ENGLISH EDITION OF FRANCOIS ARAGO S WORKS Now complete, in 2 vols. 8vo. illustrated with a Series of 25 Plates and 358 Woodcuts, price 45s. cloth, POPULAR ASTRONOMY. By FRANCOIS ARAGO, Member of the Institute. TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL AND EDITED BY Admiral W. H. SMYTH, D.C.L., For. Sec. R.S., and ROBERT GRANT, M.A, The Two Volumes may be had separately : VOL. I. with 19 Plates and 226 Woodcnts an 1 Diagrams 8vo. price 21s. VOL. II. with 6 Plates and 132 Woodcuts ;md Diagrams 8vo. price 24s. CRITICAL OPINIONS of the SECOND VOLUME. " "PROM the finished and accurate I manner in which the translation is effected, reflecting; the lushest credit upon the the position of this work, as an au thentic reflex of one of the srreatest modern hers, will be indisputably ami justly pre-eminent. JOHN BULL. "I HE illustrations of this volume are 1 splendid. The frontispiece, a view of Saturn, is a work that does honour to the en graver ; we have rarely seen unythi ex u:site m this style of art. The : solarenr less beautiful. There is an abundance of woodcuts ; and in every ;his improved Knjrlish edition of an important work n highly creditab e to the editors and I ubhshers. There are few v.-.^-ks nomy that can stand comparison with this." MOKM.NO HERALD. " I HlSpxoellent edition and translation * of Ar-vro s Popular Astronomy is now complete; anil the two volume-, form a trea- intereating by reas.m of the multitude of its details, which are all well clas.-ified, suffi ciently illustrated, and indexed. Tin work is u n edition as well as a translation, and atnonz the duties imposed on its editors of supplying the occasional defect ui the French astronomer s recognition of the f English science, especially conspi cuous in the treatment of Mr. Adams, English joint-discoverer with M. Le Verrier of the . Upon M. Arago s jrenius as i.omer ^ye need not dvrell. His book of Astronomy will take its proper place among standard authorities on English shelves." EXAMINER. " rpHE work itself, in its English form, i A to be recommended, and strongly ri- commended, to the popular reader. . . The book has Arago s admirable perspicuity from beginning to end. . . . The reader will find a mass of amusins: matter, provided only that he takes an interest in the subject ; the lecturer will find a mine of susr-restions, which with proper caution may enable him to diversify and enliven his matter. For it is one of the best characteristics of the work, that nothing of phy.-ics which can be drawn into the sub ject is left out of it." ATHENJEUM. rpHIS volume completes the English 1 version of M. Arago s Popular Astro- nnmii. It. contains no le?s than 818 liases, al- >rs, with sound jud-rment , have omitted certain passages whiciu however in to French readers, ns relating to matters peculiarly appertairin? to France, (feet on the completeness of the work as a treatise on astronomy. Thev have re tained much that can scarcely be considered as coming within the province of astronomy ; but in those instances they have been influ enced by the interest to an inquiring mind of the subjects, and the lucid manner in which the author has discussed them. In order to adapt the work to the present state of astro nomy, the editrrs have in an appendix conti nued the catalogue of cometary orbits, so as to embody all the most recent discoveries; in cluding a statement of the principal facts re lating to the comet discovered by Dr. Donati on the 2d of June, 18M. They have also abridged the chapters devoted to the minor planets, and thereby increased the value of the volume." MOK.NINO POST. In i!<e same Serifs, uniformly printed^ ARAGO S BIOGRAPHIES OF DISTINGUISHED SCIENTIFIC MEN. Translated by Admiral W. H. SMYTH, 1) C.L., For. Sec. R.S. ; the Rev. RADT.N- I OWELL, M.A. ; and ROBERT GHANT, M.A ..................... 8vo. price 18s. roBlOGHApHY; GLT; HKL; 4. LAPLACE ; 5. JOSKPH FOURIER; 6. CARNOT; 7. MALUS; 8. FRESNEL; 9. THOMAS YOUNG; 10. JAMES WATT (with Note by W. FAlkBAIRJf, F.R.S.) ARAGO S METEOROLOGICAL ESSAYS. With an Introduction by Baron HUMBOLDT. Translated under the Superinten dence of Major-General K. SABIXE, K.A., Treasurer and V.P.R.S. 8vo. price 18s. 1. THtrtTDRB & LIGHTNING ; I 4. BLEOTRO-MAGITKTISM ; | 6. TEItRKSTRIAL MAGXEX- -MALELECTRICITr: ISM; 8. GEOGRAPHY OF STORMS; | _ ! 7. AURORA POREALIS. London : LONGMAN, G-REEN, and CO., Paternoster Row. - GIFT OF Prof. John S. Tatlock ^T-O. THE WASHINGTON LONDON FEINTED BY SPOTTIS WOODE AND CO. NEW-STKEET SQUARE. THE WASHINGTON A TALE OF A COUNTRY PARISH IN THE 1?TH CENTURY BASED ON AUTHENTIC DOCUMENTS House in Little Bririgton, supposed to have been occupied by the Washingtons JOHN NASSAU SIMPK1NSON EECTOE OF BRIXG10X, NOKTHAJfTS LONDON LONGMAN, GREEN, LONGMAN, AND ROBERTS 1860 / (7 TO THE EIGHT HON. JOHN POYNTZ EARL SPENCER NINTH IN DIRECT DESCENT FROM ROBERT LORD SPENCER THE KINSMAN AND PROTECTOR OF THE WASHINGTONS h WITH SINCERE RESPECT AND ESTEEM PREFACE. THE best apology for the following tale will be found in the circumstances which suggested it. Some years ago, when I came into my parish, one of the first subjects which occurred to me for a Lecture, (such as are now so universally given in -School-rooms and Mechanics Institutes,) was "the Parish Eegister." The lecture, or rather lectures, which were given accordingly, excited very great interest among the parishioners ; a thousand little particulars being brought to light, concerning habits, morals, statistics, family genealogies, and personal histories, which con nected or contrasted past times with the present in a very instructive way. The study of his Parish Eegister is one which may be strongly recom mended to every clergyman. One of the things which was most interesting to myself in these investigations was the con- A 4 Vlll PKEFACE. nexion of the Washington family with the parish. The last English ancestor of George Washington lies buried in Brington Church : and I knew that the emigrant himself, that ancestor s second son, must have passed much of his boyhood in the village, and probably in a house which particular reasons led me to fix upon. Anxious to pursue these researches further, I obtained leave, through the late Earl Spencer s kindness, to examine all documents that could be found at Althorp ; and soon fell in with a collection of household account books, belonging to the 17th century, which invited a careful examina tion. In some respects these books proved a little disappointing : for, owing to an unfortunate hiatus in the series, they did not -throw all the light I had hoped for upon the history of the Washingtons. But they showed a still more in timate connexion, than I had suspected to exist, between that family and the Lords Spencer ; while they revealed with extraordinary minute ness the state of things then prevailing at Althorp. And between the Parish Eegister on the one hand, with its exact array of names, its PREFACE. IX stern life facts, and its curious incidental notices and the Account-books on the other, with all their varied details of every-day life such a vivid picture of the period rose before me, that I was induced to work it out, and even venture to believe that others may judge it to possess a more than local interest. The reader will now know what to expect. He will not find any stirring adventures of the Washington family, with "fighting and escaping and rescuing " ; though he will find some parti culars relating to them, which have not been noticed or known before. Nor must he look for a tale skilfully constructed, on high principles of art, to awaken and sustain interest and emo tion. Such a tale, even if I could have suc ceeded in executing it, would have been incon sistent with my object ; which has been to call up a picture of the past out of the materials before me, by a passive rather than an active process of the imagination ; avoiding as much as possible what was merely fictitious, in the case of the Washingtons especially. But though the tale, therefore, in some respects does not aspire to the dignity of a work of fie- X PREFACE. tion, it claims in others to rise above it. It is an honest and painstaking " Guess at truth." The reader is asked to spend a few months at a nobleman s country seat, and in the neighbour ing village, early in the 17th century ; where it is proposed to show him much of what he must have seen, and nothing but what he might have seen, had he been really present at the time. After which, a more rapid survey of the years that followed will connect our little rivulet with the great stream of History. I cannot pretend to more than a very ordinary knowledge of the annals and literature of James the First s reign. But care has been taken, as far as my knowledge and ability extend, to prevent inconsistencies and blunders, by a constant use of the cotemporary works of Bacon, Winwood ? Harington, Stow, Baker, Eushworth, Fuller, Fynes Moryson, Coryatt, the two Herberts, and many others ; besides such compilations as Somers s Tracts, and Nicholls s Progresses of King James ; together with the writings of the best modern historians. Nor, of course, have the principal dramatists been forgotten ; whose works must ever be in some points the great store-house PREFACE. XI of information with respect to the manners of their times. In local matters I have trusted chiefly, though not solely, to the guidance of the excellent historian of Northamptonshire, Baker.* But the great sources from which domestic and social details have been drawn, are (as has been intimated) the Parish Eegister, and the curious collection of Account-books at Althorp, of which a fuller description with copious extracts is (by Earl Spencer s kind per mission) given in the Appendix. In the scenery and decorations then, so to speak, and in the plot of the drama (if that term may be allowed me) fact and reality have been adhered to with the greatest possible care. Every person introduced into the narrative, high and IOAV, young and old, was one who really lived under the circumstances described ; and * Bridges also has been of essential use to me; and the admirable article in the Quarterly Review, (Jan. 1856) which gave Northampton- ^shire the honour of leading off the series of county monographs. Nor- den s fragmentary sketch too has an especial value in this case, as being cotemporary (1610) with the tale. And amongst the treasures of Althorp library, of which I have availed mvself, is a MS. book, drawn up for the use of some sheriff (apparently of the Longueville family) as a guide in assessment of the county for provision-money, ship-money, &c. in the reign of Charles I. xii PREFACE. every fact which is related either really hap pened, or at least has been suggested as probable by the documents before me. In the conception of the characters, on the other hand, and the dialogues held between them, the principal ele ment is necessarily a fictitious one : and, this being the case, it has not been thought a duty to keep as near as possible to the level of proba bility. The probable here is necessarily common place : and no WTiter of fiction is bound to confine the ideal within the limits of average experience. The state of society depicted in this tale is, no doubt, an exceptional rather than an average specimen of what would have been found in England during the early part of the 17th century. The average state of morals and senti ments is, we must fear, represented with tolerable exactness, by the great comic dramatists of that time : and a writer may well be excused if he shrinks with disgust from the thought of re producing such a picture. But an exceptional specimen must not therefore be condemned as a false, or even an improbable one. There were doubtless thousands of such exceptions, even during the reign of James I. ; men and women, PEEFACE. xiii such as those whom we know better from the Memoirs that have come down to us from the two succeeding generations, in the families for instance of Lord Southampton, of Lord Leicester (Sidneys of Penshurst), of Lucy Hutchinson, of Mary Godolphin. With the first two of these families the Spencers intermarried. And, inde pendently of those alliances, there is good reason to believe that Eobert Lord Spencer and his associates may be classed with these rather than with characters of the average stamp. Lastly, let me say a few words about the Clergyman who is so prominent a person in the story. Great differences will always exist, as to an ideal of Christian and ministerial exceUence. Some will prefer such a model as George Herbert, or Nicholas Ferrars, on one side : others such an one as Eichard Baxter, and his less known cele- \ \y ^ \^ . brated predecessors (John Dodd for instance, or Eichard Mather, or Arthur Hildersham) on the other. And both preferences are entitled to respect. Happily our Church allows room for both. Would it were allowed more freely and more graciously ! While avowing my own sympathy with those who will not suffer the XIV PKEFACE. dogmas of either school to be made essentials of Christianity, though I cannot of course in this judgment expect a very general concurrence, I may at least protest against the criticism which shall pronounce the character I have delineated an impossible, or even an improbable product of that age. I do not bring it forward as a portrait of a very wide-spread school or party. But if any shall judge such a character an anachronism, I would only beg them to read and consider Bacon s Essay on Unity in Religion, and his admirable Papers on Church Contro versies, and on the Pacification of the Church ; remembering moreover that those works were not only written before 1613, but published also. And though both parties for the most part were deaf to the voice of that great Master of wisdom, (as indeed is hardly less the case even now), it is surely not unreasonable to be lieve, that, even among humble country clergy men there were some whose minds, " moving in charity and turning upon the poles of truth," could both understand and apply for themselves the principles which he enunciated. February, 1860. CONTENTS. CHAP PAGB I. THE MEETING . . . . .1 II. THE CURATE . . . . .21 III. ALTIIORP . . . . .48 IV. BOUGHTON GREEN FAIR . . .92 V. THE HAWKING STAND . . .136 VI. THE CLERKSHIP . . . .168 VII. THE SEPARATION . . . .210 VIII. LABUNTUR ANNI . . . .233 IX. THE EMIGRANT . . . .267 NOTE ON THE WASHINGTONS or SULGRAVE . 307 APPENDIX. (A). THE ALTHORP HOUSEHOLD BOOKS . . i I. THE INVENTORIES . . . . ii II. BANQUET GIVEN TO KING CHARLES I. AND QUEEN HENRIETTA MARIA BY WILLIAM LORD SPENCER AT ALTHORF, IN AUGUST 1634 . . . . . X i \. XVI CONTENTS. PAGE (A.) III. LADY PENELOPE SPENCER S HOUSEKEEPING BOOK ..... xxviii IV. MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS . . . xxxv (B). FLY-LEAVES FROM BRINGTON PARISH REGISTER Ixxxiv (C). EPITAPHS: I. IN BRINGTON CHURCH . . . Ixxxvi II. IN ISLIP CHURCH Ixxxix THE WASHINGTONS. CHAPTEK I. THE MEETING. EASTER had fallen somewhat later than usual in the year 1613 ; and Whitsun week, when our story opens, was already the last week of May. A fine summer evening was glowing over the hamlet of Little Brington ; and the rays of the level sun were search ing the whole breadth of the low-ceiled parlour of the little house where Master Robert Washington and Elizabeth his wife were seated on opposite sides of the cool, spacious, chimney recess. The former of these was busily employed in splicing some fish ing tackle with silk and wax that lay on the shelf beside him, while his lady was engaged no less B THE WASHINGTON^. busily in knitting a pair of hose, which seemed by the size to be destined for her husband s wear. " Tis not him, after all," exclaimed their niece Amy in a tone of disappointment, lifting the latch and entering the room ; " twas only Bernard Dunk- ley coming back from the mill with the grist he took up there this morning." " Did I not tell thee it was not he?" said her uncle. " He will not come on horseback. My lord will keep the horses at Althorp, I warrant thee ; and will send him up here afoot with one of his people. Thou must not be so impatient, child ; running out of the house to every passer-by." "And with no muffler too, nor no linen on thy head," added the aunt. " He will stay for supper at Althorp, I promise thee," pursued Master Washington. " We shall not see him here till sunset. What is it o clock now, thinkest thou?" " It should be nigh eight, uncle," answered Amy ; (( the sun is behind Master Kenning s elm-tree yonder, and I marked that by the dial when I came from the village yester-evening." " He will not tarry long ; he will soon be here, an there have been no mischance on the road. But I warrant now the girl has laid by some supper for THE MEETING. 3 him, and the choicest morsel too, I dare say. Come, Amy, tell truly. Hast thou not set me the best bit in the house down by the fire to keep for the lad ? A slice of the ram mutton carbonadoed, may be? or the ox palate, perchance? There should be an ox palate in the house, that Beeby left. I saw it not at dinner." " Well, uncle, may be Audrey hath made ready a morsel for him to sup off. But tis not that : tis but three or four of the fishes you brought back this afternoon ; just the little ones among them." " The little ones ! " said Master Washington, putting down his tackle in consternation. "Saidst thou the little ones ? " " Tis but those four, uncle," answered Amy, in surprise. 66 Why, thou heedless wench, those be my trouts ! " cried her uncle. " Those be trouts, Amy, caught in a brook which none wots of but I. Thou hadst taken the big ones and welcome ; big lubberly chubs that they be. But my little trouts ! Here s not a man, gentle nor simple, within three miles of this town that shall find you a trout, an it be not your uncle ; and when found, tis not every man that shall hook you him neither," he added, fondling an artificial May-fly which he had reached from the shelf. "See 4 THE WASHINGTONS. now how the world wags. The cup slipping even from my lip when I thought all safe for breakfast to-morrow. And thou must needs lay hands on them, for thy brother, forsooth ! Nay, nay," he con tinued, checking poor Amy s apologies, "thou didst it unwitting, I know. But thou hast catered for him of the best. And what hast thou got for him to wash them down, withal ? A cup of buttered ale, I trow. John shall not want his Whitsun ale for thee ; and rarely spiced and buttered too, I warrant." "John loves not buttered ale, uncle," answered Amy. "Then tis a posset, I promise you; my life on t, Amy, an t be not a posset. Methinks I see it on the trivet yonder. Pray heaven it be not in my silver tankard." " No, uncle, trust me for that," said Amy, laughing ; " tis only in aposnet, Audrey s blackest, I daresay." " Well, child, thou mightest even have spared thy pains. He will sup yonder at Althorp, ere my lord lets him depart. Mark me, wench, I shall yet eat those trouts to my breakfast to-morrow. I shall eat them, cold and buttered. And John shall have his share, in token I forgive thee, for all that thou makest him of so chief account." " Folks would think the lass had but one brother in THE MEETING. 5 the world," observed her aunt, " in place of having I know not how many a matter of seven, I suppose." "But what are they to me, an I never see them?" answered Amy, sadly. Then feeling that her words might justly cause pain, she burst into tears ; and throwing herself down by her aunt s side, she said : " Oh, aunt, forgive me. Think not I am not happy with you, and you so kind and good, and my dear uncle too. But you know how much I love John, and I do so long to see him again. And you will be full glad too, for you always say he is such a duteous lad." Amy Washington was a daughter of Master Ro bert s elder brother, Lawrence, the head and represen tative of the family, or rather of his particular branch of it. For some generations they had been settled in Northamptonshire. In the reign of Henry VIII. Lawrence Washington, of Warton in Lancashire, had left his native village and settled eventually in the town of Northampton, where he soon obtained the influence and position which an active and acute mind is sure to achieve in times of social and political change. He was a member of the society of Gray s Inn, having been there brought up to the profession of the law ; but at the instance and suggestion of his uncle, Sir Thomas Kitson, an enterprising and u 3 G THE WASHING TONS. successful merchant of London, he turned his atten tion to the wool trade, which was rapidly rising to great importance in the midland counties ; and having settled accordingly in Northampton, he soon raised himself to so much consideration and in fluence,, that in 1532 he was elected mayor of that town. Occupying then an important local position, and being a friend to the principles and cause of the Eeformation, it is not surprising that, on the dissolu tion of the monasteries in 1539, he obtained a grant of the manor and lands of Sulgrave, together with other estates, which, till then, had belonged to the monastery of St. Andrew s at Northampton. To Sulgrave he eventually retired ; taking his place there, as did his son and grandson after him, among the landed gentry of the county. The ill fortune, how ever, which was supposed to cleave to the holders of alienated church property, showed itself in the case of the Washingtons. Before the fatal third genera tion had been surmounted, it became clear that they could not continue to live at Sulgrave, perhaps not even to retain the estate; and Lawrence, Amy s father, grandson of the original grantee, accepted the offer made him by his friend, Lord, Spencer, of a refuge in a small house in the parish of Brington, close to Althorp Park. Thither Lawrence Washing- THE MEETING. 