. Thus the veteran Scot was 
 
126 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 seated at a table, whicli, for form's sake, was served by- 
 princes. After his appointment by King Charles the 
 Second as Commander-in-chief in Scotland, he was one 
 day invited by the Duke of York (afterwards James II., 
 and then living at Holyrood ) to dine with him and the 
 Duchess, Princess Mary of Modena. As this was what 
 might be called a family dinner, the Duchess manifested 
 some degree of repugnance to admit the General to such 
 an honour ; whereupon the veteran remarked that this ■Was 
 not his first introduction to the house of Este, for that he 
 had formerly known her Eoyal Highness' s father, the Duke 
 of Modena, and that his Highness had stood behind his 
 chair, while he sat by the Emperor's side ! 
 
 After his period of foreign service, DalzeU returned 
 with great wealth and honour to Scotland, where, during 
 the remainder of his life, he united the functions of a 
 country gentleman ajid improver of his paternal estate, 
 with those of a stern and severe military commander. King 
 Charles II. appointed him Commander-in-chief in Scotland. 
 He exercised this authority strictly, perhaps unmercifully ; 
 while he resided at his beautiful seat of Binns, which he 
 embellished with handsome buildings, and fine woods and 
 gardens. His long residence in foreign countries, his out- 
 landish appearance and habits, his venerable, white, flowing 
 beard, and a certain reserve and mystery' in his manners 
 and deportment, contributed to environ him with a super- 
 stitious awe ; and he was noted, far and wide, as a necro- 
 mancer and wizard. He himself enjoyed the wonder and 
 dread with which this reputation inspired his country 
 neighbours. He surrounded his pleasure-grounds with 
 walls, in which he had formed secret passages, which en- 
 abled him to overhear much that went on, while he was 
 supposed to be at a distance ; and, in the house of Binns, 
 there are hidden stairs and corridors, and concealed doors, 
 which enabled the Q-eneral to maintain a character for 
 ubiquity, as well as preternatural knowledge. There are 
 portraits of him preserved at Binns. In one he is beard- 
 less, clothed in complete armour, with a battle-field in the 
 distance. In this he is represented as fighting for King 
 Charles I., and has already the appearance of a man ad- 
 vanced in middle life. In another, he is represented as 
 dead, with his white beard long, flowing, and descending far 
 down his breast, covering his coat of mail. It is difficult to 
 
GENERAL DALZELL's DINNER. 127 
 
 look upon tbis portrait of the wizard, painted after death, 
 without a shudder of awe. 
 
 Binus House is a beautiful specimen of an old Scottish 
 mansion. It was probably built by the father of the 
 General, in the reign of King James I. of Great Britain, 
 and much enlarged and adorned by the General himself, 
 with the spoils of his Tartar campaigns ; and it remained 
 very much in this state until about thirty years since, when 
 it was greatly improved, the house being enlarged, and the 
 grounds beautified, by the excellent taste of the late Sir 
 James Dalzell, Bart., the great-great-grandson of the first 
 baronet, who was the General's son. 
 
 Much has been said of the cruel persecution of his 
 countrymen by the old Eussian General, and I will not 
 here inquire whether or not this charge be generally well 
 founded. It may be, that warfare with the Turk and 
 Tartar taught this Scottish soldier of fortune to entertain a 
 low estimate of human life and limb, and he may have ex- 
 ercised upon the rebellious Puritans some of the discipline 
 which it was his habit to inflict on his mutinous soldiers, or 
 the conquered enemies of the Czar. But it is my pleasing 
 duty here to record an instance of his kindness and good 
 feeling, which is moreover interesting, as it is in some 
 measure illustrative of the habits and manners of the Scot- 
 tish aristocracy during the seventeenth century. One of 
 the nearest neighbours of General Dalzell was the Laird of 
 Duddingston, George Dundaa, a gentleman of very ancient 
 family, being a cadet of the old and distinguished line of 
 Dundas. His immediate ancestor had been created an earl 
 by King James III., with whom he was a great favourite ; 
 but the honour was rescinded by his rebellious son, like 
 all the other titles conferred by that unhappy monarch 
 during the last years of his reign, and Dundas remained a 
 Laird. 
 
 George Dundas was proprietor of an extensive estate, 
 and dwelt in an ancient manor-house standing on the out- 
 skirts of a beautiful wood, about two mUes above the Prith 
 of Forth, and four mUes and .a half from Binns House. The 
 old mansion of Duddingston was burnt to the ground 
 seventy years ago. Mr Dundas was not only well de- 
 scended ; he was nearly allied to distinguished houses. He 
 was cousin to the Lord Panmure, his mother having been 
 Isabella Maule, a daughter of that noble house, of the most 
 
128 FAMILY EOMANCE, 
 
 ancient Norman blood ; which unites the great pedigrees of 
 Maule, de Valoniis and Barclay — alid his wife was Katherine 
 Moneypenny of the ancient line of Pitmilly, in Kfeshire, a 
 family known by every one conversant with Scotch or 
 Prench heraldry, to be most noble : whether as Lords of 
 Bothwell or as Seigneurs de Concressault. The mother of 
 Cardinal Beatoun was a daughter of this house, and 
 Katherine' s great-grand-aunt. These honourable persons, 
 the laird and lady of Duddingston, were most pious and de- 
 vout, according to the tone of religion then prevalent in 
 Scotland ; being devoted to the cause of the Covenant, and 
 worshipping God according to the strictest rules of Puritan- 
 ical observance. And truly, in those unhappy times, there 
 was little else of what couldbe called religion in the country. 
 The Episcopalian party give us very scanty evidence of 
 piety, and though that of the Covenanters was gloomy and 
 fanatical, it was apparently sincere, and the severity and 
 moroseness of its character may have been in some degree 
 owing to the cruel treatment they received. 
 
 George Dundas and Katherine Moneypenny were moat 
 exact in the punctual performance of their devotional 
 duties. And the exercise, as it was called, of prayer, praise, 
 and reading of God's word, was regularly engaged in, three 
 times every day, before breakfast, before dinner, and before 
 supper. On these occasions every member of the family, 
 without exception, was expected to attend. And a goodly 
 sight it was to see the numerous children of the laird and 
 lady, their large body of domestic servants, and the guests 
 who were in the habit of surrounding their hospitable 
 board, kneeling in godly sincerity and singleness of heart, 
 before the throne of grace, and lifting up their voices with 
 one accord in the praise of their heavenly Father. 
 
 Though Dundas was a strict religionist, he was anxious, 
 to perform the dutiful offices of a country gentleman ; and, 
 as one of them, he considered the keeping up a friendly and 
 neighbourly intercourse. Much, therefore, as he disap- 
 proved of General Dalzell's severity in the exercise of his 
 office of Commander-in-chief, and sincerely as he deplored 
 the working of the measures of Government, he was anxious 
 to be as much as possible on a footing of kindness and 
 civility with him, as one of his nearest neighbours, and one 
 with whom his family had always kept up intimacy, not- 
 withstanding an hereditary opposition of principles. Fo? 
 
GENERAL DALZELL's DINNER. 129 
 
 Duddingston's father, like all the members of that branch 
 of the Dundas's (Dundas, Arniston, and Duddingston), were 
 zealous Covenanters, and keen asserters of liberty of wor- 
 ship. However, no sooner was Dalzell returned from 
 Moscow, than Dundas sought to renew his old family 
 friendship with him, and the General gladly met him half 
 way ; so that the Puritan Laird surprised many of his cove- 
 nanting friends by the familiar intercourse which subsisted 
 between him and the king's lieutenant-general. But when 
 persecution broke out, this intercourse slackened somewhat, 
 though it did not altogether cease. It happened one day, 
 during a visit which the Commander-in-chief paid to Binns 
 House, to enjoy a little relaxation from the fatigues of duty 
 among his groves and gardens, that he sent to say to Dun- 
 das that he would go to Duddingston to dine with him. 
 With a heavy heart the Lady Duddingston heard her lord 
 return a favourable answer to this proposal. She had 
 learnt to look upon her old neighbour as a wicked persecut- 
 or and enemy of God's people — and on that account alone 
 she would have shunned his society. But she was moved 
 vrith immediate fears for the safety of her husband and 
 family. She knew that the daily mid-day prayers would not 
 be omitted before the Commander-in-chief; and she was 
 well aware that many expressions occurred in them which 
 might offend Dalzell, and perhaps bring his vengeance upon 
 her husband and cjiildren. She, therefore, secretly gave 
 orders to her old grey-headed butler, to cause dinner to be 
 served up in the hall without the usual preliminary exercise 
 of prayer and praise. Dalzell and the other guests were 
 assembled ; Duddingston, his lady, and family had done the 
 honour of reception with due courtesy to their distinguished 
 guest. The great bell was rung, Dundas's countenance 
 wore for the moment an expression of stern solemnity. He 
 had a duty to his God to perform, which he knew might 
 involve him in a world of trouble, for he would not omit 
 one iota of his usual services before the king's lieutenant ; 
 even although that implied prayer in behalf of those who 
 were accounted the king's enemies, and supplications that 
 God would soften his Majesty's heart and shorten the arm 
 of his persecuting General ! 
 
 Dundas, being thus prepared to brave the Hon in the 
 pride of his power, was much displeased when his train of 
 servants appeared in the hall, not bearing his usual cushions 
 
130 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 for prayer, Bibles, and Psalm-books ; but tbe smoking trencb- 
 ers, capacious vessels, and portly flagons for tbe noontide 
 meal. He immediately ordered all tbese preparations to 
 be delayed, and tbe cusbions, Psalm-books, and Bibles to 
 be brougbt in tbeir place. The Lady Duddingston's heart 
 sank within her when she saw the iirm purpose of tbe laird. 
 She thought of the fate of many of the heroes of the Cove- 
 nant, and expected to see her husband, as soon as prayers 
 were over, ordered down to his own hall-door, and that by 
 the double row of dragoons who had waited on the General, 
 and who were, at that moment, regaled with the best that 
 the larder and cellars afforded. But there was no help 
 for the laird's constancy to his cause and his custom, and 
 all that she could do was to pray God to soften the perse- 
 cutor's heart. 
 
 The religious services were accordingly performed as 
 usual. The prayers were said, the psalms were sung, 
 God's mercy was invoked for his suffering servants, the 
 king's cruel purposes were deprecated, and especial allu- 
 sion was made to the General himself, whose bard and stony 
 heart the Lord was entreated to soften. Dalzell quietly 
 took his part in all the exercises, knelt, listened, and stood 
 up with the rest ; and when all was over, he went up to 
 Dundas, embraced him, and congratulated him upon being 
 an honest, high-principled, and courageous man, who did 
 before his face exactly that which he would have done be- 
 hind his back. He said that he honoured his sincerity, and 
 would scorn to take advantage of the opportunity which 
 his hospitality had afforded, of letting his real sentiments be 
 known. He then sat down to dinner with much cordiality, 
 and pledged a cup of wine to the roof-tree of Puddingstqn 
 and to the good neighbourhood and friendship of their 
 families. Next morning he sent a score of pikes and 
 halberts to Duddingston with which the laird might arm 
 his servants to defend him or his house in case of any sud- 
 den attack during those times of trouble. 
 
 After many generations, and during peaceful times, the 
 blades of some of these pikes were turned into carving 
 knives, with which the descendants of the old persecuting 
 General were often plentifully helped at Duddingston's hos- 
 pitable board. 
 
THE BEWSEY TEAGEDY. 131 
 
 THE BEWSEY TRAGEDY. 
 
 Unarm'd, and in his bed surprised, 
 VUely they butcher' d the devoted lord ! 
 Meanwhile, a servant maid, with pious guile, 
 Bore in her apron, artfully conceal' d. 
 The infant heir, andi many a danger braved, 
 Saved him uninjured from the ruffian's sword, 
 The Negro's valour favouring her escape. 
 
 Bewset : a Poem. 
 
 A TEEBIBLE legend attaches to the eminent family of 
 Boteler, or Butler, of Bewsey, in Lancashire, some of whose 
 early members were summoned to Parliament as Barons of 
 Warrington. The hero of this tale is Sir John Boteler, re- 
 presentative of the family in the reigns of Henry W. and 
 VII. His wife, whose Christian name was Anna, was a 
 daughter of Sir John Savile. 
 
 King Henry was about to pay a visit to Lathom House, 
 when Lord Derby, anxious to do honour to his royal 
 guest, and, perhaps, also to show the power and number of 
 his friends, sent a message to all connected with him, to 
 make their appearance at Lathom on a certain day His 
 missives also bore that every one should appear in his 
 livery, a custom of the time, which inferred no' menial 
 degradation. Amongst other places, a demand of this 
 nature was sent to Bewsey Hall, greatly to the indignation 
 of Lady Boteler, who, her husband being absent, returned 
 for answer, " that she considered her lord as fit to entertain 
 the king as any earl." 
 
 Lord Derby took fire at this curt and not very courteous 
 reply, but, as it admitted of no higher or more immediate 
 revenge, he was forced to limit the expression of his feelings 
 to a system of petty annoyances, not the less galling, perhaps, 
 because they were trifling. A thorn may fester and rankle 
 
132 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 as much as any sword. On Ms part, Sir John was not slow 
 to retaliate, and one day, when the earl, being on his way to 
 London, wished to cross the ferry over the Mersey, at War- 
 rington, Sir John, in whose right it was, refused ±o allow 
 ■his passing. The earl was thus compelled to go round by 
 Manchester, at which he was so much exasperated that, to 
 prevent a repetition, as well as to punish Sir John, by de- 
 priving him of his tolls — they amounted to about one hundred 
 marks per annum — he built a bridge across the river, and 
 made it free to all passengers. Sir John refused to allow 
 any such encroachment upon his vested rights ; the passage 
 of the river, he maintained, was exclusively his own, and 
 cross by the ferry, or cross by the bridge, the traveller should 
 equally disburse what was due to the ferry. The earl applied 
 to the king, who gave his authority for making the bridge 
 free, a decision which, if it satisfied one party, was no less 
 distasteful to the other. The feud, therefore, continued as 
 violent as ever, and the fires of discord, first lighted by Dame 
 Anna, and for awhile no more than a little . spark, now 
 threatened to swell into consuming flames. 
 
 It would seem as if in this war of mutual annoyance, the 
 earl had somehow got the worst, for he now planned a mode 
 of revenge not at all consonant with his usual character. He 
 determined to get rid of his enemy by the short, sharp 
 remedy of murder, using for his agents in the business Sir 
 Piers Legh and "William Savage, both gentlemen of family 
 in Cheshire. To carry out their project, it was necessary to 
 bribe the porter and a servant within the hall, both of whom 
 they appear to have found little difficulty in corrupting. By 
 these confederates, the most fitting time for the deed was 
 marked by placing a lighted taper in a certain window, when 
 they crossed the moat in a coracle, a small tub-like boat 
 formed of hides, and were silently introduced to the chamber 
 of their victim. Even then the deed of blood was not accom- 
 plished without a hard struggle. A faithful chamberlain, 
 who slept in the ante-room, would fain have opposed their 
 entrance, but he was killed, and Sir John was murdered in 
 his bed. 
 
 The infant heir of the estate would probably have shared 
 the_ same fate, but for the presence of mind of a Negress, who 
 bore away the child in her apron unperceived. 
 
 Even now the horrors of the night were not ended. The 
 murderers took away with them one of the treacherous serv- 
 
THE BEWSEY TRAGEDY. 133 
 
 ants, and for reward hanged him upon a tree, that lie might 
 not turn king's evidence against them. What became of the 
 other servant is not said, and therein the legend may he 
 thought to somewhat halt. It must also seem strange, that 
 the perpetrators of so barbarous a deed were never brought 
 to justice. Lady Boteler did, indeed, institute proceedings, 
 but it would seem the law's delay was long, as the prosecu- 
 tion was not completed when she had taken a second hus- 
 band. Lord Grey, who disallowed her suit — in consequence 
 . of which she separated from him, and returned to Lancashire. 
 " If," said she, " my lord wiU not let me have my wUl of my 
 husband's enemies, yet shall my body be buried by him." 
 
 According to some accounts. Sir Piers Legh, being an 
 ecclesiastic, and, therefore, not so easily brought to a severer 
 punishment, was condemned to build Disley church, as a 
 penance for the share he had in this transaction. This task 
 he performed in 1527.* 
 
 In the Bewsey chapel at "Warrington church is a splen- 
 didly decorated tomb of Sir Thomas Boteler and his lady, 
 enclosed within railings. Their recumbent effigies, hand-in- 
 hand, are placed upon an altar tomb ; he in armour, she in 
 a remarkable mitre- shaped cap, surrounded by various 
 sculptured saints, but there is no inscription. Under an 
 arch in the wall, near this monument, was formerly the figure 
 of the faithful black servant noticed in the legend. 
 
 The family of Boteler is now extinct, and the Bewsey 
 estate has descended, through female heirs, successively to 
 the families of Ireland, Atherton, and Powys, and is now 
 enjoyed by Thomas Atherton Powys, third Lord Lilford. 
 
 Bewsey Hall, the scene of the tragedy, is still to be seen 
 about a mile north-west of "Warrington. It is an irregular 
 fabric, built principally of brick. The moat also remains, 
 and is in tolerable preservation. 
 
 * Disley ohurch, near Stockport, in Cheshire, is still in the patronage 
 of the Legh family, and now vests in Thomas Legh, Esq., of Lyme. 
 
134 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 QUEEK ELIZABETH'S TALISMAN. 
 
 Take heed on't, 
 Make it a darling like your precious eye ; 
 To los^'t or give't away, were such perdition 
 As nothing else could match.— Shakspbakb. 
 
 The story that I am about to narrate, being not only 
 founded on fact, but closely confined to it, will, of necessity, 
 be brief ; yet, brief as it is, it will require a somewhat long 
 preamble to make it perfectly comprehended. In the language 
 of the field, we must try back, and take a view of matters 
 , long anterior to the actual commencement of our tale. 
 
 Sir John Perrot derived his name and estate from an an- 
 cient andillustrious family in Pembrokeshire. Popular report, 
 however, gave him a much higher origin, and would fain have 
 planted the bar sinister in his arms, making him to have 
 been a natural son of Henry the Eighth : " If," says Naunton, 
 " we compare his picture, his qualities, his gesture, and voyce 
 with that of the king, whose memory yet remains amongst 
 us, they will plead strongly that he was a surreptitious scion 
 of the blood royal." 
 
 He was unusually tall, and of immense bodily strength, his 
 eyes quick and piercing, his hair auburn, or, as his biographer 
 styles it in his old-fashioned language, alborne. He was of 
 an undaunted spirit, skilful in military matters, and of a sound 
 judgment, though he could not pretend to much learning. 
 Moreover, he had a wonderful proneness to choler, and when 
 in choler would swear as fearfully as ray uncle Toby's troops 
 in Manders. When he was only eighteen years old, which 
 was about the thirty-sixth year of Henry the Eighth's reign, 
 he was sent up to London to the house of the Marquess of 
 "Winchester, then Lord Treasurer of England. Here he found 
 
QUEEN Elizabeth's talisman. 135 
 
 two other young men, the Earl of Oxford and the Lord Aber- 
 gavenny, it being the custom of those times forwell-born youths 
 to be brought up in the families of noblemen. The earl 
 chanced to be effeminate : the lord, on the contrary, was 
 of so fierce and quarrelsome a temper, that the household 
 dreaded him, and welcomed the advent of the stranger from 
 Pembrokeshire, as one who was likely to tame him. " Is 
 there such a one ?" said he, "let me see him." And being 
 introduced to young Perrot, he exclaimed, " "What, Sir ! are 
 you the kill-cow that must match me ? " — " No," replied the 
 other, " I am no butcher, but if you use me not the better, 
 you shall find I can give a butcher's blow." A combat was 
 the immediate result, when the turbulent lord got himself 
 well drubbed, not only into civility but into friendship. The 
 league, however, did not last long between these fiery spirits. 
 Upon one occasion they determined to give a banquet to their 
 friends, but falling iato some dispute, and thence to blows, 
 they broke the glasses about one another's ears, so that by 
 the time the guests arrived, not a goblet was left, and the 
 floor was running with blood instead of claret. 
 
 Perrot's next adventure, though it began ominously 
 enough, promised well for his future fortunes. He had gone to 
 Southwark — every reader of our old plays knows the ill-re- 
 pute of the city suburbs in those days- — accompanied by a 
 page, when he was set upon by two yeomen of the crown, 
 against whom he defended himself with much courage. This 
 story coming to King Henry's ears, he was so much delighted 
 with his bravery and personal appearance, that he promised 
 him a speedy advancement. This intention was frustrated 
 by the monarch's death, which happened soon after. 
 
 Becoming a great favourite with Edward the Sixth, Perrot 
 was made a EJnight of the Bath at his coronation. In 1551 
 he accompanied the Marquess of Northampton in his embassy 
 to treat of a marriage between Edward and a daughter of the 
 Erench king ; and while in that country he gained much 
 reputation by his strength aijd prowess. Of this, the follow- 
 ing story aifords a lively instance : — 
 
 " The marquess, being a nobleman that delighted much 
 in all activitie, and did keep always the most excellent men 
 that could be found in most kindes of activitie and desportes, 
 which the Bang of Erance understanding, and being willing 
 to shew hynt such pleasure as was used in that countrie — on 
 a time he brought the Marquis to hunt the wild boare, it 
 
136 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 fell out that a gentleman charging of the boare with his chas- 
 ing staff, did not hitt right, and so the boare was ready to 
 run in upon hym. Sir John Perrot perceiving hym to be 
 in perill, came in to his rescew, and with a broad sword, 
 which he then wore, gave the boare such a blow that he did 
 well neare part the head from the shoulders. The King of 
 France, who stoode in sight of this, came presently unto hym, 
 took him by about the mydle, and imbracing hym, called hym 
 Beaufoile ; whereat he supposed that the kinge came to trie 
 his strength, and taking the kinge also about the midel, 
 lifted hym somewhat high from the ground ; with which the 
 kinge was nothing displeased, but proffered a good pension 
 to serve hym." This was politely declined by the patriotic 
 and burly Englishman. 
 
 Upon his return to England, Sir John lived so extrava- 
 gantly that his large estates became involved. The game he 
 played on this occasion — for it wears but little of the ap- 
 pearance of mere chance — was crafty enough. Retiring to 
 a place which he knew was frequented by the king about 
 that hour, he began to complain aloud, but as if to himself, 
 of his own follies. " Must I," he exclaimed, " be the man 
 that shall overthrow mine own house, which hath continued 
 BO long ? Better I had never been born. What shall I do 
 to recover my estate ? " And then he went on, still arguing 
 aloud, to consider that although the king might wish him 
 well, still being young and under the control of ministers, he 
 could do him no essential service. Hence he inferred that 
 it would be better for him to quit the court, where he would 
 only spend more money, and betake himself to the coun- 
 try, for the purpose of nursing his estate. 
 
 The king overheard, as Sir John no doubt intended he 
 should do, the whole of this self-accusation. He indignantly 
 repelled the notion of his not having the power to serve 
 where he had the will, and in proof of this he relieved him 
 from all his difficulties, though iq what way, whether by place 
 or hard cash, his biographer has omitted to mention. 
 
 The king having died, and Mary having ascended the 
 throne, it was quite natural that the Protestant Sir John 
 should find himself at times in peril. The queen had ordered 
 the Earl of Pembroke to clear Wales of heretics, and the 
 Earl in turn laid claim to Sir John's assistance in carrying 
 out this purifying. The latter refused with his usual blunt- 
 ness, and the matter coming to the queen's ears, she was 
 
QUEEN Elizabeth's talisman. 137 
 
 exceedingly indignant and. refused his suit for the castle of 
 Carew, which she had before promised, observing that " he 
 smelt of the smoke," an allusion to the burning of heretics, 
 somewhat dangerous when coming from such lips. But it 
 may be doubtful, whether Mary was naturally cruel, though 
 too easily led by those who were. On this occasion she was 
 soon pacified, and becoming reconciled to Sir John, notwith- 
 standing his avowed diiference of faith, bestowed upon him 
 the castle and lands she had promised. It should, moreover, 
 be mentioned to the honour of the Earl of Pembroke, that 
 when Sir John was hard pressed by his enemies, that he came 
 forward nobly to the rescue. "My lords," said the gener- 
 ous earl, " I must tell you my opinion of this man, and of 
 this matter. For the man, I think he would, at this time if 
 he could, eat my heart with salt, but yet, notwithstanding 
 his stomach towards me, I will give him his due. I hold him 
 to be a man of good worth, and one who hath deserved of 
 her Majesty in his service, as good a matter as this which he 
 seeketh, and will no doubt deserve better, if he will reform 
 his religion ; therefore, since the queen has passed her graci- 
 ous promise, I see no reason but he should have that which 
 he seeketh." 
 
 Upon the death of Mary, the fortunes of Sir John na- 
 turally rose higher than ever. He had always been a favour- 
 ite with Elizabeth, and now upon her coming to the throne, 
 was employed in affairs implying the highest confidence in 
 his abilities both as a soldier and a statesman. He was sent 
 into Ireland as President of Munster, and^ having gained 
 signal successes over Fitzmaurice and other rebels, he re- 
 turned, after an absence of two years, to England. 
 
 Such was the early career of our hero, as it appears in 
 the chronicles of his times, and, with this necessary preface, 
 I now proceed to the tradition of the queen's talisman, 
 which might otherwise have appeared abrupt and unintel- 
 ligible. 
 
 It was high tide at Greenwich — famous old Grreenwich ! 
 even to this day, however cockneyfied, still a sovereign spot 
 among nautical localities. There Queen Elizabeth was 
 then holding her court, and by the general bustle as well 
 as by the concourse of barges below the palace, it was evi- 
 dent that something more than usual was in agitation. 
 Strange rumours were in circulation amongst the crowd 
 
138 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 of an intended invasion of England by the Spaniards, 
 ■while others, who claimed to be better informed, declared 
 that the invasion did not regard England but Ireland, to 
 which country the Spanish king was about to send a large 
 force to assist the Irish rebel, Eitzmaurice, in his revolt. 
 
 " But," said the maintainer of this last notion, " the 
 queen has sent for stout Sir John Perrot, who, no doubt, 
 will give a good account both of the Dons and of the rebels. 
 By my faith, yonder he comes, and with a brave set of fol- 
 lowers. One, two, three — as I live, twelve barges, and at 
 least fifty men in orange-coloured cloaks ; many of them, I'U 
 be sworn for them, are of birth and quality." 
 
 " But which," inquired another, " is Sir John Perrot ? " 
 
 " He in the stern of the fourth barge — that tall, broad- 
 shouldered giant, that looks as if be could carry the Tower 
 on his back without help." 
 
 The subject of these remarks now stept out of his boat, 
 and was speedily followed by his companions. Scarcely had 
 he set his foot upon the quay than he turned round to one of 
 them, exclaiming, " Cogswouns, Arden,you must do an errand 
 for me to Mistress Blanch Parry ; in my hurry I had for- 
 gotten it. Take this diamond to her, and say from me, that 
 a diamond coming unlocked for, always brings good luck 
 with it. I will see her in the evening, if I get away from the 
 queen time enough." 
 
 In relating a brief tradition like this, it wotdd be out of 
 place to enter into any long description, or to add anything 
 to what I find plainly written down in the old chronicles. 
 Sir John was received most graciously by Queen Elizabeth, 
 and with some surprise at the speed in obeying her summons. 
 
 " Grod's light, Sir John ! " she exclaimed, " I looked not 
 for you as yet, albeit I thank you heartily for your speedy 
 repair hither. Is it not two hundred miles from here to 
 Pembrokeshire ? " 
 
 Sir John allowed that it was much about that distance. 
 
 " And how have you done to settle your estate in the 
 country ?" demanded the queen. 
 
 "An it like your Majesty," replied Sir John, "I have 
 taken this care for all ; that, setting all private business aside, 
 in respect of your Majesty's service, I have in the country ap- 
 pointed the white sheep to keep the black ; for I may well 
 enough adventure them when I am willing to adventure my 
 life in your Majesty's service." 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH S TALISMAN. 139 
 
 With this reply Ehzaheth expressed herself well satisfied, 
 and was proceeding in her commendations, when Sir Chris- 
 topher Hatton, who was no friend to Sir John, and who had 
 entered the presence-chamber only a few minutes after him, 
 said, with a bland smile, 
 
 " Sir John's zeal and loyalty are well known, yet I doubt 
 whether Mistress Blanch Parry may not claim some share 
 in his speed upon this occasion." 
 
 A visible shade passed over the queen's brow, and she 
 bit her lips as if to suppress the words that came to them. 
 
 " What mean you, Sir Christopher ? I understand you 
 not." 
 
 Sir Christopher, in the same subdued tone, and as if he 
 were relating an acceptable tale, proceeded to repeat the 
 message he had overheard Sir John giving to his follower 
 Arden. Eor a moment the whole court looked upon the 
 lover as a lost man ; but well atfd wisely sang the poet — 
 
 " varium et mutabile semper femiua." 
 
 The dark cloud passed away as rapidly as it had appear- 
 ed, and she presented him " with a fair jewel, hanged by a 
 white cypress, signifying withal that as long as he wore them 
 for her sake, she did believe, with G-od's help, he should have 
 no harm." Sir John, in no little surprise at this sudden turn 
 of fortune, knelt down, and having kissed her hand exclaim- 
 ed, " I will ever wear this jewel for your Majesty's sake, and 
 doubt not, with God's favour, to return yo.ur ships in safety, 
 and either to bring the Spaniards — if they come in my way 
 - — as prisoners, or else to sink them in the seas." 
 
 Whether it was owing to the queen's talisman, or was 
 merely the result of accident, his visit to Ireland was as 
 fortunate as it had been on the preceding occasion. He was 
 not longer in pacifying or suppressing the discontented; 
 friends and enemies alike professed to be contented with his 
 rule ; and the bad weather, or some other untold cause, pre- 
 vented the Spaniards from even attempting their threat- 
 ened landing. He therefore resolved to return to England, 
 and had just reached the Downs, when he came upon a 
 piratical ship under the command of one Dereyfold, who had 
 obtained considerable notoriety by his successful daring in 
 the Channel. To this ship he immediately gave chase, pur- 
 suing it to the coast of Flanders, when, his good fortune still 
 continuing, he made a prize of the pirate, and bent his course 
 
140 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 back again to the Downs. Here his ship grounded on the 
 sands called the Kentish Knocks, and while she lay beating 
 upon her side a storm came on, and they were in imminent 
 danger of being cast away. In this state they continued 
 during the whole night ; but at daybreak the wind shifted, 
 and drove them out to sea. To make their condition yet 
 worse a dense fog arose, so that for four days they were 
 tossed about without knowing where they were, till at last 
 they took the pirate into their council. Under his direction, 
 for it appears he was a much better seaman than his captors, 
 they at length reached the Thames in safety. 
 
 It might have been thought that one so successful in his 
 enterprises would have been loaded with honours upon his 
 return. But the frank and, it must be owned, rough 
 humour of Sir John had made him many enemies. The 
 most active and persevering of these was a certain Thomas 
 Wyriott, a justice of the peace, who, from some unexplained 
 cause, would never allow him a moment's respite. First he 
 set on the pilot of his ship to prefer a charge against him for 
 having put his ship in unnecessary peril, and the queen to 
 uncalled-for expenses ; but though the latter was almost as 
 great a fault in Elizabeth's eyes as could well be committed, 
 the accuser got reproach instead of credit. Then Wyriott 
 preferred a petition of his own against Sir John, but this 
 also failed ; the Master of the Requests, to whom the queen 
 had sent the case for examination, reporting the knight's 
 innocence. Hereupon Wyriott complained to the queen 
 against the master, and this accusation being referred to the 
 privy council was by them declared malicious. Other 
 schemes were tried by the justice with no better success, 
 and he was now at his wit's end, — determined not to aban- 
 don his plans against Sir John, yet totally at a loss what to 
 do next ; when one day a courtier said to him, — " Ton may 
 as well shoot yoxir arrows against the moon as try anything 
 against Sir John Perrot ; know you not, man, that the 
 queen long since gave him an amulet to keep him from all 
 harm ? " 
 
 The age of Elizabeth, as every one knows, was pre- 
 eminently an age of superstitions, and Wyriott had his fuU 
 share of the general weakness. He had heard before of the 
 queen's talisman, but somehow it had slipt from his me- 
 mory, but now that it was brought thus vividly to his mind, 
 with so much, as he imagined, to confirm its powers, he be- 
 
QUEEN Elizabeth's talisman. i4i 
 
 gan seriously to debate witli himself how he might best de- 
 prive his enemy of this supernatural safeguard. All at 
 once the knight's passion for Blanche Parry occurred to him : 
 could she not in some way be made the instrument for 
 carrying out his purpose. 
 
 It is seldom that the Devil fails to suggest the way of 
 evil to those who are disposed to tread it. Upon this 
 occasion the busy fiend suggested that it would be no bad 
 plan to excite the jealousy of Blanche by persuading her 
 that the talisman was a love-token; in which case she 
 might be induced to coax the knight out of it ; or, fail- 
 ing in that, to rob him of it. No sooner had the thought 
 entered his head — however it came there, whether diabolicfe 
 or otherwise — than he set about carrying it into effect. 
 
 It was no difficult matter to excite the jealousy of 
 Blanche, who well knew the inconstancy of her admirer, 
 and when he hinted that Sir John might pretend it was a 
 present from the queen, she at once declared her resolution 
 not to be duped by a mask of that kind — the easiest reso- 
 lution in the world for a woman to adhere to — and she did 
 adhere to it most firmly, alternately scolding and coaxing, 
 now threatening to poison both herself and her lover, and 
 the next day — oftentimes the next hour — assuming the most 
 winning airs to attain her object. But all to no purpose ; 
 whether she played the angel or the devil. Sir John remained 
 inexorable, swearing most shockingly when she stormed, and 
 in a somewhat lower key when she had recourse to the 
 female arts of cajolery. Blanche plainly saw at last, that if 
 she meant to possess the talisman, there was nothing left 
 for her but to steal it, and in this moral conception she was 
 greatly strengthened by her friend the Justice. 
 
 How Blanche managed to possess herself of the talisman 
 does not appear from any existing record, or whether 
 indeed it was lost or stolen. All that can be said with cer- 
 tainty is, that just before Sir John was despatched to 
 Ireland, for the third time, and now as Lord Lieutenant, or 
 as it was then called, Lord Deputy — the amulet was missing. 
 But in the bustle of preparation, that followed upon his 
 appointment, little thought could be given for its recovery ; 
 if not forgotten, the matter was neglected ; and now behold 
 the good knight once again upon his way to Ireland, much 
 against the advice of his half-brother. Sir Henry Jones, who 
 foresaw what envy and hatred he was likely to draw upon 
 
142 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 himself by ucdertaking the employment. The result proved 
 the truth of his predictions. Although successful alike in 
 peace and in war, his honest severity in repressing abuses 
 procured for him a multitude of maligners, who found able 
 supporters in his ancient enemies, Wyriott, and Sir Christo- 
 pher Hatton, whom he had bitterly offended by ridiculing 
 his love for dancing, an occupation held by the rough-spoken 
 soldier in profound contempt. As the old chronicler 
 quaintly phrases it, " Ever since Sir John reflected on his 
 dancing, he lost his own footing, and never stood on his legs." 
 Both of these, and more particularly the latter, did their 
 best to incense the queen, and they so far succeeded that 
 she wrote several angry letters to him upon his conduct. 
 When, however, there were renewed signs of a Spanish 
 invasion, Elizabeth, who well knew his military excellence, 
 wrote to him in a very opposite strain, but her cajoleries 
 produced no other effect upon him than contempt, which he 
 had not prudence enough to keep to himself. In the great 
 chamber at Dublin, he gave vent to his feeling, ia the pre- 
 sence of friends and enemies, with equal indifference. 
 " Lo ! you now," he exclaimed, " she's out of her wits for 
 fear of the Spaniards, and now I am again one of her white 
 boys." The first part of his exclamation was, indeed, much 
 coarser than we can venture to write, and, coming to the 
 ears of Elizabeth, no doubt made her more inclined to 
 listen to his enemies than she might otherwise have been. 
 He was recalled to England, and his opponents so far pre- 
 vailed, that he was committed to the Tower upon the charge 
 of high treason. 
 
 Here he was visited by the faithful Blanche, — faithful at 
 least in her attachment, though she had wronged him in the 
 affair of the talisman, to the loss of which he attributed his 
 present misfortunes. Blanche, on hearing this, was too 
 much terrified to own that she had abstracted it, and, the 
 more so, as it was no longer in her own possession. Wyriott 
 had contrived to make her surrender the talisman to himself, 
 by threatening, in case of non-compliance, to betray the 
 secret to Sir John, whose wrath upon such a discovery was 
 a thing to be dreaded. How should one, by nature so timid, 
 dare to brave a man, of whom it was popularly said, " he 
 was so like a son of Henry VIII., that he would not be 
 Queen Elizabeth's subject." No, the talisman must be 
 recovered ; but how ? Wyriott was not the person to 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH S TALISMAN. 143 
 
 listen to any, or to do anything, that could in the least com- 
 promise the gratification of his own peculiar interests or 
 passions, and these were now all enlisted on the side most 
 opposite to her wishes. Unluckily, "Wyriott was fully 
 tainted with the superstitions of his age ; he had observed 
 that Sir John, till the loss of the talisman, had been invari- 
 ably prosperous in all his undertakings, and, instead of 
 attributing this result to natural causes, he at once settled 
 it in his own mind that it arose from his possession of the 
 jewel. Blanche soon found that solicitations availed nothing, 
 and she had recourse to threats, — she would betray all to 
 the queen, even though in so doing she must, at the same 
 time, confess her having been the original thief. Wyriott 
 turned pale at this menace ; it was full of danger to him, 
 for love, in those days, had much the elastic properties 
 of indian-rubber, and might safely be stretched by a power- 
 ful hand into a rope to hang him. Sir John, though illegi- 
 timate, was the Queen's own brother ; he had besides done 
 her good service in Ireland and elsewhere, and was warmly 
 befriended by the great Burleigh. There was no knowing 
 what might happen. 
 
 In this dilemma, "Wyriott used every argument he could 
 devise to make Blanche abajidon what he termed an insane 
 desire to save a man who did not care for her. Was it not 
 as notorious as the sun at noon-day, that Sir John, besides 
 having a wife, possessed a score of female favourites ? " It 
 might be true — indeed it was true," she replied ; " but this 
 was no time to think of such things when his life was in 
 peril." Finding that persuasions availed nothing, Wyriott, 
 with a face that was almost livid with suppressed passion, at 
 last consented, and was about to leave the room, as he said, 
 to fetch the jewels. Blanche stopped him ; there was some- 
 thing in his look that had fully aroused her suspicions, and 
 she insisted on not letting him go out of her sight until he 
 had given up the talisman. At this demand he smiled, as 
 one might suppose the fiend to smile, and beckoning her to 
 follow, led the way without more words. They traversed 
 several rooms, and passed now up-stairs, and now down, ac- 
 cording to the fashion which prevailed in most English 
 houses of the olden time, until at last they came into a 
 cellar, or vault of some kind, dimly lighted, though without 
 any visible outlet. No sooner had they entered than Wyri- 
 ott flung the door to with sudden violence. Almost at the 
 
144 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 same instant, his hand was upon her throat, grasping it so 
 strongly as to prevent her uttering a single cry ; and in the 
 next, after a short struggle, he had hurled her into a well, 
 excavated probably before the building of the house, but 
 which had for many years been disused, and passed out of 
 general recollection. Such is one of the various current tra- 
 ditions of the end of poor Blanche, which is said to have 
 been a secret to all, till divulged in confession by the per- 
 petrator upon his death-bed, but the less romantic account 
 which attributes to her a natural death, and which does not 
 mix up Wyriott with the talisman, may perchance be the 
 true one. 
 
 In those days, the Beauchamp Tower was one of the 
 principal state-prisons. Upon the first floor of this part of 
 the building was a spacious apartment, with two small cells 
 adjoining, in one of which it would appear from Sir John's 
 complaint to his judge he had been confined. "His lodging," 
 he said, " was a short chamber, only room for his bed and a 
 table, and he never went out of doors, nor had any air 
 to comfort him." Here he was left to meditate upon his 
 faUen fortune^, until, his enemies having raked together 
 everything that could be found against him, he was brought 
 to trial in Westminster Hall, before Lord Hunsdon, and 
 other special commissioners. The charges were, " that he 
 had sought the subversion of the state, and the overthrow 
 of her Majesty's dominions, by bringing in foreign forces ; 
 that he had corresponded with the King of Spain and the 
 Duke of Parma, as well as with divers other traitors beyond 
 the seat, promising them aid ; that, contrary to his allegi- 
 ance, he had confederated with and abetted traitors ; that 
 he bore a cruel heart and malice towards her Majesty ; that 
 he had committed divers murders to stop the disclosure of 
 his treasons ; had been guilty of sorcery and witchcrafts ; 
 and finally, that he had conspired the destruction of her 
 Majesty's person." Although nothing could be proved 
 against him, except the use of intemperate language, to 
 which he was at all times too prone, he was, in the teeth of 
 law and justice, found guilty, the trial having lasted till 
 eleven o'clock at night ; when he was taken back to his old 
 cell in the Tower, for even his petition for a better room had 
 met with a rough denial. His haughty temper was rather 
 inflamed than subdued by this treatment, and as if he had 
 not already given enough advantage to his enemies by hia 
 
QUEEN Elizabeth's talisman. 145 
 
 bursts of passion during the trial, he now exclaimed to Sir 
 Owen Hopton, the Lieutenant of the -Tower, "What! will 
 the queen suffer her brother to be offered up as a sacrifice 
 to the envy of his frisking adversaries ? " — a speech that was 
 duly reported to the queen, who seems to have taken it in 
 a very different way from what his enemies had hoped and 
 expected. "Her Majesty," says the old chronicler, "replied 
 with that rescript of Theodosius, Honorius, and Arcadius, — 
 ' If any person speah ill of the emperor through a foolish 
 rashness and inadvertency, it is to he despised ; if out of 
 madness it deserves pity ; if from malice a/ad aversion, it calls 
 for mercy.' " 
 
 Notwithstanding this favourable disposition on the 
 queen's part. Sir John, after some delay, was brought up 
 for judgment. It was a fine morning, towards the close of 
 June, when he was conveyed in a coach from the Tower to 
 the Old Swan, and thence by water to Westminster Bridge. 
 Having landed there between eight and nine, he was con- 
 ducted to the Hall, strongly guarded by divers of the yeo- 
 men of the guard with halberds, and the Lieutenant's men 
 with weapons all round about him, " and in that sort he was 
 brought up to the Queen's Bench bar, where he stood for a 
 quarter of an hour bare-headed, expecting the coming of the 
 commissioners." He was dressed, says the same authority, 
 in a doublet and hose of black satin plain, and a gown 
 of vreought velvet furred, and a square or flat-crovmed black 
 felt hat, with a small band, and a plain white ruff. 
 
 The scene which now passed was, if possible, more atro- 
 cious even than that which had occurred upon the day 
 of trial. Not only was every fair construction denied him, 
 but insult was heaped upon insult, his most moderate peti- 
 tions rejected with scorn, and the usual horrible doom of 
 traitors was pronounced upon him — he was to be hung, 
 drawn, and quartered. 
 
 It is said that Elizabeth had resolved this sentence 
 should never be carried into efiect, being herself convinced 
 of his perfect innocence. But it would appear at the same 
 time, that she had not forgotten the verbal affronts he had 
 offered her, and was resolved, in a spirit of female vengeance, 
 to let him taste the full bitterness of death. Nearly six 
 months had passed, and he was stiU a condemned prisoner, 
 in hourly expectation of the axe ; yet even this dreadful 
 suspense does not seem to have had for him any particular 
 
 10 
 
146 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 terrors. On the contrary, he was often heard to say, " I do 
 not ask to live. My name and blood are now corrupted ; 
 they were never before spotted, and woe be to me that am 
 the first of my house and name that ever was attainted or 
 suspected. I do not wish to live." 
 
 And the end at length came as he had desired — he died 
 of a broken heart, in the sixty-fourth year of his age ; " his 
 haughtiness of spirit," says Naunton, "accompanying him 
 to the last, and still without any diminution of courage 
 therein, it burst the cords of his magnanimity." 
 
 This event took place in September, 1592. All that 
 can be said for Queen Elizabeth is, that having sacrificed a 
 faithful subject and gallant soldier to the enmity of her 
 dancing favourite. Sir Christopher Hatton, she did a tardy 
 justice to his memory by restoring his estates to his son, 
 who had married a sister of the Earl of Essex. 
 
THE FALSE TESTIMONY. 147 
 
 THE FALSE TESTIMONY. 
 
 He has glimmerings o' common sense now, that creature Dougal, to 
 serve me at a pinch. — Rob Roy. 
 
 James Stielittg, of Keir, great-grandfather of the present 
 Member of Parliament for the county of Perth, married the 
 eldest daughter of the fifth LordBlantyre. He was a Jacobite, 
 compromised in the rising of 1715. Though he is said to 
 have taken an active share in that unfortunate enterprise, 
 yet, when brought to trial, it happened that the indictment 
 against him was limited to one point, his appearance at a 
 certain treasonable meeting. The charge only amounted to 
 this, but still this was su£B.cienttoentail on him, if convicted, 
 the full penalty of treason. His life and fortune depended, 
 consequently, upon this one fact. If he could prove an alibi, 
 he was safe ; but, otherwise, he was sure to be condemned, 
 with little hope of mercy. The principal evidence was an 
 old and attached servant who had attended his master to the 
 treasonable meeting. This man was an extremely reluctant 
 witness, but there was no remedy. He had been with Mr 
 Stirling at the Jacobite gathering and he was brought for- 
 ward to give his unwilling testimony. The Laird of Keir 
 well knew that this man's evidence must be conclusive against 
 him, and he resigned himself to his fate. His surprise was 
 therefore great, and only equalled by the disappointment of 
 the Judge- Advocate, when the old servant, being put on oath, 
 solemnly swore that his master was not at the Jacobite 
 meeting, but was at the time in a place so far distant that 
 his presence there was quite impossible on the day set forth 
 in the indictment. The witness, questioned and cross-ques- 
 tioned, maintained his statement with the most unblushing 
 effrontery, and told his story with such wonderful consistency 
 that nothing more could be said. Keir was acquitted, and, 
 
148 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 instead of being shut up in a condemned cell, was permitted 
 to mount his horse and depart in peace for Perthshire. 
 "When fairly on the road with his faithful servant riding be- 
 hind him, he reined in his steed, and the following dialogue 
 took place between master and man : — 
 
 Keie — " I, no doubt, owe my life to your testimony, 
 John ; but, Lord preserve me, how could you telL such an 
 awful lie ? How could you forswear yourself in that bare- 
 faced manner ? Tou knew very well that I was at that 
 meeting, for you were riding behind me as you are doing this 
 day." 
 
 John — " 'Weel do I ken that your honour was at the 
 meeting, and frankly do I confess that I did forswear myself; 
 but, then, I thought it far safer for me to trust my soul to the 
 mercy of God, than your honour's life in the hands of your 
 enemies." 
 
 There is at best but a painful sense of satisfaction at an 
 escape like this obtained by a falsehood. How much more 
 cheering is the tale from which Sir Walter Scott created 
 his best heroine, Jeannie Deans, who saved her sister, but 
 would not tell the lie. 
 
THE STAE OF THE PEETENDEE. 149 
 
 THE STAR OF THE PRETENDER. 
 
 star of the brave ! thy ray is pale. — Byeon. 
 
 I DO not use the word 'Pretender in an evil sense, but 
 merely as being the well-known designation of the descend- 
 ant of a line of kings, the use of which can no longer affect 
 any one, to whatever class of politicians he may belong. Be- 
 sides, there are just, as well as false, pretensions, and my im- 
 mediate object is to afford, if I can, amusement, and not to 
 discuss politics. 
 
 The Pretender was about to make his long-threatened at- 
 tempt for the recovery of the throne, which had been lost or 
 forfeited by the unlucky James the Second ; but before set- 
 ting out upon the expedition, he invited to a ball the most dis- 
 tinguished of his friends and partisans, who then happened 
 to be resident in Paris. Amongst the favoured visitors, ap- 
 peared Lady Mary Touchet, a young Englishwoman, dis- 
 tinguished at the time for her pre-eminent attractions, both 
 of mind and person. The prince himself was so much struck 
 by her beauty, that he immediately inquired her name of a 
 gentleman in waiting ; and being informed that she was the 
 sister of a Catholic peer, he went up to her, and solicited the 
 honour of her hand for the approaching dance. Long ere the 
 evening was over, it was plain enough to be seen that he had 
 become deeply enamoured of his fair partner, and, in the 
 ardour of his sudden passion, he communicated to her, as a 
 secret not as yet publicly known, his intention of attacking 
 the dynasty that then possessed the throne of England. Her 
 reply was too gentle to be overheard, and the less so, as the 
 rest of the company, from respect to the prince, kept at some 
 little distance ; but its general tenor may be inferred from 
 what followed. Taking out a penknife, the prince ripped the 
 
150 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 star from his breast, and presented it to her in token of 
 regard or love, and probably the latter. 
 
 It is needless to repeat here the oft-told story how Charles 
 Edward landed in Scotland, defeated the armies sent against 
 him, marched into England, and yet, after all, was baffled, and 
 forced to fly, and with difficulty escaped from his pursuers. 
 Time rolled on ; though Charlesfound asafe asylum in a foreign 
 land, it seemed that all hope of regaining the lost crown of his 
 ancestors was farther off than ever. Ill success had probably 
 alienated the hearts of many of his old adherents ; it certainly 
 had the effect of discouraging other courts from lending any 
 effectual aid to his designs. In this state of abandonment he 
 resolved to fight his own battles, and devised a scheme which, 
 however bold — nay, even desperate — was by no means so 
 impracticable, as at first sight it may appear to be. This was 
 to seize the person of King George the Second, as he return- 
 ed from the play, by the help of a body of chairmen, who were 
 to knock off the servants from behind his coach, extinguish 
 the lights, and get up a mock quarrel amongst themselves, 
 during which another party was to hurry him to the water- 
 side, and carry him off to France. This plan was favoured 
 by several circumstances : by the king's habit of visiting the 
 theatre in a private manner, and protracting his stay there 
 till eleven o'clock, by the imperfect lighting of the whole 
 metropolis, and by the total insufficiency of watchmen to 
 guard the streets. Ten minutes' start would have been enough 
 for the purpose of the conspirators, and they would hardly 
 have failed to gain a much longer limit. That such a plan 
 was feasible might be proved by many similar attempts made,, 
 and successfully made, upon others ; but I will not impede 
 the course of my narrative by instancing any. In the present 
 case, the enterprise was carefully planned ; in addition to those 
 employed in the attack upon the coach, there was a second 
 party of more than fifteen hundred, who were to assemble op- 
 posite the Duke of Newcastle's house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, 
 the instantthey heard any particular news relative to the Pre- 
 tender, their object, of course, being to direct attention from 
 the real purpose of the conspiracy, by raising a disturbance 
 in another quarter, or perhaps to support it in case of need. 
 
 While this scheme was ripening, the Prince was Uving, 
 not with his fair confidante of the ball, but in the house of a 
 friend of hers, in Essex Street, to whose care she had com- 
 mended him. His principal ally — the prime agent, indeed, 
 
THE STAK OF THE PRETENDER. 151 
 
 in the business, was Mr Segrave, an Irisli officer, who in the 
 course of his military service had lost an arm ; and so well 
 had the matter been conducted hitherto, that the govern- 
 ment had not the least suspicion of its existence. The day 
 for carrying it into effect was fixed : it was close at hand ; 
 but a slight mischance acted like the single spark applied to 
 gunpowder, and blew up the whole scheme. The Prince, 
 with a temerity that, in such a case, seems hardly consistent 
 with common sense, must needs amuse himself by walking, 
 at noon- day, in Hyde Park, when the place was thronged 
 with its usual visitors. Here he was met and recognised by 
 one of his a,ncient partisans, who, in his fulness of heart, at 
 the sudden and unexpected meeting, attempted to kneel and 
 kiss the royal hand. To escape the attention excited by an act 
 so ill-timed, the Prince hastily left the park, but on his re- 
 turn to Essex Street, the lady at whose house he was living 
 became so alarmed that she declared he was not safe with her 
 a single instant. That very night, in consequence, a boat 
 was procured, and he returned at once to IVance, too happy 
 to escape thus easily from the immiuent danger he had so 
 foolishly provoked. 
 
 The death of Lady Mary Touchet was sudden and with- 
 out any previous warning. On the Friday night she was 
 dancing at a ball, the gayest of the gay, on the Sunday fol- 
 lowing she was a corpse, but still so beautiful, and so like to 
 life, that those who assisted in laying her out could scarcely 
 believe that she was really dead. Upon the death of this 
 lady, the star given to her by the Pretender fell into 
 the lap of her sister, who, as Philip Thicknesse quaintly 
 oberves, afterwards, "fell into his lap." It is to be hoped 
 that he showed himself more worthy of possessing the lady 
 than he did of possessing the reUque. Let the reader take 
 his own story. 
 
 " I became possessed," (by my marriage) " of that in- 
 estimable badge of distinction, together with a fine portrait of 
 the prince, by Hussey. Beiag a Whig and a military man, 
 I did not think it right to keep either of them in my pos- 
 session ; and a simple old Jacobite lady offered me a consider- 
 able sum of money for them ; bilt having three nieces, whose 
 father had lived in intimacy with the late Sir John Dolben, 
 I presented both to them, and I believe that valuable relique 
 of the departed Prince Charles is now in the possession of Mrs 
 Lloyd, his eldest niece, and wife of the Dean of Norwich." 
 
152 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 Thefact of the Pretender'shaving visited England in 1753, 
 is mentioned in the following curious letter of David Hume, 
 the historian, to Sir John Pringle, M.D. 
 
 " St Andrew's Square, Edinburgh, Feb. 10, 1773. 
 
 " Mx Deae Sie, — That the present Pretender was in 
 London in the year 1753, 1 know with the greatest certainty, 
 because I had it from Lord Marechal, who said it consisted 
 with his certain knowledge. Two or three days after his 
 Lordship gave me this information, he told me, that, the even- 
 ing before, he had learned several curious particulars from a 
 lady (who I imagined to be Lady Primrose), though my Lord 
 refused to name her. The Pretender came to her house in 
 the evening, without giving hei; any preparatory information, 
 and entered the room when she had a pretty large company 
 with her, and was herself playing at cards. He was announced 
 by the servant under another name : she thought the cards 
 would have dropped from her hands on seeing him ; but she 
 had presence enough of mind to call him by the name he as- 
 sumed, to ask him when he came to England, and how long 
 he intended to stay there. After he and all the company 
 went away, the servants remarked how wonderfully like the 
 strange gentleman was to the prince's picture which hung 
 on the chimney-piece in the very room in which he entered. 
 My Lord added (I think, from the authority of the same 
 lady), that he used so little precaution, that he went abroad 
 openly in day-light in his own dress, only laying aside his blue 
 riband and star ; walked once through 8t James's, and took 
 a turn in the Mall. 
 
 " About five years ago, I told this story to Lord Holder- 
 ness, who was Secretary of State in the year 1753 ; and I 
 added, that I supposed this piece of intelligence had at that 
 time escaped his Lordship. By no means, said he ; and who 
 do you think first told it me ? It was the king himself; 
 who subjoined, ' And what do you think, my Lord, I should 
 do with him ? ' Lord Holderness owned that he was 
 puzzled how to reply, for if he declared his real sentiments, 
 they might savour of indifference to the royal family. The 
 king perceived his embarrassment, and extricated him from 
 it by adding, ' My Lord, I shall just do nothing at all ; and 
 when he is tired of England, he will go abroad again.' ' I 
 think this story, for the honour of the late king, ought to 
 be more generally known.' 
 