7 ton moved with his wife and young family in the year 1606, an impoverished and saddened man. Their settlement in their new home was marked by the birth of another son; who, scarcely surviving long enough to receive the name of Gregory, was buried in the churchyard of Brington. This melancholy be ginning of their new life, together with the sense of their irreparable losses, in a worldly point of view, suggested the inscription which they placed over the doorway of the humble home just built for them: Their trying position was, however, much alleviated by the faithful kindness of their noble friend, whose B 4 8 THE WASHINGTON^ countenance and protection enabled them to keep up their social position in the county. A marriage between near kinsmen of the two families had re cently drawn them more closely together. But indeed there was blood relationship already between the Spencers and Washingtons ; for Lord Spencer s grand mother, wife to Sir John, the third of the Althorp line, was a daughter of that Sir Thomas Kitson who has been mentioned above, as the uncle and patron of the first Lawrence Washington. Sir Thomas Kitson, whose fame still survives in Suffolk as builder of the magnificent Hengrave Hal], was almost the first of the great merchants of London wiio raised himself to the level of the territorial aristocracy ; and his interest in that branch of commerce, by which he made his for tune, may have brought him in contact with the Spencer family, who greatly promoted the growth of wool in the midland counties by the management of their estates. Their connection thus with the family of Washington was of old standing ; and indeed the acquisition of Sulgrave itself by the grantee may have been promoted by their influence ; more especially as the rector of Brington, the parish to which Althorp belonged, was at that time no less a person than Dr. Richard Layton, Cromwell s principal commissioner for the dissolution of the monasteries. THE MEETING. 9 Such being his connection with the Washingtons, Lord Spencer was not a man to despise or look coldly on his friends in adversity ; and his considerate and generous conduct rendered Lawrence Washington s re sidence at Brington as pleasant as under the circum stances it could be made. However, the small house (little better than a cottage) supplied but poor accom modation for his growing family, and the difficulty how to educate them continually increased : so that when in 1610 the sale of the Sulgrave estate was com pleted (Lawrence Washington joining with his aged father, then still surviving, in cutting off the entail); and when, soon after, a family arrangement made him master of all the property which he could command, he left Brington, and settled in London, chiefly with the view of taking advantage of Westminster and other schools for his numerous sons. The little village house, thus vacated by him, was immediately offered to his younger brother Eobert, the tenant whom we find in possession in 1613. Eobert was a man of shy and retiring disposition; as one might conjecture beforehand from the languid stoop of his spare form, and the gentle gaze of his mild grey eye. He loved the country and its tranquil pursuits. Natural history was his favourite study ; fishing his favourite pastime. The little house at Brington gave him a quiet retired 10 THE WASHINGTONS. home, well suited to his tastes, and well suited to his means also, which were still smaller than those of his brother, consisting indeed of little else than what his wife had brought him. To eke out these means, and furnish himself at the same time with some little employment, he rented a windmill of Lord Spencer s, about a mile from the village. He was glad of the object which the mill supplied for a daily walk to over look its management ; as well as for the excuse it gave him for constant attendance at the market. His wife, Mistress Elizabeth Washington, an Essex lady, was a homely kind-hearted woman, somewhat older than her husband, and with few occupations or pleasures beyond the common round of household duties. They had no children ; and on settling at Brington they had begged for one of Lawrence s daughters to adopt for their own ; a request which had been granted in the person of Amy. Amy was now in her 1 7th year ; an affectionate simple-minded girl, who bore the expression of her character in her bright and modest countenance; and who, besides being the sunshine of her uncle s house, was a favourite with high and low, at Althorp alike and among the villagers. This was the party upon* whom the rays of the setting sun were falling, as they shone athwart the little room on the evening when our story commences. THE MEETING. 11 They were expecting (as we have discovered) the arrival of Amy s brother John, some two years younger than herself, the second son of Lawrence ; who was coming from Westminster school to spend the Whit suntide holidays at Brington. An excellent oppor tunity for conveying him had occurred; for Lord Spencer himself, with his family and household, were returning from London to Althorp for the summer ; and it was hoped that Amy s father too would be of the party, as Lord Spencer s guest. So that it was no wonder that she was waiting with restless excite ment for the appearance of her brother, the one whom she had ever loved the best, the most congenial of the companions of her childhood. She had not long to wait. In a few minutes more John appeared, attended (as his uncle had foretold) by one of Lord Spencer s people, William Traceloe, the caterer at Althorp, who had walked up with him from the great house, carrying the saddle-bags. After presenting himself to his uncle and aunt, and duti fully bending to receive their blessing, John threw himself into his sister s embrace ; and the two were soon occupied in asking and answering eager questions about the dear ones left at home, now so long unseen by Amy. " How now, Master Traceloe, " meanwhile asked 12 THE WASHINGTONS. Mr. Robert Washington ; " is my brother also come?" "Truly, sir, I have seen him myself," was the answer : " I left him with my lord just now, and both in excellent good health : as the young gentlemen also are, thank God, and my young ladies too. My lord bade me commend him heartily to your worship, and beg that you would all come down to Althorp to morrow forenoon, and be of his company at dinner. And I was specially to say, not to forget Mistress Amy here. The Lady Margaret stands mightily affected to her." And, declining the offer of refreshment, the caterer hastened away, blushing at Mr. Robert s playful re marks on his hurry to exchange the present company for better : for on May-day just past (or as it was usually called then, last Philip and Jacob ") William Traceloe had pledged his troth in Brington church to Dorothy Dunkley; his sister, Elizabeth Traceloe, having also at the same time and place given herself to William Dunkley, brother of the first named bride. The two couples had taken up their abode in the same house at Little Brington; which Mr. Robert Washington had accordingly designated " The Dove cote," adding, when he spoke of it, various remarks of mild pleasantry, as his manner was. THE MEETING. 13 " And now sit thee down, lad, and tell us of tliy travels. There now, sit thee on the window sill. Why yes, Amy, an thou wilt, thou shalt bring the short form ; if thou must needs share thy seat with John. So now. Set it down there betwixt thy aunt and me. And now speak on, lad. We must hear all, from pillar to post. I am well content to hear thy father is come with thee. Did his own horses bring you on the way, or did ye hire them along the road? " " I rode the sorrel nag, uncle," answered John ; " and my father the grey. And they bore us right well. We quitted London on Monday morning." " Dear heart ! " exclaimed his aunt, " and it is but Wednesday evening now. To think of the like of that ! " " We could have mended our speed, aunt," replied John, " had there not been the coach with us for the ladies. Many s the hour that the coach letted us on the way." "And who was in the coroach besides Mistress Margaret ? " asked Amy. " My Lady Anderson, after the first day s journey," answered John. "My lord was bent on bringing her with him ; for he said to her, she must not take Scripture too closely, and " forget her father s house," if she willed him to come again to hers. We lay the 14 THE WASHINGTONS. first night at Sir Eichard Anderson s, you see,, at Penley Hall ; and mighty late we reached it. We had a hard matter to come to our journey s end, I promise you." "Why, tis off the straight road, for that," said his uncle. " And where did you reach on Tuesday ? " " We lay yester-night at Woburn Abbey," replied John. "My lord of Bedford is exceeding friendly with my lord. Such a brave house it is ; and such a train of servants, like the palace of a very king." u And did you leave Woburn only this morning ? * pursued his uncle. " Ay : but we had to be on the road right early ; and tis well we were. The horses could scarce drag the coach on to Northampton ; but my lord s people had brought fresh ernes there, and so we got forwards. My lord of Bedford sent on some of his own to help to drag us over Woburn sands. But the ways were extreme foul about Newport too ; and once the coach stuck quite fast. So Master Philip and me rode off to find help ; and we fetched some horses that were at plough to pull the coach along again." " And who is Master Philip ? " asked his aunt. " Oh ! I forgot you knew not Master Philip," re plied the boy. " He is a chum of Master Richard Spencer, and is come to be with them at Althorp this THE MEETING. 15 summer. Master Philip Curtis, that s his name. "He lives somewhere in this shire, he told me; out by Thrapston, I think he said." (( Yes, I know the family," said his uncle. " Tis a good and worthy family : at Islip is their home. Tis marvellous rare fishing they have yonder at Islip." " I mind me, uncle, that was the name of the place. I do affect Master Philip right heartily. He and me rode most of the way together. He is study ing the law at Lincoln s Inn, he told me ; and must return thither soon. And he has promised to go back with me when my holidays are over, if my father cannot leave so soon. I warrant we can make des patch to travel there in two days, an we get the start betimes of the mornings. We shall not have the coach to let us I shall be right glad to be rid of that ; and the folks do stare at it so ! You should have seen them come out of their houses in some of the towns, Amy ; and jostle like to push each other under the wheels. The ladies were fain to let down the coach leaves, lest they should be hurt themselves. They seldom see a coach there, I warrant you." " Belike they don t," answered his uncle. " They are different from London folks ; and so are all of us down here. But tell us of the brave doings in 16 THE WASHINGTON. London, boy, on the Lady Elizabeth s Highness s wedding. You ve had a merry Easter there, folks say, such as has not been seen this many a year." " Twas a rare sight, uncle," said John. "I saw the gallant pageant on the river. Twas a fight with the Turks they counterfeited : such brave galleys and argoses in most triumphant manner, and such noble equipages, and such pleasant, strange and variable fireworks at night ! Then there were right merry masques played at court before the King s and Queen s Majesties for the good entertainment of the Palsgrave and the Princess. But I did not see them. I only saw our own play." (( Your play, John ! " interposed his aunt. " What should lads like you with play acting ? " " Oh, aunt, know you not that the King s scholars play each year a Latin comedy? Tis part of the school rules, set forth by the late Queen s Majesty. They do it still, and the King comes by times to see us play it. Twas put off Christmas last, by reason of the late Prince s death. But we had it at Easter, for the Palsgrave s wedding ; and his Majesty came." " And didst thou play too ? " asked his aunt. " What part was thine ? " " Oh, I did not play much," said John, blushing. THE MEETING. 17 I played a young gentlewoman, aunt; but I had nought to say." " Bless the lad ! " cried out his aunt. " A young gentlewoman, quotha, with those long legs of his ! And didst smile, and perk, and make love, John, with the young gallants ? " " I had nought to say, aunt," answered John, rather tartly. " But I did much distaste it. I will not be so parted again. Next year I shall be a senior, and then I can please myself." " His Majesty is a very learned scholar, I am told," observed his uncle. ee Did he seem to relish the entertainment much ? " " Oh, yes," said John, (i he laughed mightily ; and clapped his hands, and called out Euge, Euge, Optime, in Latin. And afterwards he made all the scholars pass before him that played, and spoke fair to each of them." " Oh, John ! " exclaimed Amy ; " what said he to thee?" "He pinched me on the cheek," answered John, laughing ; "and asked me an I had not a sweet, fine, pretty sister. Be sure I said yes, Amy. There now ; thou wert full fain to be answered." " But were not all the scholars frighted at him ? " said his aunt. c 18 THE WASHINGTON. " No," answered John ; " he was so free and fel low-like with us. But it was mighty pains not to laugh. He speaks so strange, and rolls his eyes, and holds his tongue out of his mouth. And then he said we all gave the Latin wrong, and as no other nation but the English do ; and he began to show the Doctor (that is our master, you know), the true fashion of the utterance. Oh, twas wondrous laugh able. We all turned our faces, that he should not see us laugh. The Doctor might not turn his, look you ; but I am sure he was fain to do it. His Majesty asked him why he had not taught us right : for he had showed him the manner of it before, and that not once only, nor twice. And we marvelled what he should say." " What said he then ? " asked Mr. Washington. "He said he humbly begged his Majesty to lay his commands on Master Dean of Christchurch, and on the Master of Trinity College ; not to forget, indeed, Master Dean here at Westminster ; for that twas under them that we owed obedience to his Majesty in all things academic." " Ha, ha ! A stroke smartly served, and the service well taken ! " replied the uncle. " And who is the schoolmaster now? Is he not a very learned man, by the name of Doctor Camden ? " THE MEETING. 19 " No, tis not him now, " answered John. " He was master some while ago, when Master Ben Jonson was a boy at school, and Master Greorge Herbert. Tis Doctor Wilson now. But Doctor Camden is living still in the cloisters. He is one of the residentiaries. He is a mighty favourite of his Majesty, so they tell ; and the most learned man in the three kingdoms." " And thou farest well with thy book learning, I hope," continued Mr. Washington, " and with thy sports too. Our Jack must not be made a dull boy. There are good store of sports for thee, I hope." " Yes, uncle," answered John, " we row boats upon the river, and bathe and swim there too. And we have bowls, and quoits, and balloon in the cloisters, and on College green ; and pall-mall too in the fields behind the city." " And do any of you sport with the young Prince ? " asked his uncle. " He is much of your age, I think, and likes, I warrant you, to have pastimes and play fellows, as other lads." "Some of the boys play with him at times," answered John, "when His Majesty sends and bids them. But they affect it not at all. He makes them play a game he calls golf. And they say too he plays not fair ; and then they may not complain, C 2 20 THE WASHINGTON. look you. And he is so high with them, and takes so much on himself, that tis an ill matter to bear with him. He s none the better, they say, since he was bishopped, Easter that s past ; the other prince that s dead was much braver company. The boys were right well content to play with him ; and he kept his brother under. But now they mislike to go to Whitehall. I hope I shall not be bidden." " Thou hadst rather sport with thine own chums, I warrant thee," replied his uncle. " But come, my children, we have been long of talking. It is quite dark, and thou must needs be weary, John. To bed, I say, without further stay. Thy aunt and I shall soon follow." So Arny and John went up stairs to their chambers, first having promised each other to be up betimes in the morning, to take a walk over their old haunts before breakfast ; and strict commands were given to Audrey, the maid, and Ralph the serving-man, to wake them as soon as there was stir of life in the village. 21 CHAP. II. THE CURATE. AT a very early hour accordingly the next morning, Amy and John emerged from the house ; and, happy to find themselves alone, without the restraint which the presence of their elders imposed, sallied forth into the fresh morning air, each with an arm thrown lov ingly round the other. They took the road to Great Brington, the older and principal village of the parish, containing the church, and by farthe larger number of houses, something less than a mile distant from the hamlet in which their uncle s house lay. It was a great delight to John to recognise the various objects which more than two years absence had dimmed and distanced in his memory : and the conversation thus suggested was interwoven with the still dearer topics which home and parents, and brothers and sisters supplied. After passing the deserted and decayed Manor House of Little Brington, their path emerged upon the open fields ; and soon the church tower rose c 3 22 THE WA8HINGTONS. before them, plainly indicating the direction of the village, which the road-marks themselves would per haps have left somewhat doubtful. The trees of Althorp Park, which lay to the right of the direction they were taking, were almost wholly concealed by the upward slope of the ground over which they passed ; but immediately on their right, the ridge which bounded the valley was crowned with the ancient woods of Nobottle Grove, giving a name to that hundred of the county, and investing Lord Spencer, as proprietor, with seignorial rights over his lesser manors around. The upland over which they were passing bore traces of the process which had been going on extensively for a century in the midland counties of England, and in promoting which the Spencer family had taken a leading part ; the inclosure, namely, and conversion of arable land into pasture, for the maintenance of the large flocks of sheep, by which the wool-trade of England was being rapidly developed ; and by which an important change, whether for good or evil, was being wrought in the habits and condition of the people. How greatly this change had been dreaded and resisted by the mass of the people is well known. It had led to disturbances more extensive and more formidable than any which have taken place in the present century, THE CURATE. 23 through the enforcement of the corn-laws, or the in troduction of machinery ; and it was but a few years before, about the time of the settlement of the Wash- ingtons at Brington, that Northamptonshire itself had been the scene of a popular rebellion, headed by the notorious Captain Pouch ; such being the title given to the ringleader, on account of the badge of command which he carried, and which he persuaded the simple and superstitious people to believe contained inexhaustible treasures and charms of magic potency. A few minutes walk brought Amy and her brother to the entrance of the straggling village, an irregular line of small thatched houses and cottages, built, some of the yellow sandstone of the country, but mostly of mud imperfectly protected by plaster. The courses of mortar in the former kind of houses, and the entire walls of the latter, were riddled with the work of the black mason bee : and large numbers of these insects were busy on every side, filling the morning air with the cheerful hum as they buzzed blindly about their holes; a striking feature, in the early summer, of the villages of that district. At the very end of the village stood the parish church, a structure exhibiting originally the simplest characteristics of the style usually known as Decorated ; but which, through the repairs and additions made by the families of Ferrers, c 4 24 THE WASHINGTON. Grey, and Spencer during the 15th and 16th cen turies, had assumed the appearance of a Perpendi cular church. Eound the bank on which the church was placed, clustered picturesquely the last cottages of the straggling village; while in front of them, upon a little green, the haunt and play-ground of the village children, where groups of women too might often be seen in the afternoons cheering the time with gossip as they turned their spinning-wheels, and where (fit memento of the majesty of the law !) stood the parish stocks, rose an old grey stone cross, bearing a dial on its crest ; behind which a young and thriving elm-tree threw its tender green foliage in the light of the fresh May morning. A pretty scene, which an artist would not willingly have passed over ! But the eye in that century was little educated to discern the picturesque ; and Amy and her brother scarcely paused to look on it. They entered the church-yard ; and rounding the tower, to get clear of the cottages which overlapped it, gazed with youthful pleasure on the wider prospect which opened before them on the northern side. The undulating table land, along which their path had hitherto lain, fell from the very basement of the church by a sheer and sudden descent which took the beholder by surprise, after the gentle slopes to which THE CUEATE. 