THE STAE OF THE PEETENDEE. 15 3 
 
 " But what will surprise you more — Lord Marechal, a 
 few days after the coronatiou of Greorge III., told me that 
 he believed the young Pretender was at that time in 
 London, or had been so very lately, and had come over to 
 see the show of the coronation, and had actually seen it. I 
 asked my Lord the reason for this strange fact. Why, says 
 he, a gentleman told me so that saw him there, and that he 
 even spoke to him, and whispered in his ears these words : 
 ' Your Eoyal Highness is the last of all mortals whom I 
 should expect to see here.' ' It was curiosity that led me,' 
 said the other ; ' but I assure you,' added he, ' that the 
 person who is the object of all this pomp and magnificence, 
 is the man I envy the least.' 
 
 " Tou see this story is so near traced from the fountain- 
 head, as to wear a great face of probability. Query — 
 what if the Pretender had taken up Dymock's gauntlet ? 
 
 " I find that the Pretender's visit in England in the year 
 1753, was known to all the Jacobites ; and some of them 
 have assured me that he took the opportunity of formally 
 renouncing the Eoman Catholic religion, under his own 
 name of Charles Stuart, in the New Church in the Strand ! 
 and that this is the reason of the bad treatment he met 
 with at the court of Eome. I ovra that I am a sceptic 
 vnth regard to the last particulars. 
 
 "Lord Marechal had a very bad opinion of this un- 
 fortunate priace, and thought there was no vice so mean or 
 atrocious of which he was not capable ; of which he gave 
 several instances. My Lord, though a man of great honour, 
 may be thought a discontented courtier ; but what quite 
 confirmed me in that idea of that prince, was a conversation 
 I had with Helvetius at Paris, which I believe I have told 
 you. In case I have not, I shall mention a few particulars. 
 That gentleman told me that he had no acquaintance with 
 the Pretender ; but some time after that prince was chased 
 out of Erance, a letter, said he, was brought me from him, 
 in which he told me, that the necessity of his affairs obliged 
 him to be at Paris ; and, as he knew me by character to be 
 a man of the greatest probity and honour in France, he 
 would trust himself to me if I would promise to conceal 
 and protect him. I own, added Helvetius to me, although 
 I knew the danger to be greater of harbouring at Paris 
 than at London; and although I thought the family of 
 Hanover not only the lawful sovereigns in England, but the 
 
154 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 only lawful sovereigns in Europe, as having the free consent 
 of the people ; yet was I such a dupe to his flattery, that I 
 invited him to my house, concealed him there, going and 
 coming, near two years, had all his correspondence pass 
 through my hands, met with his partisans upon Pont Neuf, 
 and found at last that I had incurred aU this danger and 
 trouble for the most unworthy of all mortals ; insomuch 
 that I have been assured, when he went down to Nantz to 
 embark on his expedition to Scotland, he took fright, and 
 refused to go on board ; and his attendants, thinking the 
 matter gone too far, and that they would be affronted for 
 his cowardice, carried him in the night-time into the ship, 
 pied et mains lies. I asked him if he meant literally. Tes, 
 said he, literally ; they tied him, and carried him by main 
 force. "What think you now of this hero and conqueror ? 
 
 "Both Lord Marechal and Helvetius agree, that with 
 all this strange character, he was no bigot, but rather had 
 learned from the philosophers at Paris to afiect a contempt of 
 all religion. Ton must know that both these persons thought 
 they were ascribing to him an excellent quality. Indeed, 
 you ought to laugh at me for my narrow way of thinking in 
 those particulars. However, my dear Sir John, I hope you 
 will do me the justice to acquit me. 
 
 "I doubt not that these circumstances will appear curious 
 to Lord Hardwicke, to whom you will please to present my 
 respects. I suppose his Lordship will think this unaccount- 
 able mixture of temerity in the same character, not a little 
 singular. 
 
 " I am, yours very sincerely, 
 
 "David Hume. 
 
 " 1788, May." 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL COITNTESS OF STRATHMORE. 155 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL COUNTESS OF STEATHMOEE. 
 
 Poor Trretcli ! 
 
 That for thy mother's fault art thus exposed. — Shakspeaee. 
 
 As the object of my present story is to show the strange 
 vicissitudes of life, as exemplified in. the fortunes of the beauti- 
 ful Countess of Stratbmore, it may be as well to preface my 
 tale by an account of her family connections. The extent 
 and brilliancy of them ■will make the result more striking 
 from the contrast of the brightest light with the deepest 
 shadow. 
 
 John Lyon, fourth Earl of Strathmore, was married, at 
 an early age, to Lady Elizabeth Stanhope, only child of 
 Philip, second Earl of Chesterfield, and grand-daughter of 
 the Duke of Ormonde, by whom he had a numerous family. 
 They had, besides two daughters, six sons, who aU succeeded 
 each other in the family estates. Two of these died as 
 Lords Grlamis, and four became successively Earls of Strath- 
 more. Charles, the fourth of these sons, was sixth Earl of 
 Strathmore. He succeeded his elder brother in 1715, and 
 in the year 1725, married one of the most beautiful women 
 in Scotland, who was also one of the most highly bom, and 
 nobly allied, the Lady Susanna Cochrane, second daughter 
 of John, fourth Earl of Dundonald. The paternal ancestry 
 of this young lady was among the most ancient in the land, 
 and the alliances which had been formed from generation to 
 generation, added fresh lustre to her old family tree. Her 
 grandmother, the wife, of the second Earl of Dundonald, 
 after whom she was named, was the Lady Susanna Hamil- 
 ton, second daughter of William and Anne, Duke and 
 Duchess of Hamilton, and her mother was the Lady Anne 
 Murray, second daughter of Charles, first Earl of Dunmore, 
 and grand-daughter of the Duke of Athole. Lady Dun- 
 
156 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 donald was a virtuous and charming woman, whose earlj 
 death was the cause of much grief to her numerous rela- 
 tions. She died in 1711, leaving her children very young ; 
 her eldest girl, Lady Anne, being only in her fifth year. 
 Her husband married again in 1715, his second wife being 
 the Dowager Duchess of Beaufort, who died in. 1722, having 
 survived Lord Dundonald two years. Thus the three cele- 
 brated beauties, Anne, Susanna, and Catherine, were left 
 early without a parent's guidance, and yet they succeeded 
 in attaining to glittering honours. The life of the eldest • 
 was short, but brilliant ; when only sixteen, she became the 
 wife of James, fifth Duke of Hamilton, but died before she 
 had completed her eighteenth year. She left an only son, 
 the sixth Duke of Hamilton, who, by the lovely Miss Gun- 
 ning, was father of two Dokes of Hamilton and of the 
 Countess of Derby, the grandmother of the present Earl of 
 Derby, who is heir-of-line of the house of Hamilton, and 
 entitled to the crown of Scotland, failing the numerous 
 progeny of King James the First of Great Britain. 
 
 Lady Catherine, the third daughter, married in 1729, 
 Alexander, sixth Earl of Galloway, and died at a good old 
 age in 1786, universally loved and lamented, and was the 
 ancestress of a widely-spread and distinguished progeny | 
 among whom I may mention the Earls of Galloway, the 
 Dukes of Marlborough, the Grahams of Netherby, Stewart 
 Mackenzie of Seaforth, the Dukes of Sutherland, the 
 Marquesses of Huntly, and the Dukes of Hamilton of the 
 present line. 
 
 I now come, after these necessary preliminaries, to 
 the real object of my story. No union could promise 
 fairer and better than that of Lord Strathmore and his 
 beautiful Countess. But it was cut short too soon by 
 sudden and violent death. On Thursday the 9th of May, 
 1728, the Earl came to Forfar, in order to be present at the 
 funeral of a young lady, the daughter of a friend. And as 
 the custom was in those days, the principal persons who 
 attended the funeral were entertained at a feast, in the 
 house of mourning. Among the guests, were two Forfar- 
 shire gentlemen of family and consideration, the one a name- 
 sake of the Earl, Mr Lyon, of Brigton, the other James 
 Carnegie, of Finhaven. According to the barbarous 
 practice of the times, they sat drinking after dinner, in the 
 house of death, until they were rather intoxicated, when 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL COUNTESS OF STEATHMOEE. 157 
 
 they adjourned to a tavern in Porfar, and continued their 
 debauch. They were now completely drunk, and in this 
 state they went from the tavern to visit a lady of station 
 and character, who was then living in Forfar — the Lady 
 Aucherhouse, a sister of Carnegie of Pinhaven. 
 
 Here Lyon of Brigton became very rude and violent, 
 using insulting language to Finhaven, and presuming to 
 dictate to him as to the disposal of his daughters in mar- 
 riage, he having no sons. He tauntingly advised him to let 
 one of them marry Lord Eosehill, son of the Earl of North- 
 esk, which Einhaven declined. Lyon next began to pinch 
 Lady Aucherhouse's arms, on which the Earl had sense 
 enough to see that their visit had better be curtailed, and 
 had sufBcient influence with his more turbulent companion 
 to make him quit the house. But no sooner were they in 
 the street than Brigton continued his persecution of Fin- 
 haven, tumbling him overhead into the dirty kennel, two 
 feet deep, out of which he scrambled, covered with mud 
 from head to foot. Resolved to bear this treatment no 
 longer, he rushed, with his sword drawn, upon Brigton, 
 who was in the act of pulling out Lord Strathmore's sword 
 in order to defend himself, when the Earl, coming forward, 
 as it would appear, to avert the blow of Finhaven, and 
 possibly to separate the antagonists, received the weapon in 
 his own body. It entered the abdomen, passed through his 
 bowels, and came out at his back. The unfortunate noble- 
 man died in two days, and Finhaven was tried for murder. 
 The wish of the court evidently was to condemn him, if 
 possible — ^witnesses being admitted who had expressed the 
 most deadly enemity towards him. The jury, brow-beaten 
 by the judges, were on the point of returning a verdict of 
 proven as to the facts, which would have been fatal to the 
 prisoner, as, in that case, he would have been condemned t6 
 death, — but his counsel, Robert Dundas, of Arniston, 
 sprung from a family that seemed to give its descendant an 
 hereditary title to talent, took his measures no less boldly 
 than wisely ; he assured the jury that they were judges of 
 law as weU of fact ; and, by this decisive step, had the 
 double merit of saving his client and rescuing the rights of 
 jurymen in Scotland from the grasp of tyranny. The jury, 
 by a plurality of voices, found Carnegie of Finhaven not 
 guilty. 
 
 Thus, at an early age, the beautiful Susanna was left a 
 
158 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 widow, witli an ample dower. The earldom went to the 
 next hrother of the murdered lord, their union haying been 
 childless. Erom the year 1728 until the 2nd of April, 1745, 
 the fair Countess continued a widow. During these 
 eighteen years she had frequent suitors, but still remained 
 faithful to the memory of her departed husband, though 
 some of these were of high rank and distinguished station. 
 The same- propriety of conduct distinguished her now in the 
 widowed as before in the married state, and she continued 
 for many years respected and admired. 
 
 At length, when she was about thirty-six years of age, 
 and stiU ia the height of her charms, and with everything 
 which rank, wealth, and popularity could give her ; what 
 think you, reader ? did she marry wealth and rank ? or did 
 she, wearying of the world — as so many others have done — 
 retire to a nunnery ? Nothing of the kind, — she married 
 her groom, George Forbes. To be sure, he was a remark- 
 ably handsome young fellow, and was, besides, many years 
 younger than herself, having been admitted when a little 
 boy into the service of her late lord. He was also con- 
 sidered a clever young man, and had always behaved with 
 modesty and propriety. 
 
 The progress of this ill-fated passion is easily traced. 
 Forbes being an excellent horseman, the Countess placed 
 him over her stud, and always had him with her when she 
 rode out. Hence, in time, arose a familiarity ; this, we 
 may suppose, ripened into affection, till, at length, one day 
 she summoned Forbes into her presence, and plainly told 
 him that she was, and long had been, desperately in love 
 with him ; that her fortune was very large, her charms not 
 yet quite faded, and that if he only liked her she would im- 
 mediately marry him ! The man at first was frightened and 
 thought she was gone crazy, and seems to have argued the 
 point with his mistress more like a philosopher than a 
 groom. He allowed that beauty, rank, and wealth were 
 temptations which he could not merit, but begged to re- 
 mind her that unequal marriages were seldom happy, that 
 he could not rise to nobility, and that it would be painful 
 for her to sink down to his condition. However, she per- 
 sisted, telling him that she looked to the beauty of his face 
 and form, and the warmth of his heart, and not to his pedi- 
 gree; and that she could be made happy by nothing except the 
 possession of himself. All else was valueless in her eyes. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL COUNTESS OF STEATHMOEE. 159 
 
 After such a declaration, what could the groom do, but em- 
 brace the good fortune thus strangely thrown in his way. 
 He became the husband of the beautiful Countess, the 
 marriage ceremony being performed at Castle Lyon, on the 
 2nd of April, 1745. In the best edition of Douglas's Peer- 
 age of Scotland (that by Wood), Mr George Forbes is 
 dressed up so as to appear as decent as possible. He is 
 styled her Ladyship's factor, and master of the horse to the 
 Chevalier de St George. She possibly may have appointed 
 him her factor, as a transition state from groom to lord and 
 master, and she may have used some Jacobite influence, in 
 order to procure for him some titular office about the person 
 of the Pretender. But the facts are as they have been here 
 stated ; the Countess of Strathmore married her groom. 
 The union was, as might be expected, very unhappy — de- 
 spised in her own country, turned out of the society of her 
 equals, Lady Strathmore soon found that the presence of 
 her handsome husband could not atone for the social loss 
 which she had sustained for his sake. All her own family 
 renounced her, and she was glad to escape from Great 
 Britain to seek the distraction of continental travel. 
 
 Though she had no children by Lord Strathmore, her 
 union with her groom unfortunately was fruitful. A 
 daughter was bom to them in Holland, on the I7th of May, 
 1746, and was christened Susan-Janet-Emilia. Notwith- 
 standing this event, Lady Strathmore very soon became dis- 
 gusted with her low-born husband, and she determined on a 
 separation. This, of course, was easily effected, and what 
 followed ? after wandering about on the Continent, leading 
 a miserable life, for nine years, she died at Paris, on the 24th 
 of June, 1754, having previously made profession of the 
 Catholic faith. Her daughter had received but little atten- 
 tion from her. She was heartily ashamed of the poor chUd, 
 regarded her as a fatal pledge of dishonour, and while, there- 
 fore, seeking for amusement in such society as was open to 
 her in Paris, she boarded her child in a convent at Eouen, 
 where she remained until after her unfortunate mother's 
 death. The abbess and nuns seem to have behaved with 
 much charity towards the deserted one, for they kept her for 
 some years after the Countess's death, though they received' 
 very irregular and scanty payment for her board. Lady 
 Strathmore's habits were expensive, and though she possessed 
 
160 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 a noble jointure, she saved nothing from it ; so that at her 
 death her husband and child had nothing. 
 
 Forbes had now set up as a keeper of livery stables in 
 Leith, near Edinburgh, and having, as soon as his noble wife 
 died, married a young girl of his own rank, he became the 
 father of a rapidly increasing family. He, however, had some 
 natural affection for his first-born, and engaged a captain of 
 a merchantman of his acquaintance to bring her from Rouen 
 to Leith, where he meant to support her and treat her kindly. 
 The parting was very sad between poor Susan-Janet-Emilia 
 and the kind nuns at Eouen, and she always remembered this 
 period of her existence as the happiest. 
 
 As soon as her father heard that the vessel had arrived, 
 he came to meet her, and took her to his house, where she 
 was introduced to her young step-mother and her babies. 
 Nothing could be more wretched than their intercourse, 
 and the poor French child was treated vfith coarseness and 
 cruelty. She was at that time a girl of fifteen. Of her mo- 
 ther's relations, the only one who expressed any kindly feel- 
 ing towards her was the Countess of Gralloway ; and it is 
 probable that if Emilia had waited patiently, and had made 
 her case of hardship known to her aunt, her lot might have been 
 very different. But unable to support the bad treatment 
 which she met with in her father's house she resolved onflight. 
 
 She set out from Leith, with half-a-guinea in her pocket, 
 and wandered two or three miles along the shore until she 
 came to a packet-boat, in which she crossed to the coast of 
 Fife. Then she walked on for a day or two, not knowing 
 whither to go or what to do, and her money being spent, and 
 her strength exhausted, she was fain to ask for an evening 
 meal and a night's lodging at a neat-looking farm-house. 
 The proprietors of this farm were excellent people, of the 
 name of Lauder, who took in poor Emilia (^or, as they after- 
 wards called her, Janet), and gave her a hearty welcome. 
 She made the farmer's wife her friend, and told her her 
 strange story, which excited so much compassion in the 
 breasts of her and her worthy husband, that they invited her 
 to make their house her home, and live with them. They 
 had only two children — Anne, their daughter, became Jaaiet'a 
 attached friend ; and John, their son, became her lover. 
 And at the age of eighteen, with the consent of his parents, 
 she married him. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL COUNTESS OF STKATHMOEE. 161 
 
 It is believed that from the moment that she married 
 John Lauder, until the day of his death, our heroine was a 
 very happy woman ; for he not only proved a tender and 
 affectionate husband, but a thriving and respectable farpier. 
 This new turn in her destiny placed her at a still greater dis- 
 tance than ever from the Galloways, Hamiltons, Staffords, 
 and other magnificent cousins, who really were not in the 
 least degree aware of Jane Lauder's existence. But, as time 
 went on, many changes occurred in the humble family of the 
 Landers. They had a number of children, some of whom 
 grew up to man's estate, though none of them prospered, and 
 after many years of comfort, old Lauder died in great distress. 
 
 About the year 1821, when Janet Lauder must have 
 been seventy-five years old, she was the inhabitant of a very 
 poor house in the village of St. Ninians, close to Stirling. 
 The circumstances of her very singular story became known 
 to one or two influential persons in that neighbourhood, who 
 with a view to assist the poor woman, appealed, and not in 
 vain, to some of her distinguished relations. The children of 
 her cousins-german (for she had outlived those of her own 
 generation), the Earls of Dunmore and Galloway, the Duke 
 of Hamilton and Mrs Stewart Mackenzie, of Seaforth, raised 
 among them the sum of one hundred pounds per annum, 
 with which their poor aged relative was maintained in 
 respectability during the remainder of her life, which was 
 thus protracted for nine or ten years longer. 
 
 11 
 
162 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 A TALE OF THE HOUSE OF YVERY. 
 
 Wlio art thou, strange being ? Speak. Art thou mortal, spectre, 
 devil ? — Calderon. 
 
 EoBBET Peecetal, tbe second son of the Eight Honour- 
 able Sir John Perceval, Bart., was a youth of rai-e talent, but 
 a libertine and a duellist. In the course of his brief career, — 
 for, as we shall presently see, he was murdered at the age of 
 nineteen, — he had fought as many battles as he could num- 
 ber years, and in most he had been successful — escaping 
 with little damage to himself, while, in many instances, the 
 result was fatal to his adversaries. Such characters, however, 
 were by no means uncommon in the times of Charles the 
 Second, to which age he belonged. 
 
 Being a younger brother, Robert Perceval studied, or 
 was supposed to study, the law, as one of the few gentle- 
 manly roads to wealth and distinction. "With this view he 
 took chambers in Lincoln's Inn, and here it was that the sin- 
 gular occurrence took place, which was rendered yet more 
 extraordinary by its consequences. 
 
 In general Robert Perceval did not much trouble his head 
 about the subtleties of the law, yet there were times and sea- 
 sons when, either from caprice, or from very weariness of plea- 
 sure, — used up, we now; call it, — he would play the hard- 
 working student, and read with as much diligence as if he had 
 aspired to the woolsack. The present was one of them. 80 
 deeply was he wrapped up in the duU volume before him, that 
 he stiU read on when the clock began to strike the hour of mid- 
 night. The effect produced was wonderful. It seemed to 
 him as if the clock, instead of being distant, was striking close 
 in his ear, and, startled for the moment by this delusion,— 
 for it could hardly be anything else, — he looked up. What 
 was his surprise to see a figure in t.he room, planted between 
 
A TALE OF THE HOUSE OF TVEEY. 1G3 
 
 himself and the door, who had entered he knew not how, and 
 who, to judge from appearances, had come with no good in- 
 tention, for he was so completely muffled up in a long cloak 
 as to defy recognition. 
 
 " Who are you ? What do you want ? " were his first 
 hasty exclamations, while, at the same time, he half unsheath- 
 ed his sword. 
 
 The figure neither spoke nor moved. 
 
 "This must be a trick of some of my tavern friends," 
 thought Eobert, " but as I am in no mood for joking, it's like 
 they may get the worst of it." 
 
 There was a low, hollow laugh, but still the figure neither 
 spoke nor moved. Robert, at no time remarkable for pati- 
 ence, now lost all temper, and, unsheathing his sword with 
 the rapi'dity of lightning, made a desperate pass at the in- 
 truder. The weapon met with no resistance, and when he 
 drew it back again was as bright as ever. Not a single drop 
 of blood stained it. 
 
 Eobert, for awhile, continued gazing in utter amazement, 
 and it must be even owned that a momentary thrill of awe 
 curdled his blood, and made the hair rise upon his head ; but 
 he was amongst the bravest of the brave notwithstanding, 
 and when the first surprise was over, regained suificient cour- 
 age, like Calderon's Ludovico, to question his mysterious 
 tormentor, and, like him too, when he received no answer, to 
 bring his adversary to close quarters. 
 
 " Still no answer ? Thus I dare then cast aside that cloak 
 of thine." But now followed a material difference. The hero 
 of the Spanish drama, upon tearing aside his visitor's cloak, 
 discovered a mouldering skeleton, that addressed him with 
 the voice of life, saying : — 
 
 ■ " Knowest tliou not thyself ? 
 
 See in me thine own resemhlance. 
 I am LudoTico Quinto ! " 
 
 Whereas, Robert Perceval " saw his own apparition, bloody 
 and ghostly, whereat he was so astonished that he immedi- 
 ately swooned away; but recovering, he saw the spectre 
 walk out again and vanish down-stairs." At the same time, 
 it must be owned, that a deeper meaning lurks under the 
 skeleton of the Spanish poet. 
 
 "When," continues the old narrator, "he was recovered 
 of hia fright, he undressed himself and went to bed, but in 
 
164 FAMILY ROMANCE, 
 
 extraordinary uneasiness, so that be could not sleep, but rose 
 early, and putting on bis clotbes, went to his uncle and guard- 
 ian, Sir Eobert Southwell, who lived in Spring Gardens. It 
 was so early that Sir Eobert was not yet stirring, but never- 
 theless Perceval went into his room and waked him. It was a 
 freedom he was not used to take, and Sir Eobert was sur- 
 prised ; but asking him, what made him there so early ? — the 
 youth, stiU in consternation, replied, he had that night seen his 
 ghost ; and told him all the particulars as I have related 
 them. Sir Eobert, at first, chid him for reporting an idle 
 dream, the eiFect of an ill life and guilty conscience, — for he 
 loved pleasure, and followed it too much, — but observing the 
 disorder the young man was in, and having had the story 
 repeated to him, he grew very serious, and desired his nephew 
 would take care of himself, and recollect if he had given 
 occasion to any person to revenge himself on him, for this 
 might be a true presage of what was to befall him." 
 
 Now here is a ghost story, quite complete, so far as human 
 evidence can make such a thing complete, in opposition to 
 human reason. The particulars are delivered, and word for 
 word, as they were minuted down by the Earl of Egmont, 
 upon a conversation which Sir Eobert Southwell had with 
 him immediately before his death. It only remains to see 
 how far the warning was borne out by the result, and whether 
 in truth the ghost was an honest ghost. 
 
 Days passed without any particular occurrence, and the 
 wholesome awe imprinted upon Eobert's mind had already 
 grown much too faint to serve as the slightest check upon 
 his pleasures. As usual, he drank and quarrelled, slept by 
 day and woke by night, and passed his time in the way that 
 Captain Marryat's Irishman pronounced to be the whole end 
 and aim of life — that is to say, in getting into scrapes and 
 getting out of them again. Amongst other disputes, he man- 
 aged to embroil himself at play with the celebrated Beau 
 Eielding, amanwho, ifhe was no swordsman nor particularly 
 remarkable for courage, was not likely to be restrained by 
 any moral considerations from revenging an injury by safe 
 means. 
 
 Several days had elasped since the appearance of the spirit, 
 when an event happened that must have brought it again to 
 his recollection, though it failed to teach him pruden^. As 
 he was walking from his chambers in Lincolns' Inn to a 
 certain tavern in the Strand, one of his customary places of 
 
A TALE OP THE HOUSE OF TVEEY. 165 
 
 resort, lie imagined that he was dogged by a man, who fol- 
 lowed him at a short distance. To make the matter quite 
 certain, he went into a chemist's under pretence of buying 
 some unimportant drug, but though he staid there full ten 
 minutes, when he came out, there was his pertinacious fol- 
 lower. Turning round sharply upon him, Eobert demanded 
 " who he was, and what he meant by following him ? " The 
 man replied, and with no less sharpness, " I am not following 
 you, I'm following my own business." Robert paused for a 
 moment, half disposed to make a quarrel of it, but on second 
 thoughts he abandoned this purpose ; it might be nothing 
 more than mere sullenness in the fellow, and a perverse dis- 
 position to do that which he saw was a matter of annoy- 
 ance. 
 
 " I will give the brute one more chance," said Robert to 
 himself; " and then, if he still dares to keep at my heels, it 
 wiU be at his peril." 
 
 And so saying, he crossed to the opposite side of the way. 
 
 The man followed him step for step, and Robert could 
 hear the tread of his heavy-nailed shoes the moment they had 
 reached the pavement. It was now close upon eleven o'clock 
 at night, the street was almost deserted, and, moreover, the 
 lamps, according to the custom of those days, were so few in 
 number and so sparingly supplied with oil, that they rather 
 served to show the darkness than to afford light. Still he 
 heard the steps behind, and — or did fancy deceive him ? the 
 whispering of more than two voices. Again he turned round 
 hastily, and Ms pursuer being just then under a lamp, he saw 
 him at about twenty paces off with a second ruffian, who had 
 just that minute joined him. Decisive meiisures were now 
 evidently indispensable, and drawing his sword he called upon 
 them to retire at their peril. To this the two ruffians replied 
 by falling upon him sword in hand ; and such, at the time, 
 was the state of so public a thoroughfare as the Strand, that 
 the combat continued without interruption from any acci- 
 dental passer-by, till one of the assailants, being wounded, 
 took to his heels, and the other was not slow in following his 
 example. But neither had Robert escaped scot free. One of 
 them had wounded him in the leg, and, abandoning all 
 thoughts of following his enemies, he made the best of his 
 way to the nearest tavern. Faint from Joss of blood, he called 
 for some brandy, and having drank it ofP, he coolly wiped his 
 reeking sword, returned it to its sheath, and bound a handker- 
 
166 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 cHef about his wounded leg. Common as scenes of this kind 
 were, his tale excited much speculation as to the probable 
 authors of the attack. Some suggested that the ruffians, after 
 all, might not have been personal enemies, but merely intent 
 upon plunder. Eobert shook his head. 
 
 " I do not believe it," he replied. " My firm conviction 
 is that the villains were hired and set on by some one who 
 owed me a grudge; and mark you, landlord" — this was 
 addressed to the owner of the tavern — " if anything 
 happens to me before the night's over, as I am persuaded 
 there will, let my friends know what I now say. It will be 
 no hard matter for them to guess the murderer." 
 
 The landlord would fain have persuaded him to pass the 
 night where he was, or, if not, to let some of the tavern- 
 people see him safe to his chambers in Lincoln's Inn. 
 Many of the guests then present joined in pressing the 
 same advice upon him, but he was obstinate to go home by 
 himself; he never had and never would skulk from fear of 
 any such rascals ; and when they persisted in their remon- 
 strances, he repelled them with so much acrimony that every 
 one was silent. He was suffered to go out alone, none feel- 
 ing that it was their duty to run a serious risk for the sake 
 of a man who rejected their assistance with contempt and 
 anger. The scene of our tradition must now be shifted to 
 another place and to other actors. 
 
 There was a Mrs Brown, who appears, though I know 
 not from what cause, to have taken a lively interest in his 
 fortunes. Perhaps it was from her holding some situation 
 ia the family of his uncle. Sir Kobert. On this fatal night 
 she dreamed that one Mrs Shearman, who seems to have 
 been the housekeeper, came to her, and asked for a sheet. 
 She demanded, " for what purpose ? " Mrs Shearman re- 
 plied, " Poor Master Eobert is kiUed, and it is to wind him 
 in." And this dream proved true to the letter, for in the 
 morning Mrs Shearman came at an early hour into Mrs 
 Brown's room, and seeming like one bewildered, asked for a 
 sheet. — " Eor what purpose," said the terrified dreamer, the 
 very words of her sleep rising spontaneously to her lips. — 
 " Poor Mr Eobert is murdered," was the reply ; " he lies dead 
 in the Strand watch-house, and it ia to wind his body in." 
 
 I will not attempt to deny or explain the vision. 
 Enough for my purpose, that he had been really found dead, 
 near the so-caUed May-pole, ia the Strand, which occupied 
 
A TALE OF THE HOUSE OP TVERY. 167 
 
 the site of an ancient stone cross, and having been found 
 here early in the morning, his body was removed to the 
 watch-house. There was a deep wound under his left breast, 
 bj him was his bloody sword, yet it was generally supposed 
 at the time, that he had been killed in some house, and laid 
 there afterwards. It was also said, that a stranger's hat, 
 with a bunch of ribbons in it, was found by his side ; but 
 aotwithstanding these indicia, and the earnest exertions of 
 his friends and relatives, the assassins could never be dis- 
 covered. Suspicion did indeed fall upon Beau Fielding, 
 from the previous quarrel, to which I have already alluded, 
 but it never went beyond suspicion ; others imagined, and 
 perhaps with as little reason, that the murder had been 
 committed by a near relation of Sir Eobert Southwell's 
 ■wife ; but " the matter," as the old narrator tells us, " was 
 too uncertain to admit of any free discourse of any person 
 for it." 
 
 Singular as this story is, its marvels are not yet over. — 
 " Sir Philip, his elder brother, being returned from his 
 travels, and intent upon finding out the murderers, made a 
 violent attack one day upon a gentleman in Dublia. Sir Phi- 
 lip declared afterwards he had never seen the man before, 
 and could not account for his rage ; only he was possessed 
 with a belief he was one of those who killed his brother. 
 They were soon parted, and the gentleman was seen no more. 
 
168 
 
 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 LADY OGILVY'S ESCAPE. 
 
 Husband, I come : 
 Now to that name my courage prove my title ! 
 
 Shakspeake. 
 
 Mab&aeet, Ladt Ogiltt, wife of David, Lord Ogilvyj 
 eldest son, John, fourth Earl of Airlie, and daughter of Sii? 
 James Johnstone, third Baronet of Westerhall, and Dame 
 Barbara Murray, his most energetic and talented wife, 
 daughter of the fourth Lord Elibank, was one of the keenest 
 supporters of the unfortunate Prince Charles Edward Stuart, 
 when he raised his standard in Scotland in 1744. Finding 
 the Ogilvies somewhat backward and hesitating in the cause, 
 she persuaded her husband that so long as his father, the 
 Earl of Airlie, did not appear in the field, he risked neither 
 rank nor property by heading the clan. He perilled his 
 own life and liberty, indeed, — but those were freely offered 
 to the most popular Prince who ever asserted his contested 
 rights to a throne. Lady Ogilvy's principles and enthusi- 
 astic fervour of character being well known, she was watched 
 by the Whig authorities, that her words or acts might be 
 laid hold of against her. At a pubUc dinner at Dumfries 
 she was called upon for a toast, and whilst her politic mother 
 sat trembhng lest something violently Jacobinish should be 
 given, she, with a sly look, and loud voice, proclaimed — 
 " The Duke of Cumbernauld." Lady Johnstone, amazed 
 out of all her proprieties, exclaimed — " Good Heavens, 
 Margaret, who ever heard of such a toast ? " When the 
 term of Charles Stuart's fortunes approached its close, Lord 
 Ogilvy was more than commonly unwilling to continue his 
 support, and as the only way of securing her husband's 
 attendance at the fatal battle of Culloden, Lady Ogilvy rode 
 with him herself at the head of the Clan. She was a 
 
LADY OGILVy's ESCAPE, 169 
 
 beautiful, graceful ■woman, taU and fair, and an admirable 
 rider, and she took charge of a led horse for her husband in 
 case of accidents on the field. Towards the end of the day, 
 her husband rode breathless up to her, and told her that the 
 battle was lost. He mounted the charger she led, escaped 
 to the coast, and got safely off, through Norway and Sweden, 
 to Prance, in the service of which country he attained the 
 rank of Lieutenant-General, and commanded a regiment.* 
 Lady Ogilvy remained upon the field, somewhat stupified by 
 grief and disappointment, but wholly fearless. 
 
 She was taken prisoner along with many other ladies, 
 and conducted to Edinburgh Castle. After a few days con- 
 finement, all the ladies were released, and restored to their 
 families, excepting only Lady Ogilvy, and upon the applica- 
 tion of her friends to know the reason of her detention, the 
 Government returned for answer that, " so much mischief 
 had been done by women taking an Etctive part in the Stuart 
 cause, and so many had incited their husbands to take the 
 field, who would otherwise have staid quietly at home, that 
 it was necessary to make an example amongst them ; and as 
 Lady Ogilvy was the one at Culloden of highest rank and 
 greatest influence she had been selected." 
 
 Lady Ogilvy was accordingly tried, convicted, and con- 
 demned to be executed on that Monday six weeks, in the 
 place where traitors suffered at Edinburgh. 
 
 Meanwhile her confinement was not rigorous ; her friends 
 had influence enough to secure her decent lodging and 
 attendance, and they were frequently admitted to see her. 
 
 Amongst those who had access to her room was the 
 washerwoman every Saturday, a little ugly deformed person 
 with a peculiar hitch in her walk. Lady Ogilvy told this 
 woman that she had an irresistible wish to learn how to 
 walk like her, and she made the woman walk up and down 
 to teach her, every time she came, and always kept her a 
 long while in her room. On the last Saturday preceding 
 the execution, the washerwoman brought in the lady's linen 
 as usual towards sun-down, and was as usual long kept, but 
 it was not, this time, to practise walking but to change 
 * David, Lord Ogilyie, was also a Knight of St Louis. He refused at 
 the hands of Napoleon the arrears of his pension which had been unpaid 
 since the beginning of the Eevolution, disdaining to have anything to do 
 with the French service after the murder of Louis XVI. Subsequently 
 to his father's death in 1761, he was styled Earl of Airlie, and died at his 
 Beat of Cortachy, co. Forfar, 3rd March, 1803, in his seventy-ninth yeai, 
 
170 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 clothes. " Grive me your dyess," said Lady Ogilvy, " and 
 take mine — no one will harm you and you ■will save my 
 life." The woman changed clothes accordingly, and Lady 
 Ogilvy, limping with her peculiar limp, took up the basket. 
 Joined the wash girl, who was waiting outside, and passed 
 with her through the gates of the castle, and clear of the 
 sentry's beat. The girl thought her mistress was strangely 
 dumb and out of temper, but she was much more surprised 
 when this little crooked mistress suddenly threw down the 
 basket, rose up into a tall majestic woman, and ran down 
 the High Street with all her might. "When Lady Ogilvy 
 reached Abbey Hill, she there found horses and dress ready 
 for her, and she rode by settled stations the whole way in 
 safety, from Edinburgh to Dover, seeing the hue and cry out 
 after her at every town she entered. 
 
 At last, after many a narrow escape and many a weary 
 hour, she found herself on board a vessel ready to sail for 
 Prance. 
 
 The vessel had heaved her anchor when a sudden em- 
 bargo was laid upon every sail in the harbour, and the 
 captain and erew were obliged to wait, for Government had 
 sent down an agent to search the ships for Lady Ogilvy, 
 who was supposed to have taken refuge in one of them. 
 The agent soon came on board bearing a huge picture, the 
 size of life, of a great stout masculine woman whom he 
 called Lady Ogilvy. The courageous and quick-witted Mar- 
 garet caught a sight of the picture, and was instantly re- 
 assured. She walked up to the agent with the utmost 
 composure and stood looking at the portrait : " Ah," she 
 said, " is that the picture of the Lady Ogilvy ? I knew her 
 very well, it is strikingly like, and if you go by that you 
 cannot do better." The man stared at her and thanked her 
 cordially. He then examined all the other passengers and, 
 bowing to her, left the vessel. The embargo was taken off 
 — the saUs were hoisted, and the brave lady escaped to 
 Prance, where she joined her husband, and where she died 
 at the early age of thirty-three. She left a son David, who 
 was called Earl of Airlie ; but as he left no issue, the Earl- 
 dom went to a kinsman of the late Earl. She had likewise 
 a daughter, " The Lady Margaret," who married Sir John 
 Wedderbum of Ballindean, in Perthshire, the father of the 
 late Sir David "Wedderbum, Bart., heir of line of the 
 House of Airlie, who possessed an admirable picture of his 
 
JOHNSTONE OP ALVA. 171 
 
 noble and beautiful grandmother. There is also a portrait 
 of her at Cortachy Castle, the seat of the Earl of Airlie. 
 
 The officer on guard the night of Lady Ogilvy's escape 
 was Captain Browne, the grandfather of the late Lady 
 Wedderburn, Lady Hampden, and Lady Hope of Luffness. 
 He was very anxious to go out to a party on that night, and 
 persuaded a brother officer to take his place, telling him 
 that he had nothing to do but to .go in to his prisoner at ten 
 at night and see that she was safe in her room. The officer 
 accordingly went to Lady Ogilvy's room, and seeing a person 
 seated there he bowed, shut the door, and believed tbat all 
 was right. When the mistake was discovered at ten o'clock 
 the following morning, Captain Browne was brought to a 
 court-martial and broke. The constant and grateful support 
 of the distinguished families, whom he had obliged, restored 
 in course of time his ruined fortunes. 
 
 Margaret Johnstone, Lady Ogilvy, had several talented, 
 distinguished, and fortunate brothers, of whom it may be 
 interesting to give a short notice. Her second brother, 
 William, married Miss Pulteney, daughter of Daniel Pulte- 
 ney, and sole heiress of the Earl of Bath. In consequence 
 of succeeding to her immense fortune, Mr Johnstone as- 
 sumed the name of Pulteney. He became fifth Baronet, and 
 claimant of the Marquessate of Annandale on the death of 
 his eldest brother. His only daughter, who was created 
 Countess of Bath, died without issue. Her vast estates were 
 inherited by her maternal relatives, the Duke of Cleveland 
 and Sir Eichard Sutton. Sir William Johnstone Pulteney's 
 heir in the Westerhall estate, the great American posses- 
 sions, and the claim to the Marquessate of Annandale, is 
 Sir Prederick, the eighth Baronet, great-grandson of the 
 third son of Sir James and Dame Barbara. Sir James's 
 fourth son, John, had a very singular career. He went out 
 in early life to India, with the ambition of acquiring 
 station and fortune. After he had been there for some 
 time, and had distinguished himself as a hard-working civi- 
 lian, in the position which his father's influence had procured 
 for him, he was seized with a dangerous fever, which had 
 nearly proved fatal to him. He owed his life, under Provi- 
 dence, to the tender care and assiduity of an elderly lady of 
 the name of Warwick, who spared no pains in nursing him. 
 Mrs Warwick had been for many years settled at Calcutta, 
 and was a woman of very large fortune. She adopted Mr 
 
172 FAMILY KOMANCE. 
 
 Johnstone as her son, and at her death left him all that she 
 had, which amounted to considerably upwards of a hundred 
 thousand pounds. Mr Johnstone was anxious to enjoy this 
 succession while yet young. He accordingly realised it as 
 speedUy as possible, with the intention of returning home 
 immediately, and purchasing an estate in Scotland. Mrs 
 Warwick had often related to him the circumstances of her 
 history, which were romantic and extraordinary. She said 
 that she had no near relations, excepting a brother, from 
 whom she had been separated in infancy, who, she believed, 
 had entered the navy, but with whom she never had been 
 able to keep up intercourse ; and she did not know whether 
 he was dead or alive. 
 
 Having turned all Mrs "Warwick's property into money, 
 Mr Johnstone was on the point of embarking for England 
 with a large fortune, and with the advantages of youth and 
 health, which few rich Indians possess. He had taken out 
 his passage, and was living, during the last two or three 
 days of his stay in India, at the principal hotel in Calcutta. 
 While sitting in the coffee-room reading a newspaper, he 
 overheard one waiter say to another, " Carry up Captain 
 Warwick's portmanteau to No. 5." The name of his bene- 
 factress arrested his attention. It struck him — Can this 
 Captain Warwick be in any way connected with her ? He 
 immediately sent his card to the gentleman in No. 5, with a 
 request that he might be allowed to call on him. 
 
 He was immediately ushered into the presence of an 
 elderly man ; and after an apology for the intrusion, he 
 begged to be permitted to inquire into the particulars of his 
 past life; "for," said he, "I feel an interest in your name, 
 which is an uncommon one. A namesake of yours was my 
 dearest friend." Captain Warwick very frankly told him all 
 that he knew concerning himself and his family. He said, 
 he had only had one sister, from whom he had been separat- 
 ed in early life, and who, he believed, had gone to India ; 
 but he had never been able to trace her subsequent fate. 
 From many particulars which he mentioned, it was quite 
 evident to Mr Johnstone that this was Mrs Warwick's only 
 brother. Having convinced himself of the fact, he said to 
 Captain Warvrick, he could give him the most satisfactory 
 account of his long lost sister, who had been his dearest 
 friend, and who had on her death appointed him her trustee ; 
 that she had died very wealthy; that all her property had 
 
JOHNSTONE OF ALVA. 173 
 
 been confided to his care ; and that lie now handed over to 
 him, as the rightful owner, considerably upwards of £100,000. 
 Thus did this inflexibly just man deprive himself of every- 
 thing, and sacrifice all his future prosperity, in order to 
 do that which his high and independent feeling of integrity 
 led him to believe to be his duty. As soon as Captain 
 "Warwick discovered the real state of the case, he offered to 
 divide the inheritance with Mr Johnstone. This, however, 
 Johnstone obstinately refused to agree to. He remained in 
 India, spending many years in the arduous pursuits of honour 
 and wealth. It is satisfactory to know that he was eminently 
 successful. He returned an elderly man, about ninety years 
 since, to England, with a fortune much more than double 
 that which his unbending and high-minded principle had 
 caused him to renounce in early life. He immediately pur- 
 chased large estates and beautiful seats in his native 
 country ; Alva, in the county of Clackmannan, which for- 
 merly belonged to a baronet's family of the name of Brskine, 
 now represented by the Earl of E,osslyn ; and the Hanging- 
 shaw, in the county of Selkirk, which formerly belonged to 
 Murray, of PhiUphaugh. The family of Mr Johnstone's 
 only son are numerous and prosperous. 
 
174 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 TWO CURIOUS EAMILY RELICS. 
 
 It is an honour 'longing to our house, 
 Bequeathed down from many ancestors ; 
 "Which were the greatest obloquy in the world 
 In me to lose. 
 
 Shakspeabe 
 
 In the family of Lord Muncaater there is preserved, as tie 
 most precious heir-loom, an ancient glass vessel, which vras 
 presentee^ by Henry VI. to the head of the House of Penning- 
 ton, a zealous adherent of the Eed Eose. During his season 
 of greatest adversity, that good but ill-starred monarch was 
 concealed for many weeks in the mansion of his faithful 
 servant. Sir John de Pennington. When concealment there 
 was no longer -practicable, the king prepared to carry his 
 broken fortunes elsewhere, but before his departure he thus 
 addressed his loyal host : — " Silver and gold, and jewels, I 
 have none to give ; but this I will give, and, along with it, 
 the blessing of the most unfortunate of princes." There- 
 upon, he presented to Sir John the curiously-shaped carved 
 glass cup, in which he used to keep holy water; and 
 kneeling down, and praying that every blessing might await 
 the loyal friend who had shown such constancy to him under 
 his heavy misfortunes, he implored God that a male heir 
 might never be wanting to this ancient race. Sir John and 
 his descendants have, ever since, carefully preserved the pre- 
 cious royal gift as the talisman of their house ; and it is the 
 traditional belief of the family that as long as King Henry's 
 cup is preserved entire, a male heir shall never be wanting 
 to the race of Pennington. Upwards of half a century ago, 
 the box in which the cup is enclosed fell to the ground. 
 Great fears were felt lest it might have sustained injury ; 
 yet no one had courage to ascertain the fact, and the box 
 remained shut for many years. At length it was opened ; 
 
TWO CUEIOUS FAMILY RELICS. 175 
 
 and much to the joy of the family it was found quite unin- 
 jured. The heir male of the Penningtons is the present 
 Lord Muncaster ; whUe the heir of line is Lord Lindsay, in 
 right of his late mother, the Countess of Crawford and Bal- 
 carres, who was daughter to Sir John Pennington, first Lord 
 Muncaster. 
 
 A similar relic, not, however, possessing the same royal 
 claims to interest, is preserved in the distinguished family of 
 Dundas of Arniston, in Mid-Lothian. The founder of this 
 very considerable branch of Dundas was Sir James Dundas, 
 eldest son of the second marriage of George Dundas of Dun- 
 das (who lived in the time of Queen Mary), with Catherine, 
 daughter of Lawrence, third Lord Oliphant. This lady, who 
 was anxious to aggrandise her son, succeeded in leaving to 
 him considerable wealth, and he became the ancestor of one 
 of the most powerful branches of the house of Dundas. No 
 family in Scotland had been so eminent at the bar of that 
 country as Dundas of Arniston, which has produced, in 
 direct succession, two judges, known by the designation of 
 Lord Arniston, two Lord Presidents, and one Lord Chief 
 Earon, not to mention Henry, Tiscount Melville. Catherine 
 Oliphant bequeathed to her son an ancient Yenetian goblet, 
 with an injunction to preserve it carefully, as upon its in- 
 tegrity should depend the continued prosperity of the house 
 of Arniston. Notwithstanding the superstitious regard with 
 which the glass cup was preserved, it was nearly destroyed 
 in the time of the present proprietor's grandfather, the Lord 
 Chief Baron, by the malice of a certain eccentric peeress, 
 then on a visit at Arniston, wha intentionally threw it on 
 the ground in order to break it. Her evil design, however, 
 was frustrated, and the goblet still remains the talisman of 
 this ancient family. 
 
176 
 
 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 ACTRESSES RAISED TO RAM BY MARRIAGE. 
 
 Women, who are coronets of loTe. 
 
 LoKD Thublow. 
 
 It is a fact, to whicla general attention has heen more than 
 once recently called, that, although the stage has suffered bo 
 much from the attacks of ultra-moralists, there is no class 
 of the community more free from public misconduct than 
 the players. No actor was ever hanged for crime in Eng- 
 land: charges against them for any offence have hesQ 
 extremely rare ; and though the law threw its nets, or rather 
 its acts of parliament, very widely to catch the denizens of 
 the stage, they have passed unscathed through their penal 
 era, and have actually, by their own good conduct, quite 
 as much as by those talents made to please, attained the fair 
 and respectable position they now justly hold in society. 
 The players, too, are proverbially a kind and generous race. . 
 It is seldom that a tale of distress reaches the ear of an 
 actor without, at the same time, reaching his heart. Their 
 recent foundation of that noble asylum, the Dramatic College, 
 established, I might say, almost in an instant, is a wonderful 
 instance of how liberal and charitable the actor really is. 
 I would add moreover, to the honour of the female part of 
 the profession — and that is more german to the matter in 
 hand — no actress was ever advanced from the theatrical ranks, 
 and married to a husband in the higher walks of life, who 
 did not, in her married state, conduct herself with unerring 
 propriety. I now proceed to give a hurried glance at some 
 of the ladies who have been taken by marriage from the 
 stage to grace the higher ranks of fashionable life. 
 
 One of the first persons, amongst the gentry, who chose 
 a wife from the stage, was Martin Folkes, the antiquary. 
 
ACTRESSES EAISED TO RANK. 177 
 
 He was a man of fortune, and not carrying his love of 
 antiquity into the affairs of the heart, he married the good 
 Lucretia Bradshaw, the representative of iParquhar's hero- 
 ines, and a popular actress iu her day. The date of this 
 union has not perhaps been obtained with minute accuracy, 
 but it was somewhere about the year 1713. A contempor- 
 ary writer styles her " one of the greatest and most pro- 
 mising genii of her time," and assigns " her prudent and 
 exemplary conduct " as the attraction that chiefly won the 
 antiquary. Something, however, must be set down to the 
 charm of youth, and add to that beauty and fascinating 
 manners. 
 
 Anastasia Eobinson, the singer, known as " the nightin- 
 gale," attained to yet higher distinction. She captivated 
 Greneral Sir Charles Mordaunt, K.G. third Earl of Peter- 
 borough, Commander-in-Chief in Spain, and the hero of 
 that splendid campaign which drove the Duke of Anjou 
 and the French army out of the Spanish territory. The 
 Earl of Peterborough was the friend of Swift and Pope. 
 Pope thus speaks of Anastasia, Lady Peterborough, in one 
 of his letters to the well-known Martha Blount. It bears 
 date August the 17th, 1735, and was written by the poet 
 when on a visit to Bevis Mount, close to the town of South- 
 ampton. 
 
 " I found my Lord Peterborough on his couch, where he 
 gave me an account of the excessive sufferings he had passed 
 through, with a weak voice but spirited. He next told me he 
 had ended his domestic affairs, through such difficulties from 
 the law that gave him as much torment of mind as his dis- 
 temper had done of body, to do right to the person to whom 
 he had obligations beyond expression (Anastasia Eobinson). 
 That he had found it necessary not only to declare his mar- 
 riage to all his relations, but since the person who married 
 them was dead, to re-marry her in the church at Bristol, 
 before witnesses. He talks of getting towards Lyons, but 
 undoubtedly he never can travel but to the sea-shore. I 
 pity the poor woman who has td share in all he suffers, and 
 who can in no one thing persuade him to spare himself." 
 
 Thus far Pope. — Anastasia was publicly acknowledged 
 for his Countess in 1735, and was his second wife : the Earl 
 died, aged 77, at Lisbon, in the October following the 
 acknowledgment of this marriage, of which there was no 
 issue. His honours were inherited by his grandson, the 
 
 12 
 
178 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 son of tlie eldest son of his' first marriage. The Dowager 
 Lady Peterborough survived her gallant husband many years. 
 Her unblemished conduct, and the elegance of her manners, 
 obtained for her the intimacy of some of the highest per- 
 sonages of the day in which she lived. 
 
 Another striking instance of elevation from the theatri- 
 cal ranks is the original representative of Polly Peachum in 
 Gay's " Beggar's Opera," — Lavinia Fenton, as she has 
 generally been called, but who, in fact, was the daughter of 
 a Mr Beswick, a lieutenant in the royal navy. She was 
 born in 1708, and, not long after her birth, her mother 
 married Mr Penton, the keeper of a coffee-house at Charing- 
 Cross. Prom motives of delicacy that would have done 
 credit to one in a higher station, he gave his adopted 
 daughter his own name, by which she was ever afterwards 
 distinguished till the day of her marriage. Indeed he seems 
 to have uniformly treated her with no less care and kindness 
 than if he had been her actual father, and when, at an early 
 age, she evinced a natural talent for singing, he did not fail 
 to give her what, for an English girl, was considered a re- 
 spectable musical education. Italian singing, it should be 
 remembered, was not then much cultivated amongst us ; but, 
 what perhaps was better, beautiful ballad music was, and 
 to give eifect to a simple ballad was all that an audience 
 required : as Miss Penton had a fine melodious voice, this 
 was precisely what she was most calculated to excel in. 
 
 With such talents, and,, perhaps, from her situation in a 
 cofflee-house frequented by wits and actors, she had little or 
 no difficulty in finding her way into a theatre. Still it was 
 not her musical powers that were first called into requisition. 
 Being engaged by the manager of the Haymarket Theatre, 
 she made her debut as Monimia in the " Orphan," when she 
 was but eighteen years of age. This was in 1726. If her 
 performance was not of that extraordinary kind which 
 electrifies and at once takes hold of the public, still her 
 success was unequivocal, and from that moment she was 
 considered to be a rising actress. Her reputation attracted 
 many licentious admirers. One libertine of high rauk 
 would fain have had her give up public fame and private 
 character for the pleasure of leading with him an isolated 
 life in the country, in return for which he pledged himself 
 to resign the dissipations of the capital, in which he had 
 hitherto played a prominent part. But though this pro- 
 
ACTEESSES EAISED TO RANK. 179 
 
 posal was accompanied by liberal offers of money — by every- 
 thing, indeed, short of marriage — she, with good sense and 
 the right feeling, repulsed her passionate adorer. 
 
 Soon after this. Miss Fenton appeared as Cherry, in the 
 " Beaux' Stratagem." Such was her success in the arch 
 daughter of the country Boniface, that Eich, then manager 
 of Covent Garden Theatre, tempted her from her allegiance 
 to the Haymarket potentate by the seductive offer of fifteen 
 shillings a- week, upon which magnificent salary — being 
 much less than is now-a-days given to a chorus-singer — she 
 continued until she conquered fame and fortune as the first 
 Polly Peachum of the Beggar's Opera. This celebrated 
 triumph of hers occurred in 1728, when this famous opera of 
 Gay was first brought out at the theatre in Lincoln's Inn 
 Fields, the same building of which there is a superstitious 
 and popular tradition that one night, upon the representa- 
 tion of " Doctor Faustus," the real fiend mingled with his 
 human imitators, and finally made his exit, after the most 
 approved mode, in a flash of sulphur, carrying away with 
 him the roof. 
 
 Of the " Beggar's Opera " itself, its first perils, and 
 eventual and lasting triumph, this is not the place to dis- 
 course, yet I cannot but remark that, in contradistinction to 
 those tedious imitations of and translations from Italian 
 Operas that have so occupied, and still so occupy, the Eng- 
 lish stage, the Beggar's Opera, a native production, has 
 survived them all, perennial in the sweetness and popularity 
 of its music. One curious fact Macklin's biographer records. 
 The Beggar's was an accidental opera. Originally there 
 was no music intended to accompany the piece, till Rich, the 
 manager, with more judgment than either the poet or his 
 friends, suggested its introduction at the time of the last 
 rehearsals. The junto of wits, who regularly attended upon 
 these occasions, unanimously objected to anything of the kind. 
 The manager, though unconvinced, surrendered his better 
 judgment to such overwhelming authority. Luckily, how- 
 ever, for the author and his bantling, this dispute was sub- 
 mitted to the Duchess of Queensbury, Gay's stanch patro- 
 ness, who resolved to attend in person the next rehearsal. 
 Her opinion was in favour of the music, and from such fiat 
 there was no appeal — and most fortunate that it was so. 
 
 The success of Miss Fenton in PoUy was so great, that 
 to secure her future services to his theatre, Eich at once 
 
180 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 raised her salary to thirty shillings a-week, which, after all, 
 amounted but to five and forty pounds a year, upon a calcu- 
 lation of the number of playing weeks in the theatrical 
 season of those days. To make some amends for this scanty 
 pay, it was the custom of the time for the rich and noble to 
 make liberal presents to the popular actresses, nor did the 
 frank receiving of them convey any imputation on their 
 character. In the present case, these were not the only 
 marks of public approbation : the engraved likeness of Miss 
 Fenton was to be found in every print-shop, and was a 
 genera,l ornament upon the ladies' fans, her good conduct 
 making it their common cause to honour one who did so 
 much honour to the female department of the stage. 
 
 A momentary shadow was soon to pass over this bright 
 picture, which is thus recorded by Dean Swift, in a letter 
 dated 6th July, 1728 — " The Duke of Bolton has run away 
 with Polly Peachum, having settled four hundred a year 
 upon her during pleasure, and, upon disagreement, two 
 hundred more." Swift, however, only wrote from the 
 current reports of the day ; but, whether his story be true 
 or not to its whole extent, one thing is certain : during the 
 twenty-three years of her unmarried connection with this 
 nobleman. Sir Charles Paulet, K.Gr. third Duke of Bolton, 
 Constable of the Tower, she conducted herself with such 
 undeviating propriety, that, upon the death of his wife, he 
 made her his Duchess, and she bore the title for nine years, 
 surviving her husband six years, and dying in 1760, at the 
 age of fifty-two, when she was buried at Greenwich. 
 
 The Duke of Bolton used to say that what charmed him 
 first in Miss Fenton was the exquisite feeling she displayed 
 in singing the beautiful air " Oh ponder well, be not severe." 
 Of all the accounts that have come down to us, there is not 
 one but is in the highest degree favourable to her memory. 
 Dr Joseph Warton, in a note subjoined to one of Swift's 
 letters to. Gay, thus speaks of her — " She was a very accom- 
 plished and agreeable companion ; had much wit, good strong 
 sense, and a just taste in polite literature. Her person was 
 agreeable and well made, though, I think, she could never 
 be called a beauty. I have had the pleasure of being at table 
 with her, when her conversation was much admired by the 
 first characters of the age, particularly old Lord Bathurst 
 and Lord Granville." 
 
 As a hint to future Polly Peachums, it may be added 
 
ACTRESSES EAISED TO RANK. 181 
 
 tHat Macklin used to say her dress, in Polly, was very like 
 the simplicity of a modern Quaker, — a remark that is fully 
 borne out by the prints from her portrait. 
 
 I should here include the strange story of a French 
 actress, whose dramatic fame was partially earned, and 
 whose aristocratic marriage was effected, in London. This 
 lady was Mademoiselle Aurora de Livry, who began her 
 career by being the mistress of Voltaire, and who ended it 
 by an alliance with some of the best blood in France. One 
 day, when Voltaire, then at the commencement of his dra- 
 matic successes, and quite a young man, was sitting for his 
 picture at an artist's, a beautiful girl meanly clad, and, as it 
 turned out, an orphan in a state of destitution, came in and 
 asked for Voltaire. She was seeking a theatrical engage- 
 ment ; an actor had referred her to Voltaire. The mighty 
 dramatist was at once captivated by her surpassing loveliness. 
 He took immediate steps, and had her brought out as the 
 rival of the famous Adrienne Le Couvreur. His love, how- 
 ever, sustained his favourite more than her own artistic 
 ability. Voltaire was devoted to her : he used, he said, to 
 write and read his tragedies at her feet. She was the only 
 woman he ever loved. "What were the Marchionesses and 
 Baronesses he had known to him now ? What Madame de 
 Villiers, who adored him, and she the wife of a Marshal of 
 Prance and a hero ? Mere bagatelles ! He had found 
 one who doted on him, not as Voltaire, but as a man made 
 for affection. Alas ! his amorous vanity was soon to be 
 checked. Mademoiselle de Livry suddenly ran away from 
 him, and sent him word that she had attached herself to his 
 friend M. de Genonville, and begged Voltaire, though she 
 loved him still, would just think she was dead, write her 
 epitaph, and send her her slippers, which she could not do 
 without. Her alliance with Genonville did not last long ; she 
 came with a French company to London, and was here more 
 popular than in Paris. Her beauty was the general theme 
 of admiration. Among others who admired her in London 
 was a French nobleman of immense wealth and rank. He 
 made short work of it. He was, it seems, a tulipomaniac, and, 
 with an enormously expensive bouquet of his favourite 
 flowers, he walked without ceremony into Mademoiselle de 
 Livry's sitting-room. She was startled and, at first, offended 
 at his rudeness ; but he was not to be repulsed. " I am," 
 said he, " the Marquis de Gouvernet, and I want to make you 
 
182 FAMILY KOMANCE. 
 
 my wife." " It's a folly," observed Mademoiselle. " It may 
 be," was his answer, " but it will cure all my other follies, 
 and among them this one," he added, presenting her with the 
 bouquet. So gallant and so valuable an offer could not be 
 rejected, and the orphan favourite of Voltaire went back to 
 Paris, Marchioness de G-ouvemet. Among the earliest 
 to welcome her return was Voltaire : he sent her a splendidly 
 bound copy of La Henriade, then just published, stating 
 that he had drawn the beautiful G-abrielle from her. The 
 next day he went to pay his respects to her at her magnifi- 
 cent Parisian mansion. " Tour name ? " said at the door a 
 giant Swiss porter, quite gorgeous in his gold-embroidered 
 and gold-tasselled livery. " I am Monsieur de Voltaire." 
 " Then you must write your name down in my book, for I have 
 never heard of it, and the Marchioness directs me not to ad- 
 mit simple Messieurs without my first inquiring and knowing 
 who they are." " So much for my glory and her gratitude," 
 exclaimed the poet as he left the house. He then wrote her 
 ■a biting epistle in verse, to which she replied by an equally 
 bitter epigram. They were both piqued, and he saw her no 
 more, until some fifty years afterwards, just before his death. 
 Voltaire, as is well known, then triumphantly visited Paris, 
 and had honours showered on him more than had ever fallen 
 to princes or sovereigns. The whole intellect of literature, 
 and the whole political intellect which was about to disturb 
 the world, crowded around him with an All hail ! that was 
 the prologue of the Prench Eevolution. Louis XVI. and 
 Marie Antoinette, those miserable victims of royalty who were 
 always obliged to prostrate themselves when the Juggernaut 
 of Preedom advanced, joined the overwhelming throng that 
 came to welcome Voltaire and crown his bust at the theatre. 
 Pranklin brought his grandson to him to obtain his blessing. 
 " I bless him," said Voltaire, speaking English, " in the best 
 of words, ' God and freedom.' " But the " King Voltaire," 
 as Prederiek the Great and the world since have styled him, 
 had his remembrance ; so he took a quiet opportunitjf of 
 dressing himself finely, and went once more to the Marchion- 
 ess of Gouvernet's door. This time it flew open, and the por- 
 ter almost bowed to the ground. The Marchioness had mti- 
 mation of his approach, and she was in her room of state to 
 receive him. The interview was an affecting one. " Madame," 
 said Voltaire, as he kissed her hand, " this is all that is left 
 me now. Tet I have never ceased to love you. Mine has 
 
ACTRESSES RAISED TO RANK. 183 
 
 been a war of Titans with those who tied Liberty to a rock ; 
 but woe to them ! I have unchained the Prometheus and let 
 him loose. Amidst all such struggles, I still have thought of 
 you. I never cultivated my peaches at Perney without 
 kissing one every year in your honour." " Alas ! " cried the 
 Marchioness, quite overpowered, "I would willingly give 
 my hotel, my estates of Beauce and Bretagne, my diamonds 
 and my carriages, and my porter into the bargain, for one 
 hour of our life together more than half a century ago." 
 " And I, Madame," exclaimed her venerable admirer, " would 
 give my tragedies, my epic-poem, my histories and my tales, 
 all my past glory and my claims oil posterity, and my seat at 
 the Academy into the bargain, for just one kiss of more 
 than half a century ago." Whether this salute was given, 
 we know not, but they parted ; and the next day the 
 Marchioness sent him his portrait, the very portrait which 
 he had sat for when she first saw him, and which was among 
 the earliest gifts of his affection. She had kept it by her 
 ever since, and she now bequeathed it to his niece. A few 
 days more, and on the 30th May, 1778, Voltaire breathed his 
 last, and on the very morrow of his demise, Aurora de Livry, 
 Marchioness de Grouvernet, was numbered among the dead. 
 M. Arsene Houssaye records this story at great length and 
 most gracefully in his recent work " Le Eoi Voltaire," and 
 it is indeed a tale that should not be forgotten among the 
 records of actresses highly married. 
 
 A Miss Wewitzer, who made her first appearance at 
 Covent Garden the 4th Nov. 1772, as Daphne, became after- 
 wards, by marriage. Lady Tyrawley. 
 
 Eliza Linley, a celebrated public singer, was the wife 
 of the Et. Hon. Eichard Brinsley Sheridan. This excellent 
 and beautiful lady was the daughter of Thomas Linley, 
 of Bath, the celebrated composer. At the early age of 
 sixteen her hand had been promised, under parental 
 authority, to a Mr Long, an old gentleman of consider- 
 able fortune in Wiltshire. The idea of such an union was 
 in every way distasteful to the young lady. She had the 
 candour to avow as much in private to her admirer, and 
 he, with a rare magnanimity, took upon himself the whole 
 blame of breaking off the alliance, and even indemnified her 
 father, who threatened to commence an action, by settling 
 three thousand pounds upon the daughter. 
 
 About the middle of 1770 the Sheridans established 
 
IS* FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 themselves in Bath, and soon formed an intimacy there 
 with the Linleys. Both the brothers became enamoured of 
 the young Miss Linley, then known as " the fair maid of 
 Bath." She gave ear to neither of them for a time; but 
 at length Eichard Brinsley obtained the preference, although 
 he conducted matters with so much caution, that even his 
 brother did not at first suspect the attachment. Surrounded 
 as Miss Linley was by admirers, poor Sheridan was tormented 
 by unceasing jealousies ; and it is said, that in drawing 
 Falkland in his play of the " Rivals " he drew himself. 
 
 In due course of time, Charles Sheridan, who was the 
 eldest and most prudent of the brothers, gave up the piir- 
 suit. The field was now left open to the future dramatist, 
 and chance yet further came to his assistance. A married 
 man, of the name of Mathews, thought proper to absolutely 
 persecute Miss Linley with his improper addresses. She 
 communicated this to Sheridan, who immediately entered 
 into a serious expostulation with the libertine. These re- 
 monstrances produced no efiect, and, to avoid what she felt 
 to be a cruel persecution, Miss Linley determined to take 
 refuge in a French convent, having first settled a part of 
 her fortune, as an indemnification, she having been profes- 
 sionally bound by articles till the age of twenty-one. Sheri- 
 dan, it was agreed, should be the partner of her flight, and 
 the result was their marriage. This took place at a little 
 vUlage near Calais, about the latter end of March, 1772. 
 Events now moved with the rapid pace of a well-told 
 romance. The bride fell ill ; her father came to France to 
 reclaim his stolen lamb, and, without being informed of her 
 marriage — -which the principal parties had agreed to keep 
 secret for awhile — he suffered himself to be reconciled to 
 the fair runaway, but insisted upon her returning to England, 
 and fulfilling the musical engagement he had entered into 
 on her behalf. Mr Mathews, disappointed in his view upon 
 the lady, grew outrageous, vowing to take the life of Sheri- 
 dan, and publicly showiug bills on parties in France, to 
 which country he intended retiring upon the satisfaction of 
 his revenge. In the mean time he contrived, by well-aimed 
 calumnies, to sow dissension between the two brothers. 
 These being at length unravelled, Mr Sheridan determined 
 to call Mr Mathews to account, and a duel was the result, 
 in which the latter, being vanquished, was faia to obtain his 
 life by a recantation and full apology for his slanders. . He 
 
ACTEESSES RAISED TO EANK. 185 
 
 then retired to "Wales, but this transaction having brought 
 him into bad odour with nearly all around him, a compas- 
 sionate friend advised liim to wipe the stains off his cha- 
 racter by a second duel with Mr Sheridan. He agreed, and 
 the proposed combat took place at Kingsdown, near Bath, 
 when Sheridan, less successful than the iirst time, was taken 
 from the ground severely wounded. 
 
 He recovered after a long illness, though even then, and 
 for some time afterwards, neither of the fathers knew of 
 their children's union. Both, however, suspected it, and 
 at length Mr Linley, finding further opposition useless, 
 consented to their union, and Sheridan was again married 
 to the lady, but this time by license, and in the April of 
 1773. 
 
 In 1792, Mrs Sheridan's health had been long declining, 
 and in that year she expired, after a confinement to her bed 
 of two days only. There is something exceedingly touching 
 in this death-bed scene. Sheridan had been sitting up aU 
 night by the bed-side of his wife, who continued perfectly 
 sensible to the last, though suffering great pain. About 
 four o'clock in the morning an alarming change was observed 
 in her, and the physician, Dr Bain, being sent for, was 
 speedily in attendance. tJpon his arrival, as Dr Bain 
 relates the melancholy story, she begged of Sheridan and 
 her female friend to leave the room, and then, desiring the 
 Dr to lock the door after them, said to him, " Tou have 
 never deceived me ; tell me truly, shall I live over this 
 night ? " He immediately felt her pulse, and finding that 
 she was dying, answered, "I recommend you to take some 
 laudanum." Upon which she replied, "I understand you; 
 then give it me." At five o'clock of the same morning she 
 expired, leaving behind her two children ; Mary who died a 
 child, and Thomas who died in 1817, and was father, with 
 other issue, of the present Eichard Brinsley Sheridan, Esq., of 
 Prampton Court, Co. Dorset, M. P. for Dorsetshire, and of 
 the esteemed poetess, the Hon. Mrs Norton, and the Duchess 
 of Somerset. Mrs Sheridan was buried in Wells Cathedral, 
 ■ by the side of her sister. Wilkes used to say of Mrs Sheri- 
 dan, that she was " the most modest, pleasing, and delicate 
 flower " he had ever seen. 
 
 Miss Farren subsequently became Countess of Derby. 
 This lady was the daughter of an Irishman, who practised 
 as a surgeon and apothecary in the city of Copk, and was a 
 
186 FAMILY KOMANCE. 
 
 descendant of a respectable, though not an opulent family. 
 Early in life her father married the daughter of a brewer in 
 Liverpool, but his hospitable habits ruined his medical 
 prospects, which were, perhaps, not much improved by a 
 passion for the stage. Abandoning his professional pursuits, 
 he became a country actor. 
 
 Elizabeth barren was born in the year 1759, and while 
 yet a child, had the misfortune to lose her father. Her 
 mother, however, was an excellent woman, and taxed her 
 powers to the utmost for the support and education of her 
 family, which was very numerous. Every circumstance thus 
 conspired to form an actress of the young Elizabeth, and in 
 the year 1773 she made her first appearance at Liverpool 
 in the character of Eosetta, in Bickerstaff 's opera of " Love 
 in a Yillage." Her success was, from the very first, decided, 
 and, as every season raised her reputation yet higher and 
 higher, she ventured upon a more daring flight, and in the 
 summer of 1777 played, for the first time in London, at the 
 Haymarket Theatre, then under the management of the 
 elder Colman. The character chosen for her debui, which 
 took place on the 10th of June, was Miss Hardcastle, in 
 Goldsmith's comedy of " She Stoops to Conquer," and here 
 again her success was no less marked than it had previously 
 been at Liverpool. Tet it is amusing enough to read the 
 contradictory criticisms of the day upon the new favourite 
 — she is too tall, too thin, not equal to Mrs Abington, too 
 playful, lets her face express too much, and her voice is not 
 powerful. This is the debtor side of the critical ledger, but 
 there is a per contra account, which leaves a very consider- 
 able balance in her favour. That her manners were elegant 
 may be safely inferred from the fact of her being at once 
 adopted into the fashionable circles. Her fortune naturally 
 enough kept pace with her growing reputation, and she now 
 took up her abode in a part of the town suitable to this 
 change of circumstance. 
 
 Amongst the most ardent of her admirers was the Eight 
 Hon. Charles James Eox, but her own afiections, as the 
 result proved, inclined to Sir Edward Stanley, 12th Earl of 
 Derby, who, shortly after the death of his first Countess, a 
 daughter of the Ducal house of Hamilton and Brandon, 
 made her the offer of his hand in marriage, an offer which 
 she accepted. On April the 8th, 1797, she took her leave 
 of the stage in the character of Lady Teazle in the " School 
 
ACTRESSES EAISED TO EANK. 187 
 
 for Scandal ; " and on the 1st of the following May she was 
 married to Lord Derby by special licence, at his Lordship's 
 house in Grosvenor Square. 
 
 The character of this lady was at all times unimpeach- 
 able, and she was received with cordial welcome at Court by 
 George the Third, and his consort, Queen Charlotte. Lady 
 Derby died the 23rd April, 1829 : she had issue by the Earl, a 
 son and two daughters, all now deceased : the son and elder 
 daughter were unmarried, and the younger daughter was the 
 late Countess of Wilton, 
 
 In 1807, Miss Searle, who was remarkable for her 
 beauty, was, after performing for a short time at Covent 
 Garden Theatre, married to Eobert Heathcote, Esq., son of 
 Sir Gilbert Heathcote, Bart., and grand-uncle of the present 
 Lord Avelaud. She had three sons by this union : her 
 husband died in 1823. 
 
 On the 12th Dec, 1807, Louisa Brunton was married to 
 William late Earl of Craven. This lady was the daughter 
 of Mr Brunton, who for years was the manager of what, 
 in theatrical parlance, was then called the Norwich circuit ; 
 this said circuit comprised Norwich, Ipswich, Yarmouth, 
 Bury St Edmunds, and Colchester, the company, like swal- 
 lows, migrating with the change of season from one place to 
 the other. When the sun of popular favour ceased to shine 
 upon them at Norwich, they incontinently flew to Tar- 
 mouth ; and when winter — that is, empty houses — came 
 iipon them at Yarmouth, they were off for Colchester, or 
 Bury St Edmunds. 
 
 Mr Brunton had been an actor at Covent Garden The- 
 atre, as early as the year 1774, but, amidst so much talent 
 as then existed there, he could hardly hope to fill anything 
 more than a second rank, if, indeed, he might aspire to so 
 much. If, however, few men are Csesars in talent, many 
 men are Csesars in ambition, and he began to think with 
 the old Eomau, " better be first in a village than second in 
 Eome ; " accordingly, he left London, to become, as we have 
 just seen, a country manager, the potentate of Norwich, and 
 the states thereon depending. Miss Brunton was the sixth 
 child of a family that consisted of six daughters and two 
 sons. As generally happens in such cases, all her relatives, 
 even to the third and fourth degree, were in the same pro- 
 fession — all children of Thespis. 
 
 Miss Brunton was born in 1785, with every personal 
 
188 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 and mental requisite for the stage. So decided were her 
 talents, that after a very short probation on his own boards, 
 Mr Brunton considered that it would be quite safe to trust 
 his daughter to the ordeal of a London audience, which, in 
 those days, when sober criticism used to arrange itself on 
 the first benches of the pit, was no trifling matter. Avail- 
 ing himself of the influence that naturally attached to his 
 situation, he obtained for her an engagement at Covent 
 Garden Theatre, where she appeared, for the first time, on 
 the 5th of October, 1803. She was then only eighteen 
 years of age, and the part chosen for her dehut was Lady 
 Townley, in the comedy of the " Provoked Husband." It 
 was the general opinion, that no actress, since the retire- 
 ment of Miss Farren, had given such satisfaction to the 
 play-going public, and her subsequent attempts confirmed 
 and extended this favourable opinion. 
 
 One so talented, and so beautiful withal, was not likely 
 to remain without admirers. Many ofiers were made to her 
 of marriage, but " she felt her value, and still kept aloof," 
 till the Earl of Craven proposed. The lady consented, sub- 
 ject only to a reference to her father, who, of course, could 
 see no objection, and the marriage accordingly took place. 
 
 The figure of Miss Brunton was tall, commanding, and 
 exhibited the most perfect symmetry. Her features com- 
 bined sweetness with the most perfect expression. She 
 was married the 12th Dec, 1807, to William, 7th Baron and 
 1st Earl of Craven, by whom (who died the 30th July, 
 1825) she had three sons and a daughter. Her eldest sou 
 is the present Earl of Craven. Lady Craven died on the 
 27th of last August ; and, strange to say, just three days 
 after her demise, occurred that of her esteemed and amiable 
 niece, whose career on the stage was far longer and no less 
 successful than her own, viz. Elizabeth Brunton, better 
 known as Mrs Tates, who was the widow of Frederick 
 Tates, an able actor, and Manager of the Adelphi Theatre, 
 and who was herself, after earning fame in the higher walks 
 of comedy at Covent Garden, one of the most celebrated 
 heroines of the domestic drama the Adelphi ever saw. 
 
 The character of Polly Peachum was once more destined 
 to confer a coronet, and this time it fell upon the brow of 
 Miss Mary Catharine Bolton. She is said to have been a 
 native of London, and born in Long Acre, somewhere about 
 the year 1790. Erom an early age, she studied music and 
 
ACTRESSES RAISED TO RANK. 189 
 
 singing, having had in succession some of the best masters, 
 — Lanza, Bellamy, the celebrated bass singer, Signor Naldi, 
 of the Italian Opera House, and Madame Bianchi, whose 
 husband came to so untimely an end, and, as it is said, 
 through idle jealousy. 
 
 Prom the first. Miss Bolton was brought up for the 
 stage, her whole education being directed for that view, and 
 no other. On the 12th of August, 1806, when only sixteen 
 years of age, she made her delut as Polly, and with such 
 decided success, that she repeated the part fourteen times in 
 the course of the season. After this, the fair debutante 
 might well reckon upon a permanent engagement ; but, dis 
 aliter visum, the manager thought otherwise, and, at the end 
 of the season, the Pretty Polly of the poet, and the talented 
 Polly of the composer, was dismissed, as having ceased to 
 be attractive. But let us be just to all parties. Though 
 fascinating in manners, and exceedingly pleasing, both as an 
 actress and a singer, Miss Bolton hardly reached to the 
 height of such a character. That the manager had precisely 
 this estimate of her talents is plain enough, for he was quite 
 ready to engage her at a lower salary, and she, or her friends 
 in her behalf, had the good sense to accept the offer. 
 
 Her career from this time was one of uninterrupted 
 success. As Rosina, and especially as Shakspeare's Ariel, 
 she was excellence itself ; the most fervent imagination could 
 find nothing wanting. So pretty and winning in her pout- 
 ing wilfulness, so caressing in her better mood, her voice, 
 even when speaking, having the flowing sweetness of music, 
 she as Ariel bounded along witli so light a foot, that it 
 scarcely seemed to rest upon the stage, and she seemed to 
 realise one of the most delightful creations of the great poet. 
 
 Miss Bolton's engagement at Covent Garden had now 
 expired, and she was about to enter into a new one for a 
 term of three years, when the poetical Lord Thurlow stept 
 in with an oifer of marriage. It was accepted, and, to bor- 
 row the pompous phrase of Johnson, her removal from the 
 stage " eclipsed the gaiety of nations, and diminished the 
 public stock of harmless pleasure." Her husband was 
 Edward Hovell, 2nd Lord Thurlow, the author of some 
 poetry, and the son of the celebrated Lord Chancellor, the 
 first Lord. By this union, Lady Thurlow had three sons, 
 the eldest of whom succeeded his fabher as 3rd Lord in 
 1829, and was father of the present Lord Thurlow. Lady 
 
190 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 Thurlow survived her husband little more than a year, and 
 died on the 28th Sept., 1830. 
 
 A yet brighter star was now to rise in the theatrical 
 horizon, and thence, in due course of time, to be removed 
 to the higher sphere of the aristocracy, a noble and fitting 
 tribute paid to distinguished talent, joined to eminent virtue. 
 This was Miss O'Neill. 
 
 Eliza O'Neill was born in Ireland. Her father, Mr John 
 O'Neill, was, at the time of her birth, the manager of a 
 strolling company, whose wanderings were pretty extensive, 
 being bounded on the south by the ocean at Kinsale and on 
 the north by the Giant's Causeway. Her mother's maiden 
 name was Peatherstone, and to her care the future tragedian 
 was chiefly indebted for her education. She made her first 
 essay as the little Duke of York in Shakspeare's King 
 Eichard the Third, her father playing the part of the 
 crook-backed tyrant. Such was the admiration excited by 
 her talent, that she proved of no small pecuniary advantage 
 to her family. 
 
 As Miss O'Neill grew, her fame grew with her, and she 
 was engaged in what was called the northern circuit, com- 
 prising Belfast, Londonderry, and Newry. The consequence 
 of her success was an engagement at Dublin. 
 
 At first Miss O'Neill had some difG.culties to contend 
 with, the ground being much occupied by established favour- 
 ites. But she fought her way through all obstacles, till at 
 length she received the offer ofa London engagement. Here, 
 as before with the Dublin manager, her dramatic family 
 proved somewhat of a stumbling-block. The committee of 
 Drury Lane would gladly have engaged Miss O'NeiU her- 
 self at an enormous salary, but they hesitated in engaging 
 some members of her family to which her affectionate nature 
 made her devotedly attached. 
 
 John Kemble now happened to visit Dublin, and he has 
 left the following record of his opinions in a letter to his 
 brother manager, Mr Harris, of Covent G-arden. 
 
 " There is a very pretty Irish girl here, with a small 
 touch of the brogue on her tongue ; she has much quiet 
 talent, and some genius. "With a little expense, and some 
 trouble, we might make her an ' object ' for John Bull's 
 admiration, in the juvenile tragedy. They call her here — 
 for they are all poets — all Tom Moores here ! — the Dove, in 
 contra-distinction to her rival, a Miss "Walstein, whom they 
 
ACTBESSES RAISED TO RANK. 191 
 
 designate as the I]agle. I recommend the Dove to you, as 
 more likely to please John Bull than the Irish Hagle, who, 
 in fact, is merely a Siddons diluted, and would only be toler- 
 ated when Siddons is forgotten. 
 
 " I have sounded the fair lady on the subject of a London 
 engagement. She proposes to append a very long family, 
 to which I have given a decided negative. If she accept the 
 offered terms, I shall sign, seal, and ship herself and clan off 
 from Cork direct. She is very pretty, and so, in fact, is her 
 brogue ; which, by-the-bye, she only uses in conversation ; 
 she totally forgets when with Shakspeare, and other illlus- 
 trious companions." 
 
 The young actress accepted John Kemble's offer, at a 
 salary of fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen pounds a-week. The 
 result fully justified the manager's judgment. Tbe Dove 
 made a triumphant flight at Covent Grarden, soaring to the 
 highest realms of popular favour. 
 
 Miss O'JSTeiU's first appearance before a London audience 
 was on the 6th of October, 1812, as Juliet. So highly was 
 she appreciated, that when, upon the fall of the curtain, 
 " The Merry Wives of Windsor " was announced for the 
 next evening, the cry was loud and general for the repetition 
 of Eomeo and Juliet. 
 
 The career of Miss O'NeiU was from this time one of 
 perpetual sunshine; and she has left behind her quite as 
 brilliant a memory. She was decidedly one of the greatest 
 actresses and one of the best women that ever trod the 
 Baglish Stage. In characters such as Juliet, Isabella, and 
 Belvidera, where gentleness predominated. Miss O'Neill 
 never had a rival. Her own fine nature so completely en- 
 tered into her personifications, that it is reported she used 
 to shed real tears while acting, and to feel acutely the wrongs 
 and sorrows of the heroines she represented. This excellent 
 lady, in the midst of her public and social elevation, could 
 hardly be said to have been promoted by marriage, when she 
 was united on the 18th Dec, 1819, to a gentleman of high 
 rank and repute, William Wrixon Becher, Esq., M. P. for 
 IMallow. The ceremony was performed at Kilt'ane church, 
 by the Dean of Ossory, the whole of her theatrical fortune 
 having been previously settled upon her family, which family, 
 by the way, shQ afterwards advanced by every honourable 
 means in her power. Her relatives showed themselves 
 worthy of this afisction, and more than one of them has 
 
192 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 since been distinguislied in the public service, and especially 
 in a military capacity in India. 
 
 Mr Becher was, the 30th Sept., 1831, created a baronet ; he 
 died in Oct., 1850, and Lady Wrixon Becher is now a widow. 
 Her eldest son. Sir Henry Wrixon Becher, is the present Bar- 
 onet, and her second son, John, married iu 1857 Lady Emily 
 Catherine Hare, daughter of "VVilliam, 2d Earl of Listowel. 
 
 Miss Harriet Mellon, who made her first appearance at 
 Drury Lane the 31st January, 1795, as Lydia, in "The 
 Eivals," was married first to Thomas Coutts, Esq., the opulent 
 banker, and secondly, on the 16th June, 1827, to William 
 Aubrey de Vere, 9th Duke of St Albans. Her Grrace died 
 6th Aug., 1837. 
 
 The next in chronological order is the lovely and accom- 
 plished Maria Eoote, said to be a descendant of Samuel 
 Toote, the English Aristophanes. She was born July 24th, 
 1797, at a time when her father, Samuel Eoote, a retired 
 officer of the British army, was manager of a country com- 
 pany. At the early age of twelve, she appeared at Plymouth 
 as Juliet, and continued to act a variety of characters. 
 Maria Eoote was only sixteen when she appeared on the 
 24th June, 1814, at Covent Garden, in the character of 
 Amanthis, in "The Child of Nature." Her personal at- 
 tractions, her fascinating manners, and her piquant acting, 
 secured he:^ success, and she was engaged at a liberal salary. 
 She soon became an established favourite : she principally 
 excelled in lighter comedy. Her " Maria Darlington " was 
 reckoned one of her best performances. After an eventful 
 career, during which she was more than once very hardly 
 treated. Miss Foote took her last fareweU of the stage at 
 Birmingham, on the 11th of March, 1831, and, on the 8th of 
 April following, she was united to that eccentric nobleman, 
 Major-Q-eneral Charles Stanhope, 4th Earl of Harrington 
 and Viscount Petersham, by whom (who died the 3rd March, 
 1851) she has an only surviving child, the E.t. Hon. Jane St 
 Maur, now Countess of Mountcharles, the wife of the Earl 
 of Mountcharles, eldest son of the Marquess Conyngham. 
 The Countess of Mountcharles has a daughter Blanche, and 
 a son, Viscount Slane. 
 
 The next name, that of Miss Catherine Stephens, brings 
 to recollection one of the sweetest singers of the English 
 stage. Catherine Stephens was the daughter of a carver and 
 gilder, and was born, at the West End of the metropolis, on 
 
ACTRESSES RAISED TO RANK. 193 
 
 the 18th of September, 1794. From her earliest years lier 
 voice gave tokens of remarkable, sweetness ; and, in due 
 course of time, she was placed under the musical tuition of 
 Lanza, who brought her out as his pupil at Bath and many 
 other towns of more or less importance. Subsequently, she 
 became the pupil of the well-known Thomas Welsh, a change 
 which gave rise to an angry war of paper between the rival 
 masters. Welsh brought out his pupil at Covent Garden, 
 the 13th September, 1813. The part chosen for her dehut 
 was Mandane, in Artaxerxes, the character almost uniform- 
 ly selected by this master for the first appearance of his 
 pupils. Her success answered, to the full, all the expecta- 
 tions that had been formed of her, and the master demanded 
 and obtained a high salary, half of which he appropriated to 
 himself during the time of her being articled to him. 
 
 After a long career of the brightest success, during which 
 she made the character of Polly Peachum peculiarly her 
 own, Miss Stephens finally quitted the profession, and was 
 married (she was his second wife), the 14th April, 1838, to 
 George, fifth Earl of Essex, who died on the 23rd April of the 
 following year, without issue by either marriage. Miss 
 Stephens is now the dowager Countess of Essex. 
 
 The last on the list, and with whom, for the present, 
 " ends this strange eventful history," is Louisa Cranstoun 
 Nisbett. She was of a good Irish family, and c^stantly re- 
 lated to the celebrated Captain Macnamara, who shot 
 Colonel Montgomery in consequence of a dispute arising 
 out of a fight between their dogs. Her father, having dis- 
 sipated his fortune, took to the stage, when he assumed the 
 name of Mordaunt, and would probably have succeeded, 
 could he have confined his living within proper bounds. 
 Of his gay, thoughtless disposition, the foUovring anecdote 
 may be taken as a fair specimen. A tradesman to whom he 
 was indebted, addressed him thus : 
 
 " Sib, — Tour bill having been standing a very long time, 
 I beg to have it settled forthwith. 
 
 "Tours, &c., J. Thwaites. 
 
 " Charlotte Street, Bloomsbury." 
 To this the comedian replied: 
 
 " Sra, — When your bill is tired of standing, it is welcome 
 to sit down. 
 
 "Tours, &e., T. H. M." 
 
 Miss Mordaunt, as one must call her, evinced much 
 13 
 
194 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 precocious talent, and may be fairly written down amongst 
 the child- wonders — an "infant phenomenon," as Dickens's 
 manager, Crummies, styled his daughter. When only ten 
 years old, she played Jane Shore at the Lyceum, with much 
 applause. On the 16th Oct., 1829, she appeared at Drury 
 Lane Theatre, then under the management of an American, 
 Stephen Price ; her deiut there was as the Widow Cheerly 
 in the " Soldier's Daughter," a good comedy by Cherry. 
 Her grace and beauty at once captivated the public. 
 
 After a successful season at Drury Lane, Miss Mordaunt 
 was engaged at the Haymartet, where she was obtaining 
 popularity as an actress of comedy, when she became the wife 
 of John Alexander Nisbett, Esq., of the 1st Life Guards, 
 and of Bretenham Hall, in the county of Suffolk. The 
 marriage took place in January, 1831, and the bride retired,, 
 though, as it turned out, not permanently, from the stage. 
 Her husband was soon afterwards killed by a vicious horse, 
 and the estate being thrown into Chancery by some rela- 
 tives, who contested the rights of inheritance, she again 
 appeared at Drury Lane, 1832. The rest of her theatrical 
 career was very brilliant. She was for a long time quite 
 the leading heroine of comedy. She vi'as married again, 
 on the 15th Oct., 1844 (she was his second wife), to Sir 
 William Boothby, ninth Baronet of Broadlow Ash, in the 
 county of Derby, who died 21st April, 1846. After the 
 Baronet's death. Lady Boothby resumed her professional 
 avocations under her former name of Nisbett : she died on 
 the 16th Jan., 1858. 
 
 In conclusion, I should mention that I have not placed 
 in the above list that celebrated and charming actress. Miss 
 Maria Tree, who was married to the present James Bradshaw, 
 Esq., formerly M. P. for Canterbury, because I incline to 
 think that an alliance with a gentleman of even Mr Brad- 
 shaw's acknowledged high character and station was scarcely 
 promotion for a lady, who, as well as her sister and her sis- 
 ter's husband, my friend Mr Charles Kean, and other modern 
 notabilities of the British drama, has added rank as well 
 as respectability to the profession itself 
 
THE BEEESFORD GHOST STOEY. 195 
 
 THE BERESFORD GHOST STORY. 
 
 This is to be a mortal, 
 And seek the things beyond mortality. — Bykon. 
 
 This strange and marvellous story has been ere this 
 given to the world by others, but in a shape so utterly false 
 as regards the real agents, and with so many absurd additions, 
 under the idea, no doubt, of rendering it more effective, that 
 I venture to tell it here as related to me by a descendant 
 of the family. Even the persons of this spectral scene have 
 been totally mistaken. The ghost and ghost-seer were not 
 the individuals to whom the usual narrators have chosen 
 to assign those parts ; they were John Le Poer, second 
 Earl of Tyrone, of that name, and Nicola, daughter and 
 heiress of Hugh Hamilton, Lord Grlenawley. She married 
 first Sir Tristram Beresford, third bart., who commanded a 
 regiment against James the Second — and by him was mother 
 of Sir Marcus Beresford, created Earl of Tyrone after his 
 marriage with Catherine, Baroness Le Poer, heiress of 
 James, third Earl of Tyrone. Her husband dying. Lady 
 Beresford next married Lieutenant- Q-eneral Gorges, of the 
 Kilbrew family. It has always heretofore been asserted, 
 that Lord Tyrone (the ghost) and Lady Beresford (the 
 ghost-seer) were cousins, but even this connection has never 
 been discovered. "Without further preface, then, I come 
 to the true tradition : — ^At a very early age. Lord Tyrone 
 and Lady Beresford had been on terms of intimate friendship, 
 such as can only exist in extreme youth, and with a roman- 
 tic spirit, not at aU surprising at their age, entered into 
 a mutual compact that whichever of the two died first 
 should, if the thing were possible, appear to the other. 
 Tears rolled on, the lady had married and had probably 
 forgotten her youthful promise, when she was sudden- 
 ly reminded of it in a manner that was impressive if not 
 
196 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 awful. It was on the 14th of October, 1693, for tradition 
 has preserved the day with wonderful exactness. Lady 
 Beresford went to bed in full health, as it seemed, without 
 any one remarking, or herself being conscious of, the slight- 
 est depression of spirits, or change in her usual habits. 
 After a time she awoke from her first sleep, and to her in- 
 finite surprise saw Lord Tyrone standing by her bed-side. 
 While she yet continued to gaze in disturbed wonder, the 
 figure informed her that she saw the ghost of Lord Ty- 
 rone, and that he had only come in fulfilment of the 
 promise made in their youthful days. To convince her 
 that it was no dream, he wrote his name in her pocket- 
 book, twisted the curtains through a great ring in the ceil- 
 ing, left the print of his hand upon a wardrobe, and finally 
 laying his finger upon her wrist made an indelible mark, in 
 further testimony of his nocturnal visit. He then foretold 
 that she would marry again, be exceedingly unfortunate in 
 her marriage, and die at the birth of a child, in her forty- 
 second year. Sleep soon again came over her, but, upon 
 awaking in the morning, the events of the nigbt burst at 
 once upon her memory. They could not have been, as she 
 at first imagined, the shadows of a dream ; there were the 
 curtains twisted through the ring in the ceiling ; there was 
 the print of a hand upon the wardrobe ; there was the sin- 
 gular mark upon her wrist, and so indelible that she was fain 
 ever afterwards to hide it with a band of black velvet. If, 
 after such proofs, any doubt could still have remained, it 
 was removed at breakfast by the arrival of a letter announc- 
 ing Lord Tyrone's death. I will not mar an interesting 
 tale by suggesting the very obvious modes for explaining 
 away all that may appear supernatural in it. Let me rather 
 go on to show that the ghost was a veracious ghost, and had 
 already acquired a clear insight into futurity. The sooth- 
 sayer who prophesied to Julius Caesar his death at the Ides 
 of March, was not a truer prophet. 
 
 " It had such influence on the widow's mind 
 That she the pleasures of the world resign'd, 
 Young as she was, and from the busy town 
 Came to the quiet of a village down ; 
 Not as insensible to joys, but still 
 With a subdued hut half-rebellious will." 
 
 So sings the poet Crabbe, who has told this tale, but falsified 
 the main facts without improving them in the telling. 
 
THE BEEESFOKD GHOST STOEY. 197 
 
 In process of timfe, the impression made upon the lady's 
 mind by the appearance of the spirit had so much diminished 
 that she listened to the addresses of a General G-orges, and, 
 after a short delay, consented to marry him. He was some- 
 what younger than herself, and though an ardent lover, soon 
 proved to be a very indifferent husband. , 
 
 " His day of love, a brief autumnal day. 
 E'en in its dawning, hasten 'd to decay." 
 
 It is now too late to ask who was in fault, nor, indeed, 
 would any particular end be answered, if we could attain the 
 knowledge. Enough, that the disputes between them at 
 length ran so high as to produce a separation. 
 
 It would have been well for the lady had she remained 
 true to this second widowhood ; but, with a perversenesa, 
 not uncommon on such occasions, no sooner had the angry 
 pair separated, than they began to regret their quarrels. 
 Like the parted couple in the farce of " Matrimony," each 
 forgot the previous grounds of complaint, only remembering 
 the good points of the other, and thus like Adolph and 
 Clare, they came together again with as much, if not more 
 love, than they had felt when iirst united. 
 
 Lady Bereaford soon proved enceinte, and was now near 
 the time of her confinement. Being her birthday, she had 
 invited a party of friends, and, in the overflowing satisfaction 
 of the moment, chanced to remark, " "Well, I never expected 
 to see this day ; I have now completed my forty-second year." 
 " Not so," replied the old family clergyman, " I officiated at 
 your Ladyship's christening, and can certify that you are to- 
 day only entering on forty-two." She had not then passed the 
 fated and fatal limit — she might yet die, as the ghost had pre- 
 dicted, at the birth of a child, and in her forty-second year ! 
 The shock thus occasioned was too much for one in her delicate 
 situation ; she was immediately seized with the pains of pre- 
 mature labour and died that night. Brief as the interval 
 was, she is yet said to have related the ghost story to her 
 son, Sir Marcus, who afterwards so far verified it, that upon 
 uncovering her wrist, he found the impression of a finger. 
 
 Such are the authentic particulars of the tale as handed 
 down in all branches of the family. Whatever else has been 
 advanced upon the subject must have owed its origin purely 
 to the luxuriant imaginations of the narrators, who must 
 needs render the romantic more romantic, and the improb- 
 
198 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 able more improbable. I have already disclaimed all in- 
 tention of attempting to solve the mysteries of this rid- 
 dle, yet I cannot help adding that it seems to me capable 
 of a very natural and easy explanation, much easier, at all 
 events, than understanding how the immutable laws of Pro- 
 vidence should be reversed or suspended for the purpose of 
 telling a lady the hour of her death, with the certainty that 
 the information would be useless. 
 
NEWBURY AND ITS EECOEDS. 199 
 
 KEWBURY AND ITS RECORDS. 
 
 For the rights of a monarch their country defending, 
 Till death their attachment to royalty seal 'd.— Btkon. 
 
 Situated midway on the great high-road between London 
 and Bristol, which cities, for centuries, were the great em- 
 poriums of British commerce, Newbury is familiar to every 
 traveller, and has shared largely in' the vicissitudes of the 
 times. It is situated in a fertile valley, watered by the river 
 Kennet. At the period of the Norman survey, it was a 
 town of some importance, and was known by the Saxon 
 name of Ulwardetone, from TJlward, who possessed it in the 
 reign of Edward the Confessor. The Bishop of Chalons, heir 
 of Thomas, Earl of Perche, sold the manor in 1216, to 
 William Marshall, Earl of Pembroke. It afterwards reverted 
 to the Crown, and was occasionally assigned as a jointure to 
 the queens of England. Henry the Eighth conferred it 
 upon the Lady Jane Seymour, and James the Eirst upon his 
 queen, Anne of Denmark. In the first year of his son 
 Charles, it was granted to the corporation, in which body the 
 manor remains to the present day. The Earls of Perche 
 had a castle at Newbury, which was mentioned as of con- 
 siderable strength in the reign of Stephen. This warlike 
 monarch, in 1152, attacked the town and castle, which he 
 took after a vigorous defence, and from that period till the 
 civil wars in the seventeenth century, Newbury appears to 
 have been rather famous for its commercial prosperity than 
 its military importance. Several names of eminence are 
 connected with the history of this town, and these I pro- 
 pose to glance at, seriatim. 
 
 John Wiachcombe, alias Smallwoode, flourished iu the 
 reigns of Henry the Seventh and Henry the Eighth. The 
 clothiers of Newbury were, about this period, esteemed 
 amongst the wealthiest tradesmen and merchants of the 
 
200 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 country, and several of them became possessors of large land- 
 ed property in the county. Among these, the most remark- 
 able were John Winchcombe and Sir Thomas Dolman. The 
 traditionary stories relating to the former, who was best 
 known under the familiar appellation of " Jack of Newbury," 
 are strange indeed, if true. Eejecting, however, the many 
 improbable statements forged by falsehood, and fostered by 
 ignorant credulity, I believe the few particulars I have 
 culled from a vast mass of absurdity are correct. John Winch- 
 combe, early in the reign of Henry the Seventh, was bound 
 apprentice to a wealthy clothier of Newbury, and by his readi- 
 ness and good conduct was at length intrusted with the 
 management of his master's affairs. Hogarth might almost 
 have taken the hint of his story of the two apprentices from 
 the career of this good man. His master dying bequeathed 
 to his only child, a daughter, a considerable fortune and a 
 lucrative business, and like another Penelope, she wanted not 
 suitors to superintend the labours of the loom, and to claim 
 for themselves the rare mental and personal endowments of 
 the fair heiress. Great was their importunity and equally 
 great her reluctance to select, till, at length, being warned 
 that so much beauty and so much wealth would be summarily 
 disposed of by higher authority if she did not speedily decide 
 for herself, she called a meeting of her suitors, and after a 
 handsome entertainment, introduced her foreman, John 
 Winchcombe, whom in spite of their entreaties, remon- 
 strances, and threats, she named as the husband of her 
 choice, and the possessor of her hand and fortune. 
 
 And well and wisely did Jack of Newbury demean him- 
 self in his new position ; he increased his business and his 
 means — is said to have had a hundred looms at work in his 
 house, and to have sent a hundred of his own dependents, 
 " as weU armed and better clothed than any," to assist the 
 king in Scotland, at the fight of Flodden Field. 
 
 An ancient ballad is still recited, alluding to the part the 
 Newbury men took in this fatal battle : — 
 
 The Chesshyre lads were brisk and brave 
 
 And the Kendal lads as free, 
 
 But none surpassed, or I'm a knave. 
 
 The lads of Newberrie. 
 
 Awaie they sent the grey goose wynge. 
 
 Each killed his two or three. 
 
 But none so loud with fayme did rynge, 
 
 As the lads of Newberrie. 
 
NEWBUET AND ITS RECORDS. 201 
 
 Eemnants of his house and extensive workshops are still 
 to be seen, and very ancient carvings in oak have been pre- 
 served as having been the decorations to his numerous 
 apartments. 
 
 Early in the reign of Henry the Eighth, Jack of ISTevrbury 
 had the honoiir of entertaining that bluff monarch and his 
 Queen, Catherine of Arragon. Indeed he had now risen to 
 such eminence that he may fairly rank among the famous 
 men of his time. It is to be presumed that he early adopted 
 the principles of the Eeformation, as we find him in posses- 
 sion of the manor of Bucklebury, in 1539, subsequent to the 
 dissolution of the monasteries, and he obtained also other 
 extensive grants from the vast estates of the Abbey of Bead- 
 ing. At Bucklebury he built a large mansion in the peculiar 
 style of that age, which has, however, been puUed down by 
 the present possessor of the manor,"Winchcombe Henry How- 
 ard Hartley, Esq., and it has not yet been replaced. The 
 celebrated 8t John, the friend of Swift, who had intermarried 
 with a descendant of Winchcombe, resided in this mansion. 
 There Swift visited him, and his account of the place, in a 
 letter to Stella, dated July 19th, 1711, is so characteristic 
 that I extract it : — 
 
 " Mr Secretary was a perfect country gentleman at Buc- 
 klebury. He smoked tobacco with one or two neighbours, 
 he inquired after the wheat in' such a field, he went to visit 
 his hounds, and he knew all their names ; he and his lady saw 
 me to my chamber just ia the country fashion. His house is 
 in the midst of near three thousand pounds a year he had by 
 his lady, who is descended from Jack of Newbury, of whom 
 books and ballads are written, and there is an old picture of 
 him in the room." 
 
 After the decease of Jack of Newbury — who, in his will, 
 was a considerable benefactor to bis native town — his de- 
 scendants maintained a high position in the county. In 1643, 
 Henry Winchcombe died, possessed of the Manor and Castle 
 of Donnington. He married the Lady Frances Howard,€ldest 
 daughter of Thomas Howard, Earl of Berkshire. His only 
 son by this marriage was created a baronet by Charles the 
 Second, in 1661, and Elizabeth, the second daughter of the 
 baronet, having fallen prematurely a victim to some epi- 
 demic disease, is thus lauded by Phillips, in his poem en- 
 titled " Cider : "— 
 
202 FAMILY KOMANCE. 
 
 " Sixcli heats prgvail'd when fair Eliza, last 
 Of Winchoorabe's name, ^next thee in blood and worth 
 fairest St John,) left this toilsome world 
 In beauty's prime, and sadden'd all the year : 
 Nor could her virtues, nor repeated vows 
 Of thousand lovers, the relentless hand 
 Of death arrest — she with the vulgar fell, 
 Only distinguish'd by this humble verse." 
 
 Prances, the elder sister, married, 1700, the well-known 
 Henry St John, Viscount Bolingbroke : it was not a happy 
 connection ; she turned devotee, and died in France, with- 
 out leaving any issue. Prom the third sister is the present 
 representative of Jack of Newbury descended, by her mar- 
 riage with Eobert Packer, Esq., of ShiUingford. 
 
 To the historian the name of Newbury is familiar as hav- 
 ing been the scene of important operations in the civil 
 wars of the reign of Charles the Pirst. Perhaps one of the 
 most iiercely contested battles fought between the king and 
 his rebellious subjects, was that known as the first battle of 
 Newbury. On the 18th of September the Earl of Essex drew 
 out his army, the king having posted his on a hUl near the 
 town, and on a plain considerably elevated, known as the 
 Vash Common and Bbome Heath. This " battle," to adopt 
 the words of Clarendon, " was disputed on all points with 
 great fierceness and courage. The king's horse, with a kind 
 of contempt of the enemy, charged with wonderful boldness 
 on all grounds of inequality, and were so far too hard for the 
 troops on the other side, that they routed them in most 
 places, till they had left the greatest part of their foot with- 
 out any guard at all of horse. But then the foot behaved 
 themselves admirably on the enemies' part, and gave their 
 scattered horse time to rally. The London trained bands be- 
 haved themselves to wonder, and were, in truth, the preserva- 
 tion of the army on that day." The engagement is said to 
 have lasted from morning till night. It was in this battle that 
 the king and the nation lost one of the greatest and best men 
 of his times, Lucius Gary, Viscount Falkland, who was Secre- 
 tary of State. This accomplished nobleman, it is well known, 
 reluctantly, and only from a generous sense of duty, con- 
 sented to take office and to share in the events of this un- 
 natural and disastrous war. It is said, that previous to the 
 fight on Ebome Heath, he had apresentiment that he should 
 fall there. He lodged with a respectable tradesman of the 
 name of Head, in the Market-place, and as if to be fuUy pre- 
 
NEWBUEY AND ITS EECOEDS. 203 
 
 pared for an event which he knew was certain, very early on 
 the morning of the battle, he desired the clergyman of New- 
 bury to administer to him, as well as to Mr Head and his 
 whole family, the sacrament of the Lord's supper. In pre- 
 paring and arranging his apparel he exhibited more than 
 usual care, assigning as a reason that the enemy should not 
 find his body in a slovenly condition. " I am weary," added 
 he, " of the times, and foresee much misery to my country, 
 but believe I shall be out of it ere night." Tradition says 
 that his body was found on the north edge of Wash Common, 
 where two tall poplars now stand, which might have been pur- 
 posely planted to indicate the spot. In a few brief hours 
 after he had left Mr Head's house his corpse was brought 
 back again, slung across a horse, and was finally removed from 
 the Town Hall for interment. He was a loss to both parties ; 
 for, though steady in his loyalty to his sovereign, he was a 
 man of enlarged and liberal views, and might, had he been 
 spared, have softened down, on convenient occasions, those 
 bitter feelings of animosity which produced such general 
 misery and ruin through the country and ended in so fatal a 
 result. His encomium is thus weU pronounced by Pope ; 
 
 " See Falkland dies, the virtuous and the just." 
 
 In this well-contested fight the king lost also other noble 
 and valiant supporters. Henry Spencer, Earl of Sunderland, 
 the first husband of Lady Dorothea Sydney, the poet Waller's 
 Sacharissa, was kiUed by a cannon-ball while standing close to 
 his Majesty at the commencement of the engagement. Eo- 
 bert Dormer, Earl of Carnarvon, son-in-law to Philip, Earl of 
 Pembroke and Montgomery, after he had charged and routed 
 a party of the enemy's horse, was run through the body by one 
 of the scattered troopers who knew him, as he was carelessly 
 returning. This promising young nobleman is highly com- 
 mended by Clarendon. He had travelled through Spain, 
 Portugal, France, and Italy, had spent a considerable time 
 in Turkey and the East, with an observant eye on their man- 
 ners and customs, and though he indulged in those pleasures, 
 such as hunting, hawking, and the Hke, in which the nobility 
 of those times loved to excel, yet, after he had taken a com- 
 mand in the king's service, no man more diligently obeyed, 
 or more dexterously commanded. His death was a great loss 
 to the royal cause. The Earls of Holland, Bedford, and Clare 
 were also present in this battle, but the king prudently de- 
 
204 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 clined trusting these noblemen with, any command. Among 
 the aristocracy wounded, I find the names of the Earls of 
 Carlisle and Peterborough, Lord Andover and Lord Chandos. 
 When the latter fell, the king, thinking him slain, exclaimed, 
 " Let Chandos alone, his errors are safe." The meaning of 
 this allusion is not known. This nobleman was ancestor of 
 the Dukes of Chandos. 
 
 Donnington Castle, the ruins of which stOl crown the 
 summit of a hill to the north-west of Newbury, was also the 
 scene of many a severe contest during this fierce war of op- 
 posing principles. The name of the gallant governor, Sir 
 John Boys, is as well worthy of being handed down to the 
 admiration of posterity as any other of those loyal men who 
 hazarded their lives and impaired their fortunes ia the cause 
 of their unfortunate sovereign. 
 
 Sir Hardress Waller, after his defeat at Cropedy bridge, 
 sent G-eneral Middleton with a body of 3000 horse for the 
 purpose of following the king into the west, and ordered 
 him to take Donnington Castle in his way. This castle was 
 thought an easy conquest, as being of no considerable 
 strength. But it was so well defended by Colonel Boys, that 
 the Parliamentarians, after losing 300 officers and soldiers, 
 were obliged to send for an additional force from Abingdon, 
 and having made their approaches, summoned the Governor 
 to surrender on honourable terms. The answer of Colonel 
 Boys was as follows : 
 
 " SiE, — I am intrusted by his Majesty's express command, 
 and have not learned yet to obey any other than my sove- 
 reign. To spare blood do as you please, but myself and those 
 that are with me are fully resolved to venture ours in main- 
 taining what we are intrusted with, which is the answer 
 of 
 
 JOHK BOTS." 
 
 Middleton immediately commenced the attack, and ad- 
 vanced against it with foot and scaling ladders in three places. 
 But the small band of brave men within compelled him to 
 retire with the loss of 100 men, a colonel, a major, and other 
 officers. He raised the siege and marched to join the Earl 
 of Essex in the west. For this act of successful bravery 
 Colonel Boys was knighted. After the second battle of New- 
 bury, and when the king had withdrawn his forces, Colonel 
 Hurry was deputed to make large offers for the surrender of 
 Donnington Castle. These were rejected with indignation. 
 
NEWBUEY AND ITS RECOEDS. 205 
 
 The next .day the Parliamentarians drew up their whole army 
 before the castle, and summoned Sir John Boys " to deliver 
 it to them, or else they would not leave one stone upon an- 
 other." To this the Governor replied, " that he was not 
 bound to repair it, but, however, he would, by God's help, 
 keep the ground afterwards." The Parliamentarians then 
 resolved upon an assault, but the officer commanding the 
 party and some soldiers being killed, they retired and did 
 not venture on any further attempt. 
 
 It will be thus seen that the environs of Newbury are full 
 of interesting reminiscences of the past, indeed few places 
 offer more ample materials for the historian or the antiquary. 
 Many mansions in the vicinity have been famous in their 
 day, among which I may mention Sandleford Priory, once 
 a Preceptory of the Knights Templars, and in after-times the 
 residence of Mrs Montague, so well known as a clever and 
 accomplished writer. Highclere too, the property, even so 
 early as the Saxon times, of the Bishops of Winchester, 
 stands unrivalled for the architectural beauty of its castle and 
 the wild magnificence of its domain. It has long been the 
 property of the noble family of Herbert, and its late possessor 
 and the builder of the castle, the third Earl of Carnarvon, 
 was a man alike distinguished for his great literary attain- 
 ments, his high bearing, and his moral qualities. His Lord- 
 ship — like his predecessor of the same name, who fell in 
 Newbury fight — was an accomplished traveller, and his 
 " Travels in Portugal and Spain " is a work which will hand 
 down his name to posterity as a distiaguished and enlight- 
 ened author. Hamstead Marshall has long been the seat of 
 the Craven family. The mansion was twice burned down, 
 but an irregular building, much added to at various times, 
 was long the residence of the Countess Craven. On the oppo- 
 site bank of the river Kennet is Benham House, once the 
 favourite abode of that eccentric lady, the Margravine of 
 Anspach, whose varied and somewhat chequered career may 
 be best gathered from Memoirs written by herself. 
 