25 the eye had been accustomed. A deep valley, from three to four miles across, seemed to be scooped out, sinking far below the natural level of the country ; a valley partially filled with two or three inferior lines of hill, interlacing here and there, and melting one into another with a considerable diversity of form and outline ; but bounded finally by a long horizon tal ridge of moorland, a spur from that watershed of central England, whence the streams which are des tined for the Atlantic, or the German ocean, run respectively down the diverging valleys of the Avon and the Nen. The ridge which bounds the view of the spectator belongs to the basin of the latter river ; and its summit commands, to left and right, almost the whole extent of country which is drained by that river s two upper branches, the Northern and the Western waters. The period was past when such a ridge possessed the importance which its charac ter and situation would give it in times of warfare. But such importance it had once possessed. From that height the outposts of Ostorius Scapula had kept watch fifteen centuries before ; lest the then unconquered Brigantes should break through the chain of river forts, which protected the Eoman province of southern England. And along that height the ancient road, still called the Moorway, led, as it had led probably 26 THE WASHINGTON. in times even anterior to the Romans, from the town of Northampton, where the branches of the Nen unite, to the regions of Dunsmoor and Coventry. This bleak ridge itself, covered in the seventeenth cen tury with heath and brake, and used principally for a rabbit warren, as also the minor ridges which lay southward of it, bare of wood for the most part, and unscored as yet with hedge-row lines, were dotted here and there with clumps of trees, which showed the position of a village or a homestead ; while the low grounds which lay between, all tributary branches of the valley of the Nen, and suffering at that time from the imperfect drainage which succeeding gene rations were to remedy, reeked with the white vapour which was beginning to pass off under the action of the ascending sun. Further to the right, where the ridges sank down towards their point of convergence at Northampton, and where the top of the hill only just showed itself over the projecting shoulder of the Brington upland, stood, at a distance of some three miles from the spectator, Holmby House Sir Christopher Hatton s "fair house of Holmby," a rich specimen of Elizabethan architecture, crowning the terraced garden slopes, into which the hill side had been cut by artistic skill. The sun was hardly far south enough as yet to light up with full brilliancy THE CUEATE. 27 the large mullioned windows which fronted the mid day; but here and there a sparkling ray glanced sidelong from the panes, and shot from the gilded balls that crowned the parapet and roof of the regal mansion. Eegal indeed it had actually become, as it was worthy to be ; for King James had purchased it some years before from the heirs of the Lord-Keeper; intending it for the residence of his son, Prince Charles, his second son as he was then ; little think ing that it would prove in the end the prison-house of its new possessor, the first in that series of prisons through which he passed to the scaffold. The king had destined it for Prince Charles, as soon as he should require an establishment of his own, induced partly by its fitness for the purpose, and partly (it was believed) by the vicinity of Althorp ; for he sagaciously appreciated the merits of Lord Spencer, a nobleman who had attained a very great reputation and influence, not only in the midland counties, but also in the House of Lords, and in whom the king rightly believed that he should secure a most valuable neighbour and counsellor for his son. He had paid great attention accordingly to Lord Spencer in his own visits to North amptonshire ; for he often spent a few days at Holmby himself in his progress northwards : and Lord Compton, to whose keeping the royal domain was consigned, 28 THE WASHINGTON S. understood and shared his feelings on this point. The parks of Holmby and of Althorp faced each other, almost meeting along the stream which drained the valley ; and the royal warreners and falconers had orders to defer in all things to the wishes of their noble neighbour. Amy and John continued some time in the church yard ; looking, from the vantage ground it gave them, upon the various objects around, and bending with silent reverence over the little mound which marked the grave of their infant brother. Amy especially was lost in meditation, not unmixed with sadness. The few hours of intercourse she had passed with her brother had made her feel that there was a wider difference between them than she was quite prepared to find a difference which had sprung up since they were last together. He did not seem to respond to the feelings which in her were the warmest and the strongest. The objects which for her had the highest attractions seemed to excite little interest in him ; for, indeed, he had not shared with her the development of heart and spirit which the last two years had witnessed in her. Within that time Amy had been confirmed ; and the spiritual crisis, which that occasion so often calls forth, had declared itself thoroughly and effectually in her case. THE CUEATE. 29 Her conscience and her will had been deeply im pressed through that renewal of her baptismal vow ; and the intercourse and sympathy of Mr. Campian, the resident minister of the parish, had so fixed and intensified those impressions that Amy could not but regard her confirmation as the greatest era of her life, the beginning, she humbly trusted, of a new course, which would go on unswervingly and im- provingly to the end. To Mr. Campian she looked up with the gratitude and affection of a daughter. In him she had found a guide and an adviser such as neither her uncle nor her aunt were capable of proving. His sympathy had never been withheld from her ; his counsel had never failed her, on what ever occasion, great or small, she had turned to him for comfort or guidance. She maintained almost a daily intercourse with her pastor ; and all the time which she could spare from domestic duties was laid out, under his direction, either in the cultivation of her mind, or in such ministrations among the poor as he judged suitable to her age and position. In this respect also circumstances had recently thrown her into a prominence beyond her years ; for the marriage of Lord Spencer s two elder daugh ters (the Ladies Fane and Anderson) had removed them from the useful works which, in imitation of 30 THE WASHINGTON. their excellent mother, long deceased, they had undertaken in the parish when residing at Althorp ; the remaining daughter, Margaret Spencer, being of such weak health, though nearly of Amy s age, that it was felt universally, and most of all by Margaret herself, that Amy Washington was the fitter person to take the lead. A lady could not, it is true, attempt in those days all that is now so well understood and practised ; but Amy would collect the girls about her, and read aloud to them as they sat at work over their bone-lace ; and, besides being the general friend and adviser when a horn-book or a primer was wanted, when a spinning-wheel was broken, or when some graver emergency arose, she might often be seen in a cottage, instructing the young ones in the first mysteries of the alphabet, and comforting the sick bed, or lonely chimney- corner of some sorrowing widow or some "poor old maid, kept and maintained of the parish." In these occupations Amy found a happiness higher and purer than any she had tasted before ; and it made her feel keenly what a difference there existed between herself and her favourite brother, when she found with how little interest he listened to the recital of her em ployments, and how little capability he seemed to have of understanding the pleasure which she took THE CUEATE. 31 in them. Such a cloud often dims the brightness of domestic happiness, and the mutual confidence of relations; calling for wisdom, and patience, and trust on the part of those whose horizon has expanded beyond the knowledge of others with whom they were once like-minded. Impatience and mistrust will often avert for ever the return of that brighter and more lasting sunshine which, in due time, may reward the faithful work of love. Poor Amy felt a disappointment, which was hardly reasonable, in the inability of her brother to share her enlarged views and elevated feelings, and her mind was rather disposed to dwell on the differences which grieved her, than on the common ground of true heart affections and pure fundamental morality, where she would have found in him a sympathy capable of progressive expansion and development. Her impulse was to touch on points of antipathy instead. "John," said she, as they stood over the little grave, "it mislikes me much that thou shouldst bear part in the play-acting thou wast telling of yester-night." " Why, what ill is it ? " asked John surprised. " It suits ill methinks with Christian soberness/ an swered Amy. " A feigned character and light words misbecome us at all times. All our goings should 32 THE WASHIXGTOXS. be ordered in plainness and truth. I wish thou didst refuse, dear John, to have a part therein." "Thou dost not understand the matter, girl," replied John. "Here is no deceit, nor intent to deceive. Tis mere pastime, and brave pastime too, trust me, Amy. Besides, tis no adoes of mine to order that thou talkest of. Tis the laws and cus toms of the school to act the plays : and what do I but obey them that are set over me ? What phan tasies you girls will entertain ! distressing your heads with what you should put clean out of them ! " " Well, I doubt of it," said Amy, sadly. " Let us ask Master Campian what is the right." "Ask him as thou wilt," answered her brother: ee I am content thou shouldst ask him. Master Campian is a discreet and good man ; and I trow, he will say that which. I say. But yea or nay, tis all one to me." Master Campian was, as we have said, the minister of the parish. He was not the rector ; but only stipendiary curate, though left in sole charge of the cure. The incumbent, Mr. Proctor, was also rector of Boddington, another parish of which Lord Spencer was patron, some twenty miles distant, on the bor ders of Warwickshire, close to the village and manor of Wormleighton, from which latter place the Ba- THE CURATE. 33 rony of Spencer took its local designation. The rectory house at Brington had fallen into decay, and was used at this time as a cottage for Lord Spencer s warrener; and several preceding rectors, like Mr. Proctor, had been pluralists and absentees ; the re sident minister having been lodged for the most part in the chaplain s apartments at Althorp. Mr. Campian was an unmarried man, verging upon old age, being now in his 67th year. He had been first settled at Brington as curate in 1599 ; and his exemplary character and loving Christian spirit had soon won him the affection and respect of the parishioners. Pious, thoughtful, and charitable, he sympathised deeply with that growing section of the Church, who desired to carry out more fully and consistently the principles of the Eeformation, or at least to countervail the reaction from those prin ciples which had marked the Protestantism of the reign of Elizabeth. Though, untroubled himself with the scruples which were then so keenly felt by some, about the cross in baptism, the use of the surplice, &c., he yet ardently desired to see that tolerant spirit in things indifferent, which would remove such offences from the weak and conscientious. In many points too, both of doctrine and discipline, his sym pathies and convictions were strongly on the side D 34 THE WASHINGTONS. of the Puritans ; nor did he ever hesitate to sacrifice his own prospects of favour or promotion to the advancement of the cause of toleration and truth. Accordingly, on the accession of James I., he was one of those clergymen, reputed to -be a thousand in number, who had signed the famous petition, called from that circumstance the Millenary Petition, praying for alterations or extension of liberty in many points of the liturgy, ceremonies, and disci pline of the Church, a petition which led to the Savoy Conference; and the summary rejection of which on that occasion caused the disappointment and further alienation of that large body of the clergy and people whom a few timely concessions (such as those which Bacon advocated) would have conciliated and re-assured. From that time Master Campian, as one of the "Millenaries," had become an object of suspicion and dislike to most of his clerical bre thren, a dislike which increased in vehemence when the king s adhesion to the stronger party had made it completely dominant. Under the primacy too of Bancroft, and after the passing of the canons of 1604, a general and systematic attack upon the Puritans commenced. Northamptonshire was a county in which the obnoxious doctrines had taken deep root, at least among the laity; but even there, with the THE CURATE, 35 clergy, the stiff Church party were decidedly in the ascendant ; and the Bishop of Peterborough himself, Dr. Dove, was so ardent in the cause, that he is said to have silenced five nonconforming clergymen in one morning, an exercise of episcopal energy which even King James remarked, " might have served for five years." Under such a bishop, and with a rector who, above all things, disliked enthusiasm and innovation, it might have gone hard with poor Mr. Campian, had he remained as curate of Brington at the mercy of his ecclesiastical superiors. But just before the storm burst over the diocese, he had been presented by his noble patron to the rectory of Wicken, a parish at the southern extremity of the county, where Lord Spen cer had a manor house, in which he occasionally resided. Incumbents were not so defenceless as curates against an episcopal onslaught ; and as Mr. Campian had no objection to any of the ceremonies of the Church, and readily practised conformity thereto, he was not easily brought under the dis abling operation of the law. But he was dish ked and shunned by the neighbouring clergy, as a Puritan at heart, and a Millenary ; and in a rural district, some way from any considerable town, he could lo.ok for little sympathy from any quarter. Dr. Sparke, indeed, D 2 36 THE WASHINGTOXS. then vicar of Bletchley, who had been one of the four representatives of the Puritans at Hampton Court, was a man whose principles and character were in every way congenial with his own. But Bletchley was too far distant to admit of more than very oc casional intercourse between the friends; and Mr. Campian s chief refreshment consisted in the visits which Lord Spencer and his family paid to Wicken, visits not unfrequent on the part of the former, as the manor house could be made a halting-place on the way between Althorp and London. It was a great grief therefore to the clergyman, when, in 1610, Lord Spencer, embarrassed with the number of his country houses, came to the determination to break up his establishment at Wicken, and remove the furniture to Althorp. Isolated as he felt himself to be, discouraged with the small success of his mi nistry in the parish, and cast down in spite of himself by the taunts of his clerical brethren, he resolved to resign his benefice. He knew that Lord Spencer was anxious to find preferment for Mr. Chamberlayne, his successor at Brington and at Althorp, and he now offered to resign the rectory of Wicken in his favour. Lord Spencer was much surprised at the proposal, and at first was very unwilling to accede to it ; but he was presently induced to approve the THE CUEATE. 37 contemplated measure, as well as to respect the motives that prompted it. Mr. Campian s wish was to return to his former curacy, if his patron would procure his reinstatement there. The loss of position and of emolument was a sacrifice which he was well content to make one under which indeed he would feel the happier, if thereby he could hope to "provide things honest in the sight of all men ; " while he should be also resuming a cure where he had already found that his ministrations were more acceptable and more effective. The arrangements were made accordingly, without opposition either from the bishop or the rector ; for Lord Spencer s wishes on the matter were sufficiently known, and would (as he was persuaded) secure his chaplain from the risk of further molesta tion. Indeed Dr. Dove was growing old, and much averse to trouble; nor were any of the bishops so hostile to the Puritans under the primacy of Arch bishop Abbot, as they had been under that of his predecessor; still less than they were destined to become once more, when the administration of the Church of England should pass into the hands of Laud. Everywhere through the country the suspi cions and resentment of the court and of the dominant party had been turned in great measure in a different direction by the gunpowder plot ; and in Northamp- D 3 38 THE WASHINGTON S. tonshire the feeling against the Puritans, which had been fomented by Laud himself, who in this interval had been one of the beneficed clergy of the county, was again allayed since the promotion of that clergy man to the presidentship of his own college of St. John s at Oxford. Great was the joy of the parishioners of Brington, when they recovered their favourite pastor; and his influence over them grew greatly from the con fidence they now felt in his tried character, and the impression that prevailed, that he had been an ill- used man. Lord Spencer, too, had greatly extended his knowledge of him. Kespect had ripened into friendship, cemented by the warm affection with which the younger members of the family regarded their pastor, and the holy influence he had exercised over them. And Mr. Campian also, unlike many of the clergy at that time, was a gentleman by birth as well as education. So that all things tended towards the same result, and he was regarded almost as a kinsman at Althorp. In the estimation of the Washingtons, also, he stood no less high. Mr. Wash ington had found the benefit of his delicate sympathy, and high Christian example, during the days of his adversity ; and the simple-hearted couple who now resided in the parish, looked up to him with unbounded THE CUEATE. 39 reverence. What he was to Amy we have seen already ; and John, too, had ever been accustomed to think of him as a man whom none could hesitate to trust and love. " I am well content thou shouldst ask Master Campian," said he ; " but not now, Amy. Tis getting late, and uncle and aunt will be tarrying for us anon. Let us home to breakfast; and I would fain go round, an we have time, by the Chinkwell and the meadows." Meanwhile, at Little Brington, Ralph, the serving man, after bringing in the water required for house hold use, and chopping the wood which was needed for the kitchen, was employed in the garden behind the house, staking some peas which were to come in for the next month s consumption. " Give ye good morrow, Ralph," cried a voice a few yards behind him. " Give ye good morrow," answered Ralph quietly, without lifting his head from his work. "An over early one for your liking, methinks, Body," he added muttering. The individual thus designated had seated himself \ipon the garden gate, with his back to the road ; and, much at his ease, was surveying Ralph s proceedings. He was a man of about thirty, of large and powerful make, with fair complexion, light curly hair, and pale D 4 40 THE WASHINGTON. blue eyes, indicating an indolent temperament, while the expression of his countenance and bearing was that of consummate self-complacency, not without marks however of considerable intelligence. He was the nephew of the old clerk of the parish, Kobert Steffe, whose surname he bore himself. Nor was the appellation of " Body " due to his baptismal sponsors, who had bestowed on him the name of Eichard. Left as an orphan in childhood to his uncle, he had been an object to the latter of great pains and solicitude, and had even been sent by him to the Grammar School at Northampton, in the hopes of advancing him in life. But Eichard s incurable indolence had frustrated these hopes and expectations. Indeed a cir cumstance, which for a while had raised these hopes to the highest pitch, proved in the end the chief cause of his disappointment. On the accession of James I., Queen Ann, on her road from Edinburgh to London, had stopped at Althorp for some days, to be entertained by Lord Spencer, who had just been raised to the peerage by the new sovereign. One of the entertainments was a masque, composed for the occasion by Ben Jonson, in which a satyr and a band of fairies bore the principal part, emerging from a thicket in the park at a given signal, and receiving the Queen and Prince Henry with grace- THE CUEATE. 41 ful and ingenious compliments. The performers in this masque were the ladies and gentlemen of the neighbourhood. But the rustics afterwards had their turn also ; a company of them being admitted to the presence of the Queen and Prince, to pay their re spects in words and under characters which Ben Jonson s inventive genius again supplied. Of this company Richard Steffe, being a young man of pre sentable appearance and towardly abilities, had been appointed Coryphaeus. The character he had to per sonify was that of " Nobody ; his dress being so contrived that he appeared to the eye all hat and legs. Eichard had done his part to admiration ; though, owing to the crowd that beset her Majesty, the performance had proved something of a failure at the end. And in commemoration of his achieve ments on that day, not without a sly allusion to the break-down of his dramatic non-entity at last, the young man was henceforth known universally among his neighbours by the name of Body. But the dis tinction and applause he had won on that occasion, accompanied as it was with a more substantial reward, had quite turned the head of the young man already weak and conceited ; and poor " Body" as from that day he was called by all his neighbours never could be induced to settle down to any steady employment, 42 THE WASHINGTONS. nor be brought to any good. Without being vicious or dissipated, he was incurably idle. Old Eobert Steffe, who was himself a weaver, had tried to bring up his nephew to that trade, when better prospects had been closed against him, but to little purpose ; and now that old Robert was laid aside himself, the loom in his house stood unused and motionless. A piece of cloth, which Body had begun about the time his uncle left off work, had never been seen to advance for two years past : and " yon hemp-cloth of Body s " had become as proverbial in the parish as Penelope s web, only there was no mystery to enquire into why the work was never finished. Body s industry, such as it was, was expended on a little bit of land in his uncle s occupation, close to his cottage at Grreat Brington ; and he certainly displayed some inge nuity in getting considerable advantage from it with the least possible trouble. But what he principally depended on was the miscellaneous variety of little services which fall in the way of privileged hangers- on about a great establishment. When hunting or hawking was going on when company was at Al- thorp, and sports or festivities were afoot, there Body was sure to be found; and his cleverness and good humour made him not only a tolerated, but an acceptable assistant. Nor was he without a second THE CURATE. 