 On the Hampshire side of Newbury, the country is par- 
 ticularly wild and picturesque, and as the spectator stands 
 on the battle-field, the eye wanders over a fine expanse of 
 country boldly undulated and lovely in every variation of 
 waste and fertility. To the north is the fine vale of the Ken- 
 net, and the town of Newbury reposing in its bosom, while 
 beyond are seen the village of Speen, (the Spinse of the 
 
206 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 Eomans) and the interesting ruins of Donnington Castle, 
 once the property and abode of Chaucer. To the south, the 
 heathery heights of the Wash Common slope into a broad 
 and thickly- wooded valley, bounded to the southward by the 
 lofty downs of North Hants, rising bare and abrupt, except 
 where the dense woods of Highclere clothe the Siddown hiU 
 to its very summit. To the east^ rises in solitary grandeur 
 that remarkable land-mark called Beacon Hill, its bold apex 
 exhibiting the deep vallum and lofty agger of an ancient 
 British encampment. A great portion of this valley consists 
 of the parish of East "Woodhay, which extends from the well- 
 known coverts of Penwood, almost to the borders of Wilt- 
 shire. This forms a portion of the vast free Warren, which 
 was once the property of the see of Winchester, but which 
 was bought by the first Earl of Carnarvon, under the pro- 
 visions of the Land-tax Act. Eive-and-twenty years ago this 
 was as wild and lawless a district as any in the south of 
 England, but the energy of a resident gentleman, distinguish- 
 ed alike by his high literary acquirements and his unceasing 
 efforts to promote the welfare of all who come within the 
 sphere of his influence, has converted this wilderness into a 
 garden ; and that parish which was once a by-word and a 
 proverb, is now regarded as offering every inducement to 
 residence, its disadvantages having been corrected, and its 
 many capabilities fully and wonderfully developed. A great 
 portion of the parish has passed through the hands of this 
 gentleman (the Eev. John Harvey Ashworth), who, as the 
 various lands came into his possession, built houses, improved, 
 planted, and laid out domains, till no less than seven or eight 
 proprietors of fortune are now resident therein, spreading 
 happiness and contentment around them, and benefiting in 
 no small degree the commerce of the neighbouring town of 
 Newbury. How true a patriot is he who thus spends his 
 fortune and energies in employing the poor, in fostering 
 trade, and in developing the resources and capabilities of 
 the land he lives in ! Among the residences in this pariah, 
 I may enumerate Enbridge Lodge, HoUington, Burlyns, 
 Oakhurst, Malverleys, Burley Wood, and Hazelby, all beau- 
 tifully situated, and several possessing more than ordinary 
 architectural pretensions. 
 
THE WYNYAED GHOST STOEY. 207 
 
 THE WYNYARD GHOST STORY. 
 
 Tel qu'un spectre dohapp^ de la nuit des tombeaiix. — Dellile. 
 
 Theee ever Bas been, and probably ever -will be, an irre- 
 concilable feud between human reason and human testimony 
 in the matter of the supernatural. All reason is decidedly 
 opposed to the reality of apparitions, but it is no less certain 
 that there are many tales of such things supported by as clear 
 and strong evidence as ever was produced in a court of justice 
 to convict or acquit a prisoner. Of this kind is my present 
 story, which can be solved only in one of four ways : Either 
 we must suppose that two high-minded and gallant oflBcers 
 concocted a childish falsehood, for which they had no possible 
 inducement ; or secondly, that they were the dupes of a trick 
 played upon them by their brother officers ; or thirdly, that 
 they did actually see what they fancied they saw ; which 
 would at once establish the possibility of supernatural appear- 
 ances, and give confirmation to many a tale which is at pre- 
 sent staggering ; or lastly, that in the light of day, and at the 
 same moment, they both became subject to a similar illusion. 
 
 The first of these hypotheses cannot stand for a moment, 
 being completely nullified by the high character of the parties 
 concerned. The second supposition, as will presently be seen, 
 is rendered by circumstances impossible. It is therefore by 
 one of the two last theories that the problem must be solved, 
 and I cannot help thinking that when my tale has been 
 told, the most ingenious reader will be somewhat puzzled ia 
 coming to a satisfactory conclusion. 
 
 Sir John Sherbroke and General Wynyard were, at the 
 period of our narrative, young officers ia the same regiment, 
 then employed on foreign service in Nova Scotia. It was the 
 general habit of military men of those times to indulge largely 
 in the pleasure of the table, as well as in other excesses, and 
 
208 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 to do so was considered less a fault than the sign of a told 
 dashing soldier. This, however, was an error into which the 
 young officers of whom I am speaking had not fallen. They 
 were both of a studious turn, and this similarity of tastes 
 produced a friendship between them, all the dearer and the 
 more intimate, as it affisrded to either a refuge from the whirl 
 of dissipation that was going on around them. 
 
 It was their common habit to retire from the mesa-room 
 immediately after dinner, and betake themselves to the 
 apartments of one or other of them, where they would sit 
 together for hours, each employed upon his own studies. 
 Such was the case on the day of my story, when they met in 
 the rooms belonging to Wynyard. It was about four o'clock, 
 the afternoon bright and clear, with far too much of dayhght 
 remaining to veil any spectral illusions. Both, too, had ab- 
 stained entirely from wine, a circumstance of some importance 
 in regard to what is to follow, as is also the arrangement of 
 Wynyard's chamber. It had only two doors, one of them 
 leading into the outer passage, the other into the bed-room, 
 from which there was no second way of egress ; or, iu other 
 words — for this matter cannot be made too clear, — it was 
 impossible to go in or out of the bed-chamber, except by 
 passing through the sitting-room. 
 
 They were both placed at the same table, occupied as 
 usual, when Sherbroke happening to look up from his book, 
 was surprised to see a tall emaciated youth, of about twenty 
 years of age, standing beside the door that opened into the 
 passage. There was something — it might be difficult to say 
 what — so striking, or so unusual, in the stranger's appearance 
 that he almost involuntarily called the attention of his friend 
 to him by slightly touching his arm ; and pointing with his 
 finger to where the figure stood. But no sooner had Wyn- 
 yard raised his eyes and fixed them upon the strange 
 visitant than he became agitated in a most extraordinary 
 manner. — " I have heard," says Sir John Sherbroke, " of a 
 man's being as pale as death, but I never saw a living face 
 assume the appearance of a corpse except Wynyard's at 
 that moment." 
 
 Both for awhile remained silent ; the one under the in- 
 fluence of some untold, but powerful feeling ; the other, from 
 surprise at his friend's profound emotion, which, in some 
 degree, became communicated to himself, and made him also 
 regard their strange visitant, if not with awe, with something 
 
THE WYNTARD GHOST STORY. 209 
 
 very much akin to it. Is it not Melding who tells us Part- 
 ridge was not BO much frightened at the actual ghost in 
 Hamlet as at the alarm expressed by Garrick at its appear- 
 ance ? He could not help helieving in the reality of the 
 spectre when he saw another so violently agitated by its ap- 
 pearance, and became infected with his terrors. 
 
 While the two friends continued to gaze, unable to speak 
 or move, the apparition — if it were an apparition — ^began to 
 glide slowly and noiselessly across the chamber. In passing 
 them, it cast a melancholy look upon young Wynyard, and 
 immediately afterwards seemed to enter the bed-room, where 
 it was lost to sight. No sooner were they relieved from 
 the oppression produced by this extraordinary presence, than 
 "Wynyard, as if again restored to the power of breathing, 
 drew a heavy sigh, and murmured, as it seemed, uncon- 
 sciously, " Grreat G-od ! my brother ! 
 
 " Tour brother ? " repeated Sherbroke ? " what can you 
 mean, Wynyard ? There must be some deception ; but fol- 
 low me, and we'll soon know the truth of it." 
 
 In saying this he caught his friend's hand, and preceded 
 him into the bed-room, from which, as I have already ob- 
 served, all egress was impossible. G-reat therefore was the 
 surprise — of Sherbroke, at least — upon finding, after the 
 narrowest search, that the room was absolutely untenanted, 
 though he still believed they had been mocked by some 
 illusion. Wynyard, on the contrary, was now confirmed in 
 his first impression, that he had actually seen the spirit of 
 his brother. Neither of them perhaps was whoUy satisfied 
 with his own opinion in a case where the reason and the 
 senses were so much at variance, but in the hope that time 
 might one way or the other afibrd a clue to the mystery, 
 they took a note of the day and hour, resolving, however, not 
 to mention the occui-rence to any of their brother officers. 
 
 As the impression of this strange event grew fainter 
 upon the minds of the two ghost-seers, not only did Sher- 
 broke become more confirmed in his idea, that some trick 
 had been played upon them, buf even Wynyard was strongly 
 inclined to agree with him. At no time does it seem to have 
 entered into the head of either, that the whole might be the 
 illusion of their own senses, and not the practice of others. 
 Taking it for granted that they had actually seen a something, 
 the only question was, as to what that something might be — 
 a real spirit, or a deception r And they now adopted the 
 
 14 
 
210 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 opinion in spite of all the improbabilities connected with it, 
 for it certainly was difficult to understand how a human be- 
 ing could have escaped from a room, that, upon the nar- 
 rowest search, had no outlet, and, not less so, to comprehend 
 by what means any one could have so closely personated the 
 absent brother, as to deceive Wynyard himself ; yet both 
 these difficulties must be removed before the fact of human 
 agency could be admitted. 
 
 Butler tells us, with no less wit than truth,^— 
 
 " The manconvinced against his will. 
 Is of the same opinion stiU." 
 
 And so it proved with Wynyard. Convinced as he now 
 was, that the whole had been a deception of some kind, he 
 yet could not help feeling the deepest anxiety with regard 
 to his brother. His solicitude to hear from England 
 increased every day, and at length attained such a pitchy 
 that it attracted the attention of his brother officers, 
 who, by their importunate sympathy, wormed from him a 
 secret, that was, no doubt, all the heavier burthen to him, 
 from its being looked up in the depths of his own bosom. 
 Prom one, the story quickly spread to another, till it became 
 a matter of almost as much general interest as it was to the 
 parties principally' concerned. Tew indeed of them but 
 inquired for Wynyard's letters before asking for their own, 
 so eager were they for the most part to obtain a clue to 
 this strange mystery. Had the apparition showed itself 
 only to one individual at the time, this might not have been 
 the case, for it was easy to understand how one person, by 
 himself, should have been the dupe of his own imagination, 
 but it seemed to them absolutely impossible for two pair of 
 eyes to have been deceived precisely in the same way at the 
 same moment. 
 
 The first ships reaching Nova Scotia could bring no in- 
 telligence of the kind desired, inasmuch as they had sailed 
 from England a little before the appearance of the real or 
 supposed spirit. At length,»however, the vessel so long and 
 anxiously expected did arrive, and the letters that came in 
 her were delivered to their respective owners, while sitting 
 in the mess-room at supper. No letter for Wynyard ! the 
 disappointment was general. The newspapers were eagerly 
 searched, but nothing appeared in the obituaries, nothing in 
 any part, or in any way connected with the family, that 
 
THE WYNYAED GHOST STORY. 211 
 
 could supply a solution of the ghost-story. AU had read 
 their letters except Sherbroke, who had yet one remaining 
 unopened. It almost seemed for a moment as if he hesi- 
 tated to break the seal ; but he did break it ; and a hasty 
 glance at the contents was quite enough. "With a look of 
 much pain and surprise, he started up, and beckoning his 
 friend to follow him, left the mess-room. The officers at 
 the supper-table looked at each other without saying a word, 
 though it was plain to see that every one had jumped to the 
 same conclusion, of the letter having some relation to 
 the event, about which all were so curious. But what rela- 
 tion ? This, in a few minutes, when it was found that Sher- 
 broke did not return, became a subject of eager discussion, 
 the greater part of the mess agreeing the brother would turn 
 out to have died at the time indicated by the appearance of 
 the spirit. After the lapse of an hour, Sherbroke again made 
 his appearance amongst them, his mind evidently full of 
 thoughts that bewildered and oppressed him. Instead of 
 seating himself at the mess-table, he went up to the fire, 
 where he leaned his head against the mantelpiece, without 
 noticing any one ; and, bent as all were upon learning some- 
 thing more of the mystery, none liked to question him. At 
 last, after a long and painful Silence, he said in a low voice, 
 " Wynyard's brother is no more. He died, as I learn from 
 the letter you saw me open, on the very day, and at the very 
 hour, his spirit appeared or seemed to appear to us." 
 
 The letter had in fact begun thus — " Dear John, break 
 to your friend, Wynyard, the death of his favourite brother." 
 It then went on to detail particulars, which, as regarded 
 time, perfectly agreed with their memoranda, a coincidence 
 that persuaded many into a full belief in the apparition. 
 Such, however, was not the case with Sherbroke himself. He 
 still believed that he had been deceived by mere human 
 agency, and that the coincidence of the real death with 
 the supposed apparition was nothing but accidental. Be- 
 yond doubt, coincidences, not less extraordinary, had hap- 
 pened in other matters before, and may as certainly happen 
 again ; stiU it was passing strange. 
 
 Time went on, years rolled away, and Sherbroke returned 
 to England. The apparition of Wynyard's brother, though 
 not totally forgotten, had become a dim speck, as it were, 
 in his memory, when it was revived once more, in all 
 its strength, by an apparition of another kind. He was 
 
212 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 one day walking with two friends in Piccadilly, when, lo and 
 behold ! on the opposite side of the street, appeared the per- 
 fect image of his Nova Scotia spirit, except that it was 
 neither so pale nor so emaciated. 
 
 " Now then," said he to himself, " we shall have that 
 singular affair unravelled." 
 
 And forthwith he darted across the way, and at once ac- 
 costed the stranger, excusing the liberty he was taking by a 
 hasty narrative of the circumstances which had led to it, 
 and dwelling not a little upon his close resemblance to the 
 supposed phantom. The gentleman accepted his apology 
 with polite frankness, but declared that he had never been 
 out of England, and therefore could have been no party to 
 any deception, such as that implied, even had he been so ui- 
 cHned. " For the likeness," he added, " you will no longer 
 be surprised at it, when I tell you I am the twin brother of 
 him whose spirit you imagine to have seen in Nova Scotia. 
 While he was living, we were always considered to bear an 
 extraordinary resemblance to each other." 
 
 From what has been said in the course of this narrative, 
 the reader will be at no loss to understand that I attribute 
 the whole affair to self-illusion, produced by a certain dis- 
 eased state of mind ; for the mind, sometimes with, and 
 sometimes without, the influence of the body, has many 
 shades of disease besides actual insanity. If it be asked, 
 how could two spirited young men, under the ordinary 
 circumstances of life and in plain daylight, be impressed by 
 the same illusion, I reply that this is by no means wonder- 
 ful. We have instances of many thousands, labouring at 
 the same moment under an identical deception of the 
 visual organs. Did not the Roman hosts see as one man, 
 the gods. Castor and Pollux, fighting, upon more than one 
 occasion, for their encouragement ? Did not the Scandina- 
 vian champions agree in seeing the c^wsers q/'^^e sZoz«, select- 
 ing their intended victims on the day of battle ? And lastly, 
 as perhaps coming nearer to the present matter, have not 
 thousands of Christian warriors concurred in having been 
 eye-witnesses how St. George and St. James fought in the van, 
 for the encouragement of their mortal followers ? Now in 
 all these' cases we have not two individuals only, but thou- 
 sands, fancying they saw the same vision ; yet who will be- 
 lieve that it was, or could be, anything more than fancying ? 
 Imaginations, like epileptic fits, are very apt to communicate 
 
THE WYNYARD GHOST STORY. 213 
 
 themselves from one to another hy a sort of mysterious sym- 
 pathy, which we may not comprehend, hut which is not the 
 less real. In this particular instance the story has never 
 undergone a thorough sifting. Is it likely that two such in- 
 timate friends could have been constantly together without 
 the favourite brother becoming the constant theme of con- 
 versation ? and might not Wynyard have been more or less 
 of an hypochondriac ? The bravest men have been liable to 
 this malady — as witness the iron-nerved Cromwell. Grant 
 but these two data, and it is not merely possible, but highly 
 probable, Sir John may have been deluded into the fancy 
 that he saw the subject of their frequent conversations, and 
 that the hypochondriac brother took from him the infection. 
 The coincidence between the death and the appearance of 
 the supposed spirit, though at first it may startle us, has 
 too many parallels to surprise us upon reflection. Then, too, 
 the extraordina/ry emaciation is a very useful hint in the 
 solution of this riddle ; it shows that the absent brother must 
 have been long ill, and that his death was a thing of 
 expectation./ 
 
 Such appears to be a not unreasonable explanation of 
 this celebrated ghost-story ; yet after aU we should recollect 
 that 
 
 " There are more things in heaven and earth 
 Than are dreamt of in onr philosophy." 
 
214 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 THE CUEIOFS CLAIM TO THE HONOURS OF THE 
 EAELDOM OF CEAWFOED. 
 
 Weep on, weep, on, your hour is past, 
 
 Your dreams of pride are o'er, 
 The fatal chain is round you cast, 
 
 And you are Earl no more. 
 
 MOOEB. 
 
 No title in the Scottish peerage is more remarkable than 
 that of Crawford, on account of the historical importance of 
 those who have borne it, and the extraordinary vicissitudes 
 which have accompanied its transmission through an illustri- 
 ous line of twenty-four earls. 
 
 This earldom was originally conferred in 1398 by Eobert 
 III., King of Scotland, upon Sir David Lindsay, Lord of 
 Crawford, the husband of the Princess Elizabeth, that mon- 
 arch's sister. Sir David's family had already been twice 
 honoured by a direct royal alliance ; Sir William Liadaay 
 having, about a century before, married Ada, the sister of 
 King John Baliol — and Sir William Lindsay, about a hun- 
 dred years earlier, the Princess Margery, sister of King 
 Malcolm IV., and King William the Lion, and grand- 
 daughter of the Eoyal Saint, David the First. 
 
 David Lindsay, fifth Earl of Crawford, was a faithful 
 friend of the unfortunate King James the Third, who raised 
 him to ducal rank in 1488, creating him Duke of Montrose. 
 This was the third time that so high a title had been con- 
 ferred in Scotland; the two prior instances having been 
 confined to the blood royal, Eothsay and Albany. 
 
 Within a year after raising the Earl to the rank of Duke, 
 James was deprived of his crown and life by a faction of 
 rebels, headed by his son. The young king, immediately 
 after his accession to the throne, passed an act of grace in 
 favour of the Duke, thus saving him from the efiects of a 
 
CRAWrOED PEEEAGE CLAIM. 215 
 
 subsequent act, which rescinded the titles conferred by the 
 dethroned and murdered king during the last year of his 
 reign. Thus Lord Crawford continued Duke of Montrose, 
 and the ducal title was claimed by his heir and represent- 
 ative, the present Earl of Crawford and Balcarres, whose case 
 was for a long time before the House of Lords. The duke 
 survived his unfortunate master seven years, and died at his 
 Castle of Finhaven, at Christmas, 1495. I will not here 
 enter upon the curious question of the claim to the duke- 
 dom of Montrose, which was made with good hope of a 
 successful issue by the Earl of Crawford. I will only 
 answer one of the objections which were urged against it, 
 viz. that the claim should have remained so long dormant. 
 The crime of fratricide which suUied the duke's son and suc- 
 cessor, and the misfortunes of several subsequent earls, may 
 be supposed to have deterred them from assuming the new 
 and higher title. And then we must consider the well-known 
 policy of the Scottish sovereigns, ever anxious to depress the 
 aristocracy, and also the jealousy of the high nobles in sup- 
 sequent reigns, the Douglases and Hamiltons, who would 
 ill have brooked a duke of the house of Lindsay, while they 
 Were only earls. 
 
 The Duke of Montrose's unhappy son, the sixth earl, 
 died without issue. His nephew, David, the eighth Earl of 
 Crawford, was cursed with a most unnatural son, who is styled 
 " the wicked master." He imprisoned his aged father, and 
 put him in peril of his life. Whereupon, th^ old man, out- 
 raged and heart-broken, obtained the royal assent to a trans- 
 fer of the earldom to the next heir male, David Lindsay of 
 Edzell, his second cousin, passing over "the wicked master" 
 as a parricide and traitor. 
 
 The aged earl died in 15-12, and David of Edzell became 
 ninth earl. He appears to have been a singularly generous 
 and noble-minded man : for, moved with pity for the innocent 
 son of " the wicked master," he obtained the consent of the 
 Crown to a reconveyance of the earldom to him, after his own 
 death. The rightful heir thus became tenth earl in 1558, 
 and his descendants possessed the title for upwards of a cen- 
 tury, until 1671. But during this period the family did not 
 prosper. The twelfth earl was an incorrigible spendthrift, 
 and alienated his immense estates in the most wanton man- 
 ner, and was imprisoned for life by the decree of a solemn fami- 
 ly council. His only child, heiress of a lofty name, lived dis- 
 
216 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 gracefully as a common vagrant mendicant, and was at leng- 
 rescued from the lowest wretchedness by the bounty of Kii 
 Charles the Second. The last earl of this branch was Ludovi 
 the sixteenth, a gallant cavalier, and the friend and broths 
 in-arms of the great Montrose. He was unmarried, and wit 
 out any near relative. The house of Edzell and its youngi 
 branch, Balcarres, descended from the generous David, nini 
 earl, stood next in succession. But their rights were tram' 
 led upon by a very able, powerful, and distinguished ma 
 who was the head of a remote offshoot of the house of Lin 
 say, which, in point of wealthy and lustre, had already au 
 passed the elder line of Crawford. This influential man wi 
 John, Earl of Lindsay, Lord High Treasurer of Scotlan 
 the head of the Presbyterian and Covenanting party durit 
 the civil wars. As he happened to have both his severely 
 (Charles the First) and his chief (Earl Ludovic) very mu( 
 in his power about the same time, he used influence amoun 
 ing to compulsion to obtain a surrender of the Earldom 
 Crawford to the Crown, and a re-grant of it to himself, pas 
 ing by the nearer Edzell and Balcarres branches. Job 
 Earl of Lindsay thus became, even before Earl. Ludovic 
 death in 1671, Earl of Crawford and Lindsay. 
 
 In the course of a few generations the family of Edze 
 expired. The last head of the house of Lindsay of this branc 
 died in 1744, in the capacity of hostler in an inn at 'Kir. 
 wall, in the Orkneys. On his death, the Earl of Balcarri 
 succeeded to the representation of the house of Lindsay ; an 
 by the slow, though sure, justice of Providence, the rightf 
 heir has, at length, after a usurpation of a century and a ha 
 been restored to his family honours. John, Earl of Crawfoi 
 and Lindsay, the Treasurer, made an illustrious marriage wii 
 Lady Margaret Hamilton, sister of James and WiUiai 
 Dukes of Hamilton. From this marriage a line of earls d 
 scended, which failed on the death of George Lindsay Crai 
 ford, twenty-second Earl of Crawford and sixth Earl 
 Lindsay, in 1808. 
 
 During the last two or three generations, the surnan 
 of Crawford had been added to that of Lindsay, in cons 
 quence of the succession to the large estates of the knight 
 family of Crawford, of Kilbirney in Ayrshire, which form( 
 a valuable addition to those of the Lindsays in Fifeshii 
 Earl George was succeeded in his great possessions by h 
 sister. Lady Mary, who lived until December, 1833. 
 
CRAWFORD PEERAGE CLAIM. 217 
 
 Lady Mary stood alone in the world, and as she had a 
 decided feeling for the dignity of the Lindsays, and correctly 
 judged the Earl of Balcarres to be the head of that house, 
 her wish was, after her death, to place his family in the posi- 
 tion of her late brother, as heirs to all his estates, as well as 
 his honours. She therefore left her whole property, real as 
 well as personal, to him and his accomplished and gifted son, 
 Lord Lindsay. Her nearest relatives were six second cousins 
 (descended from ladies of the house of Crawford and Lind- 
 say, two generations back. Lady Mary's great-aunts), viz. 
 the Earl of Glasgow ; the Eight Hon. David Boyle, Lord 
 Justice- Q-eneral of Scotland ; G. Hamilton Dundas, of Dud- 
 dingston ; the Kev. John Hamilton Gray, of Carntyne ; Ge- 
 neral Napier ; and Admiral Sir Charles Napier. These six 
 gentlemen are the remaining descendants of the marriage of 
 John, seventeenth Earl of Crawford, with the sister of the 
 Duke of Hamilton. Lady Mary was unable to divert the 
 succession to the entailed estates from the Earl of Glasgow, 
 who accordingly inherited them. But her personal property, 
 instead of being divided among her above-mentioned next of 
 kin, was left to Lord Lindsay, as a token of regard to the 
 head of the house. The Earldom of Crawford continued 
 dormant from the death of Earl George, in 1808, until the 
 claim of the Earl of Balcarres was proved good by the House 
 of Lords, in 1848, when he became twenty-fourth Earl of 
 Crawford. Since then, his Lordship advanced a further claim 
 to the full honours of his ancient race, the earlier Dukedom 
 of Montrose, and, if that claim had proved successful, he 
 would have been an older duke, by two centuries, than the 
 present premier Duke of Scotland, and only three years 
 junior to the Duke of Norfolk. 
 
 Having thus laid before my readers a sketch of the sin- 
 gular succession to this ancient and illustrious earldom, I 
 will now shortly mention the very extraordinary peril which 
 the honours and estates of the family underwent of falling a 
 prey to a cleverly concocted scheme. 
 
 Within two years of the death of the last Earl of the 
 Lindsay branch, George (the brother of Lady Mary), in 
 1818, an individual of the name of John Crawfurd landed 
 in Ayr, from Ireland. He gave himself out to be a relation 
 of the Earl of Crawford's family, and he even procured many 
 genealogical notices concerning them. He then assumed the 
 surnameof Lindsayin addition to his patronymic of Crawfurd, 
 
218 FAMILY KOMANCE. 
 
 and stated his descent to be from the Hon. James Lm 
 Orawfurd, a younger son of the family who, about a ceni 
 ago, had disappeared from Scotland, and whose fate seemec 
 Tolved in some obscurity. If Mr John Crawfurd had 1 
 successful in proving himself to be the descendant of 
 gentleman, he would have been Earl of Crawford and L 
 say ; and his claim to the large family estates would have I 
 prior to that of Lady Mary, or, failing her, the Earl of G 
 gow, the Justice- General, Mr Hamilton Dundas, Adn 
 and General Napier, and Mr Hamilton Gray, the rem aii 
 descendants of her Ladyship's grand-aunts, and of their c 
 mon ancestors, the Earl of Crawford and Lindsay, and 
 Duke of Hamilton's sister. From. Ayr, Mr Crawfurd ] 
 eeeded to visit Kilbirney Castle, once the residence of 
 great knightly family of Crawford, and which had been 
 some generations the property of the Lindsay Earls of Ci 
 ford, and on account of which they had assumed the sumi 
 of Crawford. 
 
 Kilbirney had been burnt in the time of Lady Ma 
 father, and the family had subsequently lived entirely 
 their Fifeshire estates. However, Mr Crawfurd discove 
 that many family papers and letters remained in an old c 
 net, which, during the fire, had been deposited in an ( 
 house, and had been there forgotten. To these papers he ] 
 cured access ; and among them he found a rare prize, m 
 letters written by James Lindsay Crawford to various m 
 bers of his family, after his disappearance from Scotls 
 Crawfurd had some clever accomplices, who aided him 
 fabricating additions which, suited his story. These leti 
 were written on the first and third pages ; and, now, the bl 
 second pages were filled up, in an exact imitation of the 
 hand, with matter so cleverly and artfully contrived as 
 give the most direct and satisfactory evidence in the ] 
 tender's favour. James Lindsay Crawfurd is made- to 
 scribe his position and circumstances in Ireland, his n 
 riage, the births of his children, &c. Ac, and again and a§ 
 to importune his rich and noble relatives for pecuniary re] 
 
 Furnished with this evidence, supposed to be writter 
 his alleged ancestor, and fortified with very many witnes 
 of his Scottish descent and reputed near relationship 
 the noble house of Crawford, Mr Lindsay Crawfurd m 
 his claim in due form for the titles and estates of the fan 
 in 1810. He produced, indeed, much very feasible pen 
 
CEAWFOED PEERAGE CLAIM. 219 
 
 proof in support of hia allegations, and the genuine documents, 
 which had been altered so as to suit his purpose, were so 
 artfully vitiated, that there was every prospect of complete 
 success, when, most fortunately for the ends of justice, his 
 accomplices urged exorbitant demands on him for remuner- 
 ation, which he refused to satisfy. They accordingly made 
 offers to Lady Mary, into the hands of whose agents they con- 
 signed the forged and vitiated documents. A trial on the 
 charge of forgery was thereupon commenced, which ended in 
 the conviction and transportation of the claimant in 1812, 
 along with one of the forgers, the other having been admitted 
 as king's evidence. 
 
 At the time, the fate of ,the claimant met with great sym^ 
 pathy. It was generally believed that he had faUen a victim 
 to overwhelming influence, or, in other words, that he had 
 been innocently betrayed by his accomplices, who were in 
 the pay of Lady Mary's agents, and had forged the docu- 
 ments without his knowledge in order to accomplish his ruin. 
 The public feeling was roused in his favour, and he was re- 
 garded, not only as an innocent and injured man, but as the 
 rightful heir of the great family whose estates and honours 
 he sought. It must be observed that, notwithstanding the 
 forgery of the documents, there was great mass of other evi- 
 dence highly favourable to his pretensions. 
 
 In 1823, Mr Lindsay Crawfurd returned from New South 
 Wales, and immediately renewed proceedings in furtherance 
 of his claims. Many noblemen and eminent professional men 
 encouraged him and supplied him with money and advice, 
 and many thousand pounds were expended in collecting 
 evidence, and preparing the case for the Lords' Committee 
 of Privileges, to which it had been referred by the king. 
 Lord Brougham was counsel in the cause, and he publicly 
 declared his opinion that the claim was extremely well- 
 founded. 
 
 Mr Nugent Bell, Mr "William Kaye, and Sir Trederick 
 Pollock,ii*ogether with a host of eminent legal authorities, 
 predicted certain success. The claimant, thus supported, as- 
 sumed the title of Earl of Crawford and Lindsay, and upon 
 two occasions voted as such, at an election of Scottish 
 peers, and was addressed by his assumed title, both verbally 
 and by letter, by several peers then present. The most 
 searching investigation was made by the friends of the claim- 
 ant, preparatory to the case being brought before the House 
 
220 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 of Lords, and no source from whence evidence could b( 
 tained was left unexplored. In the midst of this the clai 
 died. : This event caused a delay and an increase of exp 
 The claimant's son beingabroad, more money had to be r 
 beyond the gratuitous aid already afforded, and terms 
 offered to parties willing to advance money on specula 
 It would be tedious to enter into the details of the case, 
 point was of primary importance. Mr Lindsay Crav 
 maintained that his ancestor, the Hon. James Lindsay C 
 furd, had settled in Ireland, and that he died there bet 
 1765 and 1770, leaving a family. On the other hand, '. 
 Glasgow, who, by this time, had succeeded Lady Mary as 
 to the great family estates, insisted that the Hon. J 
 Lindsay Crawfurd, instead of settling in Ireland, and c 
 there, had died in London, in 1745, and was buried ii 
 Martin's-in-the-Fields. 
 
 On the truth of these respective averments the quei 
 between the parties may be said to have depended. It 
 proved from the register of parish books of St. Martin's, 
 James Lindsay Crawford was buried there in 1745; 
 moreover, it was found that, posterior to 1745, there wei 
 letters from him that could be proved to be genuine, 
 dence also was brought forward which decidedly showed 
 the Hon. James Lindsay Crawford could not have bee 
 Ireland at the time when the claimant alleged his ancest 
 have been there, and that acknowledged ancestor could 
 have been the Hon. James Lindsay Crawford. . 
 
 On summing up all the evidence that was coUectec 
 the purpose of bringing the case for decision before 
 House of Lords, the opinion of the most eminent See 
 counsel was taken by the trustees of the Crawfurd cli 
 Two of these legal advisers were the Lord Justice-Gs] 
 MacNeil and Lord Hutherford. Their opinion was 
 gether adverse to Mr Lindsay Cravsrfurd's claims, and 
 wound up by declaring " that from the facts now befor 
 we are satisfied that any further inquiry is perfectly h 
 less and unnecessary." This opinion was given in 1839, 
 since that date no further steps have been taken to aldv 
 this extraordinary case. 
 
 It may be mentioned as a curious circumstance i 
 when the original claimant died, a few years after the d 
 of Lady Mary, Lord Glasgow allowed his body to be ii 
 red in the family mausoleum, side by side with his great 
 
CEA-WTOED PEERAGE CLAIM. 221 
 
 versary. This, doubtless, proceeded £pom the same chivalrous 
 feeling which induced his Lordship to give to this person whUe 
 he lived free access to the famUy papers in order to substanti- 
 ate his claim, notwithstanding his former bad reputation as 
 an accomplice, or, as he himself asserted, a victim of forgers. 
 Lord Grlasgow was resolved that he would allow him in every 
 respect fair play, and would, not prejudge him. 
 
 Whatever may have been the real descent of John Lind- 
 say Crawfurd, there is no doubt whatever that his ancestor, 
 who settled in Ireland, stated himself to be the son of Lord 
 Crawford, and that the members of his family were in the 
 habit during the latter part of last century of visiting, as 
 relatives, the noble family of Crawford in Scotland. These 
 facts are clearly brought out by the strongest ipoasihle parole 
 evidence. The real nature of the claim must now for ever re- 
 main a mystery. The most likely solution is, that the claim- 
 ant's ancestor was an illegitimate brother of the Earl of 
 Crawford. 
 
222 FAMILY EOMAXCE. 
 
 THE TWINS. 
 
 " These likened twins — in form and fancy one, 
 "Were like affected, and like habit chose. 
 
 Their valour at Newhaven siege was known, 
 Where both encountered fiercely with their foes ; 
 
 There one of both sore wounded lost his breath, 
 And t'other slain revenging brother's death." 
 
 " These are more things in heaven, Horatio, than 
 dreamt of in your philosophy," says the philosophic Pri 
 and with much truth. We had an instance of it in the ta 
 the Corsican Brothers, which was rendered by the inimit 
 acting of Mr Charles K.ean, so popular a few years 
 and which, in part at least, is not without an actual 
 totjrpe. I have heard, I know not how truly, that 
 celebrated Louis Blanc sat for the portrait of the Corsi 
 though there is some difference in a leading event of the 
 stories, as related of the eminent Frenchman and of his ( 
 sican shadow. It is suf&ciently curious to be given in 
 way of prologue to my present story, of which it formf 
 unapt illustration. 
 
 Louis Blanc and his brother had a close resemblanc 
 manner, person, and features, and, what is stUl more rem 
 able, they were connected by one of those mysterious syn 
 thies, the very existence of which we are all too apt to d 
 because we cannot comprehend its nature. " There arf 
 tigers in India," says a French traveller, writing to his fri 
 " for I have seen none ;" and so will the sceptic say whe 
 is told that, however separated might be these two broti 
 no accident could happen to the one without the other 
 ing a sympathetic feeling of it. Thus, it chanced one 
 while the brother of Louis was enjoying himself amoi 
 
THE TWINS. 223 
 
 party of friends, lie was suddenly observed to change colour ; 
 and upon being questioned, he complained of a sensation, as 
 if he had received a blow upon the head, and he avowed his 
 firm conviction that something must have befallen his brother, 
 then in Paris. The company, as may easily be supposed, 
 laughed at this as a mere imaginary notion, but some more 
 curious than the rest made an exact minute of the day and 
 hour, to see how far this warning was justified by the actual 
 event. And what was the result ? — at the precise moment 
 thus indicated, Louis, while walking in the streets of Paris, 
 had been knocked down by a blow upon the head, dealt by 
 some one who approached him unperceived from behind. 
 So severe was the blow that he fell senseless to the ground, 
 and the ruffian escaped ; nor could all the subsequent efforts 
 of the police afford the slightest clue for his detection. 
 
 My next instance gives a similar picture in reverse. 
 Louis Blanc had found it prudent to seek a temporary 
 asylum in England, the party then uppermost in Prance 
 being altogether opposed to his republican doctrines. As 
 had happened in the preceding case, he one day experienced 
 a strange .feeling, as if all was not right with his brother, 
 and that, too, at a time when he was sitting in the company 
 of friends, and was least likely to be influenced by such 
 sensations in the common order of things. Here, again, the 
 very minute was noted down, and a short time afterwards a 
 letter came from his brother in Paris, stating that he wrote 
 then, as he might never be able to write again. It appears 
 that a pamphlet had been published in France bitterly 
 reflecting upon Louis, and that his brother had, in conse- 
 quence, called out the author. But here breaks off the 
 correspondence between the reaKty and the fiction. It was 
 not the brother, but his adversary, that suffered ; and he 
 was not killed, but severely wounded. Such is the tale, 
 which, I am told, Louis Blanc is in the habit of relating 
 to his friends, and it was upon this, it is asserted, the Prench 
 dramatist founded his ingenious melodrama. 
 
 This strange story at once confirms and is confirmed by 
 a similar anecdote of two brothers in our own country, and 
 which cannot be denied, if there be any veracity in monu- 
 mental records. 
 
 Nicholas and Andrew Tremayne were twins and younger 
 sons of Thomas Tremayne, a Devonshire gentleman, of good 
 estate and well connected. So perfect was their likeness in 
 
224 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 size, shape, feature, the colour of their hair, — nay, the very 
 tone of their voices, that it was impossible for the nicest eye 
 to find out any point of difference. Even their parents 
 could not tell one from the other, and vrere obliged to dis- 
 tinguish them by some secret mark, which the twins would 
 oftentimes amuse themselves by changing. Wonderful as 
 was this esternal similitude, it was yet more surprising to 
 find them governed by precisely the same feelings and 
 affections. What one liked, the other liked; what one 
 loathed, the other loathed ; if one was ill, the other sickened ; 
 •and if one was pained, the other suffered in the same part, 
 and in the same degree. These sympathies occurred at 
 whatever distance they might be apart, and without any in- 
 telligence or communication with each other. 
 
 In the year 1564, these twins served in the wars at 
 Newhaven, as it was then called, though it now bears the 
 name of Havre de Grace, upon the French coast. Of their 
 previous fortunes I have no account, nor is there any con- 
 jectural mode of explaining the very great difference that now 
 appears in their respective positions. The one was captain 
 of a troop of horse, while the other was only a private 
 soldier. This, however, made not the slightest difference in 
 the strong sympathy that had previously existed between 
 them, as was now speedily to be seen. In the fierce battle 
 that ensued, one of the twins was slain. The other immedi- 
 ately stepped into his place, and, fighting with the utmost 
 gallantry, fell dead upon the body of his brother. 
 
THE PITT DIAMOND. 
 
 225 
 
 THE PITT DIAMOND. 
 
 A gem of purest ray serene. 
 
 Gray. 
 
 Onb of the easy roads to fame — or, perhaps, I should 
 rather say, notoriety — is to possess something rare-^some- 
 thing that no one else possesses, or is ever likely to possess. 
 But it seldom happens, as in the case of the Pitt Diamond, 
 that the possession of the rarity paves the way to fortune, as 
 well as to celebrity. Had it not been for this precious 
 jewel, the name of G-overnor Pitt would, in all likelihood, 
 have been forgotten by this time, whereas, now, it may be 
 a matter of, at least, momentary interest to the reader, to 
 learn something about the diamond and its lucky owner. 
 
 Thomas Pitt, Esq., born in 1653, was appointed, in 
 Queen Anne's reign, to the government of Fort St G-eorge, 
 in the East Indies, somewhat before the time of English 
 Nabobs, when India had become the veritable El Dorado. 
 Olive had not yet turned merchants into conquerors, and 
 made the petty rulers of the counting-house the lords of 
 Hindostan ; indeed, he was not yet born — but, even in those 
 early days, there were handsome pickings to be made in 
 India by those who possessed tact and industry, and it is 
 plain that Governor Pitt possessed both ; for, during a 
 residence in the East of many years, he contrived to amass 
 an immense fortune. His crovming adventure was the 
 purchase of the jewel, which, ever since, has borne his name, 
 an affair which, at the time of its occurrence, subjected him 
 to much obloquy. It was loudly asserted by his enemies, 
 that he became possessed of the diamond by unfair means, ■ 
 having, in some way, used his power as a means of extorting 
 
 15 
 
226 FAMILY KOMANCE. 
 
 it from tlie native owner, at a price far below its real value. 
 So extensively were these rumours spread, and so generally- 
 beUeved, that Governor Pitt thought it necessary to draw 
 up a narrative of the whole transaction, which was first 
 communicated to the Gentleman's Magazine, in 1825, by 
 the Eev. William Meyrick, of Bath, an heir to some of the 
 Pitt estates. This vindication was given in these words : — 
 
 " Since my coming into this melancholy place of Bengal, 
 I have been often thinking of the most unparalleled villany 
 of WiUiam Eraser, Thomas Frederick, and Smapa, a black 
 merchant, who brought a paper before Governor Addison, 
 in council, insinuating that I had unfairly got possession of 
 a large diamond, which tended so much to the prejudice of 
 my reputation and the ruin of my estate, that I thought it 
 necessary to keep by me the true relation how I purchased 
 it in all respects, that so, in case of sudden mortality, my 
 children and friends may be apprised of the whole matter, 
 and so be enabled thereby to put to silence and confound 
 those, and all other villains, in their base attempts against 
 either. Not having got my books by me at present, 1 can- 
 not be positive as to the time, but for the manner of pur- 
 chasing it, I do here declare and assert, under my hand, in 
 the presence of God Almighty, as I hope for salvation, 
 through the merits and intercession of our Saviour, Jesus 
 Christ, that this is the truth, and if it be not, let God deny 
 it to me and my children for ever ! which I would be so far 
 from saying, much less leave it under my hand, that I would 
 not be guilty of the least untruth in the relation of it, for 
 the riches and honour of the whole world. 
 
 " About two or three years after my arrival at Madras, in 
 July, 1698, 1 heard there were large diamonds in the country 
 to be sold, which I encouraged to be brought down, promis- 
 ing to be their chapman, if they would be reasonable there- 
 in ; upon which, Jourcund, one of the most eminent dia- 
 mond-merchants in these parts, came down about December, 
 1701, and brought with him a large, rough stone, about 305 
 mangelins, and some small ones, 'which myself and others 
 bought ; but he asking a very extravagant price for the 
 great one, I did not think of meddling with it, when he left 
 it with me for some days, and then came and took it away 
 again, and did so several times, not insisting upon less than 
 200,000 pagodas ; and, as I best remember, I did not bid 
 him above 30,000, and had little thoughts of buying it for 
 
THE PITT DIAMOND. 227 
 
 that. I considered there were many and great risks to be 
 run, not only in cutting it, but also whether it would prove 
 foul or clear, or the water good ; besides, I thought it too 
 great an amount to be ventured home on one bottom. But 
 Jourcund resolved to return speedily to his own country ; 
 so that, I best remember, it was in February following he 
 came to me again (with Vincatee Chitfcee, who was always 
 with him when I discoursed with him about it), and pressed 
 me to know whether I resolved to buy it, when he came 
 down to 100,000 pagodas, and something under, before we 
 parted, when we agreed upon a day to meet and make a 
 final end thereof, which I believe was the latter end of the 
 aforesaid month, or the beginning of March ; when we 
 accordingly met in the Consultation Eoom, where, after a 
 great deal of talk, I brought him down to 55,000 pagodas, 
 and advanced to 45,000, resolving to give no more, and he, 
 likewise, resolving not to abate, I delivered him up the stone, 
 and we took a friendly leave of one another. Mr Benyon 
 was then writing in my closet, with whom I discoursed on 
 what had passed, and told him now I was clear of it ; when, 
 about an hour after, my servant brought me word that 
 Jourcund and Vincatee were at the door, who, being called 
 in, they used a great many expressions in praise of the 
 stone, and told me he had rather I should buy it than any- 
 body, and to give an instance thereof, offered it for 50,000 
 pagodas ; so, believing it must be a pennyworth if it proved 
 good, I offered to part the 5000 pagodas that was then 
 between us, which he would not hearken to, and was going 
 out of the room again, when he turned back, and told me 
 that I should have it for 49,000 ; but I still adhered to what 
 I had before offered him, when presently he came to 48,000, 
 and made a solemn vow he would not part with it a pagoda 
 under, when I went again into the closet to Mr Benyon, 
 and told him. what had passed, saying that if it was worth 
 47,000 it was worth 48,000 ; * so I closed with him for that 
 sum, when he delivered me the stone, for which I paid him 
 very honourably, as by my books appears. And I here 
 further call God to witness that I never used the least 
 threatening word at any of our meetings to induce him to 
 sell it me ; and God himself knows it was never so much as 
 in my thoughts so to do. Since which, I have had frequent 
 and considerable dealings with this man, and trusted him 
 * £20,400 sterling, at 8s. 6d. per pagoda. 
 
228 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 with several sums of money, and balanced several accounts 
 with him, and left upwards of 2000 pagodas in his hands at 
 my coming away. So, had I used the least indirect means 
 to have got it from him, would not he have made himself 
 satisfaction when he has had money so often in his hands ? 
 Or, would I have trusted him afterwards, as I did, prefer- 
 ably to aU other diamond-merchants ? As this is the truth, 
 I hope for God's blessing upon this and all my other affairs 
 in this world, and eternal happiness hereafter." 
 
 The diamond, thus acquired, was brought over by G-o- 
 vernor Pitt in a rough state, when it weighed 410 carats ; 
 being cut in brilliant, at a cost of £5000, its weight was 
 reduced to 135 carats, and its size to about an inch and a 
 quarter in diameter. The clips yielded £8000. 
 
 Prom the same memoranda, it appears that £80,000 were 
 bid for this enormous stone by some private person, but it 
 was finally sold, in 1717, to the Crown of Erance, for the 
 sum of £200,000 ; and the state jewels, in sealed packets, 
 numbered, were pledged for the payment. The G-overnor 
 himself delivered it at Calais, and his son-in-law, Charles 
 Cholmondeley, Esq., of Vale Eoyal, was accustomed, at 
 stated periods to take one of the packets of the French jewels 
 to Dover, where he delivered his charge to a messenger of 
 the King, and received from him an instalment of the pur- 
 chase-money. 
 
 Upon the transfer of the diamond to France, it was gen- 
 erally called there the Regency Diamond, from its having 
 been bought when the Duke of Orleans was regent of that 
 country, during the minority of Louis XIV., who afterwards 
 used to wear it as a button to his hat upon extraordinary 
 occasions. At a yet later period, it is stated to have formed 
 the principal ornament in the crown of France. Bonaparte, 
 whose every idea was military, when the diamond fell to him 
 with the wefts and strays of the wrecked monarchy, placed 
 it in the pummel of his sword, since when it has probably 
 travelled from hand to hand with the crown itself. 
 
 Governor Pitt died in 1726, and was buried inBlandford, 
 St Mary's Church, Dorsetshire. His eldest son Eobert of 
 Boconnock, M.P. was father of Thomas Pitt of Boconnock 
 (whose son became Lord Camelford) and of Wilham Pitt, 
 the great Earl Chatham. 
 
THE LAIRD OF WESTBUEn's DEEAM. 229 
 
 THE LAIRD OF WESTBURN'S DREAM. 
 
 Dreams look like heralds of eternity ; 
 
 They pass like spirits of the past, — they speak 
 
 Like sihyls of the future. 
 
 Btbon. 
 
 Gabeiei, Hamilton, ofWestburn, in the county of Lan- 
 ark, was the representative of an ancient and distinguished 
 branch of the Duke of Hamilton's family, viz. Hamilton of 
 Torrance, a cadet of the great house of Eaploch, which 
 was immediately sprung from the Lords of Cadzow, the an- 
 cestors of the Earls of Arran and Dukes of Hamilton. The 
 grandmother of this Hamilton of Westbum was a daughter 
 of Sir "Walter Stewart, of Allanton. And thus, "Westburn 
 and Allanton were near kinsmen, at a time when relation- 
 ship and intimacy were synonymous ; the death of Westbum 
 took place about 1757 or 1758, and Allanton had pre-de- 
 ceased him several years. Their estates, moreover, were 
 situated in the same county, and they were on the most 
 affectionate and familiar terms with each other. 
 
 Westburn, who was an elderly man, and not in very 
 strong health, was in the habit of reposing during an hour 
 after dinner, and his wife, the beautiful and estimable Agnes 
 Dundas, heiress of Duddingston, usually sat by the side of 
 the couch, reading to him or conversing until he fell asleep. 
 One day, he slept longer and apparently more soundly than 
 usual ; and at length he suddenly awbke, and said he had 
 been roused by the fluttering of the wings of doves. He 
 then addressed his vwfe, and related to her the following re- 
 markable dream : — 
 
 " I was walking in the most lovely gardens and pleasure- 
 grounds that 1 ever beheld, and so struck was I with their 
 
230 FAMILY ROMANCE, 
 
 extraordinary extent and romantic beauty, and with the 
 bright and glorious colours of the flowers which sprung up 
 around me on every side, that I exclaimed, ' This can be no 
 other place than Paradise ! this must be the Garden of the 
 Lord ! ' I had hardly uttered these words, when a youth of 
 radiant beauty and heavenly expression approached me, and 
 smiling sweetly on me, he accosted me familiarly by name, 
 giving me a cordial welcome to his happy home. I expressed 
 my surprise at his friendly and familiar greeting, seeing that 
 we were but strabgers. ' And yet,' said I, ' there is that 
 in your countenance which makes me feel as if you were my 
 friend ! ' ' Seek not,' said he, ' to deny our old and intimate 
 acquaintance. Tou are my near kinsman, and familiar 
 neighbour and friend ;' and observing that 1 looked astonished 
 and incredulous, he said, ' Is it possible that you have for- 
 gotten me ? Is it, even with you, so soon, out of sight out 
 . of mind ? Do not you know me ? I am your cousin, Stewart 
 of Allanton.' 'Impossible,' said I, 'for my dear friend 
 AUanton was old and plain-looking ; whereas, you are the 
 most beautiful youth that my eyes did ever behold.' 'Even 
 so,' said the youth, ' all those who come here are made 
 youthful and beautiful. There is here neither age nor plain- 
 ness. I am no other than your dear cousin and old friend 
 Allanton, and within twenty-four hours you wiU be here 
 with me, and you wiU be young and beautiful like me.' 
 Hereupon, I heard the loud fluttering of the wings of doves, 
 and I suddenly awoke." 
 
 It may be imagined that Westburn's dream made a 
 deep impression, not unmingled with awe, on his affectionate 
 wife. She deemed it to be a warning that she must hold 
 herself in readiness to resign him ere long, at the call of his 
 heavenly master and father ; and even so it came to pass. 
 On the following morning, Westburn was found dead in his 
 bed. His spirit had departed during the night, and had 
 gone to join his early friend and kinsman in the gardens of 
 Paradise. 
 
THE DEATH OF DUNDEE. 231 
 
 THE DEATH OF DUNDEE. 
 
 Low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
 
 "Walter Scott. 
 
 The truth of the story I am about to narrate has been 
 denied by many ; but it is enough for my purpose that it 
 was, at one time, very generally received for truth, not to 
 mention the great difficulty there is iu distinguishing the 
 false from the real upon such occasions. 
 
 My tale opens at that remarkable epoch of English his- 
 tory, when, at least, three parts of the nation had fallen from 
 James to welcome the Prince of Orange as their future 
 monarch. Deserted by others, James was now ready to de- 
 sert himself ; and yet, if anything could have breathed spirit 
 into him, it must have been the gallant counsel of Dundee. 
 "Sire," said he, "the question is, whether you shall remain 
 in Britain, or fly to France ? whether you shall trust the re- 
 turning zeal of your native subjects, or rely only on a foreign 
 power ? Here, then, I say, you ought to stand. Keep pos- 
 session of a part, let it be ever so small, and the whole will 
 return to you by degrees. Eesume the spirit of a king, and 
 summon your subjects to their allegiance. Tour army, 
 though dispersed, is not disheartened. Give me but your 
 commission, and I will carry your standard through England, 
 and drive before it these Dutch and their Prince." 
 
 It is possible that, if James had followed this no less 
 daring than sagacious advice, he might yet have regained his 
 lost kingdom. But, as usual, he was vacillating, if not 
 actually timid. It was rejected, and, in a few days afterwards, 
 James sought an inglorious safety with his ally, the king of 
 Eranee, who seems to have despised, while he pitied him. 
 
 In the mean while, Dundee posted himself to the North, 
 
232 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 to uphold, if possible, the cause thus abandoned by him most 
 nearly concerned in its support. It must not, however, be / 
 concealed that the loyalty of Claverhouse has, by some, been 
 attributed to vindictive selfishness. A story is told of hi^ 
 having offered his services to the Prince of Orange — whichj 
 being rejected, he was fired with indignation, and henceforth 
 resolved to live and die in the cause of King James. ' 
 
 During the whole of the winter, Claverhouse laboured,/ 
 indefatigably in confirming the waverers, encouraging the 
 timid, and swelling the ranks of the Jacobites. To this 
 purpose he applied all the energies of his genius, though 
 without much success, the country being in a distracted 
 state, and the nobility divided amongst themselves. When 
 spring came, he received a written authority from James to 
 call a convocation of the states at Stirling, but this attempt 
 was defeated by the delays and wilfulness of the party. 
 
 On his part King William summoned a convention tc 
 meet at Edinburgh on the 14th March, and his call was obey- 
 ed by a large and willing multitude, all more or less interest- 
 ed in the new order of things. There also Claverhouse was 
 present, his object being to produce discord among the 
 friends of William, and aid, as far as might be, the interests 
 of his master. Being, however, informed that the Cove- 
 nanters had formed a plan for his assassination, he took the 
 alarm, as no doubt it was intended he should do, and fled 
 from the city at the head of one hundred and fifty horsemen. 
 His way led below the walls of the castle, then held, for 
 James, by the Duke of Gordon, who, on seeing him, demand- 
 ed a conference. Claverhouse did not hesitate for a moment ; 
 climbing up the tremendous precipice on which the castle 
 stands, he informed the Duke of his plans on behalf of 
 James, and besought him to hold out to the last extremity. 
 A multitude of idle spectators was collected by this singular 
 conference, thus held in the open day, and in defiance of the 
 ruling powers. The convention became alarmed ; the pre- 
 sident ordered the doors of the council-chamber to be lock- 
 ed, the drums were beat to alarm the town, and a party of 
 iU-armed retainers were gathered in the street by the Earl 
 of Leven. Utterly inefficient as this force was, Claverhouse 
 did not think it prudent to abide their coming. He fled ; 
 and the adherents of James, seeing themselves thus aban- 
 doned, at once quitted the convention — which, being thus 
 freed from the embarrassment of their presence, and con- 
 
THE DEATH OF DUNDEE. 233 
 
 sisting now 'entirely of Whigs, conducted matters at their own 
 pleasure. This was a severe blow to the cause of the de- 
 throned, or abdicated, monarch, and it was vigorously follow- 
 ed up ; the convention having in vain called upon Claver- 
 house to retuj^n, they declared him a rebel and an outlaw, 
 while General Mackay was despatched by William to Scot- 
 land, at the head of a considerable body of troops to sur- 
 prise him. Hereupon, the fugitive retired to the Grampian 
 Hills, marched thence to Gordon Castle, where he was join- 
 ed by the Earl of Dunfermline and fifty gentlemen, and 
 then passed through the county of Moray to Inverness. At 
 this last place he found Macdonald of Keppoch lying with 
 seven hundred men, after having laid waste, in his march, 
 the lands of the clan Macintosh, and extorted all he could, 
 in money, from the magistrates of Inverness. By a promise 
 of repaying these forced contributions upon the king's re- 
 turn, Claverhouse induced Keppoch to join him with all his 
 forces ; the latter, however, insisted that they should be first 
 allowed to return home and place their spoil in safety. To 
 this, as it was a constant custom with the Highlanders, and 
 one which they could seldom be induced to forego, Claver- 
 house thought it prudent to give way ; but, that he might 
 not lose his hold of so valuable a body, he resolved upon ac- 
 companying them himself to the braes of Lochaber. No 
 one knew better how to secure the attachment of these rude 
 mountaineers. Although a strict, or, perhaps, even a stern 
 disciplinarian, he would talk and jest with his soldiers upon 
 occasion, and join them in singing their national Celtic songs ; 
 yet, never permitting them to forget themselves or him. At 
 the same time, he was perfectly merciless to all of the oppo- 
 site party who dared to oppose him ; and thus, while in the 
 North he bore the appellation of the Gallant Dundee, in 
 the South he was called the Bloody Glavers. He had well 
 deserved both titles ; but, as the old Scotch proverb says, 
 " let every one roose the ford as he finds it." 
 
 Being now at the head of a brave, though smaU, body of 
 troops, he summoned a general meeting of the Jacobites, at 
 Lochaber, and in the mean while surprised Perth, levied con- 
 tributions upon that town, and plundered all in his way that 
 were hostile to the cause of James. Many of the Highland 
 chiefs presented themselves, upon his call, at the place ap- 
 pointed, increasing his little army to fifteen hundred men. 
 
234 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 so that he was able to march against Mactay, who fled before 
 him. This success, however, was very transient. He was 
 again under the necessity of retreating, and by the time he 
 reached Badenoch, the feud between the Lowlanders and the 
 Highland clans had attained such a pitch that the former 
 deserted to a man, while the latter plundered the whole 
 country before them without mercy. To make matters yet 
 worse, Claverhouse fell sick, his resources were exhausted, 
 and Mackay was once more advancing against him. A battle 
 took place, and though the Highlanders won the day after a 
 fierce struggle, yet, during the action, they lost their bag- 
 gage and their plunder, a loss which made them furious, each 
 one laying the blame upon the other. 
 
 The defeated Mackay was again reinforced, and with his 
 usual indomitable spirit again advanced upon his conqueror. 
 But the army of the latter was so much weakened by the de- 
 sertion of the clans, who conceived themselves fully entitled 
 to go and come at pleasure, that he was compelled to retreat 
 in his turn, and by the time he reached the braes of Locbaber, 
 he had not two hundred men remaining. To complete his 
 distress he now received news that Edinburgh Castle had 
 been surrendered, and the Irish troops, with which James 
 had promised to supply him, turned out few in number, and 
 scantily provided with arms or even necessaries. Still 
 Claverhouse remained undaunted. He knew that if the 
 Highlanders were lightly dispersed, they were as lightly 
 gathered together again. At his summons they unhesitat- 
 ingly flocked to join him, so that in a short time he found 
 himself at the head of fourteen hundred men, all ready 
 enough to fight the enemy so long as they could be kept 
 together. The greatest drawback on his hopes of final suc- 
 cess was the want of proper arms. The Highlanders had 
 no weapons but old broad-swords, dirks, and shields, while 
 the. Irish were yet worse provided, having few arms of 
 any kind, except what they could pick up on the way, 
 and in the whole army there was not more than forty 
 pounds of gunpowder. Notwithstanding these well-nigh 
 hopeless impediments, which would have overwhelmed 
 a less unconquerable spirit, or one less fertile in re- 
 sources, Claverhouse determined to march at once, and give 
 battle to the enemy, for he had now a long experience of 
 the Highland clans, he knew how jealous they were of each 
 
THE DEATH OF DUNDEE. 235 
 
 otlier, and how likely to fall asunder on the first dispute, 
 though held together, for a time, by the common principle 
 of Jacobitism. Inactiyity was more likely to disperse them 
 than defeat; accordingly he marched to Blair in Athol, 
 where he learnt that Maekay was just entering the pass of 
 Killiecrankie. The men of Athol advised him to hurry for- 
 ward and drive back Maekay before he could advance into 
 the open plain, but to this he turned a deaf ear, and it is even 
 said that he sent word to some friends in the strath of Athol 
 below, " to secure the pass, that no flyers might escape, for 
 he was going to beat G-eneral Maekay in the afternoon." 
 But a seer, had there been any such in his little troop, 
 would have discovered that danger threatened him from a 
 very different quarter. 
 
 In the Jacobite ranks were two traitors, who had long 
 pledged themselves to destroy Dundee. The one was a Lan- 
 arkshire covenanter, whose whole kin had been murdered by 
 Clavers in one of his crusades against these fierce enthusiasts. 
 This man had solemnly sworn to take the life of the perse- 
 cutor, for which purpose he followed him first as a volunteer, 
 and afterwards became his groom. For three years and a 
 half had the avenger of blood in vain watched for an oppor- 
 tunity of effecting his purpose, and he was now fully deter- 
 mined to " do, or die." 
 
 The other was a no less determined enemy, but influenced 
 by motives still less capable of any justification. This was 
 William Livingston, of the family of Kilsyth, who, if tra- 
 dition be not false, was violently enamoured of Jean, Vis- 
 countess Dundee. The lady proving virtuous, he had no 
 hopes of gratifying his criminal passion so long as Dundee 
 lived, and he therefore resolved that ia the approaching 
 battle he would find, or make, an opportunity to remove him. 
 There was, however, no agreement between them, and the 
 two traditions are generally kept distinct. 
 
 "General Mackay's army," says the old biographer, an 
 ofiBcer in the army, " outwinged Dundee's nearly a quarter 
 of a mUe, which obliged the clans to leave large intervals 
 between each clan, and by declining towards the wings they 
 wanted troops to charge the centre, where a detachment of 
 Lesly and Hastings' English regiments were. The High- 
 landers threw away their plaids, haversacks, and all other 
 utensils, and marched resolutely and deliberately in their 
 shirts and doublets ; or, in the words of the ancient ballad. 
 
236 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 " ClaTers and his Highland men 
 Came down upon the *raw then ; 
 Who being stout gave many a clout, 
 
 The lads began to claw then. 
 With swords and targets in their hands 
 Wherewith they were not slow then ; 
 And clinkin, clankin, on their crowns, 
 The lads began to claw them. 
 
 " O'er brink and brank, o'er ditch and stank, 
 
 He staik amang them a' then ; 
 The butterbox got many knocks, 
 
 The riggans paid for a' then. 
 They got their paiks wi' sudden straiks. 
 
 Which to their grief they saw then ; 
 And double dunts upon their rumps. 
 
 The lads began to fa' then. 
 
 " Her skipp'd about, and leap'd about, 
 
 Her flang amang them a' then ; 
 The English heads got broken heads. 
 
 Their crowns her clave in two then. 
 The durk and door made their last hour,« 
 
 Such was their final fa' then ; 
 They thought the devU had been there. 
 
 That gave them such a paw then." 
 
 The proSe narrator of this bloody day is not less enthu- 
 siastic in his account of the heavy blows dealt by the High- 
 landers upon the skulls of the unlucky Saxons. "I dare he 
 bold to say there were scarce ever such strokes given in 
 Europe, as were given that day by the Highlanders. Many 
 of Qeneral Mackay's officers and soldiers were cut down 
 through the skull and neck to the very breasts ; others had 
 their skulls . cut off above their ears, like night-caps ; some 
 soldiers had both their bodies and cross-belts cut through at 
 one blow ; pikes and small swords were cut like willows ; and 
 whoever doubts of this, may consult the witnesses of the 
 tragedy." 
 
 But notwithstanding these downright blows, which the 
 left of the centre did not stand against for ten minutes, the 
 Highlanders were by no means so successful in another 
 quarter. Colonel Hastings' regiment, flanked by some com- 
 panies of Dutch guards, received the iirst shock with firmness, 
 and advancing in their turn, forced the Macdonalds to give 
 way, while the Macleans were wholly takgn up with the 
 pursuit of the defeated royalists. The chief, however, of the 
 last-named clan made a timely wheel-round with a few of 
 * •'. e., they came down the hill in a row. 
 
THE DEATH OF DUNDEE. 237 
 
 his followers, and being joined by Sir Evan Cameron, of 
 Lochiel, the two advanced along the verge of the valley, 
 taking Hastings' regiment and the Dutch in flank. The 
 movement was directed by Claverhouse, whose right hand 
 was stretched out, pointing with his baton and urging on 
 the troops. At this juncture both Livingston and the 
 groom were near him, and the next moment Dundee was 
 struck by a bullet below the right arm. He fell, as the vic- 
 tory was gained, but by his death the cause of James was 
 lost. 
 
 Weeks and months rolled on, and the rebellion had been 
 put down, although, as often happens for a long time after 
 a storm, there was a restless heaving at the surface of things, 
 a sort of so-called ground-swell, that gave evident tokens of 
 what had been. Livingston was the first to bring Lady 
 Dundee the news of her gallant husband's death, reminding 
 her at the same time of the promise she had once given him, 
 half in jest, and half, it may be, in earnest, that if she 
 ever chanced to become a widow, he should be her second 
 husband. How she received this proposal — whether she 
 needed much or little persuasion, we have no means of know- 
 ing ; but finally her consent to their union was obtained, 
 and on the very day of their marriage, he presented her 
 with a ring, whereon was engraved, yoar* till death ! Strange 
 to say, this gift was lost, or in some way missing, before the 
 day was over. But how ? in what way had it gone ? No 
 one could tell, but all agreed that it was a singularly bad 
 omen, and that no good could come of the intended mar- 
 riage. This feeling was heightened when it became known 
 that the mother of the late Viscount Dundee had pronounced 
 a malison upon her daughter-in law and Livingston. Upon 
 New Tear's morning she sent up the real or supposed mur- 
 derer a white night-cap, a pair of white gloves, and a rope, as 
 indicative of her opinion, with a curse upon their marriage, 
 and a prayer to God that " should He see fit to permit the 
 unworthy couple to leave the world without some visible token 
 of his indignation, He would be pleased to make her some 
 special revelation, to prevent her from utterly disbelieving 
 his providence and justice." 
 
 What followed, whether in consequence of her malison or 
 not, might go some way in preventing the good lady from 
 falling into the state of unbelief she so much dreaded. Not 
 long after his marriage, and in consequence of his opposing 
 
238 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 the Eevolution settlement, "William Livingston found it 
 necessary to retire to Holland with Lady Dundee, where 
 fate overtook the latter, at a time and in a way she least ex- 
 pected. The event is thus related in a letter from John 
 Hay, of Carubber, to the Earl of ErroU, dated Edinburgh, 
 30th October, 1695 : — " By the post yesterday I had a letter 
 from young Blaer, out of titrecht, with a particular, but sad 
 account of the accident of the Viscountess of Dundee and 
 her son. He writes that he had dined with her and EUsyth 
 (Livingston of Kilsyth), her husband, and after dinner, just 
 as he had left them, the lady and Kilsyth, and a gentleman 
 with them, went into the room where the young child and 
 Mrs Melville, the lady's woman, were. The house was 
 covered with turf, the usual fuel in that place, and it is 
 thought, by the weight of it, the roof fell and crushed my 
 lady, and her son, and Mrs MelviUe, to death. Kilsyth 
 himself was three-quarters of an hour beneath the rubbish, 
 yet both he and the other gentlemen are free of hurt. The 
 lady and her son are embalmed to be brought home. The 
 gentlewoman was buried in that place on the 18th instant 
 (old style) after dinner." 
 
 This is one version of the event, but probably not the 
 true one. According to another account, " this was not by 
 accident, but by design. The landlord and some of his ac- 
 complices had cut the beams which supported the roof, and, 
 upon a signal being given, he let it fall in, with a view to 
 smother the whole company," — a number of noblemen con- 
 cerned in the late rebellion. " It appears that very few 
 escaped, and I never heard it denied or doubted that Lady 
 Kilsyth and her infant perished in the ruins. Indeed, the 
 wound she received on the right temple is still visible ; and 
 when the body was first discovered" — in an arched vault, 
 under the church of Kilsyth, the burial-place of the Kilsyth 
 family for many generations — " it was covered with a black 
 patch, about the size of a crown, piece. There is no mark of 
 violence upon her son. He seems to have been smothered, 
 as it is generally said, sitting on the knee of his mother at 
 table. 
 
 "Her body was embowelled and embalmed, and soon 
 afterwards sent over to Scotland. It was landed, and lay at 
 Leith for some time in a cellar, and was afterwards carried 
 to Kilsyth, and buried in great pomp, according to the form 
 of the church of England. It is not twenty years siace " — 
 
THE DEATH OF DUNDEE. 239 
 
 written in 1800 — " some of the inhabitants of this parish 
 died, who were, in their youth, eyewitnesses of the funeral. 
 
 " The body was enclosed, first in a cofBn of fir, next in a 
 leaden coffin nicely cemented, but without any inscription; 
 this was again covered within a very strong wooden coffin. 
 The space between the two was filled up with a white matter, 
 somewhat of the colour and consistence of putty, apparently 
 composed of gums and perfumes, for it had a rich and de- 
 licious flavour. When I was a boy at school, I have fre- 
 quently seen the coffin in which she lies, for the vault was 
 then always accessible, and often opened ; but at that time 
 the wooden coffin was entire. Indeed, it was only within 
 a few years that it decayed. Even after this, the lead one 
 remained entire for a considerable time ; but, being very 
 brittle and thin, it also began to moulder away ; a slight 
 touch of the finger penetrated any part of it. In the aper- 
 tures thus made nothing was seen but the gummy matter 
 above mentioned. When this was partly removed, which 
 was easily done, being very soft, and only about an inch in 
 thickness, another wooden coffin appeared, which seemed 
 quite fresh and clean, 
 
 " But no one ever thought of opening it until the spring 
 of 1796, when some rude, regardless young men went to 
 visit the tomb, and, with sacrilegious hands, tore open the 
 leaden coffin. To their surprise they found under the lead 
 a covering of fir, as clean and fresh as if it had been made 
 the day before. The cover of this, being loose, was easily 
 removed. With astonishment and consternation they saw 
 the body of Lady Kilsyth, and her child, as perfect as the 
 hour they were entombed. 
 
 " For some weeks this circumstance was kept secret, but 
 at last it began to be whispered in several companies, and 
 soon excited great and general curiosity. On the 12th of 
 June, while I was from home, great crowds assembled, and 
 would not be denied admission. At all hours of the night, 
 as weU. as the day, they afterwards persisted in gratifying 
 their curiosity. 
 
 " I saw the body soon after the coffin was opened. It 
 was quite entire. Every feature and every limb was as full, 
 nay, the very shroud was as clear and fresh, and the colours 
 of the ribbons as bright as the day they were lodged in the 
 tomb. 
 
 " WTiat rendered this scene more striking ajid truly ia- 
 
240 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 teresting was, that the body of her son and only child, the 
 natural heir of the title and estates of Kilsyth, lay at her 
 knee. His features were as composed as if he had been only 
 asleep. His colour was as fresh, and flesh as plump and 
 full, as in the perfect glow of health ; the smile of infancy 
 and innocence sate on his lips. His shroud was not only 
 entire, but perfectly clean, without a particle of dust upon 
 it. He seems to have been only a few months old. 
 
 " The body of Lady Kilsyth was equally well preserved, 
 and at a little distance, with the feeble light of a taper, it 
 would not have been easy to distinguish whether she was 
 dead or alive. The features, nay, the very expression of her 
 countenance, were marked and distinct, and it was only in a 
 certain light that you could distinguish anything like the 
 ghastly and agonising traits of a violent death. Not a 
 single fold of her shroud was discomposed, nor a single 
 member impaired. 
 
 " The body seemed to have been preserved in some 
 liquid, nearly of the colour and appearance of brandy; 
 the whole coffin seems to have been full of it, and all its 
 contents saturated with it. The body had assumed some- 
 what the same tinge, but this served only to give it a fresher 
 look ; it had none of the ghastly, livid hue of death, but 
 rather a copper complexion. 
 
 " It would, I believe, have been difficult for a chemist to 
 ascertain the nature of this liquid ; though perfectly trans- 
 parent, it had lost all its pungent qualities, its taste being 
 quite vapid. 
 
 " The head reclined on a pillow, and as the covering de- 
 cayed, it was found to contain a collection of strong scented 
 herbs. Balm, sage, and mint were easily distinguished, and 
 it was the opinion of many that the body was filled with the 
 same. 
 
 " Although the bodies were thus entire at first, I confess 
 I expected to see them soon crumble into dust, especially as 
 they were exposed to the open air, and the fine aromatic 
 fluid had evaporated, and it seems surprising that they did 
 not. For several weeks they underwent no visible change, 
 and had they not been sullied with dust and the drops of 
 grease from the candles held over them, I am confident they 
 might have remained as entire as ever; for, even a few 
 months ago, the bodies were as firm and compact as at first, 
 and, though pressed with the finger, did not yield to the 
 
THE DEATH OF DUIST)EE. 241 
 
 touch, but seemed to retain the elasticity of the living body. 
 Several medical gentlemen made an incision into the arm of 
 the infant ; the substance of the body was quite firm, and 
 every part in its origiaal state." 
 
 In 1796, nearly a century after the loss of the ring, it 
 was found by a tenant while digging for potatoes in the gar- 
 den at Colzium. It is described as being of gold, about the 
 breadth of a straw, without any stone, and not worth more 
 than ten shillings. The external surface is ornamented with 
 a wreath of myrtle, and on the internal surface is the follow- 
 ing legend — zov/rs onlly and ever. 
 
 16 
 
242 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE JOYCES OF GLENEIRA. 
 
 One dark memorial of the crimes of man. — MoOEE. 
 
 It may have been a dozen years since I sojourned for ten 
 days or so in a locality then little known, though since be- 
 come rather more famous, from the scientific excursion of 
 the British Association in the year 1857. I mean Arran- 
 mohr, or the greater Arran Island. As an antiquary, and 
 an observer of the primitive habits of a wild and insulated 
 race, my visit was full of interest. Most of my time was 
 spent in exploring ruins, examining geologic formations, 
 or admiring the rich and varied Plora of the Island : the 
 evenings were enlivened by quaint anecdote, and "Auld- 
 world-story " of the habits and manners of the islanders. 
 
 One of these narratives I find preserved in my note-book, 
 and I give it as it was told to me : — 
 
 There were queer times in Connaught formerly, said 
 my informant. I saw the house myself near Castlebar, 
 where old Mr Joyce lived, — a fine man and a scholar they 
 say he was in his time, and he had a snug little estate of his 
 own ; there were Joyces of Grleneira for hundreds of years, 
 and there was only one little boy to have all. If the old man 
 didn't make his means better he didn't make them worse, 
 as was the Connaught way in them times, but it wasn't his 
 way, — he'd sit all day in his study, and never past "his 
 tumbler" in an evening. 
 
 I remember his son Eichard Joyce well — dark Dick they 
 used to call him ; things never went well with him, and 
 old people used to put it down this way^ 
 
 Old Mr Joyce did not mind Dick's ways or tempers much. 
 " I'll give him good schooling," he said, " and his estate clear : 
 what more can I do for him ? " And so, signs on it, he had 
 him at a good school too. Old Doctor Millar had the Castle- 
 
THE STORY OF THE JOYCES OP GLENEIEA. 243 
 
 bar scliool in them times, and a good warrant he was to make 
 a scholar. One rule he had, and he never broke it : if a boy 
 was to get a hoisting, he'd get it, as sure as day, big or little ; 
 'twas all one to him. 'Twas n't often he did it, but if a boy 
 was to be horsed, he'd have him up if he was as strong as a 
 giant. 
 
 Dick Joyce was about seventeen, and used to come home 
 from school every Saturday, and Darby Lynch, the old 
 serving man, used to take him back on his pony every 
 Monday morning. One black Monday his father sent him 
 back, with his compliments to Doctor Millar, and he begged 
 he would give him a good thrashing for something he had 
 done the day before. " Don't, father," says Dick, " I'm too 
 big to be hoisted before the school ; I never was flogged yet, 
 and if the Doctor gets your message I have no chance of 
 getting off — don't shame me." "Nonsense, sir," said the 
 father, " positively you have done wrong and shamed your- 
 self already. I have said it, and punished you shall be. 
 Mind, you give my message. Darby." 
 
 The boy left his father's study with a red brow and a dark 
 look, and the dark look seldom left his face from that hour 
 to the day of his death long afterwards ; for Doctor Millar 
 flogged him most punctually, and in compliment to some- 
 thing like manly resistance to the indignity he was under- 
 going, rather more severely than usual. 
 
 Saturday came round again — and again Eichard Joyce 
 came home, but instead of running to meet his father as 
 usual, he lurked about the outhouses, sat brooding on the 
 stairs, came in to dinner only when sent for more than once, 
 and went early to bed, without uttering a word that he could 
 avoid. 
 
 Next day — Sunday — Mr Joyce's servants had all gone to 
 early mass, as was their habit, to the chapel opposite to his 
 gate; they were loitering homewards, about their master's 
 breakfast hour, when they saw Dick Joyce rush from the 
 house across the lawn, hatless, and in headlong haste. 
 Hurrying home, they found his unhappy father lying in a 
 chair, fainting and bloody, a bloody knife at his feet, — a 
 deep wound in his side. It appeared that the moment he 
 entered the breakfast -room from his study, his son— his 
 only son — brooding over the insult to which he had been 
 subjected, and unable to master his dark passions, had 
 
244 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 snatched a knife from the table, and inflicted the parricidal 
 blow, which however did not ultimately prove mortal. 
 
 The parricide had fled to the house, of an uncle, who 
 lived at some distance ; the fact became known ; relatives, his 
 uncle especially, sought to appease the father's Just resent- 
 ment, at the same time suggesting that some condign punish- 
 ment should be thought of which might make the violent 
 boy feel the enormity of his offence. The old man slowly 
 recovered from his wound, but rejected all idea of further 
 punishment of any kind: "The day of punishment or cor- 
 rection by me is past," he said mournfully, " and my fear is 
 that I may have already doomed him to an infliction too 
 heavy, which I cannot recall. As I lay in the chair bleeding 
 and, as I believed, dying by the hand of my only child, and 
 marked the boy hurrying from me across the fields, I made 
 a fearful prayer, and it was this, that my 'ungrateful son 
 might live to have a child who would revenge the crime he had 
 committed against me. I am frightened now at my own 
 petition — God grant it may never be accomplished or 
 granted." 
 
 Old Joyce lived several years after this ; his son ex- 
 pressed great remorse at his shocking act of impulse, and 
 lived to bring his fierce passions to a great extent under 
 control ; but stUl the dark look never altogether left him, 
 and under strong excitement his brow would occasionally 
 flush with even a redder • suflTusion than it bore on the iU- 
 omened morning when he left his father's study under sen- 
 tence of his fatal flogging. 
 
 Eichard Joyce grew up to settle in life, and marry re- 
 spectably ; his wife bore him a goodly family of sons and 
 daughters, and he engaged in large farming speculations in 
 days when, by simiLar means, large fortunes were acquired by 
 the farming gentry of his own standing around him ; but, 
 though busy and speculating, and for a while seemingly 
 prosperous, Eichard Joyce's fortunes began at length to 
 retrograde : of his fair family all died off at various ages, 
 until were left but two sons, John and Eichard, and at the 
 age of sixty, of all his ventures, nothing remained but the 
 wreck and attaching liabilities of his rented farms i he was 
 obliged to surrender or assign all, save Eoasbire, a commo- 
 dious house where he continued to reside, and his little patri- 
 monial estate of Grleneira, which was so loaded with debt and 
 
THE STORY OP THE JOYCES OF GLENEIEA. 245 
 
 mortgage, that, like too many Connaugbt gentlemen before 
 or since, he was little more than an agent to hand over the 
 rents to his creditors, an agent with all the risk and trouble, 
 and without the fees for collection, in lieu of which he had 
 the empty honour of being stiU " Joyce of GHeneira." 
 
 To this small patrimonial estate, situated in the Highlands 
 of Mayo, his two sons, now respectively twenty-two and 
 three years of age, both clung with all the tenacity of here- 
 ditary recollections : it had been in the family for generations, 
 old retainers about would tell them that " a Joyce never 
 throve since the family left it to move down into the plains." 
 The house was old, but strong and respectable : game 
 plentiful in the neighbourhood, and as old Dick Joyce's affairs 
 became embarrassed and his style of living reduced, his sons 
 began gradually to shun general society, when they could no 
 longer "spend with the best ;" they passed most of their time 
 at Gleneira, until at last it became their settled abode; the old 
 man was left to ruminate at Eossbire over his ruined fortunes, 
 while the yourig men fished, shot, coursed, and led, it was 
 believed, the wild and dissolute life of young Squireens at 
 Gleneira. 
 
 At last affairs seemed nearing a crisis : Dark Dick 
 Joyce's plans began to wear an aspect as ominous as his own 
 face. And creditors grew clamorous in proportion. The 
 old squire began to bend and droop under the pressure upon 
 him ; hitherto he had never been a man to take his childien 
 into his councils, or to allow of their interference vrith his 
 business had they been so disposed ; now he began to com- 
 plain of their negligence. " His boys gave him no help," he 
 said ; his chief creditor, he to whom Gleneira was pledged for 
 far more than its value, became very pressing for " a settle- 
 ment," in other words, a surrender of the property, and 
 " Dark Dick," wishing, as he phrased it, " for a quiet life for 
 the rest of his days," agreed to put the mortgagee into pos- 
 session. " Andy Spellissy," says he, " Gleneira owes you more 
 than it is worth twice over." " But what can you have from the 
 cat but his skin ? " " Give me a receipt in fuU, and 'tis yours 
 for ever and a day." 
 
 His sons heard of this offer of Dick Joyce's with all the 
 impotent fury of proud, suUen.Ul-regulated spirits, feeKng that 
 ruin was coming on them, which they could neither avert nor 
 avoid, nor yet meet with decent endurance. 
 
 This state of things was but too common in Ireland in 
 
246 FAMILY EOMAJSTCE. 
 
 the olden time : men held doggedly on, by lands and positions, 
 wasted or forfeited by their own or their forefather's extrava- 
 gance, unable to keep, unwilling to let go, and but too often 
 signalising the final surrender by some desperate act of resist- 
 ance to law, or of violence to themselves or others. Many 
 a tragedy do the records of Ireland contain connected with 
 the dispossessing of overholding occupants from lands to 
 which they Had lost title, but few so dark as that with 
 which I am. to conclude this " Stem Story." 
 
 Old " Dark Dick " had repeatedly told his sons " that it 
 was no use to be obstinate, he could not pay, and Andy 
 Spellissy (his mortgagee) must have Gleneira ; the fact is," 
 he said at last, " there's no more about it, I have promised to 
 give him possession next ' Lady Day,' the thing must be 
 done, and 'tis better to do it quietly and decently, and, as I 
 suppose you won't like to see it done, it is better for you to 
 move in time ; come home to your mother and me, and take 
 bit and sup with us, as long as we can keep buckle and 
 tongue together." 
 
 The young men were diiferently affected by this declara- 
 tion, though they both agreed in declaring their firm purpose 
 to hold the Old Hall of Grleneira in spite of fate. To the 
 invitation to return home John declared that " he would en- 
 list for the Indies any day, before he stood the country after 
 the old place was gone ; " while young Richard's brow dark- 
 ened with a look like his father's as he said, " I'm going back 
 to Gleneira, and I advise any mail, young or old, gentle or 
 simple, but above all the old usurious thief Andy Spellissy, 
 to order his coffin before he comes to put me out until I like 
 to leave myself." 
 
 The father shook his head, and the conversation ended. 
 Days went by, Lady Day approached, but the young men 
 showed no symptoms of moving from the forfeited premises. 
 Their father sent repeated messages to the effect that they 
 must leave, and had best do so peaceably and in time, but 
 their answers were given with increasing obstuiacy, and at 
 length insolence, all to the same effect, that neither to him 
 nor to living man would they yield the house of their fathers. 
 
 At length the fated Lady Day came round. John and 
 Eichard Joyce rose as usual, and equipped themselves for a 
 coursing expedition ; it was supposed and hoped that they 
 believed their father would never persevere in his purpose in 
 the face of their resistance, and they bad little fear that 
 
THE STORY OF THE JOYCES OF GLENEIEA. 247 
 
 Andrew SpeUissy would ever venture alone to approach their 
 hall door with a purpose of expelling them from the house 
 of their inheritance. They stood on the door-steps, grey- 
 hounds gambolling, terriers barking, and a tribe of hangers- 
 on lounging about, and ready to accompany them on their 
 coursing progress, when a boy ran breathless from the gate- 
 house, to announce, that " the old master and Andrew Spel- 
 lissy were coming up the avenue, and that the moment the 
 master came inside the gate he pulled a clod of earth and put 
 it into ould SpeUissy' s hand," this being the symbolic ex- 
 pression for giving " seizure " of a property in Ireland. 
 
 At this intelligence all the fierce passions of their race 
 blazed up into madness in the breasts of these young men. 
 To rush within-doors, to seize each a loaded gun, was but the 
 work of an instant, and as they appeared again, the servants 
 and every one round saw the dark shadow which was here- 
 ditary, too visibly traced on the brow of each, and men whis- 
 pered to each other, that " sure as G-od was in heaven, bad 
 work was about to follow." 
 
 " Eun, Peter," said the eldest to a by-stander, "run in the 
 name of God and teU them that are coming up, that if Andy 
 SpeUissy shows his head beyond the hoUy-bush to take our 
 house from us, he's a dead man." 
 
 " Oh, but master John," said the terrified domestic, " for 
 the honour of Q-od, think of what you are about ; sure the 
 old master is with him, and " 
 
 " Old or young, gentle or simple," broke in Eichard 
 Joyce, "tell them from me that the man who shows his 
 nose round the bush ■ dies, if I can shoot straight, and I 
 believe the country knows how that is," he added with a 
 bitter laugh. 
 
 The man shook his head and went on his errand: he 
 met the two old men slowly advancing like those who feel 
 that an unpleasant reception awaits them. He delivered 
 his message, described the state of feeling of the young 
 men, and begged them in God's name to turn back and not 
 tempt the unfortunate boys to commit murder. 
 
 But the elder Joyce's feelings had been wound up to the 
 determination to surrender on that particular day, and he 
 doggedly determined to go through and have done with it : 
 " It must be," he said, "the boys were foolish to struggle 
 against what could not be avoided, he would go and reason 
 
248 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 witt them, and Andrew Spellissy had best wait where he 
 was for a moment." 
 
 So saying, the doomed man put his horse forward, and 
 at a brisk trot passed the holly-tree, whose thick branches 
 covered a turn in the avenue, at a point about fifty yards 
 distant from the hall-door. Upon this point, the attention 
 of the young men was fixed, with all the intensity of rage 
 and fixed resolve to make good their threat ; and the 
 moment a figure appeared beyond it, the loaded guns they 
 held in their hands were pointed with deadly aim, and dis- 
 charged at the same moment ; that of John missed fire, that 
 of Eichard exploded ; and too truly verified his own boast, 
 and his grandfather's malediction, and on the threshold of 
 his paternal mansion stood Eichard, the son of Eichard, — 
 a parricide ! Let us hope that his defence upon ■ his trial 
 was as true as the jury believed it to be, namely, that he 
 thought he aimed at another, though he kiUed his own 
 father. 
 
 Not a trace of this doomed family now remains ia the 
 country, nor does one stone now stand on another to show 
 where stood the house of Grleneira, the scene of the original 
 curse and of its subsequent fulfilment. 
 
THE SOEEOW OF THE SKEFFINGTONS. 249 
 
 THE SORROW OF THE SKEFFINGTONS. 
 
 Few families in tte kingdom can boast of a more ancient 
 or a more honourable descent than the Skeffingtons of 
 Skeffington. They formed alliances with the Willoughbya, 
 the Stanhopes, the Byrons, the Caves, the Chetwodes, the 
 Digbys. For centuries their mansions at Skef&ngton and 
 Fisherwicke rivalled every midland mansion in the extent of 
 their hospitality. From Sir Geoffrey Skeffington of the 
 times of Henry III. to Sir "William, the King's Com- 
 missioner in Ireland of the times of Henry VIII., and from 
 him to Sir Lumley Skeffington, the last of the direct line, 
 the family has produced a succession of remarkable men.* 
 
 In the Skeffington pedigree occurs this singular entry : 
 
 Sir Wm Skeffington=Kath. 01ietwode=Miohael Bray, Johu SkefiBngton, Esq. 
 
 2nd husband. Killed by Michael Bray, 
 KiUedNov.41,1613. Nov. 4, 1613. Ob. Coelebs. 
 
 This was " the sorrow of the Skeffingtons," and it is to 
 this doubly fatal rencountre that I desire to direct the 
 reader's attention. Sir William Skeffington married one of 
 the loveliest ladies of the land, a daughter of Sir Eichard 
 Chetwode of Warkworth ; " but," says Burton, " he was so 
 possessed vrith the Italian humour of jealousy that he 
 would not vouchsafe that she should either see or be seen, 
 to converse or be conversed withal, though she was a lady 
 of many worthy parts, well qualified, and of great desert." 
 No favourite of an Oriental despot was ever more secluded. 
 When taking the air in the grounds and park of Skeffington, 
 she was always preceded and followed by a body-guard of 
 domestics, who were not themselves to approach withiu a 
 
 * Viscount Massereene and Ferrard is now the representative of the 
 Irish line of the Skeffingtons. 
 
250 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 prescribed distance, and were not to allow others to approach 
 on pain of instant dismissal. Sir WiUiam died without issue 
 in. 1605, leaving one brother, John, by whom he was suc- 
 ceeded, and four sisters. 
 
 After mourning her liege lord for the nsual period with 
 all the outward accompaniments of grief, and not without 
 some inward sorrow for the loss of one who so idolized her. 
 Lady Skeffington again mixed with the world, and, with 
 personal charms undiminished, and pecuniary ones consider- 
 ably augmented, again became " the cynosure of neighbour- 
 ing eyes." Penelope herself had not more wooers ; some of 
 the highest names in the kingdom were in the list. They 
 were rejected. Lady Skeffington seemed to say to all, ia 
 the words of another heroine of the long past, 
 
 " Ille meos, primus qui me sibi junxit, amores 
 Abstulit : ille habeat seoum servetque sepulohro," — 
 
 when the astounding intelligence reached all ears that 
 the inconsolable Lady Skeffington was married ! Yes, she 
 who had heard Earls sighing at her feet, had consoled her- 
 self with her own groom, Michael Bray ! 
 
 Such a mesalliance naturally raised the indignation of 
 the Skeffingtons, especially as Lady Skeffington had exten- 
 sive power over the estates by virtue of Sir William's 
 will. Disputes arose, and at last a chancery suit between 
 Mr John Skeffington and Bray was entered upon. "While 
 all parties were at Westminster preparing for a hearing, 
 some friends prevailed upon the litigants to attempt a 
 compromise. Por this purpose they met at the Hoop 
 Tavern in Grray's Inn. The conference began in concUiar 
 tory terms on both sides, but shortly after Bray, going 
 down-stairs, stopped at the bottom with his sword drawn, 
 and as Mr Skeffington was following him, gave him a mortal 
 wound in his abdomen ! On first seeing Bray's naked 
 sword, Mr Skeffington had drawn his own, and in faUing, 
 mortally wounded Bray. In a few minutes both had ceased 
 to live. 
 
 To call such an assassination a duel is clearly a misno- 
 mer. Possibly had Bray survived, it would have been 
 treated, as no doubt it deserved to be, as a deliberate 
 murder. What became of Lady Skeffington after this 
 fatal encounter we are unable to say.* The family estates 
 * She left a spn and tbree daugbters by Bray. 
 
THE SOKROW OF THE SKEFFINGTONS. 251 
 
 went to the four sisters of Sir "William and the murdered 
 Mr John Skeffington, one of whom, Ursula, married her 
 relative Sir John Skeffington of Fisherwicke, ancestor of 
 the Barla and Viscounts of Massereene. 
 
 It was observed however that all the four sisters, during 
 their whole lives, bore about with them a settled gloom. 
 " We would rather," said Ursula, " have been co-partiiers in 
 our brother's love than co-heiresses in his estates had they 
 been ten times as extensive." 
 
 It may be added that their mother was a Byron of New- 
 stead, and that when Lord Byron was tried for the duel 
 with Mr Chaworth, an attempt was made to draw a com- 
 parison between the two cases. 
 
252 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 THE PURITAi;['S CURSE. 
 
 On the head of him who did this deed 
 My curse shall light, on him and all his seed. — Bybon 
 
 MoEETON-CoEBET, Shropshire, the ancient seat of the 
 Corbets, is situated in the parish of the same name, and 
 about eight miles north of Shrewsbury. 
 
 This estate was possessed in the olden time by the famfly 
 of Turold or Turet, who were among the very few Saxon 
 landholders retaining any property in Shropshire after the 
 Norman Conquest. In the reign of Edward the Confessor, 
 Turold owned large estates in that county, and at the time 
 of Domesday he was recorded to have held, under. Earl 
 B/Oger, thirteen manors, among which was Moreton, called 
 afterwards " Moreton Turet." In the reign of Henry the 
 Third the estate came to the Corbets by the marriage of Sir 
 Eichard Corbet with Joan, daughter and. heiress of Bar- 
 tholomew Turet of Moreton Turet, from which time to the 
 present Moreton has continued in the Corbet family, and 
 for several centuries has been distinguished by the name of 
 Moreton-Corbet. 
 
 The existing mansion was commenced by Sir Eichard 
 Corbet. He died in 1606, when he was succeeded by his 
 brother Vincent, who went on with the building thus began, 
 and is the principal feature in the tradition I have now to 
 relate, as it may be gathered, though vrith often varying forms, 
 from popular recollection. 
 
 It was about the beginning of the reign of James the 
 Eirst that the Puritans became an object of attention, if not 
 of fear, with the government ; and not altogether without 
 reason : they had greatly increased in numbers, and with 
 this increase had also extended the boldness of their political 
 opinions. Their doctrines, had they been confined to re- 
 ligion only, might, perhaps, have passed with little notice, 
 
THE PURITAN S CUESE. 253 
 
 for, if not tolerant, James was indolent ; but religion then, 
 as it always must do, governed men's political feelings, and 
 Puritanism was essentially democratic. James and his ad- 
 visers resolved, by persecution, to put down this enemy to 
 arbitrary power. This seemed the more easy, as, out of their 
 own sect, the Puritans had few friends amongst the people, 
 who were more repelled by their sour fanaticism and their 
 hostility to all pleasure, than they were won by their advocacy 
 of freedom, which else must have insured them the good-will 
 of the multitude. 
 
 Amongst the few favourers of the Puritans amongst 
 the gentry was Vincent Corbet. One particular object of 
 his kindness was an old man, Paul Holmyard by name, who 
 lived in a cottage at a short distance from the Hall, and pos- 
 sessed, if not aflSuence, enough to live upon. He was ad- 
 vanced in years, still hale and vigorous, but by no means of 
 a prepossessing appearance — the muscles of his face, being 
 as Quin said of Macklin, more like cordage than anything 
 else, while his cold grey eye gave the idea of a being totally 
 divested of human sympathies. Never had fanaticism set 
 her stamp more visibly upon the human countenance. He 
 had long been a marked man with the High Church party, 
 but the protection of Mr Corbet had hitherto been his safe- 
 guard, and he had been left unmolested at a time when many 
 others, less fanatical perhaps, but more unfriended, had ex- 
 perienced the tender mercies of the government. 
 
 But long impunity, at length, made Paul conduct himself 
 in such a way that Mr Corbet found himself obliged to 
 threaten the withdrawal of his protection — a threat which 
 the old man did not believe, and which, therefore, had not 
 the slightest influence upon his actions. Unfortunately for 
 him, this was a time when the clergy, finding the unpopu- 
 larity of persecution, had shifted its labours from their own 
 shoulders, and committed the task to the civil powers. Still 
 he went on preaching openly, and without the least reserve, 
 what he called the Gospel, but what the authorities called 
 sedition, till the dogs of the law were let loose upon him. 
 It was a bleak winter's night, and he had not long retired to 
 bed, when he was roused by a loud knocking at the outer 
 door of his cottage. Hastily throwing open the window, he 
 saw one whom he recognised for the most devoted of his 
 followers, for the moon was shining brightly, and every ob- 
 ject was almost as visible as at noon-day. To his inquiries 
 
254 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 as to the purport of so unseasonable a visit, the man only 
 replied by a pressing demand for instant admission. Some- 
 what alarmed by this unexplained urgency, Paul descended 
 and admitted the applicant, who hastily informed him that 
 his life was in peril, the myrmidons of justice having already 
 set out for his arrest, and would probably be there in less 
 than half an hour. 
 
 Paul hesitated. Though a stubborn Spirit, he wanted 
 that ready daring which can meet any danger at once, how- 
 ever unexpected. " I will escape to the hUls," he said, " and 
 hide me there-amongst from the persecutor." 
 
 " Impossible ! " replied the man ; " they would track you 
 by your footmarks upon the snow, which Ues thick and un- 
 trodden for miles around. You'd be caught long before you 
 reached the hills." 
 
 " What, then, shall I do ? " replied the troubled Puritan ; 
 " advise me, Jonathan, for thou art well known for a burning 
 and shining light amongst the Gentiles. Advise me how I 
 may best escape the snare of the fowler, who else wiU, per- 
 adventure, take and slay me." 
 
 " I know but one chance," said the man in answer, " and 
 that's one you may not like to try." 
 
 " Let me hear, however ; it may be I shall think better 
 of it than yourself." 
 
 " Then fly for the ruins of the old chapel ; nobody will 
 like to follow you into them ; or, if they should, the passages 
 below are so many and intricate, they might search a whole 
 twelvemonth, and never find you, if you did not choose to be 
 found." 
 
 Now the ruins laboured under an ill repute ; so Ul, in- 
 deed, that Jonathan was quite right in saying that no one of 
 the neighbourhood would like to venture into them. The 
 experiment had been tried at various times by divers bold 
 spirits ; but as none of these adventurers ever returned — 
 having probably lost themselves and been starved to death 
 in the endless subterranean passages — many awful tales and 
 legends began to circulate in regard to the place, which 
 made the deeper impression, as it was impossible to trace 
 their origin. The most moderate of these accounts assigned 
 the interminable caverns to the souls of suicides, who, not 
 liking their burial-homes at the junction of four roads, to 
 which they had been banished by their respective inquests, 
 had taken up their abodes here, and out of pure malice 
 
THE puritan's CDKSE. 255 
 
 whenever they could catch any living intruder vrithin their 
 domains, would drive their own stakes through hia body, 
 and roast him before a brimstone fire. In such stories Paul 
 was an unwilling believer ; if they went occasionally against 
 the grain of his reason, he was' somewhat reconcUed to them 
 by his superstitious fanaticism. Still, in the present case, 
 he had no choice, nor even much time to screw up his 
 courage "to the sticking-place ; " so, having provided him- 
 self with a Bible, a wax-candle, a tinder-box, and a small 
 supply of provisions, he forthwith departed for the ruined 
 chapel. There he had not been long before he saw through 
 the broken walls a body of his pursuers, who tracked him, 
 hound-like, by his footsteps on the snow. Hitherto, he had 
 hesitated to commit himself to the caverns, but now that 
 they had approached within a few yards, he began to fear 
 lest they might have courage enough to search the upper 
 ruins, though not to proceed further ; and breathing, there- 
 fore, a hasty prayer — ^what at other times he would have 
 called a short allowance of spiritual provender — he descended, 
 and groped his way for some time in the darkness, tUl he 
 thought he had attained a point of safety. Here he paused. 
 In a few minutes something like a distant gleam shone upon 
 the passage by which he had entered. He retreated. The 
 light kept advancing slowly but steadily. Still he plunged 
 deeper into the cavern, and still the light advanced upon him, 
 but, as the passage continued, not straight, but winding, 
 and at times turned off at a sharp angle. And now came 
 the ringing report of a pistol, when a piece shivered off from 
 a rock, which struck him on the forehead, making the blood 
 run warmly down one side of his face ! Could they have seen 
 him ? That was hardly possible from the nature of the 
 cavern, as we have just described it. Perhaps in their alarm 
 they had fired at some imaginary object of suspicion, or it 
 might have been the result of mere wantonness. It had 
 however the effect of making him retire more rapidly, — an 
 imlucky speed, for it caused his foot to slip, when down he 
 fell, and continued rolling, as if down some steep ascent. At 
 this time he was too much stunned, by the blow as well as 
 the fall, to help himself, though quite sensible of his danger. 
 At length he was brought to a stop by a ledge of rock, not 
 half a foot higher than the rest of the cavern fioor. He sat 
 up to listen if his pursuers still followed, when his at- 
 tention was arrested by a low, hollow, murmuxing sound, 
 
256 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 that seemed to proceed from some depth in front of him. 
 What it was he could not make out ; and, feeling assured 
 that he was far enough from his enemy, he ventured to strike 
 a light. What was his horror when, by the taper's flame, 
 he saw himself on the extreme edge of a precipice, with a 
 mass of black waters rolling sullenly below. It was evidently 
 the sound of their fall into a second descent that he had 
 heard. For some minutes he remained in too much terror to 
 move ; and when he did, it was only by creeping along the 
 ground, nor did he venture to stand upright again till he had 
 left the water at some distance behind him. 
 
 But his pursuers had by no means given up the hope of 
 capturing him. He again heard the sound of their voices, 
 and, in the natural instinct of self-preservation, he dropt 
 his light, and darted into another branch of the cavern, feel- 
 ing his way till he sank down from pure weariness and ex- 
 haustion. 
 
 Hour after hour passed, — perhaps a night ; for he was 
 conscious of having slept for a long time. He had consumed 
 all his provisions, and some decisive measures must be taken. 
 To stay where he was would be certain death, but in what 
 direction should he move ? Even had he still possessed a 
 light, the question would have been scarcely less difficult to 
 answer, so numerous and so intricate were the branches from 
 the main cavern, in which he had iiow involved himself. 
 Having no other chance, he walked on in the hope of event- 
 ually finding the passage into which he had first descended. 
 
 Day must have again passed, if he might judge by the 
 hunger and exhaustion which overpowered him. He could 
 move no more, and again he sank down in unwilling rest, 
 when, as before, sleep gave him a temporary respite from his 
 sufferings. But it was only for a short time, and when he 
 awoke, it was to increased agony. 
 
 Many hours had passed away in these alternations of 
 sleep and suffering, and vain efforts to extricate himself from 
 the caverns. The darkness did not, probably, add much to 
 his diifioulties, but it considerably augmented his sense of 
 them. At every step he dreaded again coming in contact with 
 the waters, which, his recent experience told him, were hold- 
 ing their subterranean course through some of the branches. 
 More than once he thought he heard their sullen murmurs, 
 though, perhaps, it was no more than the wind eddying from 
 some unseen outlet, through the passages. Strange to say, 
 
THE PURITAN S CUESE. 257 
 
 it was to a sudden apprehension of this kind that he event- 
 ually owed his safety. 
 
 It was, as he believed, the seventh, though, in fact, it 
 was only the third day of his immersion in these dreary 
 caverns. The sustaining power of fanaticism had, at least, 
 the good effect of saving him from utter desperation, and 
 affording him a staff to lean on which others might have 
 wanted. Having breathed a fervent prayer to Heaven, he 
 felt, as he himself used, in other times, to tell the tale, 
 "wonderfully strengthened and uplifted," so that he was 
 enabled once more to resume his efforts to escape. Suddenly, 
 he heard again, or thought he heard, the rush of water at no 
 great distance from him. "Whether real or only fancy, this 
 made him at once strike into an opposite direction, when, oh 
 joy ! a light — evidently the light of day — was seen glimmer- 
 ing upon the walls of the cavern. Following this happy 
 sign he soon found himself restored to the upper world, but 
 by an opening amongst the hills, at a considerable distance 
 from that by which he had at first entered. 
 
 In the cottage of a peasant, who chanced to be of his 
 own tenets, he found food, rest, and a temporary shelter. To 
 abide here, however, for any length of time was manifestly 
 imprudent, though, even had this not been the case, the 
 rancour which he now felt against Mr Corbet for having 
 withdrawn his protection, would not have allowed him to 
 remain here in quiet. No one can hate so bitterly as a 
 genuine fanatic. 
 
 Great was the surprise of Mr Corbet when the haggard 
 figure of the Puritan on a sudden stood before him, where he 
 was superintending his new works ; but much was that siu-prise 
 augmented when the old man, pointing to the unfinished 
 building, and assuming the tone and action of a prophet, 
 exclaimed, " Woe unto thee, man of the hardened heart — 
 hardened, even as the Lord hardened the heart of Pharaoh, 
 to thine own destruction. Eejoice not iu thy wealth, nor in. 
 the halls of thy pride ; for never shall a cope-stone be set 
 upon them. Neither shalt thou, nor thy children, nor thy 
 children's children dwell therein ; but they shall be a ruiu 
 and a desolation ! and the snake, and the eft, and the adder 
 shall be found there ; and thy house shall be full of doleful 
 creatures." 
 
 That the spirit of prophecy in the old man was no other 
 
258 FAMILY EOMAlfCE. 
 
 than the spirit of hate may -well be admitted ; but his prog- 
 nostics carried some show of reason, or, I should rather 
 say, of probability with them. When he surveyed the great 
 extent of the intended edifice, he might naturally enough 
 conclude that Mr Corbet would incur the fate of those who 
 plan first and count the cost afterwards. 
 
 "Whether the castle was ever complete, according to the 
 original design, is not known. Certain it is, however, that 
 it was garrisoned for the Parliament in 1644, when it sus- 
 tained considerable damage from the attacks of the royalists. 
 Since then it has not been inhabited by the family, and it 
 now presents a pile of rujns, the most picturesque objects to 
 be seen in this part of the country. The walls, for the most 
 part, remain, showing the style and extent of the building, 
 but the roof has fallen in. These venerable fragments are 
 preserved with much care by the present owner of the estate. 
 Sir Vincent Eowland Corbet, who resides at Acton Eeynald, 
 about two miles distant. 
 
THE EAEL OP HOPETOUN S DINNER. 259 
 
 THE EARL OF HOPETOUN'S DIMER AT 
 STANGHILL TOWER. 
 
 May you a Ijetter feast never behold. 
 
 Shakspeabe, Timon op Athens. 
 
 In the vast and beautiful pleasure-grounds of Hopetoun 
 House stalnds a solitary, slender Tower, now an object in the 
 great lord's park, but once the residence of an ancient Scot- 
 tish laird, who, in common with many others of his class, 
 was rooted out to give elbow-room to the new peer. 
 
 The peerage of the Earl of Hopetoun would, in the 
 estimation of an Englishman, be counted ancient ; but 
 in Scotland it stands on a very modern basis. His 
 Lordship's ancestor was a servant of Magdalen of France, 
 Queen of James V. ; and for several generations the family 
 were in trade, and only gradually ascended to the rank of 
 merchants. A son of Hope, the Edinburgh merchant, was a 
 distinguished lawyer, and one of the leaders of the Presby- 
 terians in Charles the First's time. He was knighted, and 
 is known in history as Sir Thomas Hope of CraighaU, Lord 
 Advocate of Scotland. His eldest son. Sir John, was the 
 ancestor of Sir John Hope, Bart., of Pinkie, and his sixth 
 son, James, of the Earl of Hopetoun. He founded the 
 wealth of his family by marrying the heiress of some rich 
 lead mines in Lanarkshire, with' the produce of which he and 
 his descendants purchased large estates in the Lothians. 
 
 Hopetoun House was, originally, a magnificent viUa, built 
 on a very small estate, to which additions have from time to 
 time been made, by buying out several ancient families seated 
 in the immediate neighbourhood, so that it is now a very 
 large property. The Setons and Dimdases have in this 
 way been uprooted from the soil which they possessed for 
 ages. 
 
 Although the Hopes cannot claim, paternally, an ancient 
 
260 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 lineage, tiey have acquired good blood by marriage. Among 
 their female alliances they reckon Hamilton, Earl of Had- 
 dington ; Johnstone, Marquess of Annandale ; Leslie, Earl of 
 Leven ; and Carnegie, Earl of ISTorthesk, though the present 
 Lord Hopetoun is not descended from the two last. And he 
 is, moreover, the sixth Earl of his race, which, in the English 
 or Irish peerage, would constitute him an ancient peer. 
 
 To the rich Earl, inhabiting his splendid palace, and re- 
 joicing in his extended wealth and spreading domains, it was 
 a decided eye-sore to see, on the very verge of his beautiful 
 pleasure-grounds, an ancient turriform mansion, inhabited 
 by one of the old aborigines of the county, whom he was 
 unable to dispossess. This ancient Scottish laird's name was 
 Dundas of Manor. He was a cadet of Dundas of Dudding- 
 ston, and, through that distinguished race, he traced his 
 descent to John Dundas of Dundas, who had been created an 
 Earl by King James the Third, with the title of Eorth — an 
 earldom given him immediately before that unhappy mon- 
 arch's downfal,.and not recognised by his successors. This 
 old laird was strongly attached to his family residence, and 
 resisted every endeavour on the part of his wealthy neighbour 
 to oust him. He refused the very largest prices which had 
 been, in that day, offered for land in Scotland. Lord Hope- 
 toun tried every method in vain. He spoke him fair, 
 through his son-in-law, Dundas of Duddingston, who had 
 just married his daughter, Lady Margaret Hope. He 
 threatened law-suits, ile bribed his mediocrity. But all to 
 no purpose. Dundas of Manor could not be prevailed on to 
 move from Stang-hill Tower. 
 
 At length. Lord Hopetoun bethought him of the possi- 
 bility of getting the old laird to launch into expenses which 
 might, ere long, necessitate the sale of his property — he en- 
 deavoured to lead him on to a higher style of living than 
 that which he had been accustomed to. He begged him to 
 come frequently with his family to Hopetoun House, and 
 offered to visit him in return. Dundas showed evident dis- 
 inclination for the intimate intercourse thus thrust upon him. 
 However, he could not refuse to receive Lord Hopetoun one 
 day when his Lordship invited himself and a large and 
 fashionable shooting party to be the old laird's guests at 
 dinner at the Tower. 
 
 Lord Hopetoun and fifteen friends came at the appointed 
 hour, to partake of the Laird of Manor's hospitality. They 
 
THE EARL OF HOPETOUN's DINNER. 261 
 
 were ushered into the small vaulted hall of the Tower, where 
 a long table was spread, covered with a profusion of sub- 
 stantial pewter dishes and plates burnished to look like silver ; 
 and with a number of most inviting long-necked bottles 
 which seemed to promise the vintages of G-ascony and Cham- 
 pagne. Lord Hopetoun began to congratulate himself on 
 the partial fulfilment of his scheme, and thought of the hole 
 which a few dinners like this would make in the old laird's 
 rental. 
 
 Grace being said, two decent serving men removed the 
 covers from the dishes, when, lo ! a goodly array of alternate 
 herrings and potatoes appeared spread from the top to the 
 bottom. The corks were simultaneously removed, and 
 Dundas poured out a bumper of excellent whisky, and invited 
 his guests to pledge him in the same potent liquor. 
 