43 string to his bow in Mr. Eobert Washington ; whom he constantly accompanied in his fishing expeditions., lying lazily on the grass in the intervals of occupation ; and to whom he further made himself useful by find ing birds -nests, and aiding him (as he was well able to do) in his other pursuits as a naturalist. Such being his habits, he was no great favourite with honest Ralph, who indeed regarded him with the utmost contempt, and had no intention of en couraging his company on the present occasion. " I would fain know if you want a bit of help this morning," continued Body. " You should be mighty- busy now, by the looks of it. You ll be glad, may be, of a stroke of help." "Not I," answered Ealph. "My master said nought to me as touching you. He is not abroad yet, this while. Come later, an you want speech of him." " But the neighbours tell me your young master s down from London," replied Body, " and he s rid the sorrel nag, they tell me. Ye 11 be wanting a helping- hand to-day, Ralph. I could rub down the sorrel rarely." " Set thee to rub down the nag ! " said Ealph, con temptuously looking up, and fronting his visitor as he sat on the gate. " Grood sirs alive ! I know what thee would be at. Thee shall take me a bit of 44 THE WASHINGTON^ and just give me a rub or two partly ; and make me a mortal puster while I was a looking on ; and then thee shall go and crack me a joke with Audrey, and ask for a beyver of ale. And next thee shall be off down to the well for to loiter with thy gossips, telling me twas for a gait of water, forsooth ! And then thee shall come back, and ask if tis dinner-time partly ; and no work done for thy victuals yet ! No, no, Body. I know thee. Us cannot awhile for help from the like of thee. Us does wer own work werselves better nor a thattens. Bide till thee be sent for partly." (e Come, come, bully Ralph," said Body quietly ; "fair words cost nothing. Ye might give a civil answer to a neighbour. I did but ask thee, man, to let me help thee." " Well, I tell thee us e ent got no nag here ; and no call for help neither. And the master goes not a fishing to-day ; no, nor the morrow, I warrant thee. Look at home, Body. Plenty of work there, in - ards and out ards, I promise thee, if thee would but cast an eye on t partly." " Starving work, that," answered Body. " These be sorry days for the poor man ; scarce a living to be had now, as in times agone. The rich men get all the land to themselves, with their inclosures and what not, and will not let the poor man have enough THE CUEATE. 45 to find meat and drink. See how tis in this town now, since I can remember. All the land goes the same way now. Mark you, Kalph, what the Scrip ture says, Woe to them that add house to house, and field to field ! " " But and if your rich man shall make the housen better for your poor man," rejoined Kalph, " better housen that costis less, and shall send your poor man to reap down his fielden and give un a fail- day s wage, I doubt that Grod Almighty shall be angry with un for that partly." " Oh, I have nothing to say again my lord," an swered Body ; (f only tis mortal pitiful to see the fields dyked and turned to pasture, and what was wont to be under the ploughs all given up to sheep, in place of Christian creatures." " Nay, by your leave," answered Ealph, " what harm of the ships ? Don t the ships turn to meat for Christians ? and brave clothes, too, for that partly. And talk of your ploughs ! There s store of ground for the ploughs still, if they would but work em brisker. Tis unked to see the squitch they leaves about among the tillage, all permiscuous. I could pick you cart-loads on it off that barley-close of your n, Bod." " And the farmers grow so frampold and nurly," 46 THE WASHINGTON. pursued Body, without noticing Ealph s agricultural criticism, " and the farmers wives be worse. They ll scarce speak to a poor man, or give him back good den when they meet him. Look at Mistress Cooper now, with her fine grand farthingale and her brave gay mutches and partelets, for all the world like my lady herself. Time was when I used to call her Milly ; but there would be more than one tongue set a-wagging, I trow, an I were to say that now-a-days." " Thank thyself for that matter, Body," replied Kalph. "An a man demeans himself and runs lowking about the town, in place of doing his dooty to his neighbours, tis odds if he be much counted on partly. That s my mind, howsomever partly." " What s it to thee, and what s it to any o them," said Body fiercely, " to spy meddlesome into my business ? A man stands on his own bottom, I hope." " Did thee ever learn thy Catechiz, Bod ? " asked Ralph drily. " My Catechism ! " answered Body with scorn ; for if there was one point more than another on which he prided himself, it was his theological know ledge and unimpeachable orthodoxy. " My Cate chism ! That the like of thee should ask me that ! What s that to the matter, simple one ? " " Look ye now, ( To learn and labour truly to get THE CUKATE. 47 thine own living. That should be clear dooty towards thy neighbour, anyhow," observed Ealph, bending down again to his work. " Oh, yes, the Catechism," replied Body, changing his tactics, " but who goes by that, prithee ? The Catechism was writ by the rich folks, Ealph ; by the bishops and such like clerks. They put it pretty much as they pleased, I promise you." " As for that," answered Ralph, " I think I could find you a Scriptur or two to clench it; an I had the book, and could skill to read it. The parson shall soon show you a mort of em partly." "The parson ! " said Body contemptuously. "As for your Parson Campian, I think mighty little of him. It passes me to make out the nature of him. He s neither a good Churchman, nor a Brownist, nor yet a Banbury man. Tis neither fish nor flesh, mark me ; nor fowl neither." " Better not letten my young lady hear thee say that," answered Ralph ; " and look ye, here she comes - partly, and the young master too. Come, Body, thee must wag." So Body sprang from the gate; and exchanging salutations with Amy and her brother, as they walked up to the house, retreated unsuccessful from the scene of action. 48 THE WASHINGTON. CHAP. III. ALTHORP. As soon as reasons of consideration permitted, the Washingtons went down to Althorp in accordance with the invitations of Lord Spencer. Mistress Washing ton, however, declined to be of the party. She always felt somewhat ill at ease in the great house ; and it was a thing well understood on all sides that she was to please herself in this matter : so, availing herself of household excuses, she stayed at home that morning. Were there not the ruffs to get up, which Audrey had washed yesterday ? and ought there not to be some manchet baked, especially as John was come home for his holidays ? On ordinary occasions Amy too would have stayed with her aunt, to take her share in these household labours ; but she must on no account be left out this morning from the Althorp party, and indeed she had been specially in vited by my lord. So, before the hour when a modern day is supposed to have begun, the three Washingtons were on their road towards the mansion. ALTHORP. 40 Althorp park was at that time little more than a century old ; having been enclosed at the beginning of Henry VIII. s reign, when the Spencers first settled in that part of Northamptonshire. So much has been already said incidentally on the subject of this noble family, that a few more words will serve to complete the notice in all important points. Tracing their descent from the Despencers of Battle Abbey Eoll, and already possessed for some generations before of considerable estates in the midland coun ties, they had purchased from the Catesbys and others, about the end of Henry VII. s reign, the manors of Nobottle, Brington, Althorp, &c. ; and decided on fixing their principal seat in this new locality. Sir John Spencer therefore, the founder of the Althorp line, had enclosed the park, built the house, and enlarged the parish church, adding to it a mortuary chapel for the use of his family ; and now for five generations they had been established in their chosen home, continually increasing all the while in wealth, reputation, and influence. They had repeatedly served as knights of the shire, high sheriffs, and in other offices under the crown ; and had allied themselves by marriage with the other principal families of those parts. On the accession of James I. Sir Robert S.pencer was raised, as we have seen, to the peerage ; E 50 THE WASHINGTON S. Cecil, the lord treasurer, by whose ad vice the king was mainly guided, being duly sensible of the claims and merits which that honour was designed to recognise. We have already had occasion to notice the weight which Lord Spencer acquired both in the county and at court by his character and abilities ; and in point of wealth also he was accounted one of the first noble men in the kingdom. His lady (a Willoughby of Wollaton) had died some fifteen years before, just after the birth of Margaret the youngest daughter. She left behind her two daughters besides, and four sons. Lord Spencer, who had been tenderly attached to her, sought no comfort in another marriage ; but gave all his affection to his children, who on their part had not disappointed his care and solicitude. But in the year 1612 he had again suffered a severe loss in the death of his eldest son, who died abroad on his travels a few months before Prince Henry. Of those that remained, the eldest William, who had but re cently come of age, and the next, Eichard, who was also in early manhood, were now with their father at Althorp ; as were also Mistress Margaret, and one of the married daughters, Lady Anderson; the other, Lady Fane, being for the present at her own seat at Buston, in Kent; and the youngest son, Edward, having not yet returned from Oxford, where he was pursuing ALTHORP. 51 his studies in the University. Such was the party, together with Sir R. Anderson, Master Philip Curtis, and Amy s own father, Mr. Lawrence Washington, that was gathered on this occasion at Althorp. It was scarcely more than a mile from Little Brington to the entrance of the park ; and the pedes trians were soon within the enclosure. Within the park palings, the bottom of the valley was filled at that time with a large sheet of water, washing up to the road along which they walked, and extending almost to the walls of the house. Along the margin numbers of herons were seated, watching silently for their prey ; but, alarmed at the approach of the passers-by, they arose almost before they could be discerned themselves ; and soared on sweeping pinions to take refuge in the heronry at the upper end of the park. On either side of the water the sloping hills were richly clothed with trees, which a century s growth had sufficed to bring to a respectable size : nor were there wanting besides some clumps and rows of greater age and dignity, which had sug gested the selection of the locality at first; while here and there some monarch of the forest, oak, or beech, or ash, could have told its tales of former lords of the broad lands and forests around, Ferrerses and Peverils, whose bugle had once aroused wilder E 2 52 THE WASHIXGTOXS. game than the fallow-deer which now lay securely under its aged branches. The house had been built while still the fashion lin gered in England of selecting low sheltered positions, where water was abundant, for the site of abbeys or of castles. It was surrounded by a moat, lined with stone, and fed from the pool of water which has been de scribed, and discharging a perpetual stream down the continued slope of the valley. The house itself had no castellated features; being built, like most of the man sions of the Tudor period, with gables and bay-win dows, and a projecting entrance porch, over which was a room on the level of the first story. But the princi pal object which detained the eye was the massive gate-house, an irregular pile of buildings outside the moat, containing the various offices which were needed for a nobleman s establishment ; out of the midst of which rose a solid square tower, three stories high, and through which by an arched gateway lay the approach to the mansion. Exchanging salutations with the porter, the Wash- ingtons passed on ; and, crossing the moat, reached the front or southern door. The family and their guests had all adjourned to bowls when the visitors arrived; and following old Hugh Cranfield,* the * It will be remembered, that many Inventories and Household ALTHORP. 53 butler and usher of the Hall, they recrossed the moat on the northern side of the house, and joined the party on the bowling-green. Lord Spencer, who, with his daughters at his side, was content to look on while the others played, was the first to greet them ; and soon the friendly salutations became universal. Lawrence Washington hastened to embrace his daughter, and bestow on her a father s blessing ; and Amy was scarcely less delighted to return the em braces of the Spencer ladies. Griowing with pleasure, yet with something of maidenly timidity, her coun tenance attracted and detained the eye o f every one ; and she could not but be conscious how much she was the object of general notice; as after frankly receiving and returning the welcomes of the rest she slunk back with Margaret Spencer to a shaded corner of the green. Lawrence Washington listened with pride to Lord Spencer s hearty congratulations on what he found and would find in his daughter ; and Philip Curtis, hardly able to repress his furtive, and (as he felt) too intrusive glances, could not forbear to ex press to John his admiration of his sister an admi- books relating to Althorp at this period are still in existence. It is from this source that the description has been drawn of the servants, rooms, plate, furniture, and mode of living, both in this and the fol lowing chapters. For further particulars, see Appendix A. 3 54 THE WASHINGTON. ration which John was well pleased that every body and any body should feel. And now will any reader be cruel enough to ex pect a description of the dresses of the party, although a dozen or so in number? Let a brief general sketch be accepted instead. Those were the days before the graceful Vandyck costume was in vogue ; when the men wore high-crowned hats, ruffs closely encompassing the neck, tight-sleeved doublets, scanty cloaks or gowns, baggy breeches, slashed, and fastened with points and streaming ribbons at the knee, tight hose, and shoes with huge rosettes : and when the women adopted a very similar fashion for the upper part of the person ; save that the hats were taller, and the ruffs consider ably larger and fuller, stiffened too with yellow starch, which was still in fashion (Mrs. Turner being yet unhanged); while the stiff farthingales pushed out the dress on all sides beneath the waist. When this latter feature was wanting, and the ruff sank to scanty dimensions, as was the case among the peasantry, the female costume bore a close resemblance to that traditionary type of dress which toymakers still per petuate in the wives of the four patriarchs in every legitimately constructed Noah s Ark. For the rest, let it be remembered that the Spencer family were all in mourning ; a fact which prevented on this occa- ALTHORP. So sion that great variety of colour in the dresses which prevailed in those days, especially in England, and which was a natural consequence of the use of silks and velvets as well as cloth, by men no less than women. Nor need more be said ; except that Sir Richard Anderson was a country gentleman affecting plainness, and delighting in buff and leather ; that Philip Curtis, a fair and comely youth, with a grace ful figure, and himself something of a gallant, indulged a predilection for blue ; and that Law rence Washington, a tall upright man, of digni fied and courtly bearing, with a somewhat stern face, broad brow, and straight compressed lips, was arrayed simply but handsomely in claret-coloured velvet. John Washington alone was entitled by his age to dispense with the ruff ; and wore, as boys of more recent date, a falling collar open at the throat. Eeadily accepting Master Philip s challenge to join a game at bowls, John was soon deep in the contest, in company with the two younger Spencers ; while the ladies sometimes looked on from the grassy mound, sometimes sauntered along the alleys and the terrace in conversation with each other. Sir Eichard Anderson and the elder Washingtons engaged in more earnest discussion with their noble host, upon the topics which were then most interesting. The over- E 4 56 THE W1SHINGTONS. weening influence and worthless character of the favourite Carr, then Viscount Rochester the efforts he was making to procure a divorce for the object of his unlawful affection, Lady Essex the disgrace and imprisonment of Sir Thomas Overbury the still unsettled state of Germany, and the doubtful pros pects there of the Protestant cause, amidst the con flicting claims to the Duchies of Cleves and Juliers the condition of the Irish plantations of the city of London the poverty of the English exchequer the royal expedients for obtaining money the necessity for a parliament in the ensuing year ; all these things were of the deepest interest to Lord Spencer, as a patriot and a Protestant. And knowing that he was speaking to trustworthy hearers, he gave free utterance to his opinions, and to his know ledge of state affairs; the others gladly availing themselves of the means of information thus afforded them. " You will scarce have Prince Charles . for your neighbour now, my lord," observed Lawrence Wash ington. " Not as a settled neighbour, I think," answered Lord Spencer. " Tis judged safer to keep him nearer the court : and the Queen is mighty anxious now to have him ever within her sight. But his Majesty so ALTHORP. 57 affects Holmby, that I doubt not we shall ofttimes be visited by both." " Will the King s Majesty come hither this sum mer ? " inquired Eobert Washington. " Folks ask me that, scores of times, whenever I walk abroad. Here is many an one that would fain be touched for the evil. Can your lordship resolve us that matter aright ? " " I expect him not," replied Lord Spencer. " His progress is westward this summer, The Queen s Majesty is gone to the Bath, to take the waters. She has never lifted up her head since the prince died, poor lady! and the physicians bid her try the air and waters there. And tis settled that the King shall meet her at the Bath some weeks hence : and he will take his pleasure the while in the western country, to which he has paid scant visits as yet. I look not for him in the Midland this present year." While the gentlemen were thus conversing to gether, Amy and the ladies of the family had retired into the house, to pass in quiet the hour or two which were yet to elapse before dinner. They were glad to get apart by themselves for a time : and besides Amy had to show herself to various members of the house hold, whom she had not seen since their return from London : old friends of hers, with whom she desired 58 THE WASHINGTON. to exchange a few words of cordial greeting. There was Groodwife Segrave, busiest of womankind learned in lemon ale and distilled waters ; in violet pickles, and syrop of cowslips ; in twisted yarn, huswife cloth, and Normandy canvass who discharged the duties of what we now call the housekeeper. There was old Nurse Kempe, who had brought up the whole family from earliest childhood, rocking them all successively as babies in ee the iron cradle," which now lay in the wardrobe at the Gratehouse, beside " my lords sumpter and sumpter-cloths : " and who was fully persuaded still that the daily life of the family rested on the foundation of her ministering agency, though to all eyes but her own her usefulness was a thing less of the present than of the past. And there were various others, of lesser name and note, but who all had a place in Amy s regard, as she also in theirs. Groodwife Segrave insisted upon taking her round the house, to see how brave and comely all the chambers looked, now that the cur tains and the tapestry were hung up again, and the green baize and buckram covers taken off "the stuff." And she was led accordingly through the green hall, and the chapel, and the parlour (the room in which the family lived principally when alone) ; and upstairs to the gallery, and the great chamber, ALTHORP. 59 and the withdrawing chamber ; not to forget the little gallery, too, where Margaret s virginals stood, and where hung the wind instruments upon which her brothers were accustomed to accompany her. Then Amy must be taken to see " the chamber where her worshipful father lay ; " an apartment in which the bed furniture, the window curtains, and the covering of the chairs were all of green velvet, embroidered with the Spencer arms. The standing bedstead, decked with a vallance of turkey work, was furnished with fustian blankets, green rug, and green taffety quilt ; while by its side stood the pallet, with hum bler furniture and coverlid of twisted yarn, which was destined for the servant s use. This chamber, like all the best bedrooms, was hung with tapestry ; the design which the artificer had chosen in this case, by way of composing the mind and sweetening the slumbers of the occupant, being the " Storye of the Seaven Deadlye Sinnes." So far the goodwife was allowed to have her way without remonstrance ; but when she insisted on showing also my lord s chamber, the ladies of the house laughingly refused to follow her guidance any further. The sight to be seen in this room, was " my lord s chamber-plate ; " which, though locked up in his absence in the armoury, was now displayed in all its grandeur. There was "a CO THE WASHINGTON. silver bason and ewer, a round spitting bason, with the first coats of Spencer and Willoughby ; two por ringers with bibbs and covers, with the same coats ; two porringers, to put one within another; a tun tankard with the aforenamed coats ; a cup of plain silver, and two little cups to drink cinnamon water in; a trencher salt, two trencher plates, and a warming pan, all of silver, with the first coats of Spencer and Willoughby." Amy, however, was no sooner within the chamber, than she found that the movement was a device of good Mistress Segrave to get her alone, and express her anxiety about Margaret Spencer s state of health. "Had she marked how pale and sunken my poor young lady looked ? It was ruesome to hear her cough of nights at times ; and to see her change and flush so rapid other whiles. Mistress Amy would keep a watch, and warn those that ought to know, and did not know." Amy promised to do all she could, and indeed her own observation had already inspired some fear in her for her young friend. Nor was she sorry, when she came out of the chamber, to see old Nurse Kempe at the side of her young mistress, attacking her with a cup of clari fied whey in hand, which she insisted should be taken at once, toast and all. " I have been bustling after ye, my lady, ever since ALTHOEP. 61 I gave ye your sage and sweet butter to your breakfast. Ye were best not to go so long out of my sight, and me not knowing where ye have been. There now, sup it up. Twill do thee good, sweetheart. And rest thee quiet now, till I call thee to dinner. Bring her to the withdrawing chamber, my lady Mary. Ye can all sit there together, and I will go fetch ye the embroidery and the pins. Tis cool there and restful. And ye can talk to her, Mistress Amy, gentle and pleasant, while ye work. May be shell slumber off, and no harm neither." And the good dame, brooking no contradiction, led the party to the large airy room ; and placed her young charge on some cushions in the cool oriel window, out of the draught. And now it will not be uninteresting to examine more minutely the appearance and furniture of one or two of the principal rooms, and observe the style adopted in a wealthy nobleman s house at the beginning of the seventeenth century. The principal room for the reception and entertainment of company was the Great Chamber. The walls of this room were adorned with arras hangings, half of them represent ing the story of the Siege of St. Quentin s, the other half the story of Troy. The windows were hung with curtains of green taffety sarcenet. Down the room stretched two long tables, ready for use when meals 62 THE WASHINGTON. of ceremony were served there, with forms of wains cot to sit upon ; while behind these stood four " cupboards," not what we now understand by that word, but rather what we should call " chiffoniers," the upper surface or board of each being covered with " a carpet of turkey work." At four or five places in the room were set massive high chairs, stiffly placed, with a footstool or a foot-carpet in front of each of them ; both chair and stool magnificently covered, in one case with purple cloth of gold ; in another with black cloth of silver, laced with black silk and silver lace ; in a third with cloth of tissue ; while the more moveable seats consisted of high stools, twelve of them covered with needlework, "with the ground green and the work strawberries," others with cloth or tapestry of different patterns. The floor of the room was of plaister, covered with matting under the tables, but for the most part bare, except in spots where a foot-carpet was set, and within the recesses of the windows, in which were laid carpets of turkey work " all alike, of yellow, blue, and white, lined with black buckram." The fire-place contained a pair of great latten andirons, a pair of latten sweeps, a fire shovel and tongs of latten, arid a pair of bellows with a latten pipe, all now incased in their summer covers of yellow cotton. ALTHOKP. 63 The Withdrawing Chamber, which opened out of this larger room, was furnished in some respects after a similar fashion ; but the long tables were absent ; while at the upper end of the chamber stood a crimson velvet canopy, embroidered with the coats of Spencer and Willoughby ; the curtains and cushions belonging to it being made of the same material, and laced with gold ; as also were the covers of some of the chairs and stools in the room, and the cushions that were laid in the window seats. The curtains to the windows were of crimson taffety sarcenet ; and in the recesses of the latter were laid (as in the other room) foot- carpets of turkey work, that which lay in the great bay window, " called the cockled carpet," being of especial value in the eyes of the family, as having been the work of their relative, the old Lady Knightley. There were other stools besides, ranged in due order, two of them covered with " Irish stitch of rainbow work." A S( court cupboard " stood a,t the opposite end of the room, covered with a turkey carpet ; and towards the centre a square table, with a silk and gold China carpet upon it, (the gift of Sir Leonard Halliday*,) and with a blue cloth carpet lying under it. The fire-place was furnished as above ; and * Alderman and Lord Mayor of London in his day. Known as the purifier and embellisher of Moorfields. 64 THE WASHINGTON. the arras hangings on the walls represented the story of Jason and Medea. Here on the velvet cushions in the great bay window Margaret lay, the others drawing the Irish stools near her upon the cockled carpet ; and here they spent their time in quiet and affectionate con versation ; till twelve, the dinner hour, struck on the house clock, and the great bell at the Gatehouse summoned the various members of the establishment to their places in the hall. Lord Spencer with his family and guests were all to dine there that day, to celebrate his arrival ; and the hall had been strown with fresh rushes in honour of the occasion. " My lord s board-end," or " shovel-board," which had been for many months disused, had now been brought out again, and set upon its frame at the upper end of the hall, and was spread for the members of the family, and the worshipful guests who were to sit at meat with him there ; while the two long tables, with their benches, which filled up the remainder of the hall, were thronged, not only with the ordinary mem bers of the household, about forty in number, but with others of the park and farm servants, who were bidden to the entertainment that day, to rejoice at my lord s return. When the ladies came down into the hall, summoned ALTHORP. 65 and conducted by Nurse Kempe, they found the company increased by the addition of Master Campian, dressed in his plain black cassock or clergyman s coat. And the good pastor was cordially greeted by Lady Anderson and Mistress Margaret. As they ranged themselves in order at the board, Master Campian and the junior members of the party taking the lower places, Lord Spencer, observing that the usual distinction of seats, " above and below the salt," had been marked by placing in the centre the great salt-cellar, a large silver gilt vessel supported on pillars of the same material, ordered it to be re moved; and in its stead two "gilt trencher salts, wrought in the fashion of tortoises," were brought from the sideboard, and placed at the two ends, so as to obliterate the distinction. The table and the sideboard, covered with a fair damask cloth, were spread with a goodly show of plate and " vessel," all of silver or of silver gilt ; for my lord s return to Althorp was always marked with special signs of rejoicing. Flagons and beakers for beer and wine, with cups grouped round them, and goblets and tuns, bowls and perfuming pans, were set out in due order, emblazoned some with the family arms, others with the arms of the Grand Duke of Wurtemburg, to whom Lord Spencer had been sent by his sovereign some F 6G THE WASHINGTON S. years before as ambassador extraordinary, to invest His Serene Highness with the Order of the Grarter. When the company had taken their places, the usher cried out, "By your leaves, gentlemen, stand by : " and at the signal the cooks and servingmen entered, bringing in the dishes, which were set in crowded profusion upon the table ; and grace before meat having been said by Mr. Campian, all sat down to partake of the cheer provided for them. Ofentle reader, will you be pleased to take a seat also at my lord s board-end, and see what you think of the dinner ? Here, in this quiet corner, you need not join in the conversation ; but simply look on, and observe and taste the good cheer. First, admire the table-cloth, not so white perhaps as what you have been accus tomed to, but a beautiful piece of damask for all that one long piece, reaching from end to end. Admire, too, the napkins that are being handed to the guests, fine hollands striped with blue. You had better do with yours what others are doing tuck it under your chin ; taking care not to rumple the ruff. And now observe the substantial fare that is placed on the table, dish succeeding dish. All, you see, is here served on silver solid silver dishes gilt round the rings, some of them of a very large size ; that one, for instance, with the chine of beef, huge as ALTHORP. 67 the shield of Ajax, and with Ajax s portion laid on it. The trenchers that are set before you and the other worshipful guests are of silver also. Look down the hall to the other tables, and you will see that there all is pewter instead ; the trenchers indeed at the further end are wooden ones. Contrast, too, the bread which is given you with that which is supplied at the other tables. Yours, as you are glad to find, is wheaten bread cheat bread, we call this sort : you may have mancket, if you prefer it : but as that is made with milk, you had better stick to the cheat bread. Below my lord s board-end, they are contented with rye bread, or at best with a mixture of rye and wheat which we call household. But to return to the dishes. There are joints, both roast and boiled, w T hich you recognise at once as familiar friends : though the meat seems to you poor and ill -fed. You are puzzled, too, it must be con fessed, how to help yourself ; and how to get on even when you are helped : but we will not speak of this difficulty at present, but just make the best of it, adapting ourselves to circumstances, and doing like the rest. You have let the dumplings (it seems) pass by you untasted, and the frumety also, and are be ginning your dinner with the joints. The boiled meats, you see, are served in deep dishes, and sent F 2 68 THE WASHINGTON. up with a large quantity of the brose. The appear ance of the roasts agreeably surprises you. You would not have thought that Robert Warner and his kitchen boys could roast so well without coal fires. But the truth is that Eobert has coals " pit-coals " we call them and he has grates in his kitchen specially adapted to the purpose, grates made with iron bars " to keep the coals from the dripping-pans." Our coals come from Bedworth, a little beyond Co ventry : and the first load for this year (1613) has just come in ; the roads now, at the end of May, having become hard enough to allow of the wains bringing in a few hundred-weight. Your impression of the excellence of the roast being thus confirmed, you will do well to confine yourself to that, and to the boiled meat, rather than venture on any of those unknown dishes which are offered you. The stews, and the made dishes (to use a term very appropriate in this case) you will find an extraordinary medley of discordant flavours, spice, and olives, and verjuice, and things beyond conjec ture ; and all most unpleasantly saturated with but ter. Butter, indeed, as you will soon discover, is your chief enemy at this table. You can hardly escape from it. The few vegetables, between which your choice lies ? carrots, and parsnips, and green ALTHOEP. 69 peas, which have just begun to come in, are rendered uneatable by the unsparing use of this adjunct; and to make bad worse, silver saucers full of the same, but variously compounded, are going about offering you their unctuous contents. Happily you can fall back on the sallets ; both what you would understand by the word, and what you would rather call pickles. Potatoes you look for in vain, though they are already known in England. It will be twenty years yet before the first dish of these rare vegetables is seen at Althorp, served up for his Majesty King Charles I. Observing the lavish use of butter in the cookery here, and remembering Mistress Margaret s breakfast, you will not be surprised to hear that it is no un common thing for this household, though hardly numbering fifty in all, to consume about 200 pounds of butter in a week. Most of the dishes, you will observe, after they have passed my lord s board-end, are sent down to-day in honour of the occasion to the lower tables ; ap pearing there however upon pewter vessel. The more choice of these vanish upon the second table ; but the more substantial endure, and resist the on slaught of the third. Examine one or two of the dishes before they disappear. Those two pies, one in a square and the other in a round pie-dish, are made F 3 70 THE WASHINGTON. respectively of green geese, and of neat s feet. You need not taste them, if you are afraid. And, wise after the first experiment, you will reject all the singular looking messes that are offered you ; whether they come under the homely names of collops and of gobbins, or court your favour under the more attractive titles of Capitolado, Florentine, and Brodo Lardiero. And now, what will you drink ? There is the ordi nary beer, circulating freely round the hall in jacks, brewed of good malt and hops, both grown on the estate. And there is March beer, if you prefer that, brewed of malted wheat and peas, and flavoured with divers herbs. Yonder flagon, too, contains good claret ; and that smaller beaker sherry sack ; both drawn from the wood. A cup of either will merit your approbation. After dinner Canary will be served besides, and Muscadine. Are you ready for a second course ? You were not prepared for anything so substantial. For you find that the poultry is mostly served in the second course ; and the fish also, of which there is abundance ; as well as the sweets. You have little appetite now, except what arises from curiosity ; and you readily pass over the capons and the ducks, which are no novelties to you. But try this singular looking fowl, which is just offered you. It tastes like a leveret, you say. Well, ALTHORP. 71 others have said so too. It is a young heron; a favourite standing dish in this house. You look round in vain either for peacocks or for swans to-day. They are reserved for grander entertainments than the pre sent. You see too we have puddings at dinner ; yes, and tarts also. The ee tart stuff," it is true, is rather a weak point at all times ; and especially at this season, when no fruit is to be had, unless the cater has managed to secure a few cherries. If not, the cook has done his best with conserve of barberries, and con serve of sloes, or of hips. You do not much fancy these ; nor are you greatly tempted by the look of the plum puddings, bag puddings, as we call them of the buttered barley, nor even of the junket, or of the " quaking pudding," which nevertheless may be recommended as light and simple. You have taken some of that jelly, however, after hesitating a little. What do you think it is made of ? Nay, start not : cunning chemists have not yet invented gelatine and its kindred abominations. It is made out of an old cock. Why not calves feet ? you ask. Eobert War ner smiles at your simplicity. He too uses calves 1 feet ; but they were at the bottom of one of those buttery dishes, full of grated bread and miscellaneous ingredients, which you rejected with disgust. And now, last of all, comes the third course, or dessert, F 4 72 THE WASHIXGTO?s T S. dried fruits, and comfits, and gingerbread white and brown, served in " gilt bowls made after the fashion of cracknells ; " with a fine March-pane in the middle as the chief dish, a round cake, you see, with a raised border of sugar, made up with almond paste and rose-water. Many of these details appear strange enough to a guest of the nineteenth century. To the company actually assembled at Althorp they seemed part of the natural order of things. For them too, however, the entertainment had a striking novelty. This was a mode of carving which had just been introduced from Italy into London by some spruce gallants of the nobility lately returned from their travels, and which now Lord Spencer insisted on all his guests making trial of. For " the Italians, and also most strangers that are commorant in Italy, doe always at their meals use a little fork when they eat their meat. For while with their knife, which they hold in one hand, they cut the meat out of the dish, they fasten the fork which they hold in their other hand upon the same dish ; so that whosoever he be that sitting in the company of others at meat should unadvisedly touch the dish of meat with his fingers from which all at the table doe cut, he will give occasion of offence unto the company, as having ALTHORP. 73 transgressed the lawes of good manners; insomuch that for his error he shall be at the least brow beaten, if not reprehended in wordes. The reason of this their curiosity is because the Italian cannot by any means indure to have his dish touched with fingers, seeing all men s fingers are not alike cleane." * This singular custom Lord Spencer now introduced to his guests, having brought down from London for the purpose " two silver forks, parcell gilt," made to match his " Twelve Apostles spoones." And great was the merriment produced by the enforcement of the new fashion at my lord s board, and at the ill success which one guest after another had in cutting a piece of the size or shape that he intended : Mr. Eobert Washington observing that " twas hard to have that imposed by constraint, which, when ad ventured by the servants of the priest, was murmured at, and justly, by the people; to wit, that he should come with a flesh-hook of three teeth in his hand, and strike it into the pan or caldron or pot, and take all -that the flesh-hook brought up." In spite of the use of the two forks, it was not found, when the great gilt basons and ewers went round, that the hands of the company needed the ablution less than usual. However all were highly pleased * Coryat s Crudities, London, 1611. A passage often quoted. 74 THE WASHINGTON. with their entertainment, which was pronounced " a delicate one, and a toothsome ; " and the party was in great glee when, the cloth being removed, Lord Spencer arose to bid his friends heartily welcome, and to pledge them all in a loving cup of Canary, raising to his lips as he spoke " a very high great cup, with a cover of curious work, having the Duke of Wur- temburg s arms on the cover," one of the gifts of that prince to him on the occasion specified above. Mr. Campian, now that dinner was over, begged to be excused staying to drink healths ; as he had duties in the parish which called for his attention. Amy Washington too thought it incumbent on her to return to her aunt ; and offered to accompany him across the park, proposing to her brother also that he should come with them ; an arrangement which was readily sanctioned by the elder Washingtons, who wished to have some private conversation together on family business ; and especially by Mr. Eobert, who wanted to consult his brother about a desire he had conceived, to try his luck in the Virginia lottery, a project for the benefit of the rising American plan tation which had that year been sanctioned by King James ; and the general interest in which had just received a fresh impulse from the story of the Princess Pocahontas, now for the first time related in England ALTHORP. 75 her self-devoted exertions in saving Captain Thomas Smith, and her subsequent marriage with Master John Eolfe. Lord Spencer himself had become an adventurer ; and Eobert Washington wished for his brother s advice about becoming one also. Nor was he uninfluenced by the hope of enjoying undisturbed his pipe of tobacco an indulgence which was strictly forbidden him on the premises at home, Mistress Washington having as strong an aversion as his Ma jesty himself to the use of that noxious weed. So the three took their way across the park in the direction of Great Brington, mounting the bank on the side of the pool, opposite to that along which the house had been approached that morning. As they walked, the clergyman began to question his young friend about his life at school, his studies, his employments, and his associates. John answered him freely, and without embarrassment; and Mr. Cam- pian noticed with pleasure the openness and hearti ness which marked all he said. He was satisfied that no habits of deceit or vice had tainted his young friend s character; that the affections of the heart were unchecked by real coarseness or assumed indif ference, and its simplicity unperverted by the selfish pursuit of personal interests or comforts. So he listened with real sympathy to his detail of boyish 76 THE WASHINGTON. experiences, and his eager avowal of youthful hopes and expectations. All this was somewhat dis appointing to Amy. She was not pleased that Mr. Campian should take so much interest in what ap peared to her so trifling ; that he should not turn the conversation at once to higher topics, and lead her brother (with a skill in which she felt herself defi cient, but which she was sure Mr. Campian possessed) to reflect on the real significance of life, and even in childhood to begin to put away childish things. Above all, she was surprised and really distressed, when, upon the question of the play being again brought up, she found that Mr. Campian took John s view of the case rather than her own, and carefully avoided suggesting to the boy scruples or principles at variance with the school arrangements. " There is much in those plays, however, (he added) which thou wilt eschew thyself as thou growest older and wiser, and which even now thou must discern in a measure. Bear this ever in mind, my good lad. The deeds and words of these characters have little in them that should profit us, much that we must avoid. How should it be otherwise ? These be heathen men and women, walking by such light which heathen had. Nevertheless, what grieveth me most is that they who have a better light should clean forget it, and walk ALTHORP. 