 Addressing Lord Hopetoun, he drank to his Lordship's 
 health, and to their better acquaintance, and shaking his 
 head and chuckling jocularly, he said, " It won't do, my 
 lord, it won't do. But whenever you or your guests will 
 honour my poor hall of Stang-hill Tower with your pre- 
 sence at this hour, I promise you no worse fare than that 
 now set before you, the best and fattest herrings that the 
 Forth can produce, together with the mealiest potatoes, and 
 the strongest mountain dew. To this, I beg that your Lord- 
 ship and your honoured friends may do ample justice." 
 
 Lord Hopetoun never dined again at Stang-hill' Tower. 
 Some time after, Mr Dundas found himself on his death-bed, 
 and calling his eldest son, he said, " It is foolish to struggle 
 for ever against our rich and powerful neighbour. He will, 
 sooner or later, have our little property ; make the best 
 terms with him you can." Soon after the old laird's death, 
 an exchange, highly advantageous to the Dundases of 
 Manor, was effected. Stang-hill Tower being given to 
 Lord Hopetoun, which he immediately took into his plea- 
 sure-grounds, and the estate of Aithrey (which gives to 
 Lord Hopetoun the title of Viscount) being made over to 
 Mr Dundas. 
 
 Prom the Dundases of Manor descended the distin- 
 guished Sir Ealph Abercromby and his two sons. Lords 
 Abercromby and Dunfermline, as well as Sir David Dundas, 
 late Solicitor- G-eneral ; and Sir David Dundas,' Baxt., physi- 
 cian to King Creorge the Third, 
 
262 
 
 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 PORTRAIT AT BRAHAN CASTLE. 
 
 Among the numerous family portraits in the ancient cas- 
 tle of Brahan, the seat of the Hon. Mrs Stewart Mackenzie of 
 Seaforth, there is one, concerning which a tale exists which 
 is not more strange than true. 
 
 It represents Lady Frances Herbert, second daughter of 
 William Herbert, Marquess of Powis (created Duke by the 
 abdicated James), wife of Kenneth Mackenzie, fourth Earl 
 of Seaforth (created Marquess by the same monarch). This 
 lady died at Paris in December, 1732. 
 
 It may be proper to explain that the descendants of the 
 Marquess of Seaforth, the elder line of that noble family, 
 are extinct in the male line ; and the estates and headship 
 of the clan devolved on Francis Humberstone Mackenzie, 
 created Baron Seaforth in the peerage of England, whose 
 daughter and sole heiress is the present Hon. Mrs Stewart 
 Mackenzie. Among the descendants in the female line of 
 the elder branch, was the late Viscount Kenmure, whose 
 mother. Lady Frances Mackenzie, was daughter of the fifth 
 Earl, titular Marquess of Seaforth, and grand-daughter of 
 the Lady Frances Herbert. One of the brothers of the 
 Lady Frances Gordon of Kenmure, was Lord Nicolas Mac- 
 kenzie, in holy orders in the church of Kome, to whom the 
 education of his nephew, the late Viscount Kenmure, was 
 in his early years confided. 
 
 Some years ago Mrs Stewart Mackenzie, then residing 
 in Edinburgh, received a note from the late Viscount Ken- 
 mure, requesting permission to call on her and introduce 
 himself to her as a cousin. At the appointed time he came ; 
 and in the course of conversation, he informed the chief of 
 Seaforth that he had just returned from a tour in the north, 
 and that his regard for his maternal ancestors had induced 
 
POETKAIT AT BRAHAN CASTLE. 263 
 
 him to devote a day to a visit to Erahan Castle, over vrhicli 
 an old housekeeper had shown him with much attention. 
 
 " I was especially struck by one picture," said his Lord- 
 ship, " that of my great-grandmother, iFrances Herbert, 
 Marchioness of Seaforth ; and what is very curious, I at 
 once recognised her ! " 
 
 " How can that be ? " said Mrs Stewart Mackenzie, " for 
 she died upwards of a century ago ? " 
 
 " Notwithstanding," said Lord KenmuTe, "I have seen 
 her, and the impression which she made on me could never 
 be effaced, and I at once recognised her portrait in your 
 gallery at Brahan. 
 
 " I was educated in Flanders by my uncle. Lord Nicolas 
 Mackenzie, a pious ecclesiastic of the church of Kome ; and 
 I well remember that, one evening, while we were alone 
 together saying our prayers before retiring to rest, a most 
 venerable, benignant-looking lady entered the room, and 
 glided behind the prie Dieu, on which my uncle was kneel- 
 ing ; and continued looking mildly and kindly upon us until 
 our prayers were ended. Then she disappeared. I imme- 
 diately asked my uncle if he had remarked we were not 
 alone ? Certainly, said he, we were not alone : the spirit of 
 my grandmother was mth us. But her presence did not 
 disturb me, it rather gave me encouragement to pray. The 
 presence of a saint like her could only bring peace and joy. 
 This incident made a deep and lasting impression on me. I 
 never forgot the remarkable old lady, and her air and dress 
 were peculiar and strikiilg. 80 that the other day I had no 
 sooner entered your picture gallery at Brahan than I recog- 
 nised her, although sixty years had elapsed since she ap- 
 peared to my uncle and me." 
 
264 FAMCLY EOMANCE. 
 
 VISIT OF JAMES III., OF SCOTLAND, TO JOHN, 
 THIRD LORD SOMERVILLE. 
 
 One of the most ancient and considerable of the Anglo- 
 Norman families settled in Scotland, was that of Somerville. 
 Their original ancestor was Walter de Somerville, who 
 accompanied WUliam the Conc[ueror to England. His 
 grandson, William de Somerville, attached himself to King 
 David I., and established himself in Scotland, where he 
 maintained a baronial rank, and where his descendants have 
 since flourished, and have been illustrated by alliances with 
 the noblest houses in that country. They never indeed 
 attained to the same pinnacle of splendour with the Dun- 
 bars, Comyns, Douglases, and St Clairs, but they have 
 always held a high place among the baronage of Scotland. 
 
 Thomas de Somerville, of Linten and Carnwath, was 
 created a peer of Parliament in 1430, and his matrimonial 
 alliances sufBciently show the position that he held ; one of 
 his wives having been a Stewart of Darnley, and the other a 
 St Clair of Orkney and Eosslyn. No family seems to have 
 enjoyed a more frequent or familiar intercourse with royalty 
 than that of Somerville : and the following short narrative 
 will recount the visit paid to them by one of the Scottish 
 Kings, which happens still to be on record, viz. that of King 
 James the Third, to John, 3rd Lord Somerville, who 
 married, first, Helen Hepburn, sister to the Earl of Both- 
 well ; and secondly. Marietta Baillie, daughter of the Knight 
 of Lamington. 
 
 In the month of July, 1474, King James the Third was 
 disposed to recreate himself with his favourite diversion of 
 hawking in Oalder and Carnwath moors. Lord Somerville 
 was at that time at Court, in attendance upon his Majesty, 
 who informed him that, while enjoying the sport on the 
 
VISIT OF JAMES III. TO LOED SOMEEVILLE. 265 
 
 moors of Lanarkshire, lie meant to honour him with his 
 company at his castle of CowthaUy. Lord Somerville was 
 doubtless highly pleased with the proposed compliment; 
 and he immediately despatched a courier to CowthaUy, with 
 a letter to his lady. Dame Marietta Baillie, to apprise her of 
 the royal guest for whom it was needful to prepare. Lord 
 Somerville, though a courtier and a warrior, was but an 
 indifferent scholar; and his letters were consequently as 
 brief as possible. Moreover, his lady was unable to read, 
 which rendered long epistles superfluous. It was his usual 
 custom, when, being from home, he had occasion to intimate 
 to his lady that he was, on his return, to be accompanied by 
 any person of quality, to use a very short expression, 
 which he wrote on a sheet of paper ; and which conveyed 
 his hospitable intent to the full as well as a longer letter 
 could have done. The words that he was in the habit 
 of using were speats and raxes; which, being interpreted 
 into modern English, means sfits and ranges; the latter 
 being the appendage to the kitchen grate, on which the 
 spit turns. This was his custom on all occasions of intended 
 hospitality. And now on account of the singular dignity of 
 his intended guest, and in order to show to Lady Somer- 
 ville how necessary it was that everything in the castle 
 should be in high order, and that there should be the great- 
 est plenty of provisions, he repeated his admonition three 
 times over, and wrote Bpeats and raxes, speats and raxes, 
 speats and raxes. 
 
 The messenger who was sent with the missive was ignor- 
 ant of the royal purpose, so that Lady Somerville had no 
 means of knowing anything beyond what her lord thus 
 briefly announced to her. In due time, the express reached 
 CowthaUy Castle, and deUvered the letter into the hands of 
 the lady, informing her, at the same time, that his lord was 
 extremely anxious that it might be securely received, and 
 speedily read, for it contained news of importance. She 
 lost no time in breaking the seal, and, being herself unable 
 to read, she summoned the steward, and commanded him to 
 inform her of the purport of the letter. This official, having 
 but recently entered Lord SomerviUe's service, was not yet 
 weU acquainted with his hand-writing and mode of expres- 
 sion. He, consequently, was puzzled by the uncommon 
 nature of the letter, and did not know what to make of it. 
 Although he thought that he had very cleverly discovered 
 
266 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 the meaning ; and lie misinterpeted speats and raxes to mean 
 spears and jacks, the latter being doublets of leather, quilted 
 with plates of iron, the common armour of the irregular 
 cavalry of that period. " Spears and jacks, spears and jacks, 
 spears and jacks ! " repeated the steward, shaking his head. 
 " This is, indeed, a very bad business. My lord has, without 
 doubt, got into some trouble, and here he sends an order to 
 have as many retainers as possible armed, and to march to- 
 his aid. Such must be the meaning of this extraordinary 
 expression, and, as it is thrice repeated, it shows the great 
 urgency of the case. 
 
 Hereupon, Lady Somerville, all amazed, and never con- 
 sidering her husband's ordinary form of writing, began to 
 weep bitterly, supposing that her lord had fallen at variance 
 with some powerful person about the court, and that his 
 life was iu jeopardy. This was not improbable, because, 
 about that time, the King began to look coldly upon the 
 ancient nobility of the realm, and to raise upstart favourites 
 to places of trust and power. Lord Somerville was known 
 to be highly indignant at this, and, therefore, a quarrel be- 
 tween him and some court minion was very likely. 
 
 The distressed lady immediately sent for her trusty 
 adviser, James Inglis, of East Shiell ; and orders were 
 given to him, and the officers of the Baronies of Carnwath, 
 Camnethan, and Carstairs, to raise all the vassals and able 
 tenants, fully armed, equipped, and mounted, and to have 
 them ready at eight o'clock on the following morning, 
 under the command of William Clelland, of Clelland, to 
 march straight upon Edinburgh in hostile array. This order 
 was punctually obeyed. At the specified time, the retain- 
 ers of the house of Somerville, several hundreds in number, 
 were ready under the command of the Laird of Clelland, and 
 Chancellor, Laird of Quathquhan, the steady friends and 
 allies of the Lord of Carnwath, and, by eleven o'clock, they 
 were advanced two-thirds of the way towards Edinburgh. 
 
 His Majesty having breakfasted at nine in the morning, 
 mounted immediately after, and had proceeded to within a 
 short distance of the point which the little band had reached. 
 He was, even then, intent on his sport of hawking, when the 
 advanced guard of the small number of attendants that 
 accompanied him descried at the distance of less than a 
 mile, the advance of an armed troop, with their lances glit- 
 tering in the sun. The King being informed of this — fuU 
 
VISIT OP JAMES in, TO LOKD SOMEEVILLE. 267 
 
 of astonislimeiit not unmingled with alarm, called hastily 
 for Lord Soraerville, who, being behind, spurred on his 
 horse and came to his Majesty. The King, being very 
 passionate, furiously demanded the meaning of this hostile 
 array, and whether he meant to betray him and seize upon 
 his royal person ? swearing at the same time that his head 
 should speedily pay for his treachery, if he himself should 
 escape free out of the hands of these armed traitors, who 
 could be no other than vassals and retainers of the house of 
 Somerville, brought together with an evil design. 
 
 Lord Somerville immediately cast himself from his horse 
 on the ground and fell upon his knees, protesting with 
 solemn oaths that he was ignorant of the matter, and knew 
 not who the armed men were, or why they had advanced so 
 near the royal person ; but he humbly begged his Majesty 
 to let him go and see whether they were friends 'or foes, 
 and for security he left his son and heir, William, Baron of 
 Carnwath, and if all were not well and the royal person 
 were not safe from all danger, he desired that his son's head 
 might be cut off on the spot. To this the King agreed, 
 and commanded him to ride on and discover who they were, 
 and why they were there in martial array ? 
 
 In the mean time the royal suite, in number twenty 
 horsemen, placed themselves on the highest part of the 
 moor, so as to see the meeting between Lord Somerville 
 and the armed band, who, when they first observed the 
 King's company, made a halt, apprehending that they were 
 enemies. When Lord Somerville had advanced near to 
 them, he perceived, to his great surprise, that they were his 
 own vassals and retainers, and they in like manner recognised 
 their lord. Whereupon the lairds of Clelland and Quath- 
 quahan galloped forward to meet him. He was not a little 
 surprised when he saw them, and demanded the occasion 
 that had brought them together in such numbers. To 
 which they answered that it was by his Lordship's direction 
 and his lady's command that they were coming to Edin- 
 burgh to wait upon him, hearing that he was at variance 
 with some persons in power about the court. He desired 
 to see the letter, which, having cast his eye upon, he could 
 perceive in it no directions or orders such as to justify their 
 extraordinary movement. He inquired who read the letter 
 to his lady. They answered, his new steward, who, being 
 present, was commanded to read it again, which he did, 
 
268 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 repeating as before, " Spears and jacks, spears and jacks, 
 spears and jacks ! " 
 
 The mistake was now perfectly evident, and Lord 
 Somerville knew not whether to laugh or to be angry. 
 But, remembering the anxiety in which he left the King,, 
 and fearing the apprehension and jealousy which his 
 Majesty might entertain, if he remained too long thus 
 parleying with his followers, he commanded that they 
 should depart, every man to his own dwelling. He him- 
 self, with the laird of Clelland, and several other gentlemen, 
 returned to the King, whom he found standing on the same 
 spot where he had left him. Presenting himself before the 
 King, he related the whole story, at which his Majesty 
 laughed heartily, and calling for the letter, he looked at it, 
 and swore that, after all, it was no great mistake, for the 
 writing was so bad that he himself might easily have misin- 
 terpreted the meaning. The letter went from hand to hand 
 amongst the attendant courtiers, who aU laughed at the 
 joke, and made themselves merry about it during the re- 
 mainder of the journey. 
 
 The King arrived before dinner at Cowthally Castle, 
 where a hearty welcome and noble- cheer awaited him, 
 though Lady Somerville was a little disconcerted at the 
 jests which passed from one to the other, and was out of " 
 countenance at the story of the spears and jacks, which the 
 King could not forget, and to which he again and again re- 
 ferred, thinking it both a good sport and an easy mistake, 
 because of the similarity in the spelling and pronuncia- 
 tion of the words. Above all, he highly commended Lady 
 Somerville's love and respect for her husband, in being so 
 active and diligent in getting together quickly his retainers 
 and vassals, in case there had been any necessity for them ; 
 and he told her Ladyship that he hoped she would use the 
 same diligence in assembling her lord's vassals, whenever 
 he should have occasion to summon him and them to join 
 the royal standard. 
 
 As soon as it was known that the King was at Cowth- 
 ally, all the gentry of the country came to wait upon his 
 Majesty, and all the people flocked together in order to see 
 him. This produced such an assemblage that between three 
 and four hundred persons sat down every day to dinner at 
 the Castle ; which caused the renown of Lord Somerville's 
 generous housekeeping to be celebrated throughout Scot- 
 
VISIT OF JAMES m. TO LOED SOMEEVILLE. 269 
 
 land. The King's visit on this occasion lasted for a week, 
 and he greatly enjoyed his sport of hawking, which could 
 be carried on better at no place within the kingdom of 
 Scotland than in Camwath moors, which were then a 
 wilderness of heather. After his visit of a week, the King 
 removed to his Palace of Linlithgow, having, at his de- 
 parture, warmly thanked Lady Somerville for her noble 
 entertainment and loyal welcome ; and he complimented 
 her on the good use which had been made of her speats and 
 raxes since he entered her house. And he requested that 
 she would send her eldest son John, then a promisiug boy, 
 to court, where he would take care of him, and promote his 
 fortunes, and advance him to honour. AU these hopes were 
 cut short by the cruel fate which so soon after involved the 
 King in ruin. But John Somerville was, in after-life, a 
 potent Baron, and founder of the great house of Camnethan, 
 and fell with King James IV. at Elodden. 
 
 Lord Somerville attended the King to Linlithgow, where 
 he was dismissed with many marks of royal favour ; and for 
 these he showed a due sense of gratitude. Por though he 
 was a near and intimate friend of Archibald Bell-the-Cat, 
 Earl of Angus, yet he never could be persuaded by him or 
 by any other of the great nobility to desert the royal cause. 
 It is true he shared As-ith the ancient nobility in their dislike 
 of the King's conduct, and he scorned the mean persons 
 who, in this reign, were raised to the highest offices ; yet he 
 held it as a sure and inviolable maxim, never to be departed 
 from, that both a prince's person and a prince's government 
 are sacred. 
 
270 FAMILY EOMXNCE. 
 
 THE SCOTTISH CAPUCIN. 
 
 A. poor mont of St Francis came into the room. It was one of those 
 heads which Guide has often painted— mild, pale, penetrating— free from 
 all common-place ideas : it looked forward, but looked as if it looked at 
 something beyond this world: had I met it on the plain of Hindostan I 
 had reverenced it. — Stekne. 
 
 Thiett years ago, there was, and there prohably still is, at 
 Castle Forbes in Aberdeenshire, a very remarkable picture 
 placed among the family portraits, but very unlike the usual 
 contents of the ancestral gallery of a British gentleman. 
 The portrait is that of a very handsome young man, with 
 a noble but emaciated countenance, and a large, dark, im- 
 passioned eye. He is dressed in the habit of St Prancis, 
 and there is, beside him, a crucifix and a skull. The in- 
 scription on the side of the picture is in Latin, and sets 
 forth that the original of the portrait was John Forbes, de- 
 scended paternally from the Duhes of Forbes in Scotland, 
 and maternally from the Scottish royal family ; that he re- 
 nounced his birthright, and a wealthy marriage which his 
 father had arranged for him ; that he embraced the monastic 
 life, and entered the order of St Francis, as Father Seraphi- 
 cus ; and that, at an early age, he died of the plague in 
 Flanders, having caught the disease while nursing the sick 
 in an hospital. This remarkable young man, who aban- 
 doned, for the sake of religion, the fairest prospects which 
 this world could bestow, was John, Master of Forbes, the 
 only son of John, the eighth Lord Forbes, by his first wife, 
 the Lady Margaret Gordon, eldest daughter of George, 
 fourth Earl of Huntly. The portrait is, as we shall see, a 
 foreign painting, and the mistake of substituting Duke for 
 Baron, was not unnatural in a continental country, where 
 the rank of a Baron does not correspond with that rank in 
 the nobility of Britain ; and where the dignity of a Duke 
 
THE SCOTTISH CAPUCIN. 271 
 
 may be considered as about tantamount to that of an Englisb 
 or Scottish Peer. And it is quite true that Father Sera- 
 phicus was maternally descended from the royal family ; the 
 Earls of Huntly, his mother's ancestors, having sprung 
 from Princess Anabella, daughter of King James I. The 
 eighth Lord Porbes, who was a decidedly Protestant noble- 
 man, was second in command of the King's forces, under 
 the Earl of Argyle, against the Popish Earls of Huntly and 
 ErroU at the battle of Glenlivet, in 1594, and the next year, 
 he joined the King against these rebellious noblemen. Not- 
 withstanding this, his first lady was a Eoman Catholic, and 
 a daughter of the very Huntly against whom Lord Forbes 
 was in arms. Possibly her hand might have been the bond 
 of reconciliation between the families. It would appear 
 that she was divorced from Lord Forbes, who married 
 secondly Janet, daughter of James Seton of Touch, by w^hom 
 he had Arthur, who succeeded him as ninth Lord Forbes. 
 The inscription on the tombstone of this lady, as discovered 
 by the late Lord Forbes in Aberdeenshire, leads to the con- 
 clusion that she must have for some time survived her 
 separation from her hvisband ; -at least, she lived to see her 
 two sons members of the order of St Francis. The epitaph 
 states that, though most unhappy as a wife, in consequence 
 of disagreement in religion with her husband, she had the 
 extreme happiness of seeing two sons become converts to 
 the true faith, and foUow the rule of St Francis, as mem- 
 bers of his order. Two sons are mentioned in the epitaph ; 
 whereas, in the genealogical notices of the House of Forbes, 
 we know of but one, John, the Master of Forbes, the subject 
 of this brief statement. 
 
 The history of the portrait is peculiar. The late Lord 
 Forbes was a general oificer of distinguished merit, and 
 during the great European war he had a command in Sicily. 
 On one occasion he was quartered in a Franciscan convent ; 
 and the Superior, after he had ascertained who he was, and 
 had been won by the most amiable and pleasing manners of 
 his distinguished guest, informed him that the convent 
 possessed a portrait of one of his family, or at least of his 
 name, which he would be glad to present to him. Lord 
 Forbes, immediately recognised the portrait as that of his 
 remote collateral ancestor, the elder brother of his great- 
 great-great-grandfather, and the heir-apparent to the 
 honours of his house, which he had abandoned for the sake 
 
272 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 of a life of religion and poverty. The Prior of the Fran- 
 ciscan convent told Lord Forbes that the Scottish father, 
 Seraphicus, had been a person of considerable note in the 
 order, and was highly renovmed for his piety and charity. 
 Lord Forbes joyfully received the portrait, and brought it 
 home to Castle Forbes. 
 
 About the same period, or rather a little later, Aberdeen- 
 shire produced another convert to the Church of Eome, who 
 gained great renown in the order of St Francis. This was 
 G-eorge Leslie, eldest son and heir of Leslie of Balquhain, 
 who was also a Count of the Holy Eoman Empire. Toung 
 Leslie was converted during a continental tour, and soon 
 after, he embraced" the religious life, and entered the order 
 of St Francis at Eome. He was known by the name of 
 Father Archangel. He afterwards became a zealous 
 missionary in his own country during the reign of Charles 
 the First, and had great success, as it is said, in Aberdeen- 
 shire. He died on the borders, between England and Scot- 
 land, while on one of his missionary tours. His life was 
 written in Italian by the Bishop of Fermo. The family of 
 Leslie of Balquhain is a distinguished branch of the great 
 Scottish house of Leslie. It still enjoys the dignity of 
 Count of the Empire, and its present representative is 
 Colonel Charles Leslie, K.H., of Balquhain. 
 
ST CLAIK OP EOSSLYN. 273 
 
 ST CLAIR OF ROSSLYif. 
 
 The storm-swept Orcades 
 
 Where erst St Clairs held princely sway 
 O'er isle and islet, strait and bay. 
 
 SiK Walteb Scott. 
 
 The ancestor of this family was William de St Clair, a 
 Norman noble of high birth, who was the second son of 
 "Walderne Count de St Clair, by his wife Margaret, daughter 
 of Eichard Duke of Normandy, which Walderne's estate was 
 St Clair, not far from Coutances in Lower Normandy. Wil- 
 liam de St Clair settled in Scotland in the reign of Malcolm 
 Ceanmore, and obtained from that King extensive grants of 
 land in Midlothian. Succeeding mouarchs extended the 
 domains of his descendants, and the way in which one of 
 these territorial grants was acquired is the subject of the 
 following narrative : — 
 
 One day, King Eobert Bruce, hunting on the Pentland 
 hiUs, told his attendant nobles, that he had frequently, while 
 pursuing the chase in that district, been baffled by a white 
 deer, which had iuvariably got the start of his hounds, and 
 beat them ; and yet, he thought his own the best dogs that 
 he had ever seen ! He then asked his followers if any of them 
 had hounds which they would venture to say would be more 
 successful ? As the King was evidently in an evil mood, 
 and as this question was asked with the air of bravado, it may 
 be supposed that few courtiers would willingly affirm their 
 hounds to be swifter than those ot the King. 
 
 However, William St Clair, Lord of Eosalyn, presuming 
 upon his high birth and power, and trusting to his intimacy 
 with the King, somewhat bluntly called out that he would 
 wager his head that his two favourite dogs, " Help " and 
 " Hold," would kill the white deer before she could clear the 
 18 
 
274) FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 March Bum. The King, whose ill-humour was chafed by St 
 Clair's unceremonious assertion of the superior worth of his 
 dogs, immediately laid hold of the hasty proposal, and wagered 
 the Forest of Pentland against the life of the bold Baron of 
 Eosslyn. 
 
 All the hounds were tied up, except a few slow hounds 
 to put up the deer. The Baron of Eosslyn posted himself in 
 the best position for slipping Help and Hold, and devoutly 
 praying, he commended himself to Christ, the blessed Virgin, 
 and St Katherine. It was not long before the famous white 
 deer was raised, St Clair loosed his hounds and followed 
 them on his swift steed to cheer them on. The deer, however, 
 outstripped their speed, and had already got before them so 
 far as to the middle of the fatal March Burn, which seemed 
 destined to be the boundary of the Baron of Eosslyn's life. 
 Upon this, St Clair threw himself from his horse in despair. 
 Tet all was not over. At this critical moment, Hold came 
 up with the white deer, in the middle of the brook, and slop- 
 ped her ; while Help, no less true to his name, turned her 
 back ; and she was killed by the two brave dogs on St Clair's 
 side of the March Burn. So his Hfe was saved, and his 
 wager won ! 
 
 King Eobert, descending from the hill, embraced St 
 Clair, congratulated him with a good grace on the successful 
 issue of his bet, and bestowed on him, as he had promised, 
 extensive lands, which were, in that day, called Pentland 
 Forest, and which made a great addition to that proud 
 Baron's already overgrown estates. It is difficult to give a 
 more complete specimen of feudal barbarism than that which 
 is proved by the circumstances of this tale. Seldom has a 
 life been more recklessly perilled, and never were lands more 
 worthlessly won. It would be more satisfactory to one's feel- 
 ings, if this silly wager had been made by any one of the 
 Scottish monarchs rather than by King Eobert the Bruce. 
 
 This reckless better and adventurous huntsman. Sir "Wil- 
 liam St Clair, Lord of Eosslyn, raised his family to still 
 higher honours by an illustrious marriage. He wedded the 
 daughter and eventual heiress of Malise, Earl of Orkney and 
 Stratherne, and thence the princely Earldom of Orkney and 
 its dependencies came, in time, to be inherited by his son, 
 Henry St Clair, Lord of Eosslyn, who, in 1379, was cre- 
 ated Earl of Orkney by Haco, King of Norway, or, it may 
 be more correct to say, that he was invested by the Nor- 
 
ST CLAIE OF ROSSLYN. 275 
 
 wegian monarcli with the Earldom, which he inherited in 
 right of his mother. 
 
 The illustrious race of Earls, of which Henry St Clair 
 thus became heir of line, was founded by Earl Eogenwald in 
 the ninth century. Their descent was one of the most ancient 
 and princely in Scandinavia, and was traced to a common an- 
 cestor with the Dukes of Normandy — EoUo having been a 
 son of Earl Eogenwald, and WiUiam the Conqueror, and his 
 contemporary. Earl of Orkney, having been cousins in the 
 direct male line, in no very distant degree. Henry, the first 
 Earl of Orkney of the line of St Clair, is said to have mar- 
 ried Eiorentia, a Danish princess. 
 
 His son and grandson, successively Earls of Orkney 
 and Lords of Eosslyn, married grand-daughters of two 
 Scottish kings ; Egidia, daughter of Douglas, Lord of 
 Nithsdale, by a daughter of King Eobert II., and Eliza- 
 beth, daughter of the Earl of Douglas and Duke of Tour- 
 raine, ij a daughter of King Eobert III. The St Clatps 
 continued to be Norwegian Earls of Orkney until 1471, 
 when that Earldom was annexed to the Scottish Crown after 
 the marriage of King James III. with Princess Margaret of 
 Denmark. 
 
 The object of that monarch was to humble the pride and 
 diminish the overgrown power of William, third Earl of Ork- 
 ney, of the line of St Clair. He accordingly compelled him to 
 exchange the Earldom of Orkney and the Lordship of Niths- 
 dale, for the Earldom of Caithness and the Lordship of 
 Eavensheugh and Dysart, in the county of Eifel 
 
 The beautiful chapel of Eosslyn, which is still in good 
 preservation, was built, and the chapter to which it was at- 
 tached was founded, by this powerful noble, William St 
 Clair, Lord of Eosslyn, Prince of Orkney, Earl of Caith- 
 ness and Stratherne, Lord of Nithsdale, Lord Admiral 
 and Lord Justice-General of Scotland, Lord Warden of 
 the three marches. High Chancellor and Grreat Cham- 
 berlain of Scotland. This lofty person also built the cas- 
 tle of Eosslyn, where he resided in great splendour. At 
 the time of the building of Eosslyn chapel, it is said that aU 
 ranks and degrees of visitors flocked to wait on him at his 
 castle, where he kept princely state ; and was almost royally 
 served at his table in vessels of gold and silver. Lord Dirle- 
 ton was master of his household, Lord Borthwick his cup- 
 bearer, and Lord Fleming his carver. And in their absence, 
 
27G FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 tteir functions were performed by knightly personages not 
 less noble than themselves, viz. Stewart of Drumlanrig, 
 Tweedie of Drumelzear, and Sandilands of Calder. 
 
 The Princess, Elizabeth Douglas, Countess of Orkney, 
 grand-daughter to King Eobert III., was waited on by se- 
 venty fine gentlewomen, of whom fifty-three were daughters 
 of noblemen, clothed in velvet and silk, with chains of gold. 
 She was attended in aU her journeys by two hundred gentle- 
 men on horseback ; and when she happened to arrive in the 
 dark at her lodgings, at the foot of the Blackfriars Wynd, 
 in Edinburgh, eighty lighted torches were carried before her. 
 
 The last Earl of Orkney, of the great house of St Clair, 
 had three sons, and a daughter who married the turbulent 
 Duke of Albany, brother of King James III. He disin- 
 herited his eldest son, William, the ancestor of the Lords Sin- 
 clair. He left the bulk of his possessions to Sir Oliver St 
 Clair, the eldest son of his second marriage, who became Lord 
 of Eosslyn, and whose male line became extinct nearly a cen- 
 tury ago, when Eosslyn Castle and Chapel devolved on the 
 heir of the eldest brother, the Lord Sinclair, while he be- 
 queathed the Earldom of Caithness to his youngest son, also 
 named William, from whom are descended the Earls of Caith- 
 ness, who are now the undoubted heirs male of the lofty race 
 of St Clair ; the Lords Sinclair and the Barons of Eosslyn 
 being both extinct in the male line. 
 
 While Lord Caithness is heir male of the house of St 
 Clair, the heir general and representative of the Scandina- 
 vian Counts of Orkney, as well as of the Earls of the family of 
 St Clair, and of the former Lords Sinclair, is John Anstru- 
 ther Thomson, Esq., of Charleton, Co. Fife, in right of his 
 great-grandmother, Grizel, eldest daughter of Henry, eighth 
 Lord Sinclair. In the descent of Grizel, heiress of Charleton, 
 is found a connection with the Hays of the House of Tweed- 
 dale, the Nisbets of Dirleton, the Carruthers of the counties 
 Dumfries and Dorset, represented by Dr G. E. Carruthers of 
 Wareham and Stepney, and his family, and with the Laws of 
 Lauriston, who became so distinguished in France, and still 
 bear the rank and title of Marquis there. A Canon of St 
 Genevieve, the Abbe Eichard Augustin Hay, no doubt a re- 
 lative, wrote a History of the Family of St Clair. The pro- 
 prietor of the Eavensheugh, Dysart, and Eosslyn estates is 
 the present Earl of Eosslyn, to whom they were left by a 
 special entail. His great-grandmother, Catherine, was second 
 
ST CLAIK OF EOSSLYN. 277 
 
 daughter of Henry, eighth Lord Sinclair. The present 
 venerable Lord Sinclair, a cadet of the family of Hermands- 
 ton, claimed the then dormant Barony of Sinclair in 1782, 
 and had his claim acknowledged by the House of Lords. 
 
 Before I conclude, I must say a few words of Eossly'n 
 Castle and Chapel. The ruins of the castle are situated on 
 a lofty peninsula, overhanging the river Esb, and they are 
 separated from the adjacent country by a deep ravine, over 
 which the only access is by a noble stone-bridge. The situ- 
 ation is extremely romantic, on a steep rock rising out of the 
 bed of the river, with precipitous banks covered with natural 
 wood. The ruins are on a scale of princely grandeur. It is 
 uncertain how early they were commenced, probably in the 
 twelfth century. But the castle was completed in the fif- 
 teenth century, by "William, third Earl of Orkney, the 
 founder of the chapel. 
 
 This most beautiful structure crowns the hill above the 
 castle. It was originally founded for a Provost and six 
 Prebendaries. Its design, which is singularly rich and beau- 
 tiful, is said to have been drawn at Eome, and it was not 
 completed until towards the end of the fifteenth century. The 
 architecture is of the most rich and florid style, and the carv- 
 ings are in the greatest profusion and of the most delicate 
 beauty. 
 
 There is a superstition connected with this chapel. It is 
 said to be brilliantly illuminated immediately before the 
 death of a member of the Sinclair family. To this Sir "Walter 
 Scott alludes in his beautiful ballad of Eosabelle : — 
 
 " Seemed all on fire that chapel proud, 
 Where Eosslyn's chiefs uncofSned lie. 
 Each baron, for a sable shroud, 
 Sheathed in his iron panoply. 
 
 " Blazed battlement and summit high, 
 Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair, 
 So still they blaze when fate is nigh 
 The lordly line of high St Clair." 
 
 At the south-east corner of the chapel, there is a descent, 
 by twenty steps, into a crypt, partly subterranean. The whole 
 chapel, within and without, is decorated with sculpture. The 
 interior is divided into a middle and two side aisles, by seven 
 columns on each side, supporting arches. The roof, capitals, 
 key-stones, and architraves are all covered with sculptures. 
 
278 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 There are several curious monuments : one is said to mark 
 the tomb of Sir William St Clair, the huntsman and better. 
 He is sculptured in armour, with one of his greyhounds at 
 his feet. At the front of the third and fourth pillars there is 
 a large ilagstone, covering the opening into the family vault, 
 where the Barons of Eosslyn, descendants of Sir Oliver, of 
 the younger race (now extinct in the male line), are laid. 
 This vault is so dry that their bodies have been found entire, 
 after eighty years, and as fresh as when first buried. These 
 barons were anciently deposited in their armour, without any 
 coffin. The last who were interred in Eosslyn Chapel were 
 James Alexander, Lord Loughborough, who died unmarried 
 in 1851, and his mother the Countess of Eosslyn, who died in 
 1858 : he was the eldest son, and she the wife, of Sir James 
 Alexander St Clair Erskine, present Earl of Eosslyn, who is 
 the grand-nephew of Lord Chancellor Alexander Wedder- 
 burn, who was created Earl of Eosslyn and Lord Loughbo- 
 rough with special limitations to his kinsmen who now bear 
 the titles. 
 
HISTOEY OF VALENTINE GBEATEAK S. 279 
 
 THE PERSONAL HISTORY OF VALENTINE 
 GREATRAK'S. 
 
 The seventeenth, century in these islands was one of 
 strange excitement. Apart from politics, enthusiasm had 
 reached its zenith. Witches were believed to exercise a deadly 
 power, like the veneficcB of old, over all who incurred their 
 hate. Astrologers abounded in every locality; prophets 
 uttered their predictions ; multitudes saw visions, and 
 dreamed dreams. Sects multiplied past counting, and by 
 their fanatical extravagance brought the name of Eeligion 
 into disrepute. Common sense and the common usages of 
 the world were discarded. All things were beheld through 
 the distorted speculum of a heated fancy. The majority be- 
 came possessed with a restless craving for insight into things 
 unseen ; and eagerly listened to every assumption of power 
 beyond human imagination. Imagination — that wildest, 
 most wondrous endowment of man, was suffered to run riot, 
 and never exhibited it more strange vagaries. 
 
 No wonder, then, that in quiet, rural homesteads, squires 
 themselves forgot horse and hound, while they fell a-think- 
 ing of the uncommon events which had fallen upon their 
 own times. Little marvel, too, that some, in whom the re- 
 ligious element predominated, lost themselves in mu'sing 
 upon the supernatural events recorded in the Book of Eeve- 
 lation ; and, from considering what had been achieved by 
 the inspired Messengers of Heaven, passed on to the con- 
 clusion that a revival of these miraculous cures was a thing 
 neither impossible nor improbable with themselves. And 
 least of aU should it excite our wonder, that, caught up thus 
 in the spirit of religious speculation, the mind of the en- 
 
280 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 thusiast about whom I am to speak, should be unresist- 
 ingly borne along the torrent of its own credulity, over- 
 leaping the bounds of prudence and common-sense, until, 
 gathering swiftness by the momentum of its own fate, it 
 finally poured itself away on the quicksands of superstition. 
 
 Tet was it a gentle and a tender credence ! — one to be 
 spoken of always kindly ; and now, after the lapse of so 
 many years, to be written about, making due allowance for 
 the individual and the age. When we stand by the dusty 
 grave of one who came out from the body of his fellows, not 
 claiming an ambitious pre-eminence of authority, but a sin- 
 gularity in the possession of a power to do good, and when 
 we follow him, mentally, from that day forward, seeking out 
 the repulsiveness of disease that he might remove it — resign- 
 ing the comforts of home, that he might gratuitously benefit 
 those afar off as well as those who were near — making the 
 long journey and boisterous sea voyage — enduring the 
 threats of legal prosecution for pity's sake to the sick poor, 
 — we know that the sleeper beneath was no common man. 
 Our admiration is excited ; our love is kindled. His mental 
 constitution might have differed from ours ; but on which 
 side is the disparity ? The reply may not, after all, be so 
 flattering to self. 
 
 In iny Anecdotes of the Aristocracy, I have given an 
 outline of the history of the once celebrated Valentine 
 Gebathak's, the claimant to "gifts of healing" in the 
 seventeenth century. I return to the subject because of 
 the new and exceedingly interesting information about him, 
 which has recently reached my hands, through the kindness 
 of one of his lineal descendants. Little of what I subjoin 
 has hitherto been published ; and my present paper will, 
 I doubt not, exhibit this remarkable personage in a fuller, 
 clearer light than he has been hitherto beheld in, save by his 
 own contemporaries. 
 
 Valentine Geeateak's, as he subscribed himself, was 
 bom at his ancestral residence, Affane Castle, county 
 "Waterford, Ireland, on the 14th of February, 1628. His 
 birthday conferred on him his baptismal name. William 
 Greatrak's, his father, was Clerk of the Crown and Clerk of 
 the Peace for the whole province of Munster from 1592 to 
 1605, as we learn from the Council Booh of Munster.* He 
 
 * Harleian MSS. No. 697, p. 40. A CommiBsion was issued, 5th 
 August, 1610, by Sir Eiohard Morrysou, Kut, Vioe-Presideut of Munster, 
 
HISTORY OF VALENTINE GEEATEAK'S. 281 
 
 is described by his eminent son as " one that had a liberal 
 education, and a competent estate left him by his father (who 
 was known to be a worthy person and well-esteemed in his 
 country), a man looked upon to be of a generous spirit, but 
 one that had a mind above his fortune." * His mother was 
 the daughter of Sir Edward Harris, Knt, one of the Justices 
 of the King's Bench, Ireland, " a virtuous and discreet 
 woman, an excellent neighbour, and a most indulgent and 
 provident parent." Mr Greatrak's, sen. dying while his 
 children were tender in years, their education was superin- 
 tended by their mother, who, as soon as Valentine, the eldest, 
 was able to read, placed him at the Free School of Lismore, 
 where he remained until he was thirteen. He was designed 
 for the University of Dublin the ensuing year ; but the 
 dreadful rebellion of 1641 broke out, and his mother was 
 compelled to flee with him and several other little children 
 to England. They were kindly received and protected in 
 Devon by his uncle, Edward Harris, of whom, in his auto- 
 biographical letter to Eobert Boyle, Mr Greatrak's gives a 
 noble character. After some few years, Mr Harris died, 
 leaving to his sister the third part of his estate, and to her 
 eldest son, whose merits he recognised in a most solemn 
 manner, his prayers and blessing. The young lad was placed, 
 on bis uncle's decease, under John Daniel Getsius, " an high 
 German minister of Stock-gabriel, county Devon, with whom 
 he spent some years studying humanity, and foimd from his 
 hands much favour and love."t Owing to his mother's 
 narrow means, which were " very small, to maintain herself 
 
 appointing Sir John Jephaon, Knt, Sir Edward Harris, Chief Justice, and 
 Sir Eichard Boyle, Knt, Commissioner? to inquire into the fees allowed 
 and received by his, or her late, Majesty's Attorney or Attomejrs in the 
 province of Munster. Mr Greatrak's was examined by the Commissioners, 
 and deposed that he Med the above offices from the 35th year of Elizabeth 
 to the 2nd or 3rd year of James I., but "now doth not exercise either of 
 them or any other." He declared himself to be " of the age of 37 or there- 
 abouts." 
 
 * " A brief account of Mr Valentine Greatrak's, and divers of the 
 strange cures by him lately performed. Written by himself in a letter ad- 
 dressed to the Honourable Eobert Boyle, Esq. Whereunto are annexed 
 the testimonials of several eminent and worthy persons of the chief matters 
 of fact therein related. London : printed for J. Starkey, at the Mitre, in 
 Fleet Street, between the Middle Temple Gate and Temple Bar. 1666." 
 
 t Wood {Athena Oxon. Vol. III., p. 97S) mentions, that when Mr 
 Greatrak's sold his Devon property, he reserved an annuity for his old 
 tutor Getsius. 
 
282 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 and so many cWIdren as she had, who grew daily more expens- 
 ive as we grew in years," he returned to Ireland in 1647, 
 "resolving to lose his life with his fortune there, or re- 
 gain it." 
 
 He found the country, he writes, " in a most miserahle, 
 and deplorahle state ;" but seems to have succeeded without 
 difficulty in establishing his claim to the property. Eesolv- 
 ing not to intermeddle with the " unnatural " contentions 
 going on, " till the mist of confusion was over," he for refuge 
 retired to the Castle of Cappoquin, which adjoined the family 
 residence, "where," writes Mr Greatrak's to Eobert Boyle, 
 "I spent a year's time in contemplation, and saw so much of 
 the madness and wickedness of the world, that my life be- 
 came a burthen to me, and my soul was as weary of this 
 habitation of clay as ever the galley-slave was of the oar, 
 which brought my life even to the threshold of death ; so 
 that my legs had hardly strength to carry my enfeebled body 
 about ; all company seemed irksome and distasteful to me ; 
 so epidemically lewd, blasphemous, and sottish were many 
 become — that I saw the many and great judgments of the 
 Lord that the kingdom groaned under had not reclaimed, 
 but, Pharaoh-like, had hardened, our Egyptian hearts ; which 
 caused me seldom to leave my cell." 
 
 In 1649, on the subjugation of Ireland by Cromwell, the 
 command of the horse in Munster was given to Lord Brog- 
 hill, and Mr Greatrak's was made a lieutenant of Ludlow's 
 troop in that nobleman's own regiment. In these military 
 duties he continued six years, " during all which time," he 
 writes, "I wiU boldly say I neversuffered quarter to be broken, 
 or violence oifered to any that were in protection ; nor did 
 I suffer any one under my command to oppress or injure 
 any that were in quarter without bringing them to condign 
 punishment ; nor did I permit any women or children to be 
 killed, though out of protection, where. I had a power to 
 restrain the fury of the soldier." 
 
 A great part of the army in Ireland was disbanded in 
 1656, when Mr Greatrak's, with many other gentlemen, with- 
 drew from, active service. " And then," proceeds his auto- 
 biographical sketch, " I took myself to a country life, and 
 lived at Affane, the habitation of my ancestors, where I have 
 continued ever since, and got, by my industry, a livelihood 
 out of the bowels of the earth, and daily employed many 
 poor people to work, and improved that little estate 
 
HISTOEY OP VALENTINE GKEATEAK S. 283 
 
 which I had, so that I bless God I lived as comfort- 
 ably as he that had thousands, and daily relieved those that 
 were in want, and gave my friends and strangers a hearty 
 welcome to what Grod in mercy had bestowed upon me, who 
 never coveted much, nor denied myself and others the en- 
 joyment of what I had." He was now, by the kindness and 
 respect of the then Governor (Lord Broghill), made Clerk of 
 the Peace of the county of Cork, Eegister for Transplanta- 
 tion, and a Justice of the Peace. At this time also he en- 
 tered into the married estate, as we shall see hereafter. 
 
 About the year 1662 an extraordinary change came over 
 him, which we give in his own words. " About four years 
 since, I had an impulse, or a strange persuasion in my own 
 mind (of which I am not able to give any rational account 
 to another), which did very frequently suggest to me that 
 there was bestowed on me the gift of curing the King's Evil, 
 which, for the extraordinariness of it, I thought fit to con- 
 ceal for some time ; but at length I communicated this to 
 my wife, and told her that I did verily believe that God had 
 given me the blessing to cure the King's Evil ; for whether 
 .1 were in private or public, sleeping or waking, still I had 
 the impulse." His wife, not crediting him, one William 
 Maher, of Salterbridge, brought his son, WiUiam Maher, to 
 his house, and, within a month, the child was perfectly cured. 
 The next person touched was one Margaret Mac Shane, of 
 Ballinechy, in the parish of Lismore, who was given over by 
 Doctor Ajithony, " a famous physician," but was restored in 
 six weeks. After this, people infected with the Evil came 
 to him from several counties, and being touched in the same 
 way* were, for the most part, cured. Mr Greatrak's was 
 moved to try his powers on an Epidemical Ague, and was 
 equally successful. 
 
 In 1665, on the Sunday after Easter day, the 2nd of April, 
 he felt that these powers were much enlarged, and that " the 
 gift of healing" was communicated to him by God, for the 
 removal of other sicknesses. On the "Wednesday following 
 he healed a poor man of an ulcerous leg; and on the next 
 day, Thursday, he went to Colonel Phaire, at Cahirmony, 
 county Cork, who was very ill of ague, which was immedi- 
 
 * The Buniile method employed by Mr Greatrak's was rubbing the af- 
 fected place with his hand, whence he was called by his contemporaries 
 the "Stroker," and offering, at the same time, prayer to Jesus that the 
 sufferer might be healed. 
 
284 . FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 ately taken away by stroking. " When Mr Greatraks came to 
 my father's," writes Mr Alexander Herbert Phaire,* the 
 Colonel's son, " the court was crowded with patients, whom 
 he attended all the afternoon. Many were perfectly cured, 
 without any return of their disorders, and most received 
 benefit ; but in my time his virtue was rhuch abated. I have 
 heard my two eldest sisters (who were women grown), and 
 my eldest brother, and my father and mother, and many 
 other honourable people, that would speak nothing but truth, 
 often say, that they have many times seen him stroke a vio- 
 lent pain, from the shoulder to the elbow, and so to the wrist, 
 and thence to the tip of the thumb, and by holding it strongly 
 there for some time, it had evaporated. There are many won- 
 ders of this kind, which, though assuredly true, have so much 
 the air of romance, that I have no pleasure in relating them." 
 Such crowds of the sick now resorted to the demesne of 
 Affane, that its remarkable owner found himself left " no time 
 to follow his own occasions, nor enjoy the company of his 
 family and friends." He set three days in the week apart, 
 from six in the morning till six at night, to lay hands on all 
 who came ; and so continued some months at home. " But 
 the multitudes which came daily were so great that the neigh- 
 bouring towns were not able to accommodate them ; where- 
 upon, for the good of others," writes Mr Greatrak's, " I left 
 my home, and went to Toughal, were great multitudes re- 
 sorted to me, not only of the inhabitants, but also out of Eng- 
 land ; so that the magistrates of the town told me that they 
 were afraid that some of the sick people that came to me out 
 of England might bring the infectionf into the place : where- 
 on I retired again to my house at Afiane, where (as at 
 Toughal) I observed three days by laying my hands on all 
 that came, whatsoever the diseases were (and many were 
 
 * British Museum. "Add. MSS., No. 4291, Art. 7" (Dr Birch's 
 Collection). "Three Letters from Alexander Herbert Phaire, relating to 
 Mr Greatrakes, the Irish Stroker." In " Add. MSS., No. 4293," is a 
 second copy of these letters, which are dated respectively " Feh. 29th 
 1743(4)," " March 3rd, 1743(4)," and " March 10th, 1743(4)," with this 
 superscription added, "Mr Phaire resides at St. John's, near Enniscorthy, 
 in the county of Wexford." 
 
 I am happy to draw public attention, for the first time, to these curi- 
 ous commimications, from which I shall extract, subsequently, some in- 
 teresting illustrations of my subject. 
 
 t This was the year (1665), it will be remembered, of the great Plague 
 of London. 
 
HISTORY OF VALENTINE GEEATEAK S. 285 
 
 cured, and many were not) ; so that my stable, bam, and 
 malt-house ivere filled with sick people of aU diseases almost, . 
 yet BO great was the providence of God, that I do not remem- 
 ber that all that time any one of my family (though I touch- 
 ed them in my house) was ever infected by them ; neither 
 did any of them, though they herded all together, infect one 
 the other. 
 
 " Many demand of me," continues Mr Grreatrak's, " why 
 some are cured and not all? To which question I answer, that 
 God may please to make use of such means, by me, as shall 
 operate according to the dispositions of thepatient,and there- 
 fore cannot be expected to be alike effectual in all. They 
 also demand further of me, why some are cured at once, and 
 not all ? and why the pains should fly immediately out of 
 some, and take such arnhages in others? and why it should 
 go out of some at their eyes, some at their fingers, some at 
 their ears or mouths ? To which I say, if all these things 
 could have a plain account given of them, there would be no 
 cause to count them strange. Let them tell me what substance 
 that is which removes and goes out with so great expedition, 
 and it will be more easy to resolve their questions. Some 
 will know of me, why or how I do pursue some pains from- 
 place to place till I have chased them out of the body, by 
 laying my hands outside of the clothes only (as is usual), and 
 not all pains. To which I answer that — and others have been 
 abundantly satisfied that it is so — though I am not able to 
 give a reason, yet I am apt to believe there are some pains 
 which afflict men after the manner of evil spirits, which kind 
 of pains cannot endure my hand, nay, not my gloves, but fly 
 immediately, though six or eight coats or cloaks be put be- 
 tween the persons and my hand, as at the Lady Eanelagh's, 
 at Tork House, in London, as well as in Ireland, has been 
 manifested. Now another question will arise, whether the 
 operation of my hand proceeds from the temperature of my 
 body, or from a Divine gift, or from both ? To which 1 
 say, that I have reason to believe that there is some ex- 
 traordinary gift of God." 
 
 The Dean of Lismore, by the order of the bishop, now 
 summoned Mr Greatrak's to appear in his court, and pro- 
 hibited him from laying hands on any sick people for the 
 future. This order Mr Greatrak's obeyed for two days ; but 
 going into the village of Cappoquin, he met many poor and 
 sick persons come to him out of England, and he could not, 
 
286 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 in compassion to their misery, stay his hand from them. The 
 bishop himself now sent for him, and upon his obeying the 
 summons, demanded, " Where was his- licence for curing, as 
 aU physicians ought to have from the Ordinary of the dio- 
 cese ? " To which he replied, " That though he had no such 
 • licence, he knew no law which prohibited any person from 
 doing what good he could to his neighbour." The bishop 
 renewed the prohibition in yet stricter terms ; but Mr Great- 
 rak's refused complying with the order, and at home, in Dub- 
 lin, and .wheresoever his occasions called him, he continued 
 the exercise of, what he believed to be, his " gift." 
 
 Lord Conway, an English nobleman, having heard of the 
 wonderful Irish doctor, sent his friend, G-eorge Eust, Dean 
 of Connor, to him, in January, 1665-6, to entreat his com- 
 ing to Eagley, in Warwickshire, for the purpose of relieving 
 Lady Conway of a violent headache. Mr Greatrak's accord- 
 ingly embarked at Youghal, and tried to land at Kingroad, 
 near Bristol, but was compelled to put into Minehead har- 
 bour, in Somersetshire, where he was met by many whom he 
 had cured in Ireland. He went from place to place, curing 
 by the way, until he arrived at Eagley, on the 16th of Janu- 
 ary. He did not succeed with the noble patient for whose 
 sake he had made the long journey, as he candidly acknow- 
 ledges in his autobiographical letter ; but was, notwithstaud- 
 ing, treated with marked attention by Lord Conway, who 
 now wrote to his brother-in-law, Sir George Eawdon, the fol- 
 lowing remarkable letter : — 
 
 " Deae, Bbotheb, 
 
 " I have received yours of the 29th January ; but 
 the former letter therein mentioned to have been written to 
 me on your coming to Dublui has not yet come to my 
 hands. Mr Greatrak's hath been here a fortnight to-morrow, 
 and my wife is not the better for him ; very few others have 
 failed under his hands, of many hundred that he hath 
 touched in these parts. I must confess that, before his 
 arrival, I did not believe the tenth part of those things 
 which I have been an eye-witness of, and several others of 
 as accurate judgment as any in this kingdom, who are come 
 hither out of curiosity, do acknowledge the truth of his 
 operations. This morning the Bishop of Gloucester re- 
 commended to me a prebend's son in his diocese, to be 
 brought to him for a leprosy from head to foot, which hath 
 
HISTORY OP VALENTINE GEEATfiAK S. 
 
 287 
 
 been judged incurable above ten years, and in my cbamber 
 he cured him perfectly, that is, from a moist humour ; 'twas 
 immediately dried up, and began to fall off; the itching was 
 quite gone, and the heat of it taken away. The youth was 
 transported to admiration. The dean saw this as well as 
 myself, but it is not the hundredth part, and I am confident 
 at the least of forty that we have seen, among which are many 
 pleasant passages done purposely to satisfy our curiosity and 
 experience. So I wander that he had not a greater esteem 
 in Ireland ; but, after all this, I am far from thinking them 
 miracles, or that his cures are at all miraculous ; but I be- 
 lieve it is by a sanative virtue and a natural efficiency, which 
 extends not to all diseases, hut is much more proper and 
 effectual to some than to others, as he doth also despatch 
 some with a great deal of ease, and others not without a 
 great deal of pains. This inclosed is a letter of his to his wife, 
 which I desire may be carefully sent to her ; and as to his 
 concernments in Ireland, I fear he doth not mind them so 
 well as he ought to do ; probably Sir Thomas Stanley may 
 inform you how they stand, and if you can do him any serv- 
 ice, I shall take it extremely kindly, for he takes a great 
 deal of pains about my wife, and is very affectionate to do 
 all that lies in his power. I had also a letter from my 
 brother !Prancis. I am confident Mr Greatrak's would re- 
 cover him or the Bishop of Down, for I pretty well know 
 what distempers he can cure, and what he cannot. 
 
 " So I rest yours, etc., Conwat. 
 " Eagley, Qih February, 1665." 
 
 Mr Grreatrak's remained at Eagley about three weeks or 
 a month, in the enjoyment of Lord Conway's hospitality, and 
 went thence to "Worcester, at the entreaty of the Mayor and 
 Aldermen of that city. He had resolved to stay at Worces- 
 ter some four or five days, but on his arrival a letter from 
 Lord Arlington reached him, conveying the royal mandate 
 to Mr Greatrak's to appear at "Whitehall. Obeying this 
 summons, he proceeded to London, where he took up his 
 residence in Lincoln's Inn Fields ; and, having been pre- 
 sented at court, he returned to his lodgings, where he publicly 
 cured the sick, and filled the whole city with amazement. 
 