77 as though they had it not. The plays that are writ now-a-days, in what are they better than those of the heathen ? Nay, it seemeth me that for the most part they are worse. Master Jonson, and Master Mas- singer, (that I speak not of my own namesake Master Thomas Campian, and many others), I see not that they be one whit more Christian than Terentius or Plautus. Nay, if I set Terentius by the side of Master Jonson, methinks the heathen hath the better of the two. He is less corrupt, less evil-tongued ; and hath more of tenderness and gentleness, more of what is lovely and of good report to draw the minds of youth to an assimilation thereunto." And he expressed his pleasure at hearing that the Andria was the play which was appointed for the ensu ing winter ; dwelling on the good points of it, yet touching briefly on the unchristian estimate of some essentials of morality contained both in that comedy, and in the Phormio, which had been last performed ; observing impressively, that these were to a Christian mind things of immeasurable importance. Amy said but little, only partially reassured by the turn which the conversation had taken at last ; and Mr. Campian, who had from the beginning of their walk divined her feelings, and who saw moreover pretty well what was the state of things between the brother and sister, 78 THE WASHINGTON S. determined within himself to secure some conversa tion with her before more harm was done ; and turned over in his mind how he should contrive to detain her alone, and send on her brother without exciting the boy s suspicions. Mr. Campian lodged in a farm-house at Great Brington ; the master and mistress of which, Simon and Elizabeth Marson, were his old and faithful friends. On his return to the parish in 1610, he had stipulated that he should not occupy the chaplain s apartments in the Gatehouse at Althorp, which Mr. Chamberlayne had vacated ; not only because he looked forward to the time when age and infirmity would make it necessary for him to be close to the church ; but because a chaplain s position in those days among the retainers arid servants of a great house, however kind and considerate the family them selves might be, was painful to a sensitive mind. Lord Spencer had readily acceded to this arrange ment; but with delicate consideration continued to leave the apartments vacant, reminding his chaplain from time to time that the choice was still open to him ; for he knew how much the change would benefit him financially. But in any case Mr. Campian could not now have made up his mind to leave his old friends, the Mar- ALTHOEP. 79 sons ; who on their part would gladly have boarded and lodged him free of expense, could they have done so without offering violence to his feelings. Simon Marson was a man of scanty education, and blunt manners ; who had raised himself to his present position by integrity, industry, and sound judgment in his business. Beginning life as a working car penter, he had employed a small capital thus amassed in dealing both in timber and stone ; and, having more recently become the tenant of a small farm of Lord Spencer s, had proved successful in this under taking also. He was a man of few words, and feel ings well under control, though genuine and deep as hidden springs of action. Every one respected the sturdy wiry little man, who never broke an engage ment or failed in an appointment : and whose bow- legged figure might be seen, moving slowly but punctually in the discharge of the duties he had assigned himself, at whatever hour you might choose to watch him. His wife, on the contrary, was a woman of quick feelings and ready tongue ; suscep tible, impulsive, and arbitrary in temper ; often giv ing offence to her neighbours, yet trusted and valued by all who sufficiently knew her warm and generous heart. She was possessed of considerable talents moreover ; and these had been cultivated by an 80 THE WASHINGTON. education such as few others in the place had enjoyed. Their elder children, of whom they had several, were already out in the world ; except Ellen, a daughter just entering on womanhood, who helped her mother in the work of the house and dairy : but they had two sons at home, Will and Hal, the elder about eight years of age, two bullet-headed close-cropped boys, with round smooth faces and sparkling black eyes, uniting the characteristics of both their parents ; and so like one another, that, though there was an interval of some two years between them, and a dif ference in height nearly proportionate to their age, you had always a difficulty, if you met either sepa rately, to say which of the two it was ; and were obliged to make a mental computation whether the urchin reached your elbow or your breast before you could resolve the doubt. A momentary mistake was constantly made between them, sometimes even by their parents ; and it was a standing joke among the neighbours. Mr. Robert Washington called them laughingly, " Will and Shall" They were always dressed alike : in a costume closely resembling that which the Blue-coat school boys are still condemned to; though without the same variety of colour in the gar ments, sad brown on Sundays, and grey on week-days being the uniform tint of doublet, breeches, and hose. ALTHORP. 81 Such was the family with which Mr. Campian lodged. He took his meals with them, and lived in all respects as one of themselves ; conducting family prayer in the morning, before he went down to Althorp to perform the chapel service there; and spending part of his time in teaching Will and Hal, who had already made some progress in the Latin accidence, and were promising proficients in Scriptural learning, and some other branches of knowledge, not forgetting King Edward s Catechism of 1553. The one element of discord in the house arose from Mistress Marson s theological bias, which was that of the most uncompromising Puritanism. She had been deeply impressed, and greatly benefited by Mr. Campian s ministry, during his first residence at Brington ; but during the interval of his absence she had been led to embrace the principles of the party disaffected to the Church ; and now she regarded her pastor, though with much affection, yet as one but partially enlightened, and guilty of unworthy com pliance with antichristian ceremonies. The "rag of Popery " which he wore on Sundays, the super stitious sign which he made over children in baptism, were deeply offensive in her eyes. She could not bring herself to kneel at the Communion ; and indeed had a dislike to the use of " prayer from the book " a 82 THE WASHINGTON. altogether ; points, all of them, on which Mr. Campian had a decided preference for the practice of the Church ; though anxious to see a large toleration extended to others in matters comparatively indif ferent, and in which he believed that an acknowledge ment of their indifference would do more than any thing else to produce agreement on all sides. Mistress Marson did not absent herself from the parish church on Sundays ; nor even altogether from the Communion : for outward separation was attended in those days with consequences of which we in our time have happily no experience. And indeed her own inclination would still have ensured such attend ance, even had no legislative constraint been added. Bnt she always went over on Thursday evenings to Long Buckby, a village some three miles distant; where it was well known that " the brethren " met regularly for prayer and prophesyings at Obadiah Bate s house. And though some of the neighbouring clergy, and others of the stricter churchmen cried shame at the tacit permission of this conventicle, the magistrates of those parts had hitherto shut their eyes to its existence ; nor had the several church wardens of the parishes around " presented " any one for attendance there. There was no disposition on the part of the Brington officials to interfere with ALTHOKP. 83 Elizabeth Marson ; whom they regarded with kindli ness, not altogether unmixed with compassionate contempt. Simon himself, indeed, had been church warden in his turn ; but for the last two or three years he had declined to serve, out of deference to his wife, who regarded the office and its name as alike unscripturaL Mistress Marson was thoroughly acquainted with her Bible ; and, like others of her views, she was ever forward to apply it, in the letter as well as the spirit, to all the affairs of daily life. For this, as well as other reasons, she was greatly put out by the new translation of the Bible, which had been published a year or two before ; and strongly condemned it as an unworthy and mischievous novelty. In this respect she shared the feelings of a large mass of the nation ; probably of the great majority of the less educated classes, as well as of very many above them. For the same prejudices which resist any improvement now in this matter, and invest King James s transla tion with almost " miraculous virtue, operated then to blind men to its superiority over its predecessors, and to make them regard its introduction as a danger ous innovation. Elizabeth Marson, like the great majority of the people, was deeply attached to the Geneva version ; the words and phrases of which were G 2 84 THE WASHINGTON. to her the very utterances of inspiration ; and even the Bishops Bible, which had hitherto been the one autho rised to be read in churches, (and their dissatisfac tion with which had induced the Puritan leaders to ask for a revision of the Scriptures), though very inferior in her eyes to her own domestic treasure, appeared to be equally preferable to the strange book which now claimed to supersede all other versions. Not of course that her treasure was taken from her, nor even denounced by authority; for the rulers of the Church showed a wise discretion in this respect, and quietly waited in all confidence for the superiority of the new translation to commend itself to the judg ment of all men, and so to work its way silently to universal acceptance. But the mere introduction of this strange version, and its public recital in church, was a grief and a scandal to Mistress Elizabeth Marson. Its readings of some texts had already dis comfited her in her discussions with Mr. Campian. And its adoption was in her eyes a new offence on the part of the Established Church. The dedication of the translators to King James was a composition not calculated, it must be confessed, to commend the book to the mind of a suspicious reader ; and Mistress Marson did not hesitate to accuse them of "walking in craftiness and handling the word of God deceit fully/ 1 ALTHOKP. 85 When Mr. Campian and his companions reached the house, there was no one at home but Ellen. The boys were afield with their father ; and mother was gone to Buckby; for indeed was it not Thursday afternoon? as Amy and Mr. Campian recollected, ex changing a look of intelligence. They entered the parlour, a low but comfortably spacious room, neatly strown with rushes, which Mr. Campian was allowed to use almost exclusively, and to consider for all practical purposes as his own. Yet Mistress Marson would at times assert her claim to it : and by way of keeping up her right, would on occasion convert it into a laundry or a salting-room, giving no notice to her lodger of her intentions. She generally selected Saturday for these demonstrations, because they would be marked and remembered more especially on that day by a clergyman ; and when Mr. Campian came down in the morning, he would find the many- coloured flags of the invader waving triumphantly through the length and breadth of the apartment, or the salting pans ranged on tressels and planks, where the previous evening had beheld the stools and the table as usual. Mistress Marson justified these measures on other grounds besides the vindication of her own just rights. Ought not a painful minister to be prepared for all contingencies ? and to be able o 3 36 THE WASHINGTON. to study under all circumstances alike ? And where had holy men of old to betake themselves ? Was not Isaac fain to meditate in the fields ? Did not Peter go up to the house-top ? Mr. Campian would on such occasions retire silently and contentedly to his chamber ; where, indeed, he kept the greater part of his little library in his chest ; and where he had a three-legged table and a stool for the purposes of reading or writing; these, together with a truckle bed and a coffer, constituting the whole furniture of his sleeping room, Amy was in haste to get home to her aunt, and hesitated to enter the house at all : but Mr. Cam pian, as we have seen, was anxious to get a few words with her alone ; and, casting about for an expedient to this end, was glad to remember that Widow Ro- byns had sent to him that morning, with a minute description of her inward ailments, and a request that he would send her some stuff to do her good ; so he begged Amy to stop, that she might leave at the cottage as she passed the simples that he should gather from the garden, and might see them if pos sible properly concocted in the widow s pipkin on the fire. John (he suggested) had better run home, and account to his aunt for this further delay. Mr. Cam pian had considerable knowledge of medicine, such ALTHORP. 87 medicine as was understood and practised in those days ; and, with the hearty concurrence of the Mar- sons, he had set apart a large piece of the garden for the cultivation of various simples then in use, and which could not be gathered (as others could be), in the lanes and hedgerows ; nor were many drugs con sumed in the parish, accordingly, but those which thus grew on parochial soil. Acting on the suggestion made to him, John started at once with all alacrity to return to Little Brington ; and took his way through the yard, tossing little Will Marson over his shoulder as he went. For Will was sitting on the gate, in the grey dittos, with his back towards him, unaware of his approach, and intently watching a sow with her litter of young ones dis porting themselves in the road. And what could a schoolboy therefore do, but catch Will by the middle, before his approach was perceived, and fling him backwards with a summersault over his shoulders ? The little fellow stood staring in bewilderment with open eyes and open mouth at the retreating form of his unknown assailant, utterly unable to give an answer to the question, " Art Hal or Will ? " which was flung back at him in his perplexity. Mr. Campian, meanwhile, having secured his op portunity, led Amy into conversation on the subject G 4 88 THE WASHINGTONS. which had engaged his interest so deeply. He had seen enough of the intercourse between brother and sister, to make him fear for the future ; and he was most anxious to restore the affectionate confidence which seemed to be in danger. He had no difficulty in drawing out from Amy a full avowal of her feelings and misgivings on the subject: and he proceeded to re-assure her, giving her what he believed to be sounder principles for her guidance in the treatment of her brother. It was unreasonable (he showed her) to expect to find in him all that she looked for. Welcome as such a result would be, and right perhaps as it might be to desire it, such was not for the most part the growth of character in the formation of Christian manhood : and whatever seemed by (rod s appointment to be the law of growth, that let us humbly and patiently accept as the best and fittest. That law, then, in a state of society where Christianity was already recognised and professed, seemed to be that the roots of a boy s character should first strike deep into the soil of morality and sound judgment should find their free developement, in contact with the duties of life, and with those among whom such duties lay, learning in all to repress the evil and choose the good in accordance with the principles which the Bible itself appealed to. Where we found this pro- ALTHORP. 89 cess going on, there let [us thankfully believe that a better hand than ours was at work. Let us fear to offer violence to the process, lest we check instead of promoting the end we have in view. He confi dently trusted that her brother was now steadily pursuing the divinely ordered course following the law of duty ; and gaining, as he advanced, deeper and truer views of that duty, deeper and truer views of his own deficiencies. This was a course which by (rod s blessing would lead to convictions more tho roughly and decidedly Christian. He would be led in due time to see more fully the significance of the Word of Grod, which even now he accepted and re vered with evident simplicity of mind ; enabled to desire, and lay hold of, the grace and help of which it witnessed. Let not Amy be looking now for spiritual tastes and feelings, for which the season was not yet come. Let her not distress herself by always bring ing that defect to view, always calling her brother s attention to what he was in fact incapable of at present. She would better promote the object of her desires, better glorify Him who rules all hearts and minds, by encouraging her brother with her sympathy, by developing his taste and choice for all that was honest and true and lovely and excellent, by cherishing and cultivating the warm affections of his heart. Be her 90 THE WASHINGTON. aspirations and her prayers for him what they might, let her not fear in her intercourse with him to follow what assuredly her own heart prompted, and deal with him in all hopefulness and confidence as well as love. Amy listened with much interest to all that her pastor said, assenting to the truth of the principles thus laid before her. She felt that they delivered her from a sore perplexity ; and relieved her from a painful conflict of discordant duties. She determined to follow Mr. Campian s advice ; and soon found the beneficial effects of doing so, in the return of confi dence and unconstraint on her brother s part. John had in truth been both perplexed and irritated with his sister s manner to him at times, and the remarks she had thrown out. But, finding that she no longer suggested scruples or considerations which he did not understand, he once more opened his heart to her freely, and listened with readiness and respect to her suggestions in practical matters. Indeed, after a while, when Amy ventured to express a wish that John should stand up with the young people of the parish to be catechised in church ; as she herself, and even the younger Spencers, had been accustomed to do in their time ; she had the pleasure of receiving from him a not unwilling assent: and Mr. Campian \ ALTHORP. 91 was delighted, on the second Sunday after his young friend s arrival, to see him come forward with the junior members of the congregation, to be questioned and instructed like the rest. 92 THE WASHINGTON^. CHAP. IV. BOUGHTON GREEN FAIE. THE days of June passed happily at Althorp. Though it was not a good time of year for field sports, even in those days, yet the young men found a good deal of occupation in this line to amuse themselves with : and this was a great delight to John Washington in particular, who never had so rich an opportunity of enjoying such amusements before, since he had grown old enough to take part in them himself. The principal sport which the season allowed in that district of England was the otter hunt ; and the party were often out for the day with the otter hounds on one or other of the branches of the Nen : Master Eobert Washington, with a true angler s horror of the victim of the chase, not only encourag ing them, but readily consenting to accompany them on such occasions. The buck season had not yet begun ; but, before John s holidays had come to an end, he was introduced to this department of hunt ing also. Mounted on horseback, spear in hand, he BOUGHTON GKEEN FAIE. 93 rode after the hounds; who, trained to follow the keeper s directions, proceeded in couples, two or more at a time, to run down the particular buck which he singled out from the herd ; the sportsman s business being to overtake the game, as soon as it was pulled down by the hounds, to prevent them from tearing it, and give the fatal blow himself. Or sometimes, concealed amongst the branches of a tree, under which the deer were driven, he was taught to pick off the intended victim with a bolt from his cross-bow ; the care of the pursuers being so to isolate the object of their chase, that aim might be taken at it without hazard to the others. Beyond the in- closure of the park also, another mode of hunting was practised. In the woods at Nobottle, or else where, a certain range of bushes and thicket was covered with nets; and towards this spot all game and vermin alike was driven by a party of men and boys, beating the woods as they continually con tracted their circle. Hares, rabbits, foxes, squirrels, and other creatures, thus entrapped, unless they succeeded in clearing or breaking through the in- closure, were then despatched, as they struggled in the nets, with cudgels flung at them, or bolts shot from cross-bows; the sportsmen using their discre tion as to which should be destroyed, and which 94 THE WASHINGTON. spared for the nonce.