 A lively account of the appearance of Mr Greatrak's in 
 the metropolis is given by the sarcastic St Evremond, in the 
 second volume of his Miscellanies : " "When M. de Com- 
 
288 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 minges," writes this witty frenchman, " was ambassador 
 from his most Christian Majesty to the King of Great 
 Brita,in, there came to London an Irish prophet, who passed 
 himself off as a great worker of miracles. Some persons of 
 quality having begged of M. de Comminges to invite him to 
 his house, that they might be witnesses of some of his 
 miracles, the ambassador promised to satisfy them, as much to 
 gratify his own curiosity as from courtesy to his friends, and 
 gave notice to Grreatrak's that he would be glad to see him. 
 
 " A rumour of the prophet's coming soon spread all over 
 the tovm, and the hotel of M. de Comminges was crowded 
 by sick persons, who came full of confidence in their speedy 
 cure. The Irishman made them wait a considerable time 
 for him, but came at last, in the midst of their impatience 
 for him, with a grave and simple countenance, that showed 
 no signs of his being a cheat. M. de Comminges prepared 
 to question him strictly, hoping to discourse with him on 
 the matters that he had read of in Van Helmont and Bodi- 
 nus ; but he was not able to do so, much to his regret, for 
 the crowd became so great, and cripples and others pressed 
 round so impatiently to be the first cured, that the servants 
 were obliged to use threats and even force, before they could, 
 establish order among them, or place them in proper ranks. 
 
 " The prophet affirmed that all diseases were caused by 
 evil spirits. Every infirmity with him was a case of dia- 
 bolical possession. The first that was presented to him was 
 a man suffering from gout and rheumatism, and so severely, 
 that the physicians had been unable to cure him. ' Ah,' 
 said the miracle- worker, ' I have seen a good deal of this sort 
 of spirits when I was in Ireland. They are watery spirits, 
 who bring on cold shivering, and excite an overflow of 
 aqueous humours in our poor bodies.' Then addressing 
 the man, he said, ' Evil spirit, who hast quitted thy dwelling 
 in the waters to come and afflict this miserable body, I com- 
 mand thee to quit thy new abode, and return to thine 
 ancient habitation ! ' This said, the sick man was ordered to 
 withdraw, and another brought forward in his place. This 
 new comer said he was tormented by the melancholy vapours. 
 In fact, he looked like a hypochondriac, — one of those per- 
 sons diseased in imagination, and who but too often become 
 so in reality. ' Aerial spirit,' said the Irishman, ' return, I 
 command thee, into the air ; ex-ercise thy natural vocation of 
 raising tempests, and do not excite any more wind in this 
 
HISTORY OF VALENTINE GEEATEAK's, 289 
 
 sad unlucky body ! ' This man was immediately turned 
 away, to make room for a third patient, who, in the Irish- 
 man's opinion, was only tormented by a little bit of a sprite, 
 who could not withstand his command for an instant. He 
 pretended that he recognised this sprite by some marks, 
 which were invisible to the company, to whom he turned 
 with a smile, and said, ' This sort of spirit does not often do 
 much harm, and is always- very diverting.' To hear him talk 
 one would have imagined that he knew all about spirits, their 
 names, their rank, their numbers, their employment, and all 
 the functions they were destined to ; and he boasted of be- 
 ing much better acquainted with the intrigues of demons 
 than he was with the afiairs of men. Tou can hardly im- 
 agine what a reputation he gained in a short time. Catholics 
 and Protestants visited him from every part, all believing that 
 power from Heaven was in his hands." 
 
 Having narrated, with much quiet humour, the joint ap- 
 plication to Mr Greatrak's of a husband and wife, who be- 
 sought him to cast out the demon of discord that troubled 
 them, St Evremond concludes by setting forth the influence 
 gained on the popular mind. " So great was the confidence 
 in him, that the blind fancied they saw the light, which they 
 did not see ; the deaf imagined that they heard ; the lame, 
 that they walked straight ; and the paralytic, that they had 
 recovered the use of their limbs. An idea of health made 
 the sick forget, for awhile, their maladies ; and imagination, 
 which was not less active in those merely drawn by curiosity 
 than in the sick, gave a false view in the one class, from the 
 desire of seeing, as it operated a false cure on the other, 
 from the strong desire of being healed. Such was the power, 
 of the Irishman over the mind, and such was the influence 
 of the mind over the body. Nothing was spoken of in Lon- 
 don but his prodigies, and these prodigies were supported by 
 such great authorities, that the bewildered multitude believed 
 them, almost without examination, while more enlightened 
 people did not care to reject them from their own knowledge. 
 The public opinion, timid and enslaved, respected this impe- 
 rious and, apparently, weU-authenticated error. Those who 
 saw through the delusion kept their opinion to themselves, 
 knowing how useless it was to declare their disbelief to a peo- 
 ple filled with prejudice and admiration." 
 
 Another satirical opponent of Mr Greatrak's was Dr 
 Lloyd, the chaplain of the Charter-house, who, in a work en- 
 
 19 
 
290 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 titled, "'Wonders no Miracles,"* descended to the lowest 
 personal abuse of " The Stroker." It was in answer to this 
 treatise, that Mr Greatrak's wrote his "Brief Account," 
 which he inscribed to the philosophic Eobert Boyle. This 
 distinguished man did not hesitate to throw the shield of his 
 high authority over Mr Greatrak's ; in which he was follow- 
 ed by Cudworth, another of the " Intellectual System ; " 
 Bishop Eust, Dr Whichcot, Dr Wilkins, Dr Lewis Patrick, 
 and many of the Fellows of the Universities of Oxford and 
 Cambridge. The pen was likewise taken up in his defence 
 by Henry Stubbe,t a physician of Stratford-on-Avon, who 
 had been his fellow-guest at Lord Conway's table, Eagley, 
 and had there witnessed many of his marvellous cures. ' A 
 Mr Love, who had, on a former .occasion, unjustly ridiculed 
 Mr Greatrak's, also now stepped forth to assure the world 
 that he had been witness to his curing epilepsy, in a way 
 beyond ordinary credibility ; and, in a letter to the Earl of 
 Orrery, declared " that the Eoyal Society, and other modem 
 philosophers, unable to dispute the act, found words to de- 
 fine it, and called the strange effects, ' A sanative contagion 
 in the body, which had an antipathy to some particular 
 diseases, and not to others.' " Indeed this learned society 
 has done its part in preserving memorials of Mr Greatrak's ; 
 for Mr Thoresby, in their Transactions, has recorded some 
 remarkable instances of his relieving sickness, and, among 
 others, in the case of his own brother. How long Mr 
 Greatrak's remained in London, or when he returned home, 
 does not appear. He was in Dublin in 1681, which appears 
 to have been his last public appearance ; and he expired in 
 peace at his residence, Affane Castle, in November, 1683. J 
 His last will is registered in Dublin. 
 
 * "'Wonders no Miracles; or, Mr Valentine Greatrak's Gift of Heal- 
 ing examined, upon occasion of a sad effect of his Stroking, March the 7th, 
 1665, at one Mr Crepet's house, in Charter-house Yard. In a letter to a 
 Eev. Divine, living near that place. London : Printed for Sam. Speed, at 
 the Eainbow, in Fleet Street, 1666." 
 
 f "The Miraculous Conformist; or An Account of several Marvail- 
 oua Cures performed by the Stroking of the Hands of Mr Valentine Great- 
 arick; with a Physical Discourse thereupon. In a letter' to the Hon. 
 Eobert Boyle, Esq. ; with a Letter relating some other of his Miraculous 
 Cures, attested by E. Foxcroft, M. A., and Fellow of King's College, in 
 Cambridge. By Henry Stubbe, Physician at Stratford-upon-Avon, m the 
 County of Warwick. Oxford : Printed by H. Hall, Printer to the Uni- 
 versity, for Eic. Davis, 1666." 
 
 X Lodge. Vol. ii. page 248 — note. 
 
HISTORY OF VALENTINE GEEATEAk's. 291 
 
 Of the personal appearance of this remarkable man we 
 have some interesting notices, preserved by his contempora- 
 
 Mr Greatrak'8 was twice married. His first wife was sister of Sir 
 "WiUiam Godolphin, ambassador from Charles II. to the Court of Madrid, 
 by whom he had issue : — 
 I. "William Gbeatbak'b, who m., in Dec., 1683, Mary, third dau. (by 
 Dorcas, his wife, third dau. of the famous Sir Philip Perceval, ances- 
 tor of the Earls of Egmont) of Jonah Wheeler, Esq., of Greenan, co. 
 Kilkenny, who was son and heir of Dr Jonah Wheeler, Bishop of 
 Ossory. Mr Greatrak'a d. 27 Sept. 1686, having had an only son, 
 who d. in infancy. His widow re-married with Dr William PaUiser, 
 Abp. of Gashel, and d. in June, 1735, having had, by the Archbishop, 
 an only son, William Palliser, Esq., of Rathfarnham 
 II. Edmund, so 'named after Sir Edmundbury Godfi:ey ("my honoured 
 and worthy friend," as his distinguished father calls him, m his letter 
 to Robert Boyle), mentioned as " of Affane," in a work entitled " The 
 State of the Protestants of Ireland, under the late King James's 
 Government, &c. : London, 1691," and there recorded as one of the 
 attainted Protestants who were obliged to flee to England : he m. the 
 daughter of a glass-man at Bristol ; but d.s.p. 
 
 I. Mary, m. Major Edmund [or WiUiam] Browning, of the Parliament- 
 ary Army, and had issue : 
 
 1. Richard, d.s.p. 
 
 2. Yalentine, m,, 31 August, 1732, Jane, eldest dau. of Samuel 
 Haymau, Esq., of Cloynepriest and Myrtle Grove, (see Hatman 
 or South Abbey, Landed Gentry), and (with a son who d. abroad 
 wnm.) had issue 
 
 Samuel, d. unm. 
 
 EUzaheth, heiress to her father and eventually to her uncle, Richard 
 
 Brownrigg, m. Pierce Peer, of BaUyhane, Esq., High Sheriff of 
 
 CO. Waterford in 1789, a lineal descendant of the Lobds lb Poee 
 
 of Curraghmore, by whom she had issue ; 
 Nicholas Poer., d. young. 
 
 Samuel Poer, late of Belleville Park (see Landed Gentry). 
 Pierce Poer. 
 
 William Poer, in holy orders, Incumbent of Affane. 
 John Poer, of Mount Rivers, and afterwards of Belle Vue. 
 Alicia Poer, m. in 1786, John Drew, Esq., of Listry, and Rockfield, 
 
 CO. of Kerry, and of Frogmore, near Toughal, co. Cork, and 
 
 (with others) had issue, a son, Pierce William Drew, in holy 
 
 orders, of Brooklodge, Rector of Youghal. 
 Catherine Poer, m. Sir Christopher Musgrave, of Myrtle Grove, 
 
 Bart. 
 Jane Poer, m. the Rev. George Miles. 
 Mr Greatrak's m. 2ndly, the relict of Rotheram, Esq., of Camolin, co. 
 Wexford, but does not appear to have had further issue. His brother 
 William carried on the male line, now believed to be extinct ; and his 
 
292 FAMILY EOMANCE. , 
 
 ries. Granger gives an admirable portrait, representing him 
 in the act of shutting the eyes of a blind youth. Dr Stubbe 
 says of him, " He is a man of a graceful personage and pre- 
 sence, and if my phantasy betrayed not my judgment, I ob- 
 served in his eyes and meene a vivacitie and spritlinesse that 
 is nothing common." Mr A. H. Phaire describes him as a 
 man " of large stature and surprising strength. He has 
 often," he vrrites, " taken a handful of hazel-nuts and crack- 
 ed most of them with one gripe of his hand, and has often 
 divided a single hazel-nut by his thumb and fore-finger. He 
 had the largest, heaviest, and softest hand, I believe, of any 
 man of his time ; to vfhich I do attribute the natural reason 
 of the great virtue of his hand above other men." This 
 " largeness " of the Stroker's hand has been always mention- 
 ed in the traditions of the famUy ; and Mr Greatrak's col- 
 lateral descendants, both male and female, were remarkable 
 for size and stature. 
 
 only sister Mary m. John Nettles, Esq., of Tourin, by whom she had nu- 
 merous issue (see Nettles of NEiTLEVttLE, Limded Gentry). 
 
THE EAELS OF MAK. 293 
 
 THE EARLS OF MAR. 
 
 Theeb is no title in G-reat Britain, perhaps no title in Eu- 
 rope, so ancient as that of the Earl of Mar. It is, in fact, an 
 extraordinary relic handed down to us from the most remote 
 period of history ; for we can trace this illustrious line, in 
 uninterrupted succession, to the old Pictish period, when the 
 predecessor and ancestor of the present Earl of Mar held the 
 same designation, but with a higher dignity, and a title which 
 has been obsolete for a thousand years, and is now known 
 only as a curious matter of antiquarian research. The title 
 in question was Maormor, a Pictish dignity, inferior only to 
 that of King, and which, many centuries ere the ducal rank 
 had been heard of in Britain, was exchanged for the modem 
 title of Earl. 
 
 Three great princes, who, under the ancient Pictish 
 sovereigns, governed Scotland, with the title of Maormor, 
 were the hereditary chiefs of the great tribes into which the 
 people of the North of Scotland were divided. They were 
 exclusively the native great rulers of the Pictish or Gaelic 
 races which peopled the northern districts of Britain ; and 
 to which races and districts the title of Maormor was con- 
 fined. And although many Saxon and Roman barons ob- 
 tained extensive territories in Scotland, soon after the Nor- 
 man conquest, and even in some cases succeeded, by marriage, 
 to the power and territories of some of the ancient Maormors, 
 yet vre never find them appearing under that title. 
 
 Among the principal Maormorships of the north of 
 Scotland were Pife, Moray, Eoss, Athole, Mar, Sutherland, 
 and Argyle. Of the great hereditary chiefs who ruled over 
 them, the races have long been extinct. That of Mar alone 
 survives ; a remarkable instance of a title of which we 
 know not the beginning, as the first of the race appears in 
 
294 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 history a potent native chief, holding a rank only inferior to 
 the sovereign. 
 
 In the very end of the ninth century, a remarkable 
 adventure befell the Maormor of Mar : he valiantly opposed 
 Sigurd, the first Scandinavian i^arl of Orkney, who had 
 conquered the greatest portion of the north of Scotland, 
 but was slain in battle by the invader. The death, of this 
 great chief, whose name was Melbrigda, was revenged upon 
 Sigurd in a most remarkable manner. This Maormor 
 possessed a very prominent tooth ; and Sigurd, having cut- 
 off his head, suspended it to his saddle-bow, and gaUoped 
 in triumph over the field of his victory. The violence of 
 the motion caused the head of Melbrigda to knock about, 
 and his prominent tooth inflicted a wound in Sigurd's thigh, 
 which festered, mortified, and caused his death. 
 
 In course of time the G-aelic Maormors became Earls, 
 and all of them became extinct, except the Earl of Mar, 
 whose title has been handed down, though in the female 
 line, to our day. The accurate and learned Lord Hailes 
 remarks on the title of Mar, — " This is one of the Earldoms 
 whose origin is lost in antiquity. It existed before our re- 
 cords, and before the era of genuine history." 
 
 Thomas, thirteenth Earl of Mar, was the last of his 
 race in direct male descent. He was succeeded by his 
 sister, Margaret, Countess of Mar, the wife of William, 
 Earl of Douglas, by whom she had a son, James, Earl of 
 Douglas, and fourteenth Earl of Mar, slain at Otterburn in 
 1388, and a daughter, Isabella, heiress to her brother, as 
 Countess of Mar, on th6 romantic incidents of whose life 
 I cannot now dwell. In 1404, she granted to her hus- 
 band, Alexander Stewart, a natural son of the royal house, 
 the Earldom of Mar. This marriage being without issue, 
 the Earldom was justly claimed, in 1435, by Robert, Lord 
 Erskine, the undoubted heir of the Mar family, being the 
 only son of Janet Keith, Lady Erskine, whose mother, 
 Christian Monteith, was daughter of Sir John Monteith, by 
 Lady Ellen Mar, daughter of Gratney, eleventh Earl of 
 Mar, and niece of King Eobert Bruce. Eobert, Lord 
 Erskine, was thus, de jure, the fifteenth Earl of Mar ; but 
 King James the Third would riot acknowledge his claim, 
 and gave this great Earldom to his own brother, and after 
 his condemnation and death, to his favourite, Cochrane, who 
 was hanged at Sanders' bridge, in 1482. This Earldom was 
 
THE EAELS OF MAE. 295 
 
 next conferred on Alexander, son of King James the Third, 
 and, afterwards. Queen Mary granted a charter of it to 
 James Stewart, Prior of St Andrew's, afterwards Earl of 
 Moray. But at length it was restored to its rightful pro- 
 prietor, John, Lord Erskine, after the family had been 
 unjustly kept out of it for more than a century. This 
 nobleman, in 1565, took his seat in Parliament as Earl of 
 Mar, and he was, properly speaking, the twentieth Earl. 
 He was E«gent of Scotland during the minority of King 
 James the Sixth. His son, John, Earl of -Mar, was the 
 playmate and early companion of that monarch, and was 
 Lord High Treasurer of Scotland. His second wife . was 
 the beautiful Mary Stewart, cousin to the King, and daugh- 
 ter of Esme Stewart, Duke of Lenox. 
 
 The family of Mar continued in honour and power 
 until the fatal year 1715, when the Earl having been dis- 
 gusted with the uncourteous treatment which he received 
 from King George the Pirst, and cherishing an attachment 
 to the exiled royal race, raised the standard of the Stuarts 
 in Braemar, and was leader of that ill-advised insurrection. 
 On the failure of this enterprise his estates were forfeited, 
 and his titles attainted. A portion of the former were 
 bought in for his son. Lord Erskine ; but the attainder of 
 the titles was not reversed until 1824, when George the 
 Fourth restored them to Mr Erskine of Mar, the grandson 
 of the attainted peer. 
 
 There is a very singular prophecy in this family, attri- 
 ,buted by some to Thomas the Ehymer, by some to the 
 Abbot of Cambuskenneth, who was ejected in the reign of 
 Queen Mary, and by some to the Bard of the House at that 
 epoch. But whoever was the author of it, -the prophecy 
 itself is sure, and the time of its delivery was prior to the 
 elevation of the Earl, in 1571, to be the Eegent of Scotland. 
 The original is said to have been delivered in Gaelic verse, 
 but it is doubtful if it was ever written down; and the 
 family themselves have always been averse to giving any 
 details concerning it. The contributor of the details I 
 am recording knew intimately the restored earl, John 
 Erancis, and all his children, but could never induce them 
 to do more than attest its truth. His father repeated it in 
 1799 ; and may have known it many years earlier. Thus 
 it is not a prediction after the event. 
 
296 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 " Proud Chief of Mar : Thou shalt be raised still 
 higher, until thou sittest in the place of the king. Thdu 
 shalt rule and destroy, and thy work shall be called after 
 thy name ; but thy work shall be the emblem of thy house, 
 and shall teach mankind, that he who cruelly and haughtily 
 raiseth himself upon the ruins of the holy cannot prosper. 
 Thy work shall be cursed and shall never be finished. But 
 thou shalt have riches and greatness, and shalt be true to 
 thy Sovereign, and shalt raise his banner in the field of 
 blood. Then, when thou seemest to be highest — when thy 
 power is mightiest, then shall come thy fall ; low shall be 
 thy head amongst the nobles of thy people. Deep shall be 
 thy moan among the children of dool.* Thy lands shall be 
 given to the stranger ; and thy titles shall lie amongst the 
 dead. The branch that springs from thee shall see his 
 dwelling burnt, in which a king was nursed, — his wife a 
 sacrifice in that same flame ; his children numerous, but of 
 little honour ; and three born and grown, who shall never 
 Bee the light. Tet shall thine ancient tower stand ; fot 
 the brave and the true cannot be wholly forsaken. Thou 
 proud head and daggered hand must dree thy weird, until 
 horses shall be stabled in thy hall, and a weaver shall throw 
 his shuttle in thy chamber of state. Thine ancient tower — 
 a woman's dower — shall be a ruin and a beacon, until an 
 ash sapling shall spring from its topmost stone. Then shall 
 thy sorrows be ended, and the sunshine of royalty shall 
 beam on thee once more. Thine honours shall be restored ; 
 the kiss of peace shall be given to thy Countess, though 
 she seek it not, and the days of peace shall return to thee 
 and thine. The line of Mar shall be broken ; but not until 
 its honors are doubled, and its doom is ended." 
 
 In explanation of this long prophecy, which has worked 
 through 300 years, I have to state that the Earl of 1571 
 was raised to be Eegent of Scotland, and guardian of James 
 VI., whose cradle belongs to the family. He, as Eegent, 
 commanded the destruction of Cambuskenneth Abbey, and 
 took its stones to build himself a palace in Stirling, which 
 never advanced further than the fafade, and which has 
 always been called " Marr's Work." 
 
 The Earl of Mar, in 1715, raised the banner, in Scotland, 
 of Ms sovereign, the Chevalier James Stuart, son of James 
 * Soottish for sorrow. 
 
THE EAELS OP MAR. 297 
 
 the Second or Seventh ; and was defeated at the bloody 
 battle of Sherriff Muir. His title was forfeited, and his 
 lands of Mar were confiscated, and sold by the gOTernment to 
 the Earl of Fife. • 
 
 His grandson, and representative, John Trancis, lived at 
 Alloa Tower, which had been for some time the abode of 
 James the Sixth, as an infant. This tower was burnt in 
 1801, by a candle being left near a bed by a careless servant. 
 Miss Erskiae, afterwards Lady Prances, had passed this 
 room to her own every night for twelve years, but that 
 night, being ill, she had gone up by a private stair. Mrs 
 Erskine was burnt, and died ; leaving, besides others, three 
 children, who were born blind, and who aU lived to old age. 
 The family being thus driven away from Alloa Tower, it 
 was left as a ruin, and used to be a show from the neigh- 
 bouring gentlemen's houses. 
 
 In the beginning of this century, upon a general and 
 violent alarm of the Erench invasion, all the cavalry of the 
 district, and all the yeomanry, poured into Alloa, a small 
 poor town, in which they could not find accommodation. 
 A troop accordingly took possession of the tower, and fifty 
 horses were stabled for a week in its lordly hall. In or 
 about 1810, a party of visitors found, to their astonishment, 
 a weaver very composedly plying his loom in the grand old 
 chamber of state. He had been there a fortnight, and the 
 keeper of the tower professed to know nothing of it. He 
 had been dislodged in Alloa for rent. 
 
 Between 1815 and 1820, my informant was often one 
 of a party who have shaken the ash saplin in the topmost 
 stone, and clasped it in the palm of their hands; won- 
 dering if it was really the twig of destiny, and if they should 
 ever live to see the prophecy fulfilled. 
 
 In 1822, King George the Eourth came to Scotland, 
 and searched out the families who had suffered by support- 
 ing the Princes of the Stuart line. Eoremost of them all 
 was Erskine of Mar, grandson of the Mar who had raised 
 the Chevalier's standard, and to him, accordingly, he re- 
 stored his earldom. John Erancis, the present peer, and 
 the grandson of the restored Earl, boasts the double earl- 
 doms of Mar and Kelly. His Countess was never presented 
 at St James's, but she accidentally met Queen Victoria in a 
 small room in Stirling Castle, and the Queen immediately 
 asked who she was, detained her, and kissed her. The Earl 
 
298 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 and Countess are now living in aiHuence and peace at Alloa 
 Park, and many, ■who knew the family in its days of deepest 
 depression, have lived to see " the weird dreed out, and the 
 doom of Mar ended." 
 
 "Alloa Tower — a woman's dower" — was the jointure- 
 house of the Lady Prances Erskine, the mother of the 
 restored Peer. The present Earl has no children, and his 
 successor in the peerage, accordingly, will not be an Erskine 
 but a Groodeve, the child of his eldest sister, the Lady 
 Jemima ; the old line being thus broken. 
 
THE HEART OP MONTEOSE, 299 
 
 THE HEART OF MONTROSE. 
 
 Gallant and glorious spirit ! . . . Thou 
 Hast died for our long royalty of race. 
 
 Let me once 
 
 fold that throbless heart. — Byron. 
 
 Pew of my readers will require to be reminded that 
 the great Montrose, having fallen into the hands of the 
 Covenanters, after all his victories, was condemned to die 
 the death of a traitor. Neither is it my intention to dwell 
 upon the bloody and painful details of the execution. It is 
 enough for the purpose in hand to state that the Marquess 
 having been put to death, his severed head " was fixed upon 
 the Tolbooth, over agaiast the Earl of Gowrie's, with an 
 iron cross over it, lest by any of his friends it should have 
 been taken down." 
 
 To fill up the measure of an ignominious revenge after 
 death, his body was thrown into a hole at the public place 
 of execution, called the Boroughmuir, and answering to the 
 London Tyburn. It would have been too mild, too much 
 an act of grace, for the stern Calvinistic spirit to have 
 allowed his remains to sleep in hallowed ground and in the 
 gay garments of martyrdom prepared for him by his friends, 
 — " the costly pearling, the fine linen, the carnation stock- 
 ings, and the delicate white gloves," all of which, at a later 
 period, were found in the Napier charter-chest, aU stained 
 with the faded marks of blood, and accompanied with other 
 reliques of a similar nature. These indignities offered to 
 the remains of the great Marquess were felt by none more 
 acutely than by Lady Napier, who had married his nephew, 
 and who had been so especial a favourite with him, that in 
 his prosperous days he had always promised to leave his 
 heart to her when he died, in token of affection. It is 
 likely enough that this promise was not without efi'ect in 
 
300 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 stimulating her to the deed whicli she now meditated. She 
 resolved to get possession of his heart, and succeeded .in 
 persuading a confidential friend to undertake the enterprise, 
 and in Belfour's phrase " to extract sweetness from the maw 
 of the devourer." It was a perilous attempt, most probably 
 implying death to the bold adventurer, if he failed, for 
 mercy was by no means the order of the day. The friend, 
 however, had the good fortune, against all chances, to suc- 
 ceed in his enterprise, and having wrapt up the heart in the 
 shroud intended for the body, conveyed his prize in triumph 
 to Lady Napier, who immediately caused it to be embalmed. 
 She next had a small steel case made of the blade of Mont- 
 rose's sword, in which she enclosed it, and then placed the 
 case in a gold filagree-box, that had been given by a Doge 
 of Venice to John Napier, the inventor of Logarithms, 
 while travelling in Italy. This box again she deposited in 
 a large silver urn, presented some years before, by the Mar- 
 quess to her husband, Lord Napier. Her first intention 
 was to retain this valued relique by her own bed-side, in 
 lasting memorial of the object of her veneration, but for 
 some unknown reason she abandoned the purpose, and sent 
 the gold box with Montrose's heart in it to the young Mar- 
 quess of Montrose, who was then abroad with her husband 
 in exile. Strange to say, the box with its contents was 
 afterwards lost sight of for a long time by both families, 
 that of Montrose and, that of Napier. At length it was 
 met with and recognised by a gentleman of Guelderland, in 
 the antiquarian collection of a Dutch virtuoso, and he being 
 a friend of Lord Napier, who was then making a sojourn in 
 that country, got possession of the relique and presented it 
 to him. What became eventually of the silver urn is not 
 known, nor does it appear certain that Lady Napier herself 
 ever parted with it. Having been a gift from Montrose, 
 the contrary supposition would seem to be the most pro- 
 bable. 
 
 The casket with the heart was now in the possession of 
 Prancis, the fifth Lord Napier, by the generosity of his 
 Dutch acquaintance. Having, hy his speculations in the 
 Caledonian Canal, lost much of the family estate, already 
 diminished from its ancient splendour by sequestrations in 
 the time of Cromwell ; and fearing that he might have 
 nothing more substantial to leave his daughter Hesther, he 
 gave her, in his life-time, Montrose's casket, trusting " that 
 
THE HEAET OF MONTEOSE. 301 
 
 it -would te valuable to her as the only token of his affection 
 which he might be able to leave her ; and that it might 
 hereafter remind her of the many happy hours which he 
 had spent in instructing her, while a child, in the tower of 
 Merchiston ; and that, whatever vicissitudes of fortune 
 might befall her, it might always afford the satisfaction of 
 being able to show that she was descended from persons 
 who were distinguished in the history of Scotland, by their 
 piety, their science, their courage, and their patriotism." 
 
 Hesther Napier having married Alexander Johnston,Esq., 
 of CarnsaUoch, went with her husband and son, then a child 
 of five years old, to India, and carried with her on the voyage 
 the precious relique. When off the Cape de Verde Islands, 
 Commodore Johnston's fleet, in which they were sailing, was 
 attacked by a French squadron under Admiral Suffreia. One 
 of the enemy's frigates attacked the Indiaman, aboard which 
 was Hesther, with her child and husband ; and the latter, 
 by the Captain's permission, having assumed the command 
 of four of the quarter-deck guns, she positively refused to 
 leave the deck. " It was," she said, " the duty of the wife 
 and child to live or die with the husband and father ;" and 
 accordingly, during the fight she grasped the boy tight with 
 one hand, while in the other she held a large thick velvet 
 reticule, in which she had some of the things she most valued, 
 including the miniatures of her father and mother, and the 
 gold filagree case that contained the heart of the great Mar- 
 quis. Her idea was — and probably most about her were of 
 the same opinion — that the French might succeed in captur- 
 ing the Indiaman, in which case it was quite certain they 
 would be plundered of everything. 
 
 The action, as may be supposed from the inequality of 
 forces and determination of the weaker side, was a hot one. 
 A shot from the frigate struck one of the four guns under 
 Mr Johnston, knocking him down by the splinters it tore 
 off the deck, wounding his lady in the arm, and bruising the 
 muscles of the child's right hand so severely, that in after- 
 life it was often difficult for him to write, or even to hold a 
 pen. The splinter must have first struck the reticule which 
 hung loose in her hand, for, to her great distress, the gold 
 filagree box in it was shivered to pieces ; but fortunately, the 
 steel case resisted the blow, and its contents, therefore, re- 
 mained uninjured. Any further danger was removed by the 
 frigate's sheering off, either as called off by the French Ad- 
 
302 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 miral, or from a feeling that the contest was hopeless with 
 so resolute an opponent. The next day Commodore John- 
 ston and Sir John Macpherson, who was with him in the flag- 
 ship, came aboard the Indiaman, and complimented the high- 
 spirited lady and her husband upon the encouragement they 
 had given by their example to the ship's crew. 
 
 When residing at Madeira, in India, Mrs Johnston met 
 with a celebrated native goldsmith, who, partly from the 
 fragments she had saved, and partly from her description, 
 made a gold filagree box, in imitation of the one destroyed, 
 and rivalling it in beauty. At the same time, she caused him 
 to fashion for her a silver urn like that in the family picture 
 of the Lady Napier, who had rescued Montrose's heart from 
 the Boroughmuir, in fact, like that vase which had so unac- 
 countably disappeared. Upon this new vessel she had en- 
 graved, in Tamil and Telugoo — the two languages most 
 generally understood throughout the southern peninsula of 
 India — a short narrative of the most remarkable incidents in 
 Montrose's life, and the circumstances of his death under the 
 hands of the Covenanters. Within it she enclosed the fil- 
 agree box, the fragments of the former case, and a certificate 
 by the gentleman of Gruelderland before mentioned, and an 
 explanation of the various grounds for believing the heart to 
 have been that of the gallant Montrose. The urn was placed 
 upon an ebony table in the drawing-room of Mr Johnston's 
 house at Madeira ; but, unluckily, the great care and anxiety, 
 which the lady at all times expressed for its preservation, 
 aroused the superstition of the natives, seldom restrained by 
 any moral feelings from so trifling a crime in their code as 
 theft, so it could be managed without discovery. A general 
 idea bad got abroad amongst them that this was a talisman, 
 the possessor of which would never be wounded in battle or 
 taken prisoner, and under such impression, some ingenious 
 native Autolycus, more mindful of his skin than of his hon- 
 esty, contrived to abstract it; nor was the relique heard of 
 for a long time afterwards, when Hesther got information 
 that it had been ofiered for sale to a powerful chief, who had 
 given for it a large sum of money. 
 
 Some few years must be supposed to have elapsed since 
 the battle between the Indiaman and the French frigate. 
 The child was fast advancing towards manhood, and his father 
 was in the habit of sending him every year during the hunt- 
 ing and shooting season to some of the native chiefs in the 
 
THE HEAET OF MONTEOSE. 303 
 
 neighbourhood of Madeira for four months at a time, in order 
 that he might acquire the native dialects and practise the 
 gymnastic exercises of the people. It so chanced one day, 
 that while hunting with the chief, who was said to have pur- 
 chased the urn, the boar they had in pursuit made a dash at 
 young Johnston's horse. By great good fortune he wound- 
 ed the infuriated animal with his hunting-pike, when the 
 chief, coming up, despatched it. The courage and address of 
 the lad so pleased the chief that he publicly demanded in the 
 presence of all his attendants, " In what way would you that 
 I should show my respect and regard ? " He answered, that 
 if it were true the chief had bought the silver urn belonging 
 to Mrs Johnston, he would feel that no greater favour could 
 be bestowed upon him than by returning it. As a further 
 inducement to the Hindoo to comply with this request, he 
 explained all the circumstances connected with the supposed 
 talisman. The chief, having listened attentively to these 
 details, replied, " It is quite true that I have bought the urn 
 you speak of for a large sum, but I knew not that it had been 
 stolen from your mother. Independently of this, the brave 
 should have sympathy with the brave, whatever may be the 
 difference of nation or religion. I consider it, therefore, my 
 duty to fulfil the wishes of the brave man whose heart is in 
 the urn, and whose desire it is that it should be possessed by 
 his descendants. Por that reason I shall willingly restore 
 it to your mother." 
 
 The next day, the Indian chief, having first presented his 
 visitor with six of his finest dogs and two of his best match- 
 locks, dismissed him with the urn and a gift to Mrs Johnston 
 of some shawls, and a dress of golden tissue. These were 
 accompanied by a letter expressing his great regret that he 
 had innocently been the cause of her distress by purchasing 
 the urn, which he would not have done, had he known that 
 it had been stolen from her. The chief who acted in this 
 noble and delicate way, was the same who rebelled against 
 the authority of his supposed sovereign, the Nabob of Arcot, 
 and who, after having behaved with the most undaunted 
 courage, was defeated and made prisoner by a body of Eng- 
 lish troops. Being delivered over to his enemies, he was, as 
 a matter of course, condemned to death, and the sentence was 
 to be carried into immediate efiect. TJpon hearing this, tho 
 story of Montrose's urn came upon his mem.ory, and he ex- 
 pressed a hope to some of his attendants that those who had 
 
304 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 loved and admired him would preserve his heart in the same 
 way that the heart of the European warrior had been pre- 
 served in the silver urn. 
 
 The adventures of the vase were not yet over. In 1792, 
 Mr and Mrs Johnston returned to Europe, and visited France 
 at a time when the revolutionary government required all 
 persons to give up their plate, as well as gold and silver orna- 
 ments, to the State. As the only means of saving the urn, 
 Mrs Johnston intrusted it to the care of an Englishwoman 
 at Boulogne of the name of Knowles ; but this person died 
 soon afterwards, and it was never heard of more. 
 
 The treasure has been thus described by Sir Alexander 
 Johnston, in a letter to his daughters : — 
 
 " The steel case was of the size and shape of an egg. It 
 was opened by pressing down a little knob, as is done in 
 opening a watch-case. Inside was a little parcel, supposed to 
 contain all that remained of Montrose's heart, wrapped up in 
 a piece of coarse cloth, and done over with a substance like 
 glue. The gold filagree case was similar in workmanship to 
 tlie grit worked vases in which the Venetian flasks at War- 
 wick Castle are enclosed." 
 
JOHN PHILPOT CUEEAN. 305 
 
 THE RISE OF THE RIGHT HON. JOHN PHILPOT 
 CURRM. 
 
 He would not flatter Neptune for Ms trident, 
 
 Or Jove for his power to thunder. His heart 's his mouth. 
 
 Shakspeake. 
 
 The course of these pages has shown, that it is by no 
 means an uncommon event for the descendants of nobles to 
 fall from their high estate, to the humblest position in society ; 
 and, on the other hand, it is still less unfrequent, for the 
 lowest born to rise to the loftiest rank, by no other aid than 
 the gifts of nature ; but it is rare to see the former forget- 
 ting, or thelatterremembering what they once were. Amongst 
 the few who have been found willing to recollect a humble 
 origin, Curran, the celebrated orator, that dauntless advocate 
 and brightest ornament of the Irish bar, stands foremost. He 
 was born in the obscure village of Newmarket, in the county 
 of Cork. His family, the paternal side, were not Irish, a ma- 
 ternal ancestor having come over to Ireland in Cromwell's 
 army. His father, James Curran, derived his chief, but scanty, 
 income from his office, as Seneschal of the Manor, and his 
 education would seem, by all accounts, to have been as narrow 
 as his income. To make amends, his mother was a woman of 
 very superior mind, and it is to the mother that sons owe their 
 peculiar talent and character, either because this is the result 
 of a mysterious law of nature, or because the early education 
 of the child, not that which is taught by books, but by pre- 
 cept and example, is entirely in her hands. She gives the 
 young plant its first bias, and, though after-care and cultiva- 
 tion may improve the brilliance of its flower, or the flavour of 
 its fruit, they wiU seldom WteriaUy alter the direction of its 
 growth. In Curran's case, this was most fortunate, for his 
 mother, though of lowly station, and proportionably unedu- 
 
 20 
 
306 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 catedjWas by nature witty, eloquent, and gifted with the rare 
 faculty of making the traditions of the past live again in her 
 burning utterance. She was at once the oracle and the arbi- 
 tress of her circle, guiding by her wisdom, and delighting by 
 her chronicles, all who came within that magic round. " Her 
 wit," says PhilLips, in his SecoUections ofOurran, " was the 
 record of the rustic fireside ; and the village lyric and the 
 village jest received their alternate tinge from the true na- 
 tionality or humour of her character. Little Jacky, as Cur- 
 ran was then called, used to hang with ecstasy upon her 
 accents ; he repeated her tales, he re-echoed her jests, he 
 caught her enthusiasm ; and, often afterwards, when he was 
 the delight of the senate and the ornament of the bar, did he 
 boast, with tears, that any merit he had, he owed to the 
 tuition of that aifectionate and gifted mother. After her 
 death, he placed a humble monument over her remains, upon 
 which he inscribed the following memorial, as well as I can 
 recollect from his very frequent recital : — ' Here Keth all that 
 was mortal of Martha Curran, a woman of many virtues, few 
 foibles, great talents, and no vice. This tablet was inscribed 
 to her memory by a son who loved her, and whom she loved.' " 
 
 His father's time being pretty well occupied by the some- 
 what opposite affairs of law and agriculture, Master Jacky 
 was in a great measure left to his own devices. The conse- 
 quence was, that he became a celebrated character at wake and 
 fair, the difference between which was not always distin- 
 guishable, to the great scandal of his father's sober court, 
 and the no less delight of all beside. An anecdote from those 
 days, which he loved to relate, and which has been given with 
 much gusto by his friend and biographer, may be taken as 
 a fair specimen of his boyish frolics. 
 
 " The keeper of a street puppet-show arrived at lifew- 
 market, to the no small edification of the neighbourhood ; 
 and the feats of Mr Punch, and the eloquence of his man, 
 soon superseded every other topic. At length, however, Mr 
 Punch's man feU ill, and the whole establishment was threat- 
 ened with immediate ruin. Little Curran, who had with 
 his eyes and ears devoured the puppet-show, and never 
 missed the corner of its exhibition, proposed himself to the 
 manager as Mr Punch's man. The offer was gladly accepted, 
 and for a time the success of the substitute was quite mira- 
 culous. Crowds upon crowds attended every performance ; 
 Mr Punch's man was the universal admiration. At length, 
 
JOHN PHILPOT CUEEAN. 307 
 
 before one of the most crowded audiences, he began to ex- 
 patiate upon the village politics, he described the fairs, told 
 the wake secrets, caricatured the audience, and after disclos- 
 ing every amour, and detailing every scandal, turned with 
 infinite ridicule upon the very priest of the parish. This 
 was the signal for a general outcry. Every man and maid 
 who laughed at their neighbour's picture, and pretended not 
 to recognise their own, were outrageously scandalized at 
 such familiarity with the clergy. Eeligion, as on larger 
 theatres, was made the scape-goat ; and, by one and all, sen- 
 tence of banishment was passed on Mr Punch. He was 
 honourable, however, in his concealment of the substitute, 
 whose prudence prevented any solicitation for such a dan- 
 gerous celebrity ! " 
 
 There is much the same sort of crisis in the fortunes of 
 man as in fever or any other active disease ; it comes, and 
 in the one case it is followed by future prosperity or failure, 
 in the other by recovery to health or death. So was it now 
 with Curran. He was yet a boy, and playing at marbles in 
 the Ball alley with others of his own age, when a stranger 
 suddenly appeared among the noisy group, who continued 
 their games, unchecked by his presence, the cheerfulness of 
 his looks evincing a decided sympathy with their merriment. 
 This was Mr Boyse, the B.ector of Newmarket. To Curran 
 in particular he took a fancy, and having bribed him to his 
 house by the help of some sweetmeats, he made him see the 
 value of education, taught him ia time the alphabet, grammar, 
 and rudiments of the classics, and when he had taught the 
 boy all he could, he sent him to the school at Middleton, in 
 short, " he made a man of him." The rest of the tale cannot 
 be so well told as by Curran himself to his friend, Mr 
 Phillips. 
 
 " I recollect it was about five and thirty years afterwards, 
 when I had risen to some eminence at the bar, and when I 
 had a seat in parliament and a good house in Ely Place, on my 
 return from court, one day I found an old gentleman seated 
 alone in the drawing-room, his feet familiarly placed on each 
 side of the Italian marble chimney-piece, and his whole air 
 bespeaking the consciousness of onequiteat home. He turned 
 round ; it was my friend of the Ball alley. I rushed in- 
 stinctively into his arms. I could not help bursting into 
 tears. Words cannot describe the scene which followed : 
 Tou, are right, sir, you are right; the chimney-piece is 
 
308 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 yours ; the house is yours. Tou gave me all I have — my 
 friend ! my father ! ' He dined- with me, and in the evening 
 I caught the tear glistening in his fine blue eye when he saw 
 his poor little Jacky, the creature of his bounty, rising in 
 the House of Commons to reply to a right honourable. 
 Poor Boyse ! he is now gone ; and no suitor had a larger 
 deposit of practical benevolence in the court above." 
 
 In giving this anecdote I Isave outstript my narrative 
 by some forty or flve-and-forty years ; but in matters of 
 this kind it is hardly possible to follow at all times the 
 exact course of chronology. The school-boy days of Curran 
 have been passed over, nor indeed do they offer anything that 
 should detain us. Even his career at Trinity College, Dub- 
 lin, where he entered as a; sizar on the 16th of June, 1767, 
 presents little to interest the general reader. Prom College 
 he went to London, where he managed to place his name on 
 the books of the Middle Temple, and after having eaten his 
 way' through the usual terms, he returned to Ireland. He 
 now got married, and most unhappily, but this is a subject 
 on which no friend to his memory would wish to dwell, since 
 his defence — and it could easily be made successful — must be 
 accompanied by the disturba,nce of the mouldering ashes of 
 the dead. 
 
 In 1775 he was called to the bar of Ireland, which at that 
 time presented a phalanx of talent never surpassed, and per- 
 haps never equalled, by the bar of any country. " There 
 were to be found her nobles, her aristocracy, her genius, her 
 learning, and her patriotism, all concentrated within that 
 little circle. No insolent pretension in the high frowned 
 down the intellectual splendour of the humble ; education 
 compensated the want of birth ; industry supplied the in- 
 feriority of fortune ; and the law, which in its suitors knew 
 no distinction but that of justice, in its professors acknow- 
 ledged none except that of merit." 
 
 For a long period, Curran, like so many other men of 
 genius, had to bear up against the worst evils of poverty. 
 He had a family for whom he had no dinner, a landlady for 
 whom he had no rent, and he fell into one of those gloomy 
 fits that, with him, were constitutional. At this crisis he 
 received his first brief, with a fee of twenty guineas. His 
 foot was now on the first step of the professional ladder, and 
 henceforth his ascent was rapid and unceasing. Every one 
 in a short time was anxious to retain an advocate who was 
 
JOHN PHILPOT CUEEAN. 309 
 
 generally successful, and wlio, when defeated, was to be 
 dreaded ; for, in the worst case, he was sure to do no little 
 damage to the character of his client's adversary. His hu- 
 mour was inexhaustible ; his skill in cross-questioning left 
 no hope of concealment to the most obstinate or the most 
 wary. Jests and sarcasms he never spared, if by so doing 
 he could excite the laughter of his audience, and so confound 
 the unlucky witness. For the retorts of the opposing coun- 
 sel he had alwEtys a ready and severe answer. Thus one day 
 he addressed a witness, whose name was Halfpenny, with 
 " Halfpenny, I see you're a rap, and for that reason you shall 
 be nailed to the counter." — "Halfpenny is s^erZiwy," exclaimed 
 the opposite counsel. — " No, no," retorted Curran, " he's 
 exactly like his own conscience, only copper-washed." Even 
 the judge, who gave him cause of offence, was no less subject 
 than the witnesses to his pungent raillery. Thus, when a 
 learned judge ventured to shake his head, as if in doubt of 
 Curran's argument for the prisoner, he suddenly broke off 
 the thread of his discourse, and said, " I see the motion of 
 his Lordship's head ; common observers might imagine that 
 it implied a difference of opinion, but they would be mistaken ; 
 it is merely accidental ; believe me, gentlemen, if you remain 
 here many days, you will yourselves perceive that when his 
 JjordsTiip shakes his head, there is nothing in it." 
 
 Curran, of course, had his full share of duels, for what 
 Irishman of any character would in those days go through 
 life without them ? no man was a gentleman till he had been 
 shot at, once at least, but the oftener the better. A defeated 
 adversary in a court of law or in parliament, would often 
 think himself entitled to satisfaction, leaden arguments being 
 a natural resource with those who had none of a lighter kind 
 to offer. 
 
 Curran's parliamentary career, though brilliant, will 
 hardly bear a comparison with his achievements at his proper 
 profession of the bar. But this subject can be nowhere so 
 well studied and comprehended as in the exquisitely written 
 work from which we have derived our details — Charles 
 Phillips' " HecoUections of Curran," whether as regards the 
 brilliance of the style or the vivid painting of human charac- 
 ter. The many illustrious persons of Curran's age, the stars 
 of the bar and of the senate, pass before the reader in all 
 the reality of life. We at once feel and acknowledge the 
 truth of their resemblance to originals we may not have seen, 
 
310 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 just as we perceive the truth of certain portraits, by their 
 perfect harmony with nature in general, by their life-like 
 outlines, the vividness and purity of their colouring. Above 
 all, the work bears the impress of genius, honesty, and can- 
 dour. It is the production of one — himself an orator and a 
 poet, who knew well, and could fully appreciate, the gifted 
 mind and brilliant intellect of the illustrious man, whose 
 chosen friend he was. Mr Phillips' Life of Curran is, in- 
 deed, a perfect specimen of what biography Should ever be. 
 But to return to my subject. Curran's Life by his Son is 
 also an admirable biographical production. 
 
 The long and glorious exertions of Curran were at last 
 rewarded by the appointment of Master of the KoUs, if that 
 could be called reward which was so much below his merits 
 and expectations. Tet even this advancement it was at- 
 tempted to clog with conditions that would have diminished 
 half its value. 
 
 After having held his office about six years, he resigned 
 it on account of ill health, and that tendency to hypochondria 
 which, an intermittent visitor only in his early youth, became 
 more and more frequent as he advanced in life, till, at length, 
 it well nigh took complete possession of him, breaking down 
 both mind and body. Like the Care of Horace, it followed 
 him wherever he fled for refuge. 
 
 " Post equitem sedet atra oura." 
 
 It followed him to London, where he had once been wont 
 to find so much to gratify him ; it followed him to the baths 
 of Cheltenham ; it followed him backagaintoBrqmpton, where 
 finally he died, at nine o'clock at night, on the 13th of Oc- 
 tober, 1817. His body was deposited in the vault below 
 Paddington church, the funeral having been conducted in a 
 very private manner. The chief mourners were his family, 
 the poet Moore, Godwin, his worthy friend and biographer 
 Mr Charles Phillips, the Beverend Q-eorge Croly, Mr Fin- 
 nerty, Mr Lyne, an Irish barrister, and a few' other of his 
 surviving friends. Curran's remains have since been trans- 
 ferred to Irish soil, and the splendid sarcophagus at Glas^ 
 nevin, with the simple but all-suffi6ient word " Cteean " 
 upon it, marks the grave of the Hon-hearted and incorrupt- 
 ible Desmosthenes of Ireland. 
 
SIR JOHN HAEINGTONS DOG. 311 
 
 SIR JOHN HARINGTON'S FAMOUS DOG. 
 
 The following letter, descriptive of the wonderful sagacity 
 of a dog, was written by Sir John Hariagton of Kelstone, in 
 Somersetshire : — 
 
 Kelstone, June, 14, 1608. 
 • " Mat it please your Highnesse to accept in as goode 
 Borte what I now offer as it hath done aforetime : and I may 
 saie I pede fausto ; but having good reason to thinke your 
 Highnesse had goode will and Hkinge to reade what others 
 have tolde of my rare dogge, I wilL even give a brief historie 
 of his goode deedes and straunge feats ; and herein will I not 
 plaie the curr myselfe, but in goode soothe relate what is no 
 more nor lesse than bare verity. Although I mean not to 
 disparage the deedes of Alexander's horse, I will match my 
 dogge against him for good carriage, for if he did not bear a 
 great prince on his back, I am bolde to saie he did not often 
 bear the sweet wordes of a greater princesse on his necke. 
 I did once relate to your Highnesse after what sorte his 
 tacklinge was wherewithe he did sojourn from my howse at 
 the bathe to Grreenwiche Palace, and deliver up to the cowrte 
 there such matters as were entrusted to his care. This he 
 hathe often done, and came safe to the bathe, or my howse 
 here at Kelstone, with goodlie returnes from such nobilitie 
 as were pleasede to emploie him ; nor was it ever told our 
 ladie queene that this messenger did ever blab ought con- 
 ceminge his highe truste, as others have done in more special 
 matters. Neither must it be forgotten as how he- once was 
 sente withe two charges of sack wine from the bathe to my 
 howse, by my man Combe ; and on his way the cordage did 
 slackene, but my trustie bearer did now bear himselfe so 
 wisely as to covertly hide one flasket in the rushes, and take 
 
312 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 the other in his teethe to the howse, after whiche he wente 
 forthe and returnede withe the other parte of his burden to 
 dinner ; hereat yr Highnesse may perchance marvele and 
 douhte,,but we have livinge testimonie of those who wroughte 
 in the fieldes and espiede his worke, and now live to tell they 
 did muche longe to plaie the dogge and give stowage to the 
 wine themselves, but they did refraine and watchede the 
 passinge of this whole businesse. I need not saie howe 
 muche I dide once grieve at missinge this dogge, for on my 
 journiee towardes Londone, some idle pastimers did diverts 
 themselves withe huntings mallards in a ponde, and conveyed 
 him to the Spanish ambassador's, where in a happie houre, 
 after six weekes, I did heare of him ; but suche was the 
 cowrte he did pay to the Don, that he was no lesse in good 
 likinge there than at home. Nor did the household listen to 
 my claim or challeiige, till I rested my suite on the dogge's 
 own proofs, and made him perform such feates before the 
 nobles assembled, as put it past doubt that I was his master. 
 I did send him to the hall in the time of dinner, and made 
 him bringe thence a pheasant out the dish, which created 
 much mirthe, but much more when he returnede at my com- 
 mandment to the table again, and put it again in the 
 same cover. Herewith the companie was well content 
 to allow me my claim, and we bothe were well content 
 to accept it, and came homewardes. I could dwell more 
 on this matter, but juhes renovare dolorem. I will now saie 
 in what manner he died. As we traveled towardes the 
 bathe, he leapede on my horse's necke, and was more earneste 
 in fawninge and courtinge my notice than what I had observ- 
 ed for time backe, and after my chidinge his disturbing my 
 passinge forwards, he gave me some glances of such aifection 
 as movede me to cajole him ; but, alass, he crept suddenly 
 into a thorny brake, and died in a short time. Thus I have 
 strove to rehearse such of his deedes as may suggest much 
 more to yr Highnesses bought of this dogge. But haviuge 
 saide so much of him in prose, I will say somewhat too in 
 verse, as you may find hereafter at the close of this historie. 
 Now let tJlysses praise his dogge Argus, or Tobite be led by 
 that dogge whose name do not appeare, yet could I say such 
 things of my Bungey, for so he was styled, as might shame 
 them both, either for good faith, clear wit, or wonderful 
 deeds ; to saie no more than I have said of his bearing letters 
 to London and Greenwiche, more than an hundred mUes. 
 
SIR JOHN HAEINGTONS DOG. 313 
 
 As I doubte not but your Highnesse would love my dogge if 
 not myself, I have been thus tedious in his storie, and againe 
 saie that of all the dogges near your father's court not one 
 hathe more love, more diligence to please, or less pay for 
 pleasinge, than him I write of ; for verily a bone would con- 
 tente my servante, when some expecte greater matters, or 
 will knavishly find out a bone of contention. 
 
 " I now reste your Highnesses friend in all service that 
 maye suite him. 
 
 " John HAEiNflTOif." 
 
314 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 THE RICH SPENCER. 
 
 And presently repair to Crosby-place. 
 
 Shakbpeabb, Eiohaed III. 
 
 SiE John Spenceb, generally known by the name of the 
 " Eich Spencer," was one of the most opulent of the London 
 merchants in the sixteenth century. The soubriquet was 
 given to distinguish him from a contemporary trader of the 
 same name, but of less wealth. He was one of' those 
 who, in 1587, joined Sir Thomas Grresham in victualling the 
 English fleet at Genoa, in defiance of all the attempts made 
 by the enemy to impede their operations ; a measure which 
 delayed for a) year the threatened invasion of the Spanish 
 Armada, and thus indirectly led to its eventual defeat. 
 Their services were acknowledged, and most unec[uivocally 
 applauded by Sir Francis Walsingham. 
 
 The residence of this merchant-knight was no less cele- 
 brated than his wealth and his patriotism. It was at Crosby 
 Place, situated near the church of St Helen, Bishopsgate, its 
 north-eastern angle abutting on the wall of the priory; having 
 at one time formed a part of its demesnes. This splendid 
 mansion had been originally built by Sir John Crosbie, 
 grocer, woolman, and sheriif of the city of London, in 1470 ; 
 and, at the time of its erection as well as for long afterwards, 
 was considered the greatest ornament of the northern bound- 
 ary of the metropolis. But like so many other and more 
 remarkable structures — "fuit" — ^it was, — as far as regards a 
 great portion of it ; and the site of the house is now occupied 
 by Crosbie Square, while the gardens that appertained to it, 
 form St Mary Axe, and other streets, courts, &c., nearly 
 extending to the parish church of St Andrew TJndershaft. 
 
 At the time I am speaking of — that is, just before it was 
 bought by Sir John — this property was held by the repre- 
 
THE RICH SPENCEE. 315 
 
 sentatives of Antonio Bonvixi, Bonivixi, or Bonvici, a mer- 
 chant of great wealth and eminence, to whom it had been 
 granted by Henry VIII. That monarch was a great patron 
 of the Italian merchants, not for any particular services they 
 rendered to his people, but, as he said, " for the sake of the 
 magnificent silks, velvets, tissues of gold, and other luxuries 
 for the pleasure of ourself, and our dearest wyeff, the quene." 
 