* Nor was the amusement of hawking altogether omitted : for, though woodcocks * If these descriptions be pronounced a libel on Northamptonshire sporting habits, the blame must rest on the paintings executed in this very year (1613) upon the interior walls of the Hunting or Hawking Stand described in Chapter V. Hardly any remains of these paintings are now to be seen ; as they were taken down from the walls under the direction of Dr. Dibdin, when librarian at Althorp, and perished through want of sufficient care. But his brief account of them in the " ^Edes Althorpianse," which has been followed in the text, is confirmed by the park-keeper and other eye-witnesses. With regard to foxes, though they ranked above the beasts of " rascal chase " in the ancient laws of venery, they shared the second rank only in common with martens and badgers ; or indeed, according to another mode of classification, were con sidered as beasts " of the stinking foot," in company with polecats, weasels and similar animals. Gervaise Markham, a Nottinghamshire gentleman of this period, who was well acquainted with North amptonshire also, gives the following directions for fox-hunting, in his " Country Contentments," after treating at much greater length of the stag, the buck, and the hare. " Now for the hunting of the fox or badger, they are chases of a great deal less use or cunning than any of the former, because they are of much hotter sent, as being intituled stinking serits, and not sweet sents ; and indeed very few dogges, but will hunt them with all eagerness ; therefore I will not stand much upon them, but will advise you to respect well their haunts and coverts, which commonly is in woods and bushy places, and to take knowledge of their earths and kennels ; and, as near as you can, when you goe about to hunt them, to stop their kennels ; and keep them out that fling forth, that they may be the sooner brought to their destruction. The chase is profitable and pleasant for the time, insomuch as there are not so many defaults, but is a continuing sport: yet not so much desired as the rest, because BOUGHTON GEEEN FAIR. 95 and other such game could not be taken till the season should arrive, and though the noblest of all quarries, the heron, was still spared in obedience to Lord Spencer s directions, who intended to inaugurate the sport that year (as will presently be seen) by a special field-day, yet the hawks were sometimes flown at a wild pigeon or a rook ; and some foretaste was enjoyed of a pleasure, the full indulgence of which was not deferred without impatience. On all these occasions Body was in his glory : for, whenever an extra hand was wanted, Body was always the first to be called in ; and when many were assembled, he was the one to be placed in charge and authority ; ever ready, dexterous, and full of glee and self- confidence, and well acquainted with every nook of the woods, and with the habits of every beast and bird that had its haunts within them. The party was now increased by the return of Edward Spencer, the youngest of the brothers, from Oxford ; the summer vacation having commenced at that University. He would sometimes join the others there is not so much art and cunning. And thus much for chases, and the general use of all kind of Hunting." The estimation which foxes then enjoyed at Althorp may be gathered from an entry in the Household books, May 1, 1634: "Paid to Mr. Elmes his huntsmen that came to kill the foxe, 5 shillings." 96 THE WASHINGTON S: in their manly exercises ; but not unfrequently he would stay behind, and walk up to the village in stead, to pass the time in conversation with Master Campian. There was a bond of peculiar affection and confidence between the clergyman and the young student ; whose thoughtful countenance and grave demeanour showed, even to a casual observer, an earnestness and elevation of character not often met with in one of his age and position in life. From early years Edward Spencer had given his heart to high and holy influences. He had passed through his school-days at Winchester, uncontaminated with the vices or even the follies of boyhood : and sub sequently at Oxford the devotional habits of heart and mind had been still further developed, and now coloured all the purposes and prospects of his life. The University of Oxford had not yet been carried away by the counter-Eeformation movement; though Dr. Laud and his coadjutors were strenuously en gaged in urging it forward, backed by the influence of the Court, and of the Chancellor of the University the Lord-Keeper Egerton. For, though Laud him self was hitherto regarded with disfavour by the Court party, who isliked any kind of religious en thusiasm, and were more especially hostile to the Papists, yet their instinctive aversion to Puritanism BOUGHTON GREEN FAIR. 97 was still greater ; and the Chancellor had recently issued injunctions for the detection and punishment of the obnoxious sentiments. Still, within the walls of Oxford itself the conflict was maintained on nearly equal terms. Dr. Robert Abbot, Regius Professor of Divinity, and brother to the Primate, was usually regarded as the leader of the Puritans ; or at least as their great patron and supporter : and several of the University officers, and of the heads of colleges, were more or less imbued with the same opinions. So that indeed, both Dr. Laud, and Dr. John Howson his principal coadjutor, had been publicly censured not long before for ebullitions of indiscreet and ex travagant zeal. The influence also of the great Reynolds still survived in the University, and exer cised no common power. That illustrious divine, the friend of Hooker, and his equal in learning and piety, had enjoyed probably a still greater reputa tion with his cotemporaries than the author of the Ecclesiastical Polity ; and certainly possessed a more remarkable power of winning and controlling those among whom he was thrown, by the force and sweetness of his own personal character. Hundreds of young men sat at his feet, looking up to him with grateful veneration as their guide and spiritual father ; a long list of whom are mentioned in his last H 98 THE WASHINGTONS. will and testament with affectionate interest : and the impression thus produced was not one which could easily be obliterated, even with the aid of the Court. Dr. Reynolds had been President of Corpus, the college to which Edward Spencer belonged : and his influence still showed itself more especially in that society, Sebastian JBenfield and Daniel Featley being the two most eminent of the Fellows who still perpetuated it there. Edward Spencer s devout and ardent mind was naturally attracted by the loftier character and more spiritual doctrine of the Puritans : just as the oppo site system, while attracting some few of the nobler spirits, commended itself generally to those whose taste and principles w r ere congenial to the tone of the Court and the drama of that day. A young man was not likely to be either able or willing to discriminate very accurately between the excellencies and the faults of the school to which he had attached himself; and finding how hostile the prelatical party were for the most part to those whom he regarded as the salt of the earth, Edward Spencer was inclined to those views of Church discipline also, which were already leading to the rise of the Independents. On all these subjects he loved to talk with Mr. Cam- pian : and the good clergyman, while rejoicing over BOUGHTON GEEEX FAIR. 99 his young friend s pure and holy character, strove to check his tendencies to speculations which he deemed superfluous, and laboured to separate in his mind the essentials of Christianity from things which seemed to be among its temporary or questionable acces sories. There was another of the young men also, who absented himself not unfrequently from the amuse ments of his companions. Philip Curtis had found an engrossing object of attraction ; which drew him in heart continually, and not unfrequently in pre sence also, to a certain house at Little Brington. He had not ventured to avow to any one the true reason of his visits there; and indeed laboured studiously to conceal it. He was seized (it appeared) with a sudden passion for fishing ; and, like Venator in Walton s Angler, professed his desire to sit as a scholar at the feet of an experienced master of that art. Now, as Body was so much occupied with the hunting parties, it surely was but reasonable and right that Philip should accompany Master Washing ton in the fishing expeditions ; and of course it was natural to call the day before also, and make arrange ments, and take lessons about preparing the baits. These lessons at home interested the scholar still more than those abroad ; and then there was Juliana H 2 100 THE WASHINGTON S. Berners s Treatise on Angling to be consulted in the parlour. Master Washington s library was not a very extensive one : the treatise above-mentioned, besides Gerard s Herbal, and a few volumes of Di vinity, constituting his whole stock of books. But there were two or three loose plays also of Master William Shakspere s, which proved a great discovery for Philip Curtis : for, finding that Master Washing ton was a great admirer of that dramatist, and having often been himself at the Giobe Theatre, he was fond of telling stories about the plays he had seen there, and the actors who had performed them, and answer ing the questions which his host was never tired of asking; and then it was but fair that the ladies also should be present on such occasions, especially as Mistress Washington took so much pleasure in hearing about the Court and the Town. And thus a great part of Master Curtis s time was spent at the little house, and he became a private favourite with the master and mistress. Not that they were simple enough to be quite blind to the real state of the case : but they saw plainly that Amy herself was altogether unconscious of it ; and having communicated their suspicions to her father, and having learned from him that he would be willing and glad to coun tenance the young man s addresses, they saw no BOUGHTON GREEX ^AIS. XOl reason either to interrupt or to precipitate the natural progress of the courtship. John Washington and his youcg companions only wondered at Philip s new taste for fishing, which they thought a very tedious amusement themselves. And so the month went on ; Amy s father, before the end of it, being obliged to take his departure, and proceed on a visit which he had to pay to his friend Sir William Villiers at Brokesby in Leicestershire. Lord Spencer himself seldom took part in the amusements of his sons : and Sir E. Anderson was generally his companion in his special pursuits. Before dinner he was occupied for the most part with magisterial and other local business ; and in the afternoon his strong taste for agriculture made it a constant delight to him to ride about the country, and see how things were going on ; especially on his own home-farm at Muscot, some two miles off, and on the glebe land, which he had taken in hand for the Rector. He would ride about on his little cob palfrey, sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by his bailiff; and thus he would plan improvements, and superintend the progress of the various works in hand ; always entering with frankness and genuine sympathy into conversation with his workmen, and with the people of the country whom he met ; all of H 3 lt>fc - THE WASHINGTON. whom valued a few words from my lord, and were sure to get them kind, manly, unaffected words; showing the heart and head of one who was fitted to exercise authority, and control the fortunes of his fellow-men, and to whom all yielded with un grudging confidence and loyalty the place which Providence had given him. Lord Spencer never allowed himself to drop behind the agricultural improvements of the day : and the system he had adopted gave employment to many of the women of the villages around, as well as to their husbands and fathers. He had introduced the cultivation of hops, both at Muscot farm and in Althorp park : and troops of women were wanted in the hop-grounds, in the spring and early summer, for weeding and tying. Then the meadows had to be doited : and, in the parts of the park which were laid for hay, care must be taken to gather the sticks, and rake up the arts, the litter, that is, that lay on the ground where the cattle had been foddered in the winter. And in the early part of June, the women were busy in weeding the young quickset hedges ; fresh portions of which Lord Spencer added, year by year, to the enclosures on his estate. June was a busy month with him. The oxen and the swine had all to be blooded and drenched ; and BOUGHTON GREEN FAIR. 103 not these only, but the trees had to be blooded too : for it was reasonably concluded, that, if periodical bleeding was so beneficial to the brute creation, and so indispensable to the human frame, surely it would be most salutary to vegetable subjects also. At any rate ought not the experiment to be made ? So the trees were blooded accordingly. And then came sheep-shearing, with its preparatory (lagging and washing : no small business from first to last. It was the popular belief that my lord could never raise his flocks to a total of 1 00,000 sheep : though he had often advanced to within one of that number. After that point, progress was inexorably debarred ; and the attempt to complete the fatal number im mediately led to a retributive mortality. When sheep-shearing was over, he made it a great point to have his mowing and haymaking fairly begun, if possible, before Bough ton Green fair on St. John Baptist s day: and both men and women worked all the harder and more cheerfully for the visits he would pay to the hay-field. Lord Spencer treated his labourers liberally. Besides the regular pay (six pence a day for men, and three-pence for women) he would kill two or three sheep to regale them on such occasions ; besides supplying them amply with beer, and plenty of bread to eat with it excellent bread, H 4 104 THE WASHINGTON. such as was not often to be had by labourers in those days,, half of barley and half of rye ; and at the con clusion would hire "a minstrel," to make merry for them: often coming himself with a party from Althorp, to take part in the final rejoicings. The intercourse in those days between the different classes of society was for the most part freer and less constrained than at present : though happily, in this respect, the old and better customs are now very generally returning. And yet we must not forget that the evil, which has been so often, and not unjustly complained of, is nevertheless in great measure the effect and the proof of what is in itself an undoubted good ; the removal, namely, of those permanent barriers between class and class which were felt for the most part to be quite insurmountable^ then, so that the boundary lines in the gradations of society took care of them selves without the aid of any precautions to protect them. Lord Spencer, however, was one who loved to draw closer all the bonds of humanity : and who took pleasure, not so much in condescension, as in generous and unaffected kindness, and the recognition of those natural ties which make the whole world kin. No one in the parish felt this more truly and un- feignedly, when on Sundays all met together in Grod s BOUGHTON GREEN FAIR. 105 house on a footing of real as well as confessed equality. And the arrangements of the parish church were well suited to promote this sense of common brother hood. Massive open benches, even then nearly two centuries old, were the seats of rich and poor alike ; and the very general habit which prevailed, of joining in the responses, encouraged as well as testified to the unbroken fellowship which still united every member of the parish in one religious community. Lord Spencer s seats, open like the rest, stood close under the oaken screen which separated the church from the chancel and from the mortuary chapel at its side : a screen partly composed of the old wood-work which had originally supported the rood-loft, partly of recent carving added in an incongruous style for strength, and as was supposed for beauty also. The mortuary chapel opened out of the chancel with three lofty arches ; almost the whole space of which, how ever, together with part of the area of the chapel itself, was occupied with the costly and showy monu ments of the Spencers ; that which filled the arch nearest to the nave being the monument of Lord Spencer himself, and of his deceased wife, completed in all things during his own lifetime, except his effigy, for which a vacant place was left by the side of his lady, and the epitaph which remained uninscribed. 106 THE WASHINGTON S. The chancel was only used for the administration of the communion ; when arrangements were specially made for that purpose by the parish clerk. Old Robert Steffe had been unable now for some weeks to attend to his duties : so his place was filled by his nephew Richard. Body was not certainly the ideal of a parish clerk : but he had so long been accus tomed to assist his uncle in the lower departments of his office, that it seemed but natural and necessary that he should supply his place now at public worship also. It had been Body that for many years past had looked after and cleaned " the ornaments " of the church. * He it was that brought out Sunday after Sunday the fair great Bible, and the Book of Common Prayer from their wrappings, and laid them in the reading pew ; that spread the cushions for my lord ; and that laid before the churchwardens in their official seat the roll of the parishioners, which showed where was every one s allotted place in the church, and by which those functionaries kept due watch over every parishioner s attendance at Divine service. He it was that took charge of, and produced on Sunday, the four singing books from which the village choir sang their psalmody ; that placed in the pulpit the hour-glass, by which the length of the * For these, and for the particulars here following, see Appendix B. BOUGHTOK" GREEX FAIR. 107 sermon was to be regulated ; and that brought out from its corner one of the two communion tables, when the Lord s Supper was to be administered, placing it in the centre of the chancel, as the Eubric directs, with its " fair white linen cloth upon it," and disposing round it the mats upon which the com municants were to kneel. Mr. Campian preached only once on the Sundays, and that at the morning service short sermons short at least for those days ; for he was hardly ever known to let the hour-glass run out; and indeed more than once had incurred the reproach of " stand ing but half an hour in the pulpit." In the after noon he catechised the 3 r oung people of his flock ; taking occasion however to add copious instruction, not only for those whom he was questioning, but for the rest of the congregation also ; many of whom he reached more effectually thus, by a bow drawn at a venture, than by his more systematic discourses. His preaching was in some respects different from that which was usually heard from the pulpit : for he was deeply persuaded that what men for the most part were most grievously devoid of was a real and living conviction of the truths of the religion which they professed, while on the other hand reason and conscience seldom failed to give them a strong, if not 108 THE WASHINGTON. a just, sense of duty and responsibility. He built therefore on the foundations which he knew existed in every heart, not on those which he feared were too generally wanting. Instead of assuming Christian faith as a thing of course in his hearers, and raising a superstructure of ethics upon that foundation, his method (though so concealed that it was the heart rather than the understanding that perceived the difference) was to arouse the natural conscience, and the misgivings and self-reproaches of the heart ; to draw forth the latent aspirations of the spirit ; to ex cite the instinctive sense of right and wrong, and touch the fundamental principles of truth ard goodness, and righteousness; while with living faith himself, and with the authority of the Word of Grod, he testi fied of a Redeemer and Sanctifier, who could alone satisfy the cravings thus called forth, alone remove the burden and the mystery, alone reveal and open the way to that Eternal Grod, who without such Revelation and Intercession must remain unknown and unrecognised by the dark hearts of men. He believed that the great use and purpose of a Christian Minister (far above all his secondary functions) was to be a living witness and not this only, but a living proof of the reality of what the Grospel discloses and offers to men ; grace to help, and to sanctify ; BOUGHTON GREEX FAIR. 109 substance to rest on, and to cling to : and it was his constant prayer and effort that such he might be made to those about him, and especially to those under his charge; though necessarily regarded by some of them, for that very reason, as an unwelcome remembrancer of truths they would gladly forget, rather than as a herald of glad tidings. And now the great annual festival drew near, which was to that neighbourhood the principal meeting at once for business and for pleasure Boughton Green Fair. What St. Bartholomew s was to London, what Stourbridge was to Cambridge and the east country, that Boughton Grreen was to Northampton and all parts of the Midland within reach. From all quarters round about, came in droves of cattle and horses on the last day of the fair; and on the earlier days large stores of wooden ware, especially such articles as were wanted for agricultural purposes and for common domestic use. And round this nucleus every kind of miscellaneous trade gathered for the occasion. The May or of Northampton himself opened the proceedings by proclamation, with all the state of municipal autho rity : the gentry of the county made it a rule to attend in person, and join in social festivities in the refresh ment booths provided for them: while country sports in great abundance ministered to the gratification of 110 THE WASHINGTON. the peasantry and of the townsmen of Northampton, and afforded opportunities for the display of prowess on the part of the more agile and enterprising of the youth. Boughton Green, distant from Northampton about three miles, and situated (like Holmby) on one of the ridges which, stretching out from the central table land, divide the valleys that feed the upper Nen, be longed to Lord Vaux of Harrowden, the great Roman Catholic nobleman of those parts ; and was