 When Sir John took possession of Cros]3ie Place, he 
 found it in a state of considerable dilapidation. His first 
 business, therefore, was to restore the place to its ancient 
 splendour, a task which he set about with more good taste 
 than might have been expected, considering the general bias 
 of his contemporaries. Proceeding in an antiquarian spirit, 
 be made no new-fangled alterations, nor indulged in what 
 even then were appropriately styled Frenchified ornaments, 
 but merely repaired the ancient structure, preserved the oriel 
 window — which still remains — and revived its decayed em- 
 bellishments. Here he lived in great state ; and had a 
 daughter and heir, of whom I shall have occasion to speak 
 presently. 
 
 If it ever were in the nature of man to be contented 
 with anything, it might be supposed that the wealthy mer- 
 chant would have rested satisfied with a home like this and 
 have sought no farther. Let ua once again look to what it 
 really was ■, — 
 
 " Crosbie Place stood in a manner alone ; the priory of 
 St Helen, uninhabited — at least, by any religious persons — 
 was hastening to decay. The nearest mansion of any conse- 
 quence to that of Sir John Spencer, was the Earl of Devon- 
 shire's, who died in the year 1628. The whole of these 
 deinesnes, together with the churches of St Ethelberga and 
 St IJelen, were, as appears by the plan, environed with trees 
 and gardens, that extended as far as the White Gate (the 
 site of the present Devonshire Square), bounded by Bear- 
 word's Lane, and Lolesworth, now Spitalfields. His premises, 
 therefore, must have been very extensive ; and what is more 
 pleasing, if, including the priory, churches, &c., we consider 
 the eficct of several magnificent and venerable Gothic fabrics 
 lifting their turrets and spires above the surrounding groves, 
 extremely picturesque." 
 
 If it be strange that such a " rus in urbe " could not 
 content Sir John, it was still more strange that he should 
 choose Islington for a country-abode, though of course the 
 
316 FAMILY EOMANC!E. 
 
 Islington of those times was a very different matter from the 
 Islington of our own. Tet so it was. He bought the manor 
 of Canonhury from Thomas, Lord Wentworth, to whom it 
 had been granted in 1552, soon after the attainder of John 
 Dudley, Earl of Northumberland. It is said' that Sir John 
 had a bargain in the purchase, for grants of this nature, being 
 easily obtained, were often cheaply sold. But cheap as the 
 bargaiu might be, it had nearly cost him dear, the place in all 
 likelihood affording more convenience than Crosbie Hall for 
 the attempt made upon him by a pirate of Dunkirk. This 
 "notable pirate, this salt-water thief," having heard of Sir 
 John's immense wealth, took it into his head, that it would 
 be an excellent thing to seize upon the merchant, convey him 
 to I'rance, and there hold him to a heavy ransom. But how 
 was this to be done ? Islington, though a village, was toler- 
 ably populous, and the country he would have to traverse 
 from the river-side to that place was full of people who hated 
 all foreigners, and more particularly Frenchmen and Span- 
 iards. The story is thus told by Papillon in 1651, more 
 than half a century after the event, his object being to show 
 " that riches do expose their owners to great dangers," a sort 
 of Christian commentary upon Juvenal's 
 
 " Cantabit vacuus coram latrone viator." 
 
 " Eich men are commonly the prey of theeves, for where 
 store of gold and silver is, these spirits never leave haunting, 
 for wheresoever the carcass is, there will the eagles be gather- 
 ed together. In Queen Elizabeth's days, a pirate of Dunkerk 
 laid a plot with twelve of his mates to carry away Sir John 
 Spencer, which if he had done, £50,000 ransome had not 
 redeemed him. He came over the sea in a shallop with 
 twelve musketiers, and in the night came into Barking-Creek, 
 and left the shallop in the custody of six of his men, and 
 with the other six came as far as Islington, and there hid 
 themselves in ditches, near the path, in which Sir John came 
 always to his house ; but by the providence of Grod, — I have 
 this from a private record, — Sir John, upon some extra- 
 ordinary occasion, was forced to stay in London that night ; 
 otherwise they had taken him away ; and they, fearing they 
 should be discovered, in the night-time came to their shallop, 
 and so came safe to Dunkerk again. This was a desperate 
 attempt." Truly we think so, and yet not without some 
 colour and confirmation from more recent history. 
 
THE EICH SPENCEE. 317 
 
 I have already made a passing allusion to Elizabeth, 
 the daughter and heiress of our rich merchant, and I must 
 now again briefly revert to her, ere I " end this strange, 
 eventful history." There is extant a very curious letter 
 from this lady to the Earl, her husband, a few years after 
 their marriage — curious, as showing the way in which a rich 
 London merchant had educated his daughter, and as illus- 
 trating the manners of the times. 
 
 " My Sweet Life— Now that I have declared to you my 
 mind for the settling of your estate, I suppose that it were 
 best for me to bethink what allowance were best for me ; 
 for, considering what care I have ever had of your estate, and 
 how respectfully I dealt with those which both by the laws 
 of Grod, nature, and civil policy, wit, religion, government, 
 and honesty, you, ray dear, are bound to, I pray and be- 
 seech you to grant to me, your most kind and loving wife, 
 the sum of one thousand pounds per an., quarterly to be 
 paid. 
 
 " Also, I would besides that allowance for my apparel, 
 have six hundred pounds added yearly for the performance 
 of charitable works ; these things I would not neither be 
 accountable for. 
 
 " Also, I will have three horses for my own saddle, that 
 none shall dare to lend or borrow ; none lend but I, none 
 borrow but you. 
 
 " Also, I would have two gentlewomen, lest one should be 
 sick ; also, believe that it would be an indecent thing for 
 a gentlewoman to stand mumping alone, when God has 
 blessed their Lord and Lady with a great estate. 
 
 " Also, when I ride hunting or hawking, or travel from 
 one house to another, I will have them attending, so for each 
 of those said women I must have a horse. 
 
 " Also, I will have six or eight gentlemen, and will have 
 two coaches ; one lined with velvet to myself, with four very 
 fair horses'; and a coach for my women lined with sweet 
 cloth, orelaid with gold, the other with scarlet, and laced with 
 watchet lace and silver, with four good horses. Also, 
 I will have two coachmen, one for myself, the other for my 
 women. 
 
 "Also, whenever I travel, I will be allowed not only 
 carroches and spare horses for me and my women, but such 
 carriages as shall be fitting for aU, orderly, not pestering my 
 
318 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 things witt my women's, nor theirs with chambermaids,' nor 
 theirs with washmaids. 
 
 " Also, laundresses, when I travel ; T will have them sent 
 away with the carriages to see all safe, and the chambermaids 
 shall go before with the grooms, that the chambers may be 
 ready, sweet, and clean. 
 
 "Also, for that it is indecent for me to croud myself with 
 my gentleman-usher in my coach, I will have him have a 
 convenient horse to attend me either in city or country ; 
 and I must have four footmen ; and my desire is that you 
 will defray the charges for me. 
 
 " And for myself, besides my yerely allowance, I would 
 have twenty gowns apparel, six of them excellent good ones, 
 eight of them for the country, and six others of them excel- 
 lent good ones. 
 
 " Also, I would have to put in my purse two thousand 
 pounds and two hundred pounds, and so you to pay my debts. 
 Also, I would have eight thousand pounds to buy me jewels, 
 and six thousand pounds for a pearl chain. 
 
 " Now seeing I have been, and am, so reasonable unto 
 you, I pray you to 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 all my 
 lodging-chambers to be suited with all such furniture as is 
 fit, as beds, stools, chairs, cushions, carpets, silver warming- 
 pans, cupboards of plate, fair hangings, &o. ; so for my 
 drawing-chambers in all houses, I will have them delicately 
 furnished with hangings, couch, canopy, cushions, carpets, &c. 
 
 " Also, my desire is that you would pay your debts, 
 build up Ashby House and purchase lands and lend no 
 money (as you love God) to the Lord Chamberlain, which 
 would have all, perhaps your life from you ; remember his 
 son, my Lord Wildan, what entertainments he gave me 
 when you were at the Tilt-yard. If you were dead, he said, ' 
 he would be a husband, a father, a brother, and said he 
 would marry me. I protest I grieve to see the poor man 
 have so little wit and honesty to use his friend so vilely ; 
 also, he fed me with untruths concerning the Charter- 
 House ; but that is the least ; he wished me much harm ; 
 you know how. God keep you and me from him, and such 
 as he is. 
 
 " So now I have declared to you my mind, what I would 
 have, and what I would not have ; I pray you, when you 
 
THE KICH SPENCER. 319 
 
 be Earl, to allow a thousand pounds more than now I de- 
 sired, and double attendance. 
 
 " Tour loving wife, 
 
 "Bliz. Compton." 
 
 This is a curious specimen of city wives in the good old 
 times, nor must the reader lay the flattering unction to his 
 soul, that Elizabeth Compton, the daughter of Sir John 
 Spencer, was a black swan amongst the wealthy females of 
 her tribe. Our old dramatists, thes most faithful recorders 
 of ancient manners, abound with allusions to the pride and 
 extravagance of the " City Dames," and there can be little 
 doubt that this lady served Massinger as a model for the 
 daughters of his rich merchant in his play of " The City 
 Madam." The conditions which they attempt to make 
 with their suitors are precisely in the spirit of this letter, 
 and often almost in the same words. 
 
320 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 THE SUPERSTITIONS OF CLEWORTH HALL. 
 
 In no county of England are so many decaying old man- 
 sions to be, met witli as in Lancashire, and amongst these, 
 few are more remarkable, from the traditions clinging to it, 
 than Kempnall Hall. Not that the mansion is recom- 
 mended either by its grandeur or by its architectural preten- 
 sions ; on the contrary, it is a plain building of brick, wood, 
 and plaster, and the country around has no particular 
 interest. 
 
 The estate of Cleworth, anciently called Kempnough, 
 was in the olden days possessed by a family who took their 
 name from the land, a very common custom at the time ; 
 but the male issue of this house becoming extinct, the 
 heiress conveyed it in marriage to Eoger, youngest son of 
 Geoffrey "Worsley of "Worsley. They, too, had no son, and 
 thus Kempnall passed once more to another name, their 
 daughter and heiress, Ellen, marrying Eichard Parr, whose 
 son took to wife Emma, daughter of William Tutgill, of 
 Cleworth, in the parish of Leigh. From this alliance pro- 
 ceeded — fifth in descent — John Parr, Esq., of Kempnough 
 and Cleworth, who by his wife, Margaret, left an only 
 daughter and heiress, the male line being again broken off, 
 an event which seems to have been of more frequent occur- 
 rence than in most families. This heiress, by name Anne, 
 was twice married ; first to Thurston Barton, and secondly, 
 in 1578, to Nicholas Starkie, of Huntroyd, who thus ac- 
 quired the estates of Kempnall and Cleworth. Such genea.- 
 logical details are, it must be allowed, dry enough, but they 
 are essential to the verification of my story ; besides that, 
 we cannot expect to get at the kernel of a nut without hav- 
 ing first cracked its shell. 
 
 From some unassigned motives of preference, Mr Starkie 
 
THE SUPERSTITIONS OF CLEWORTH HALL. 321 
 
 took up his residence at Cleworth Hall, in 1594, and here 
 it was that the events of my story happened, as recorded 
 by the Eev. John Barrel, himself being one of the principal 
 actors in it. At this period Mr Starkie had two children, 
 John and Anne, of the respective ages of ten and nine years, 
 who, according to my authority, became possessed by evil 
 spirits. As this was a malady for which the pharmacopasia 
 contained no remedies, and was entirely beyond the practice 
 of any regular physician, a noted conjuror was called in, by 
 name John Hartley, who had recourse to various demoni- 
 fugues, and at the same time drew a magical circle about 
 the house. But the demons were unusually stubborn ; for 
 three years they manfully — or, perhaps, I should rather 
 say, diabolically — maintained their ground, in despite of 
 charms and fumigations, greatly to the benefit of the' 
 exorcisor, who all this while lived in Mr Starkie's house in 
 comfort and ease. 
 
 Unfortunately for our conjuror he was one of those who 
 never can leave well alone. As he found his presence seem- 
 ing to grow more and more essential to the quiet of his 
 benefactor's family, so did he constantly rise in his demands, 
 till at length the patience of Mr Starkie was quite exhausted, 
 the rather as he began to suspect the conjuror of playing 
 the same part that Tom Thumb does in the tragedy that 
 bears his heroic name, — 
 
 " He made his giants flrst, and then he killed them." 
 
 Or to descend to a less magnificent comparison, he was 
 thought to make business for himself by introducing more 
 devils into the house, just as the wily rat-catcher brings in 
 a few rats to supply the place of those he has killed, that 
 there may be no lack of business for him at some future 
 day. Certainly, whether by the conjuror's agency or not, 
 five other of the inmates of the holise became possessed, 
 when the servants and neighbours aU sturdily persisted in 
 attributing to him this increase of the demoniacal crop. 
 To use the words of the old narrator, — " It was judged in 
 the house that whosoever he kissed, in them he breathed the 
 devil," and he further tells us, " all the seven demons sent 
 forth strange and supernatural voices and loud shoutings." 
 The result was the dismissal of the conjuror &om his warm 
 
 21 
 
322 FAMILY KOMAl>fCE. 
 
 and comfortable office, the chief duties of which appeared to 
 consist in eating, drinking, and enjoying himself. 
 
 But it was soon discovered that the ejection of honest 
 John, though it might benefit Mr Starkie's larder, did by 
 no means tend to lessen the great evil. The devils main- 
 tained their post, and were as troublesome as ever. In this 
 strait the family consulted the celebrated astrologer, Dr 
 Dee, who gave it as his advice that they should call in the 
 aid of certain godly preachers, and try what could be done 
 by fasting and praying. But, alas ! 
 
 " No comfort ensued from this wondrous specific, 
 All their fasting and prayers made the fiends more terrific." 
 
 The devils, it is true, were at first taken somewhat aback 
 by their godly assailants ; but they soon returned to the 
 charge with redoubled vigour, till Mr Starkie's house be- 
 came a perfect bedlam. The young Starkies grew fierce as 
 two young maniacs ; the Miss Hollands, who were nieces to 
 Mr Starkie, were also possessed, as was Margaret Bryson of 
 Salford, then on a visit at Cleworth. And no wonder ; an 
 empty stomach is always an inviter of the devil, and it may 
 be feared that a continuance of prayer, at such a time, is not 
 likely to mend the matter. They come then 
 
 " As tedious as a twice-told tale, 
 Vexing the dull care of a drowsy man." 
 
 The preachers, no less obstinate than their fiendish 
 enemies, renewed their attacks after a most scientific 
 fashion. They first proceeded to examine the demoniacs 
 and give them spiritual advice, but the very sight of the 
 Bible produced a tempest of scoff's and blasphemies. They 
 then collected aU the demoniacs in one room, and had them 
 laid on couches, Mr Moore, Mr Dickens, Mr Darrel, and 
 about thirty other persons l3eing present, that the demons 
 might have no opportunity of taking any unfair advantages. 
 Pasting and prayiag were once more the order of the day, 
 and whether it was that the fiends wearied of the contest, 
 or were alarmed by having such godly members opposed to 
 them, they at length gave way, but they did not quit the 
 possessed without handling them so roughly at parting; that 
 
THE SUPERSTITIONS OF CLEWOETH HALL. 323 
 
 the blood flowed in purple streams from their mouths and 
 nostrils. Even now, though defeated, they were not sub- 
 dued. In three days they returned and would have re- 
 occupied their lost ground, but the church militant made a 
 stout defence, and completely prevented them from re- 
 entering those they had before possessed. Incensed at 
 being thus baffled, they tossed their former victims about as 
 if they had been shuttlecocks sent to and fro by a host of 
 battledores, dashing some with violence to the ground, and 
 laming others in their limbs so that they lost the use of 
 them. At length a final and complete victory was obtained 
 by the human combatants, and the devils were banished 
 once and for ever from the household, their ejectment being 
 as decided as if a bUl had been filed against them in a court 
 of chancery. 
 
 The ejectment of John Hartley from his comfortable 
 quarters would, in all probability, have been considered 
 sufficient by the parties, had they looked upon him, as that 
 which he really was, an impudent impostor, with a dash, 
 perhaps, of superstitious confidence in his own deceptions. 
 This, however, was not in the character of the age, and 
 more particularly as it showed itself in Lancashire, which 
 had long been notorious for its excessive credulity in all 
 matters of witchcraft. The general belief condemned him 
 for one in league with evil spirits, and to give to that belief 
 a judicial confirmation, he was now dragged before two 
 magistrates that he might be examined touching his dia- 
 bolical practices. The wise Solons of the law found him 
 quite suspicious enough to be committed to Lancaster gaol 
 for trial, when the judge and jury, to their eternal disgrace, 
 found him guilty, and sentenced him between them to the 
 gallows. At the appointed time. he was hanged, having on 
 the seafibld protested his innocence. The rope snapt, and 
 he fell long before life was extinct. Bewildered, as we may 
 easily imagine, by this unusual situation of pain and terror, 
 he now confessed his impossible guUt, no doubt greatly to 
 the satisfaction of his judges and of the multitude, and he 
 was again strung up to the gallows, the rope this time doing 
 its duty most effectually. A curious and instructing essay 
 might be written upon the thesis of " what is murder ? " 
 
 Some light is attempted to be thrown on this transaction 
 by a " discourse concerning the possession and dispossession 
 of seven persons in one family in Lancashire, written by 
 
324 FAMILY E05IANCE, 
 
 George More, one of the persons engaged in exorcising the 
 legion." This " discourse" confirms Mr Barrel's narrative ; 
 but adds that "Mr Starkie having married an inheritrix, 
 some of whose kindred were papists, these partly for 
 religion, and partly because the estate descended not to 
 heirs male, prayed for the perishing of her issue, and that 
 four sons pined away in a strange manner ; but that Mrs 
 Starkie, learning the circumstance, estated her lands in her 
 husband and his heirs, failing issue of her own body, after 
 which a son and daughter were born, who prospered well 
 till they arrived at the age of ten or twelve years." 
 
 Now, without stopping to inquire how far the unlucky 
 papists may be addicted to the practice of arts diabolic, 
 this story may be so easily explained without them, that I 
 must altogether reject their intervention. That there were 
 fraud and very extensive collusion in its practice, no one in 
 his senses can doubt ; but who was to gain by the deceit ? 
 — the answer is given to us in the words, " she estated her 
 lands to her husband and his heirs." Justice in her most 
 solemn courts could not desire stronger evidence — circum- 
 stantial evidence — to a fact. 
 
 Cleworth Hall, the scene of this momentous affair, was 
 standing at the commencement of the present century, when 
 it presented the appearance of a decent timber building, 
 with bay windows and gables ; but it was all taken down 
 about thirty years ago. The estate of Cleworth, together 
 with that of Kempnall, and Huntroyd, has descended to the 
 present Le Q-endre Nicholas Starkie, lEsq. 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE LAMBTONS. 325 
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE LAMBTONS. 
 
 A very serpent in my way ; 
 And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, 
 He lies before me. 
 
 Shaesfeabe. 
 
 Amonost the many celebrated individuals to be found in 
 the records of the Lambton family, one of the most remark- 
 able was Sir John Lambton, a Knight of Bhodes, who flour- 
 ished in the time of the Crusades. In his early years, he 
 lived on indifferent terms with holy Mother Church, paying 
 very little regard to her ordinances, and giving great scandal 
 to the more pious part of the community. He was, however, 
 a man of wealth, and of too bold a spirit to be lightly med- 
 dled with, being, as the old chronicler tells us, " so brave that 
 he feared neither man nor God." His neighbours, therefore, 
 both priest and layman, contented themselves with shrugging 
 up their shoulders, in intimation of the grievous offence done 
 to them in the spirit, but without presuming upon any of those 
 measures for his reform which they certainly would have 
 adopted in the case of one less favoured by fortune. 
 
 It was a fine Sunday morning, and the beUs were ring- 
 ing out cheerily for Mass, when the Knight, according to his 
 usual profane custom, stood fishing in the Wear ; the spot 
 he had chosen, whether by chance or of purpose, being right 
 in the way of the people who were then trooping in their 
 holyday clothes to the -next chapel. Now it so chanced that 
 the fishing was by no means prosperous. The float swam 
 passively upon the stream without giving the slightest in- 
 dication, whereat he began to curse and swear in such a 
 fashion that those on their way to Mass, one and all, hurried 
 on at their utmost speed to escape the profanation. In a 
 few minutes the field, which before had swarmed with peo- 
 
326 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 pie, was as still and as empty as if the world had died out. 
 Just then the float hegan to dip, there was a violent tugging 
 at the line, and the slender rod bent as it had been a piece 
 of green willow. 
 
 " This must be a noble fellow," said the Knight, exerting 
 himself with equal vigour and dexterity to secure his prize. 
 The resistance was no less pertinacious ; and when, at length, 
 he managed to land the supposed fish, it turned out to be a 
 serpent, or, as they called it in those days, a worm. Highly 
 wroth at this disappointment of his expectations, he tore the 
 creature from the hook, and having flung it into a near well, 
 resumed his fishing. While he was thus employed, a stranger 
 of a grave and venerable aspect came that way, and stopping, 
 inquired " "What sport. Sir?" "Why, truly," replied the 
 Knight, " I think I must have caught the devil. Look at 
 that strange creature in the well." 
 
 The stranger did as he had been desired, and having 
 peered earnestly in the water for several minutes, he shook 
 his head, and exclaimed, " The like of this I have never seen 
 before. It has something the appearance of an eft ; but then 
 it has nine holes at each side of the mouth, and I much fear 
 me it tokens no good." 
 
 We are not told what share this singular afiair had in the 
 reformation of Sir John, or whether indeed it had any ; but 
 shortly afterwards he was seized with remorse for his sins, 
 and, by way of expiation, he took the cross, like so many 
 others, and set out for Palestine. There we must leave him, 
 beating, of course, and berag beaten most Saracenically, for 
 his adventures in the Holy Land have no necesssary con- 
 nexion with the story in hand. 
 
 In the mean while the eft, or serpent rather, grew rapidly 
 to an enormous size, till at length he became too large for 
 his well. It hereupon betook itself to the Wear, and would 
 lie in the river for a considerable part of the day, coiled about 
 a rock in the middle of the river. At night it frequented a 
 neighbouring hill, and, still continuing to increase in bulk, 
 it could at last twine itself nine times round the base of the 
 hUl which stands on the north bank of the Wear, about a mile 
 and a half from old Lambton Hall. It is an artificial mound 
 of an oval shape, about three hundred and fifty yards in cir- 
 cumference, composed of river earth and common gravel. 
 
 The serpent now became the terror of the adjacent coun- 
 try, devouring lambs, sucking the cows' milk, and not sorup- 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE LAMBTONS. 327 
 
 ling to feast upon men, women, and children, if they had 
 the misfortune to come in his way at any time when there 
 was any lack of cattle to satisfy his appetite. At length the 
 north side of the river could no longer supply him with suffi- 
 cient means of sustenance, although his forages had extended 
 to a considerable distance ; upon which he crossed over to 
 Lambton HaU, where the old Lord was mourning the absence 
 of his son, who, as we have already seen, had gone to wage 
 war against the Infidels. Greatly was the whole household 
 alarmed at the appearance of this unpleasant visitor ; and 
 having assembled in council to debate the matter, it was pro- 
 posed by the steward, an ancient man and of great experi- 
 ence, that the large trough which stood in the court-yard 
 should be filled with the milk of nine kye, and placed for the 
 serpent's use in one or other of his favourite haunts, the green 
 hni or the crag in the middle of the river. This plan an- 
 swered most completely. The monster came every day for 
 his allotted portion, and having emptied the trough, retired, 
 without molesting any one, to his usual place of abode. But 
 never was presbyter more strict in exacting his teinds than 
 was the serpent of Lambton in requiring his full allowance. 
 If the family presumed to subtract ever so small a quantity, 
 the monster would instantly put himself into a furious pas- 
 sion, lash his tail round the trees in the park and tear them 
 up by the roots, a warning of what waste be expected in the 
 ^vent of any future defalcations. 
 
 For seven years the serpent continued to enjoy this 
 pleasant life, daily emptying his milk-trough, and basking in 
 the sunshine like some overgorged anaconda. But then the 
 good Knight, Sir John, returned from Palestine, and greatly 
 was he shocked at the story of this strange monster who had 
 been brought amongst them by his youthful folly. Forth- 
 with he sallied forth to observe the serpent, who was then 
 lying curled about his hill in formidable security. How was 
 siioh a monster to be attacked with any chance of success ? 
 Many stout Knights, as the neighbours assured him, had 
 fallen in the attempt, and none had escaped without bearing 
 serious marks oftheencounter, while their terrible opponent 
 was, to all appearance, as sound .as ever. Being at his wit's 
 end, Sir John had recourse to a witch or wise woman, who 
 counselled him to have his best suit of mail studded with 
 razor-blades, and take up his post on the island crag, sword 
 in hand. 
 
328 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 " But," added the witch, " you must make a solemn yow 
 to slay, if successful, the first living thing you meet. Should 
 you fail to keep this oath, the Lords of Lambton, for nine 
 generations, will never die in their beds." 
 
 Sir John took the prescribed oath, but to prevent fatal 
 consequences to any of his friends, he told his father, that 
 in the event of his gaining the victory he would sound three 
 blasts upon his bugle, which should be the signal for releas- 
 ing his favourite greyhound, who would immediately fly to 
 him, and thus become the sacrifice. Having made these 
 necessary preparations he took his stand upon the island rock, 
 committing himself to the care of Providence. - 
 
 In due time the serpent, having emptied the milk-trough 
 as usual, made his appearance at the rock. 
 
 " The -worm shot down from the middle stream. 
 Like a flash of living light, 
 And the waters kindled around his path, 
 In rainbow colours bright. 
 
 But when he saw the armed Knight, 
 
 He gather' d all his pride, 
 And, coil'd in many a radiant spire, 
 
 Eode buoyant o'er the tide. 
 
 When he darted at length his dragon strength, 
 
 An earthquake shook the rock ; 
 And the fire-flakes bright fell around the Knight, 
 
 As immoved he met the shock. 
 
 Though his heart was stout, it quiver'd no doubt, 
 
 His very life-blood ran cold, 
 As around and around, the wild worm wound, 
 
 In many a grappling fold." 
 
 The witch's contrivance, however, of the razors sadly dis- 
 tressed the monster, his own efforts telling against himself. 
 The river ran red with his blood, yet stiU he managed to keep 
 up the terrible contest, for as fast as he was cut to pieces by 
 the blades, the severed parts re-united themselves. The 
 Knight began to grow weary of his unprofitable success, when 
 by a powerful blow of his good sword he cut the monster in 
 two, and, as luck would have it, the stream floated away the 
 dimembered portion. Thus deprived of his better-half, the 
 serpent was easily despatched by his antagonist. 
 
 During this long and desperate contest the family had 
 been engaged in prayer. Suddenly the three victorious blasts 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE lAMBTONS. 329 
 
 of the bugle came upon them, when, forgetting everything 
 else in his joy, the father, instead of releasing the greyhound, 
 rushed forward to embrace and congratulate his son. "What 
 was to be done now ? Sir John could not, and would not, 
 dip his hands in the blood of his own father. Again he blew 
 three loud blasts upon his bugle, and at the well-known sound, 
 the greyhound, who had by this time been released, came 
 bounding towards him. The Knight instantly plunged his 
 sword into the heart of his faithful companion, hoping that this 
 might be received as the accomplishment of his vow, but des- 
 tiny was not to be so eluded ; and, strange to say, for nine 
 generations, no Lord of Lambton died quietly in his bed. 
 Never, indeed, was a legend better supported by the evidence 
 of circumstances. In the garden-house at Lambton Castle 
 are still preserved two stone figures, illustrative of this story. 
 A Knight, armed from head to foot, his visor raised, and the 
 back of his coat of mail closely inlaid with spear or razor- 
 blades, with his left hand holds the hbad of the serpent by 
 the ear, while with his right he appears to be drawing his 
 swo:f d out of its throat into which it has sunk up to the very 
 hilt. The monster resembles an extremely elongated lizard, 
 with ears and four legs not very unlike those singular rep- 
 tiles, the Protei of Germany, so delightfully treated of by 
 Sir Humphrey Davy. The other figure is a female wearing 
 an ancient corset, much mutilated, with bosom in the style 
 of Charles the Second's beauties. The upper part of her 
 dress is carefully preserved, yet the lower part of her 
 robe appears to be either unfinished, or, perhaps, agitated by 
 the wind ; and a part of her right foot is visible, without shoe 
 or sandal. A wound in her bosom, and an accidental mutil- 
 ation of the hand, are attributed by popular belief to 
 the serpent. Lastly, in corroboration of the legend, the 
 shell of the little Chapel of Bridgeford, where Sir John made 
 his vow, was still standing in 1800 . Its site was near the 
 new bridge, on the left of the road, immediately within the 
 entrance of Lambton Park and adjoining a farm-house. The 
 tracery of the east window was even then perfect. 
 
 Sharp and some others have endeavoured to extract an 
 allegorical meaning from this legend, just as certain com- 
 mentators haveendeavouredto rationalise Mohammed'sKoran 
 by making it out to be an allegory. The same process might 
 be applied with equal success to Blue Beard, or Eobinson 
 Crusoe ; but the elements of fable are much too fine and im- 
 
330 
 
 FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 material to be tampered with in this way. It always reminds 
 ns of that sparkling little poem by Moore, in which Keason 
 awkwardly endeavours to imitate the graceful trifling of 
 young FoUy. 
 
 "Then Reason grew jealous of Folly's gay cap, 
 Had he that on, he her heart would entrap — 
 ' Here it is. 
 Said Folly, ' old quiz ; 
 Under the sun 
 Is no such fun 
 As Eeason with my cap and bells on his head.' 
 
 " But Eoason the head-dress so awkwardly wore, 
 That Beauty then liked him still less than before ; 
 
 While Folly took 
 
 Old Eeason' s book 
 And twisted the leaves in a cap of such tone. 
 
 That Beauty vow'd, 
 
 Though not aloud, 
 She liked him still better in that than his own." 
 
 Tet had this legend of the Lambton "Worm come in 
 the way of La Motte Fouque, the author of those exquisite 
 and charming allegories, "Undine," and the less known, 
 but still more able, " Sintram and his Companions," we 
 should, no doubt, have had it formed into some romantic 
 tale with moral adornment rivalling the pure and loving 
 faith of the gentle Undine, and the honour immaculate and 
 above temptation of the knightly Sintram. 
 
BESS HAKDWICK. 831 
 
 BESS HARDWICK, 
 
 The Talbot, so mucli feared. — Shakspeabe, 
 
 On the borders of the ancient Poreat of Sherwood, on the 
 south of the road leading from Mansfield to Chesterfield, 
 stands a mansion of imposing aspect and elevated site. It 
 is Hardwick HaU, and thereon hangs many a tale, some of 
 which have been beautifully told, some very badly told, and 
 some that have never been told at all. Here was born. 
 Anno 1519, the remarkable lady who is about to form 
 the subject of my romance — I was going to say, but 
 it were wrong to say so, for what I have to state is 
 sober truth, though stranger, perhaps, than romance it- 
 self She was one of the many daughters of John Hard- 
 wick of Hardwick, and was famous in her girlhood for great 
 personal beauty, and for the indications of a spirit some- 
 what unusual in her sex. Before she had completed her 
 fourteenth year she was wife and widow of Eobert Barley of 
 Barley, son and heir-apparent of Arthur Barley, Esq., by the 
 daughter of Sir John Chaworth of Wyverton. Whether the 
 match was one of love or policy is not known — most likely 
 the latter — the choice of the parties most interested in such 
 matters not being deemed of much importance in those times. 
 "WeU-jointured, and having, by the death of her brother, be- 
 come the heiress of the Hardwick estates, she was wooed if 
 not won by as many lovers as Penelope. After a widowhood 
 of twelve years, she attracted the attention of Sir WiUiam 
 Cavendish, a gentleman of Suffolk, one of the persons em- 
 ployed by Henry the Eighth in the suppression of monas- 
 teries, and already enriched by that monarch vrith the spoils 
 of many of the monastic institutions which his own report 
 had caused to be dissolved. The marriage ceremony was 
 celebrated at Bradgate Park, the seat of the Marquess of Dor- 
 
332 , FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 set, in ISi?, the bride being then in her twenty-seventh year. 
 The bridal was attended by such a gronpe of historically in- 
 teresting persons as rarely ever graced such a ceremony. Sir 
 William had been twice married before, and, by both these 
 marriages, had issue. Shortly after his union with Mrs Bar- 
 ley, he was induced, by her wishes, to purchase the estate of 
 Chatsworth, of her relative Mr Leech, and thus began the 
 first connexion of the Cavendishes with that now celebrated 
 domain. During the ten years of her married life with Sir 
 "William, Lady Cavendish had three sons and three daughters, 
 at the christenings of whom, some of the most distinguished 
 of the land stood sponsors. Among these, were the Queen 
 herself. Lady Jane Grey, the Duke and Duchess of SuiFolk, 
 the Earls of Shrewsbury, Pembroke, and "Warwick, and Gar- 
 diner, Bishop of "Winchester. This marriage had greatly aug- 
 mented the already large fortunes of the lady, and it was not 
 long after Sir "William's death, in 1557, that she contracted 
 another alliance, vrith Sir "William St. Loe, of an ancient 
 knightly family in Somersetshire. Her influence over her 
 third husband was so unbounded (for her beauty and art 
 were pre-eminent) that she induced him to settle a large 
 portion of his extensive property upon her, and to bequeath 
 her the rest, to the great impoverishmeiit of his own rela- 
 tions. Lady St. Loe lost her third husband some time be- 
 fore 1568, for in that year, then in her forty-eighth, she gave 
 her hand to her fourth husband, George, sixth Earl of Shrews- 
 bury, premier Earl of England, and K. G. His Lordship had 
 only lost his former Countess, Gertrude Manners, a few 
 months, when he became captivated with the Lady St. Loe, 
 still radiant in matronly beauty, and having other weighty 
 attractions. Lady Gertrude was the daughter of Thomas, 
 first Earl of Eutland, of that house. She had brought the 
 Earl a numerous progeny, of whom I shall hereafter have 
 to make mention. She was interred in the Talbot burying- 
 place at Sheffield, and though no inscription marks the spot, 
 Howell has preserved one which was probably at one time 
 suspended over her tomb : — 
 
 " An epitaph made upon the death of the Eight Hon. 
 the Ladye Gartrid, late Countesse of Shrewisburie : 
 
 " She of grace, the garlande gay^ 
 In godly giftes did weare, 
 v^ere flowrs do now in children wise 
 Of Talbot's line appeare. 
 
BESS HARDWICK. 3S3 
 
 Of Eutland's race she notlie sprang, 
 
 And linked with peerlesse pearls 
 Of Shrewesburie, who hore the name 
 
 A noble worthy Earle. 
 
 Whom she hath left behinde among 
 
 The blessed branches five, 
 The working imps that sprang of them 
 
 As of a vertuous vine." 
 
 As every previous alliance of Bess Hardwick had been 
 entered into with an eye to the aggrandisement of her ovru 
 fortunes, so was this to that of her family. The Earl 
 sighed like a furnace at her feet ; but, though she would 
 consent to be wooed, she would not consent to be won, 
 till certain perliminaries on which she had set her mind 
 were agreed on. She proudly told the Earl " I would 
 liever be Bess Hardwick again than the Countess of Shrewes- 
 burie, if ye will not what I will." What that was may be 
 guessed from the marriage covenants between the Earl's son, 
 Gilbert Talbot, and her youngest daughter, Mary Cavendish 
 — and the Earl's daughter, Grace, and the Lady St Loe's 
 eldest son, Henry Cavendish, being immediately drawn 
 out. At the time of these double nuptials, which were 
 solemnized with great pomp at Sheffield, Eebruary 9, 1567-8, 
 Gilbert Talbot's wife was only twelve years of age. Though 
 second son he succeeded to the earldom. When or where the 
 Earl of Shrewsbury's marriage with Lady St. Loe was cele- 
 brated has not been ascertained, but it is presumed it was 
 very shortly after those of their children. She had previ- 
 ously matched her eldest daughter to Sir Henry Pierrepoint, 
 and her youngest subsequently married the Earl of Lenox, 
 by whom she was mother of Arabella Stuart. Of Bess 
 Hardwick's two other sons, one was created Earl of De- 
 vonshire, and the other, Charles, became father to the first 
 Duke of Newcastle. 
 
 A letter from a relative of the new Countess, who was a 
 person about court, conveys some complimentary remarks of 
 Queen Elizabeth's on the marriage of the Earl with Lady 
 St. Loe. 
 
 " May it please you to undearstand, that Mr Wyngfeld 
 hath delevered your veneson to the Queue's Majeste, with 
 my lordes most humbill comencyons, and your La. vrith hum- 
 bill thanks frome both your honors for her henes grayi good- 
 nes.. [I] assure your La. of my fayth, her Majeste £d talke 
 
334 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 one longe oure with Mr Wyngfeld of my Lorde and you, so 
 carefully that, as my God ys my juge, I thinke your honors 
 have no frende levynge that coulde have more consederacyon 
 nor more shew love and grayt afficyon. Yn the ende she 
 asked when my Lorde ment "to come to the court. He an- 
 s wared he knew not : then sayd she, ' I am assured yf she 
 myght have her oime wyll she woulde not be longe be- 
 fore she woulde se me.' Then said she, ' I have been glade 
 to se my Lady Saynt Loo, but now more dessyrous to se my 
 Lady Shrewsbury.' ' I hope,' sayd she, ' my Lady hath 
 knoune my good opennen of her ; and thus muche 1 assure 
 you, there ys no lady yn thys lande that I beter love and 
 lyke.' Mr Batteman can more at large declare unto your 
 honor. And so, with most humbill comendicyons to my very 
 good Lorde, I wesh to you both as the Q.uene's Majesty 
 dothe desyre ; and so take my leave yn humbill wyse. Erom 
 Senjins, the XXI of October. 
 
 " Your honurs to comeand, 
 
 "E. Wtngfelde."* 
 
 A very short time had elapsed after this marriage, when 
 it was intimated to the Earl that his royal mistress would 
 shortly give him a fresh proof of her exceeding confidence in 
 his loyalty and zeal. This was the custody of the Scottish 
 Queen. The Earl's personal honour, his large fortane, and 
 the number and strength of his castles peculiarly fitted him 
 for this most delicate trust. That he should have accepted 
 it is not a matter of surprise, but that he should have ful- 
 filled it for seventeen 3'ears at great costs and charges, and 
 at a degree of domestic inconvenience that can hardly be 
 estimated, is almost inconceivable. It was a specimen of 
 the subservient loyalty of the times. 
 
 It was on the 2nd of February, 1569, that Mary was con- 
 veyed from Bolton to Tutbury Castle, where the Earl and 
 Countess of Shrewsbury were waiting to receive her. iProm 
 Tutbury the Queen was removed to Wingfield Manor, then 
 to Chatsworth — then, for a short time, it is believed, to Hard- 
 ,wick, and lastly to Sheffield Castle, all seats of the Earl. The 
 last was his ugual residence, and best fitted, perhaps, for the 
 comfort and secure keeping of his most interesting captive. 
 She entered it at Christmas, 1570, and with a train of thirty- 
 five persons, and so strict had been the surveillance of her 
 
 * From the original papers of John Wilson, Esq., of Bromhead Hall, 
 quoted by Hunter, in his "History of Sheffield." 
 
BESS HAEDWICK. 335 
 
 lordly custodian that for two years he had never left hgr. The 
 rigour of Mary's confinement at this period may be inferred 
 from the following letter from Shrewsbury to Burghley : — 
 
 " Mt tebt good L., — After I had dispeched this berer, 
 this queue made eftsones great complaynt unto me of her 
 sickly estat, and that she loked verily to perishe thereby : 
 and used diverse melancholy words that yt is ment yt shuld 
 so com to passe w'out heipe of medicine, and all because I 
 was not redy to send up her Phisician's I'res unto yo' L. 
 which in dede I refused, for that I perceved her principall 
 drifte was and is to have some libertie out of these gates, 
 which in nowise I will consent unto bicause I see no small 
 perill therein. Notwithstanding, lest she shuld think that 
 the Queue's Ma'= had comanded me to denye her suche 
 reasonable meanes as might save her life by order of phisick, 
 I thought yt not amysse upon her said complaynt and in- 
 staunce to send up the said I'res hereinclosed to be consider- 
 ed on as shall stand w' the Queue's Ma''' pleasur. But truly 
 I wold be very lothe that any libertie or exercise shuld be 
 graunted unto her or any of hers out of these gates, for fear 
 of many daungers nedeless to be remembered unto yC L. I 
 do suiTer her to walk upon the lead here in open ayre [and] 
 in my large, dining chamber, and also in this court-yard so as 
 hoih I myself or my wife be alwaies in her company, for avoid- 
 ing all others talk either to herself or any of hers : And suer 
 watch is kept w'ia and w'out the walles both night and day, 
 and shall so co'tynue Grod willing so long as I shall have the 
 charge. Thus I commit yo'good L. unto Grod. 
 
 Prom Shefeld Castle this xii"" of December, 1571. 
 
 PosTSCEiPT. — I cannot perceyve that she is in any pre- 
 sent perill of sicknes. If any ensue I will not faile to ad- 
 vertise the same unto yo' L. w' all diligence, but I must here 
 eftsones advertise unto yo"^ L. that I am utterly against any 
 further libertie uuto her. 
 
 To"^ L. ever assured, 
 
 G-. Shrewsbuet. 
 
 Dacre's and Norfolk's attempts had, no doubt, been the 
 cause of this rigour. 
 
 Early in 1572, however, the Earl left Mary in the charge 
 of Sir Ealph Sadler, in order that he might go to London to 
 preside at the trial of the Duke of Norfolk. It is said he 
 pronounced the sentence in a flood of tears. Little, however. 
 
336 FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 could' he 'foresee the future iinioii of his line with that of the 
 high-minded Duke in the persons of their grand-chil- 
 dren ; as little that his castle, which contained the cause 
 of Norfolk's fall, would become, through the will of an Earl 
 of Shrewsbury, the temporary and contested inheritance of 
 that very Duke's descendant when the elder line of Talbot 
 had passed away ! 
 
 In 1574, either romantic affection or the schemes of the 
 match-making Countess of Shrewsbury, led to au alliance be- 
 tween the blood of Bess Hardwick and that of the royal cap- 
 tive. Charles Stuart, younger brother of Mary's late hus- 
 band, and her own cousin, happened to spend a few days at 
 Eufford Abbey, a seat of Lord Shrewsbury, along with his 
 mother, the Countess of Lenox. A few days sufficed to fan 
 a warm flame between young Lenox and Elizabeth Cavendish, 
 Lady Shrewsbury's only unmarried daughter ! How far the 
 Queen of Scots was a party to this is not known. Probably 
 she might consider such an alliance would help to mitigate 
 the rigour of her confinement. The Earl of Shrewsbury, how- 
 ever, who appears to have been unapprised of the matter till 
 after the nuptials, soon saw that his position required some 
 exculpating statement to his royal mistress. In a letter to 
 Elizabeth he thus exonerates himself from all privity or con- 
 nivance. " Yt was delte soe sodenly and wytheut my know- 
 ledge ; w"^, as I dare undertake and ensure to your mat'=, for 
 my vpyfe. she fyndyng hyr dawghter dysapointed of yong 
 Barte, where she hoped ; and that th'oder yong gentylman 
 was inclyned to love wyth a few days acquyntans, dyd hyr 
 ieste to furthur hyr dawghter to thys matche wytheute hav- 
 ynge therin any other inten' or respect than wyth reverent 
 dutee towards your ma'« she owght."* 
 
 The real truth is, the Countess had long been on the look- 
 out for a splendid match for her daughter, and she was only 
 too happy to catch the young Earl of Lenox in her meshes. 
 Another letter of the Earl's shows her antecedent scheming. 
 " There is feu nobillmens sonns inEnglond that she hath not 
 praid me to dele forre at one tyme or other ; so did I forre 
 my lord of Eutland, with my lord Sussex, for my lord Whar- 
 ton and sundrye others, and now this comes unloked for 
 witheut thankes to me." But if the Earl cleared himself of 
 any participation in getting up this match, the Countess did 
 not, for both she and Lady Lenox, the young Earl's mother 
 * Lodge, vol. ii. p. 123. 
 
BESS HAEDWICK. 
 
 were for a time placed under restraint. Even the poof Queen 
 of Scots, who was on ill terms with the Lenox family, was 
 accused of " plotting " in the matter by the ever-jealous 
 Elizabeth, whose bitter persecution of the young couple was 
 in perfect keeping with her character. The only issue of this 
 marriage was the Lady Arabella Stuart, who was left an 
 orphan at four years of age, and whose melancholy and ro- 
 mantic history forms such an interesting feature of the times 
 of James I. In February, 1575, the wife of Grilbert Talbot 
 was delivered of a child in Sheffield Castle, and Queen Eli- 
 zabeth immediately ordered Burghley to address the Earl on 
 her " mislykings of the repaire of women and strangers," 
 fearing some use might be made of it for the Scottish Queen's 
 release. The Earl implores forgiveness, but assures Burghley 
 of his caution, adding that the " mydwyfe excepted, none 
 such have or doo at any tyme cum wythyn hur [Mary's] 
 syght ; and at the fyrst to avoyd such resorte Imyselfe with 
 ii of my cheldren chrystened the cJiylde." 
 
 It was some time in 1577 that the Countess of Shrews- 
 bury first began either to suspect or to spread reports of a 
 liaison between her husband and his still lovely captive. The 
 first proof we have of this jealousy appears in a letter she 
 addressed to the Earl from Chatsworth, where she was build- 
 ing extensively, and where she wished him to obtain leave to 
 spend the summer. 
 
 In the postscript she adds " Lette me heare how you, yeur 
 charge and love do, and amende me I praye you." For years 
 there were hruits of an improper familiarity between the Earl 
 and Mary — it was even rumoured that she had children by 
 him in her prison. There can be little doubt that Lady 
 Shrewsbury was herself the authoress of these scandals ; and 
 so much did the Earl take them to heart, that he resolved 
 that they should be denied in the epitaph which he had pre- 
 pared for his tomb three or four years before his decease. 
 One passage of this very prolix inscription* runs thus — 
 " Quamque semper ab omni suspicione perfidise fuit alienus, 
 illud declarat, quod licet a malevolis propter suspecfam cum 
 captivd regind familiaritatem ssepius male audiret, cumtamen 
 ejusdem reginse causa ex senatus regni consultu a proceribus 
 in arce Fodringhaiensi . cognoscendo esset, inter magnates 
 * * * * Tiunc nohiliss : Comiiem ser*. Eegina Elizabeth unum 
 
 * In St. Peter's Church, Sheffield : it was written by Fox, the mar- 
 tyrologist, 22 
 
338 I FAMILY EOMANCE. 
 
 esse voliiit." It is to be remarked that though he mentions 
 his first wife, Q-ertrude Manners, on this epitaph, he entirely 
 " ignores " his last Countess.* The Talbot papers preserve 
 some singular letters that passed between the Earl and Lady 
 Shrewsbury; before the estrangement he used to address 
 her as " My dere none " and " -My honest swete." In these 
 ruptures, Queen Elizabeth took the Lady's part, and enjoin- 
 ed on the Earl the hard task of submission to his imperious 
 wife, who had taken care to get into her own power the 
 whole of the Earl's vast income, save an allowance of £500 
 a year. In a letter to Lord Leicester, dated AprU 5th, 1585, 
 the Earl says, " Sith that her Mat'« hathe sett downe this 
 hard sentence agaynst me, to my perpetual infamy and 
 dishonour, to be ruled and overranne by my wief, so bad and 
 wicked a woman, yett her Mat"' shall see that I obey her 
 com'andemente, tho no curse or plage on the earthe coulde 
 be more grevous to me. These offers of my wiefe's, inclosid 
 in yo"^ L'res, I thynk them verey unfyt to' be offered to me. 
 It is to muche to make me my wiefe's pencyoner, and set me 
 doune the demeanes of Chattesworth,w">out the house and 
 other lands leased, wh* is but a pencyon in money. I thynk 
 it standeth w"' reason that I shuld chose the v cl. by yeare 
 ordered by her Mat'' where I best like, accordinge to the rate 
 "Wm. Caendisbe delyvered to my L. Chanselor." 
 
 Erom this period they appear to have lived entirely separ- 
 ate, notwithstanding the eiforts of mutual friends to produce 
 a reconciliation. The Bishop of Lichfield, in using his in- 
 fluence to this end, says in a letter to the Earl, " Some will 
 say in yo'^ L. behalfe, tho' the Countesse is a sharpe and bit- 
 ter shrewe, and, therefore, lieke enough to shorten y' life, if 
 shee shulde kepe you company. Indede, my good Lo. I have 
 heard some say so ; but, if shrewdenesse or sharpnesse may 
 be a just cause of sepa'con betweene a man and wiefe, I 
 thincke fewe men in Englande woulde keepe their wiefea 
 longe ; for it is a com'on jeste, yet trewe in some sense, that 
 there is but one shrewe in all the worlde, andevy man hathe 
 her ; and so evy man might be rydd of his wiefe, that wolde 
 be rydd of a shrewe." 
 
 Parted from her husband. Lady Shrewsbury pursued the 
 several trades to which she was attached. " She was," says 
 
 * Prolix as this epitaph was, there was another in English verse, still 
 longer, for it contained ninety-four lines. It is preserved in Dodsworth's 
 MSS. Bibl. Bodl., Vol. oix. 
 
BESS HARDWICK. 339 
 
 Lodge, " a builder, a buyer and seller of estates, a money- 
 lender, a farmer, and a merchant of lead, coals, and timber." 
 The Earl had got rid of his long and ill-requited custody of 
 the Scottish Queen, in 1584, but he could not get rid of 
 bis wife's persecutions, nor could he destroy in Queen Eli- 
 zabeth's mind some long-harboured suspicions of a design 
 entertained on his part to favour the Queen of Scots. Again 
 and again did he remind his royal mistress that he was " the 
 Talbot, ever true and loyal to his Quene," and of the long 
 proof he had given of his devotion, in being the royal jailor. 
 It would seem that Elizabeth was at last either convinced 
 that she had wrongly suspected the Earl of any partiahty 
 for her rival, or that she was determined to put his feelings 
 to the severest test, for she appointed the lordly jailor one 
 of the high commissioners, to try the unfortunate Mary — 
 and, to the Earl's lasting discredit, he was one of those who 
 witnessed the sad and solemn spectacle of her decapitation in 
 the Hall of Eotheringay, on the 8th of February, 1587 ! * 
 Lord Shrewsbury lived three years after this — years embit- 
 tered by the remembrance of this sad scene — by the behavi- 
 our of his wife, and by family broils. His Countess survived 
 him seventeen years, during which she pursued, with untir- 
 ing activity, her great penchant for building and money- 
 making. Her great ambition was, to rebuild the ancient 
 seat of her ancestors, at Hardwick. This noble specimen of 
 the domestic architecture of the sixteenth century was com- 
 pleted in 1597. In the parapet of open stonework, which 
 runs round the whole edifice, the letters E. S. (the initials 
 of her name) are perceptible at a considerable distance. The 
 rooms are of fine proportions, the furniture is chiefiy that of 
 the period, and was brought from Chatsworth. The picture 
 gallery, one hundred and seventy feet long, contains some 
 very fine portraits. Amongst them is one of the Scottish 
 Queen, painted during the latter part of her long confine- 
 ment. Her countenance is very pale, and she seems frown- 
 ing with suspicion. The picture suggested the following : — 
 
 Why on us, Scotland's Mary ! dost thou frown .' 
 As if with heartless judges once more hemm'd ! 
 
 "We are no heralds of that sister-Crown, 
 
 That sav'd, wrong'd, fear'd thee — flatter'd and condemn'd. 
 
 * Murdin says the Earl himself wrote to Burghley, urging the execu- 
 tion. 
 
340 ' FAMILY ROMANCE. 
 
 in sooth we would not be ; the Heaven above, 
 •That gave thee matchless beauty — gave thee love. 
 
 And bade thy path be spread 
 "With snares, like nets set round an amorous dove. 
 Knows best to portion thee the worm into thy bed. 
 
 But even wei'e we so, there is a tongue 
 
 That " pity " speaks — that ages may not still. 
 It murmurs to us as we pass along. 
 
 And seems with murmuring the drear rooms to fill, 
 Where misery kiss'd thy forehead day by day,* 
 And thy round cheek, and stole its flower away ; 
 
 And drank the honey that bedew'd 
 Thy lip : and still of thee a vision gay, 
 Seems meetly wearing out its mournful solitude. 
 
 We see the erring woman — luckless Queen ! 
 
 The victim fair of Flattery's wily power. 
 Thou wast by nature nurtur'd to have been 
 
 The pride of life, in Hope's delicious bower ! 
 Thou shouldst have shed a perfume through the land ; 
 Thou shouldst have waken'd with thine accents bland, 
 
 The echoes of the soul ; — 
 Have smooth'd the passions with a silken hand, 
 Of those who bow alone to beauty's — love's control. 
 
 But thou didst fail in this. There grew eclipse 
 Over thy womanish brightness — storm and cloud. 
 
 Part due to thee ; part, haply, from the Ups 
 Of slander, pufPd among the unfeeling crowd ; 
 
 Who dream not how misguided passion sears, 
 
 In hearts it waters with its wayward tears. 
 The virtue planted there. 
 
 And so that voice into our willing ears. 
 
 Cries " Pity, pity those for bliss too great and fair." 
 
 The Countess of Shrewsbury died in 1607, and lies buri- 
 ed with the Cavendish family in the church of All Saints, 
 Derby, where, in her lifetime, she had caused a beautiful 
 monument to be erected. The tomb has her recumbent effigy, 
 and a very long Latin inscription thus concludes : — 
 
 " HsBC inclytissima Elizabetha Salopise Comitissa ^dium 
 de Chatsworth, Hardwick et Oldcotes, magnificentia elaris- 
 simarum fabricatrix, vitam banc transitoriam xiii. die mensis 
 Pebruarii, Anno ab inearnatione Domini 1607, ae circa 
 annum setatis suae LXXXVII.,f finivit : et gloriosam ex- 
 pectans Eesurrectionem subtus jacet tumulata." 
 
 * Tradition says, Mary spent part of her prison life at Hardwick. If 
 so, it must have been in the old hall, the ruins of which are still standing, 
 for the present mansion was not begun till after her death. 
 
 t This is doubtless an error. She was ninety. 
 
BESS HAKDWICK. 341 
 
 " A tradition is still current, that it had been predicted 
 to her by Some fortune-teller, that " so long as she kept build- 
 ing, she would never die." A severe frost happening in 
 February, 1607, terminated her building and her life. 
 
 Such is the history of one Countess of Shrewsbury : 
 there is a still more terrible tale of another, Pope's " wan- 
 ton Shrewsbury," who held her paramour's horse while he 
 slew her husband. But the whole records of the house of 
 Shrewsbury teem with romance ; and each generation in the 
 pedigree would furnish matter for the novelist, even from 
 and before the time of that heroic Talbot, the first Earl, 
 " the great Alcides of the field," who made all France to 
 quake, down to the recent House of Lords Shrewsbury case, 
 so full of marvel and mystery, with its Bromsgrove monu- 
 ment false or true, and the heir of all the honours and wealth 
 of the coronetted Talbots passing away, with his family in 
 poverty and oblivion in St Anne's, Soho ! The earldom of 
 Shrewsbury alone is a living instance of the wide range and 
 extent of British " Family Eomance." 
 
 THE EKD. 
 
JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PEINTEER 
 

 
 
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