close to the park walls of his seat at Boughton. The Green itself, an area of some seventeen acres, on the summit of the ridge, was a space of level ground, surrounded with beech -trees which marked the privileged inclosure. On the north-east side of it the ground fell suddenly into one of those deep ravines which are often to be found on the edge of a table land ; and at the bottom a little brook, concealed by a tangled growth of thickets, ran rapidly to join the larger stream which loitered for it in the wider valley beyond. Half wav down the slope of this ravine, upon a bold projecting mound, stood a fine church of the Decorated style ; the spire of which, rising loftily above the roof, was visible from every quarter of the Green. Beneath the eastern window of the chancel, where the ground fell rapidly towards the brook, gushed forth a copious BOUGHTON GREEN FAIR, 111 4 spring of cold and brilliant water, caught as it issued in a rude stone basin, and partly covered with a ledger slab marked with a fleuried cross. This was the spring or well of St. John : which had first, no doubt, called attention to the spot, investing it with sanctity ; and causing in time the erection of the church, dedi cated to the same patron saint, in the solitary vale. The reverence, thus attaching to the place, had made it for some centuries the scene of pilgrimages and devo tions on St. John Baptist s Day ; worshippers congre gating from the country round, to hear mass, and drink the waters of the consecrated well. Sermons and other religious observances followed upon this. Next, in accordance with the spirit of mediaeval reli gion, the habit of joining in games, when the devo tions of the day were over, sprang up as an accessory. Then the formation of a mart ; since purchasers were already so numerously congregated. Till at last a royal charter was granted by Edward III. for the annual holding of a fair of three days duration, which had now attained the first rank among the similar institutions of the county. Lord Spencer made it a point to attend with his family at this annual gathering, and exchange cour tesies with the nobility and gentry who there assem bled : and on this occasion the coach and four from 112 THE WASHUTGTONS. Althorp (for coaches and six, introduced by George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, were not yet in fashion), together with a handsome cavalcade of gentlemen, and a goodly train of followers, made their appearance on the ground at a seasonable hour of the forenoon. Nu merous coaches, many of them drawn also by four horses, arrived in like manner from the other seats and mansions in which Northamptonshire abounded ; bringing not only the families of the immediate neigh bourhood, but others also from more distant parts of the county, Treshams, and Fitzwilliams, and Staffords, and Watsons, and Haslewoods, and Brudenells, and Montagues, not to make a longer list. Lord Vaux him self would doubtless have been present, as the principal figure of the day ; but he had been confined in prison till the preceding winter on some charge of recusancy, and was still detained under the milder custody of the Dean of Westminster. The canvas streets of the temporary town were al ready filled with crowds of inferior visitors ; while the outer space was heaped with gates, and wheels, and smaller articles of wooden ware ; except where an area of larger or of smaller extent had been cleared for the trials of skill and strength which were to come off in the course of the day, and for the amuse ments which at that time took the place of the more BOUGHTON GREEN FAIR. 113 modern shows of prodigies, horsemanship, and me nageries. Puppet-shows and mountebanks were the principal of these ; but a still greater attraction was exercised by the bear-baiting and cock-fighting, to gether with the equally barbarous pastime of cock- throwing : and the coarse tastes and debasing habits of the people showed themselves, in a grosser form perhaps than now, but still in a way which every similar occasion is sure more or less to call forth and foster. We will not linger in such scenes, nor look in upon the jugglers or the rope-dancers who were loudly in viting spectators to come and witness their perfor mances. Nor will we stay in the refreshment booths, where ducks and green peas formed the staple at traction, answering to the roast pig of St. Bartho lomew s ; nor will we wait longer to watch the coaches and four arriving, and to see stately gentlemen in ruffs and rapiers handing out fair ladies in stiff farthingales, " leading them by the arms " to seats under the booths, and " doing their reverence " to them with civil discourses and fitting conceitful com pliments. Wearied with such ceremonious intercourse, and finding that their elders did not wish to detain them, Philip Curtis and John Washington left the other 114 THE WASHINGTON S. members of the Althorp party ; and strolled through the lines of booths, examining the wares and trinkets exposed for sale, listening to the declamations of the dealers, and amusing themselves with those salient traits of character which are sure to appear when Masses of people are thus brought fortuitously to gether. And when the Mayor of Northampton swept by in his civic gown and chain, attended by his aldermen, to visit his court of Piepoudre, Philip did not spare to rally his young friend about his great grandfather, with sundry pleasant jokes touching "his rare and stately bravery, and the dagger wherewith he should open his oysters." * But Philip, though he affected great cheerfulness, was in reality miserably depressed ; for he was not to return to Althorp that afternoon, but to go on to his own home at Islip ; his stay with Lord Spencer having been already prolonged beyond the term originally fixed : though his noble host had begged him to come back presently, and pass a few nights with him again, before starting with John Washington on their return to London. As they turned round a corner in the fair, a well- * Old English proverb: " The Mayor of Northampton opens oysters with his dagger," alluding to the scarcity of those delicacies in the midland town. BOUGIITOtf GKEEN FAIR. 115 known voice in a high key struck their ear ; and there they saw Body in all his glory, standing with a few of his Brington companions, and declaiming to a knot of people whom he desired to enrol among the admirers of his attainments. He had just been treading " the Shepherd s Labyrinth," a complicated spiral maze traced there upon the turf; and was boasting of his skill, how dexterously and truly he could pursue its windings without a single false step, and how with a little more practice he would wager to go through it blindfold. " Tis a sorry achievement for a man, Bod," cried out Bernard Fisher of Brington, " Try a hand at summut brisker. Try a fall at wrastling, man." " Marry, that will I," cried Body, " against any man of my size and weight. Art ready for one thyself, Barny ? " " Not I," cried Bernard laughing ; " I come not here to gain breaks and bruises; leastwise with a townsman far away from home. Thee and I can pick up those together any day, Body, if us have a mind for it, on wer own green, hard by wer own door. Better letten them alone there too, say I." "A plague then on those that give counsel they don t care to follow ! " cried Body. " Nav," replied Bernard, " twere no counsel o i 2 116 THE WASHINGTON. mine. I do but say, aii thou wilt fain brag, show thy manhood, and do summut to brag on like a man. But hark ye, Bod : an thou wilt have counsel of me, drop the whole on t, man; and come out ards to the ropes. Here s many a worshipful gentleman wants a nag held and fastened to-day ; and many a good penny may be picked up, with a groat or may be a stiver between-whiles. Better a whole skin and a heavy purse, than a broken head, and neither coin nor thanks with it, Body." (S Gro, for a milksop as thou art," cried Body in reply : for his self-confidence and desire of praise were now fully aroused. " I m for a fall with who dares try it," And making his way to the spot destined for such encounters, he loudly repeated his challenge to all and every one whom it might list. The ring had already been formed, under the authority of the controllers of the sports ; and the time when the contests might begin was just at hand. The prize to be first tried for was a pair of buckskin gloves of best Northampton make, which were hung on a pole to tempt the eyes of adventurous youth. People, how ever, were not in a humour for the most part to begin so early in the day, before they had taken their pleasure at the fair ; and it seemed for some time BOUGHTON GKEEN FAIE. 117 as though Body would carry off the prize unopposed. But at last, provoked by his overweening boasts, a man who was passing by stepped into the ring, and offered himself as opponent to the challenger. He was a man considerably smaller than Eichard Steffe; but sinewy and compact in make, and with the air of quiet confidence which marks a man conscious of his strength. He seemed also to be very generally known among the spectators ; as the hum of applause that greeted his appearance sounded like one of recognition also ; and some of Body s friends exchanged glances, and shook their heads, when he entered the ring. " Ware, Body," whispered John (rent. " Have a care. Tis Ben Franklin, the smithy of Ecton." " Why, think ye I have never griped a smithy before, John ? " answered Body, putting a bold face on the matter, which in truth he saw to be his only course. (f Why, he s nought to Dick Claridge of our town ; and thou knowst I don t fear a tuzzle with him." But poor Body s heart misgave him now, under the evident expectation of the bystanders. Indeed he had little more sympathy to expect from his friends than from strangers, after all that had occurred ; and he felt himself exposed to an overthrow as ignominious as it was probable. Benjamin Franklin, the representative of a village family who for some I 3 118 THE WASHINGTOXS. generations had carried on a blacksmith s business at Ecton, farming at the same time a few acres of their own freehold land, was a man who (like his great descendant and namesake) undertook nothing in which he did not at once expect and resolve to succeed : and he had come forward on this occasion, solely for the purpose of punishing the boastfulness which had disgusted him. He determined on giving his opponent a severe lesson : so, allowing him at first to think he was gaining the advantage, and thus throwing him completely off his guard, by a sudden exertion of his best skill and strength he gave poor Richard so tremendous a fall that any renewal of the contest was at once seen to be hopeless. No bones were broken ; nor material injury done : but a back bruised and strained, and a sprained ankle made it no pleasant reflection to the disabled man that Bough ton Green was full seven miles distant from Brington ; and how was he to get home? Simon Marson, how ever, it was remembered, had a wain at the fair ; in which he had brought over sundry gates and cleaving blocks and other such rough carpenter s ware for sale : and the wain was to return that night. So, with Simon s permission, Body was laid therein, spending there as well as he could the remainder of the long day : and though Bernard Fisher, who was busy among BOUGHTOJS" GREEN FAIR. 119 the horses, was illnatured enough to come up some times to show his fellow-townsman his growing harvest of pennies and groats "all white money; none of your copper Harringtons nor tokens," he took care at the same time to bring the poor fellow some refresh ment to comfort him ; and managed with the help of the bystanders to give the wain a shove from time to time, as it needed it, to catch the shade of the beech- tree. So welcome night arrived at last; and right glad was Body, when Simon yoked his team to the wain and moved off homewards. Only he could have wished for the services of the team without the presence of the owner; for Simon s short-spoken remarks on the road were neither flattering nor pleasant : while every jolt reminded the unwilling- listener that it would not do to resent or overbear the observations of a monitor, upon whose mercy he was hopelessly dependent. Edward Spencer had not been of the party that went to the fair. His own inclination prompted him to stay away ; and his father saw no sufficient reason to insist on his attendance. So he had remained at Althorp ; and in the afternoon went up to the village, to pa.ss an hour or two with Master Campian. The clergyman was going to visit some of his parishioners in the hamlet of Nobottle; and Edward Spencer I 4 120 THE WASHINGTON. accompanied him in his walk across the fields. As they walked, they conversed together on the subjects which interested them most ; subjects upon which Mr. Campian was the more ready to dwell, as he feared lest the eager spirit of his young friend should carry him to lengths both in ecclesiastical and in theological opinions which Christian soberness and wisdom did not warrant. Edward Spencer had taken his degree as bachelor of arts some two years before, at the same time with his elder brother Richard * ; but he was still residing at Oxford as a student, not only for the sake of the lectures of the great Isaac Casaubon, who had recently settled as a professor in the University, but because he had not yet abandoned his intention of entering the ministry. From early boyhood he had cherished the hopes of taking orders in the Church : as several young men of high family were then beginning to do. But the intolerant spirit of Church authority, and the increasing fetters of sub scription and compliance now rivetted upon ordained ministers, had shaken his resolution ; and he hesitated to take the step to which he had looked forward so long. The overbearing pretensions of episcopacy also, abandoning the grounds on which Hooker took his stand, and claiming to be the one sole divinely * Wood s Ath. Ox. Fasti. 1611. BOUGHTOX GEEEX FAIR. 121 constituted form of Church government, had led him to examine the question more closely for himself; and he had begun to think that both Presbyterians and Independents had more truth on their side than Episcopalians in this matter : so that doubts dis turbed him, even as to the scriptural character of the Church of England. Mr. Campian deeply deplored that his young friend should be lost to the ministry, through such scruples as these ; and he feared lest a mind thus swayed by ecclesiastical prepossessions should be drawn to adopt also the narrow theological views- which generally accompanied them. His own convictions on the subject of ecclesiastical polity were those which are set forth in the great work of Hooker, at least in its earlier parts ; and he sought to bring back his young friend s mind to those funda mental principles, urging and enforcing them with fresh illustration and fulness, and pointing out the duty of every private Christian to submit in all things, where Scripture has not spoken, to the discipline and order of that Church of which (rod s Providence has made him a member. Edward Spencer s difficulty, however, was whether Scripture had not decisively spoken ; and the importance attributed to episcopacy by its advocates, as well as its opponents, would not suffer his mind to rest in any other conclusion. 122 THE WASHINGTON,?. When the friends reached the hamlet, they went together into the two or three cottages which were the objects of Mr. Campian s walk; the presence of the young gentleman adding much to the value of the visit by the honour it conferred. Nor was Edward Spencer slow to take his part, as occasion offered, in the conversations which arose : words of encouragement and Christian sympathy springing spontaneously to his lips, when he saw that the sick or aged looked for some word in season from him to second their pastor s exhortations. So they spent an hour or two, cheered and refreshed themselves by the consolations they had been ministering : and as they returned homewards their conversation naturally turned from ecclesiastical topics to subjects of still deeper and dearer interest ; and argument was suc ceeded by that interchange of spiritual thought and sympathy, in which devout Christians, even when divided in many points of opinion, can scarcely fail to find a ground of vital union, whatever be the differences of age or character or outward circum stances. To Edward Spencer and his companion this was no new field of intercourse. The young man had long been in the habit of opening his heart to his pastor, availing himself of his advice and ex perience amidst the trials, the dangers, and the BOUGHTOX GREEN FAIR. 123 consolations of the Christian course ; while the clergy man also found no less refreshment and help in the guileless aspirations, the unselfish zeal, and the noble devotedness of his youthful friend. "How small are those points of controversy we were discoursing of, a while ago," said Edward Spencer, " compared with those we are all agreed upon, as Christians ; those which commend themselves by their own light to the spiritual mind. How full of repose to the heart, to turn to these things, and dwell upon them ! Nevertheless, how comes it that some of those whom we must needs honour as faith ful Christian men find, as it would seem, no refresh ment in such exercises? nay, manifestly mislike and eschew them ? " " Many men be slow of feeling," answered Mr. Campian : " unapt to communicate that which is within their hearts. Many think it unmeet to pub lish it. Many be doubtful moreover of those to whom they should speak." ({ But there is more than that," replied his com panion : " and ofttimes it perplexeth me. I speak in the general, as fearing to bring the discourse to particulars. Yet why should I not adventure to do so ? I know I may speak freely to you ; and I have none else to whom I may impart my doubts. Look 124 THE WASHINGTONS. at my dear and honoured father, now. I could not hold with him such discourse as you and I are wont to hold together. Should I try to do so, he would draw back from it. And yet he hath a glad and ready mind to afford counsel and help to all who need it and most of all, to his own children. In all things else he does it gladly. Yet herein he neither doth, nor in truth can he. I feel of my own self, that he understands me not. Should I put force on myself, and open the matters whereon we have been now this while discoursing, he would account it a strange language : he would reprove me, as one that indulgeth in vain and canting speech." " Not canting, methinks," answered Mr. Campian ; " though I say not that he would approve or welcome thy confidence. May be he would regard the feelings thou didst reveal, partly as weakness, partly as pre- sumptuousness weakness, inasmuch as thou didst cherish and divulgate divers affections of the mind which should rather be suppressed or concealed presumptuousness, inasmuch as he would think thee to aim after and expect that which should appertain rather to holy apostles and saints of old than to ordinary Christians." "And shall such a judgment then be a correct judgment ? " replied the young man. " Ought we BOUGHTOX GREEN FAIR. 125 either to suppress or conceal these feelings ? Do we ill, in discoursing thus the one to the other on our trials, our hopes, our secret experiences ? Do not the Apostles encourage all Christians thus to do ? Is it a weakness whereof to be ashamed ? a habitude which we should strive to put away? or is it not rather one, wherein we do well to abound more and more? and that, by warrant of Scripture itself? And these yearnings of our hearts after a source of life, hidden, yet apprehended, and partaken of this persuasion that we have an access to the unseen, opened to us through the gospel, which we exhort each other to hold fast, to prove, to make trial of is it a fantastic delusion after all ? either is it a persuasion and a hope meant for Apostles only, and such as they ? and not rather (as the testimony of those Apostles teacheth us) meant for all, even the humblest and weakest, of such as will receive their witness ? " " I firmly believe that herein you judge rightly," said Mr. Campian, with reverent yet unhesitating em phasis. " I firmly believe that we do well to discourse as we have been doing ; and that, moreover, that we aspire after is no delusion or presumptuous phantasy. I believe that Christians ought to make proof of their privileges; and that those, whereof we speak, are among the highest privileges assured to us on earth." 126 THE WASHINGTON^. " Then whence the contradiction which perplexeth me?" asked his companion. "Whence this seeming contradiction between the word of Grod on the one hand, and the experience on the other of those we must needs look up to and revere ? Can you resolve me this perplexity, Master Campian? It weighs upon me, and ofttimes causeth me much disquiet of heart. I have none other to whom to open my griefs, but you only. Herein I find not myself of one mind with my friends at Oxford. I know what they would say. They would account men like my dear father as strangers still from grace, not truly Christians in heart or spiritual state, worldly and of the wwld. But you will not say thus, I know full well. You judge with me that it were to do dis honour to the manifest work of Grod yea, to con tradict his word also if we owned not such men as my honoured father to be Christians indeed." "Truly, so I judge," replied the clergyman. "I should belie my best convictions, were I to doubt that such men were verily and indeed Christians. I do protest unto you that when I talk with him I am made aware of my own deficiencies in grace, more than in talking with men who are accounted, and justly accounted, pillars of the Church. There is in him a truth, a nobleness, a largeness of charity, BOUGHTON GREEN FAIR. 127 which I find not in them ; which I find still less in myself ; but which I acknowledge to be manifestly Christian graces, from the source of all grace, and I stand abashed before them. Nevertheless, I may not deny that I also, like you, find not in him that bond of Christian brotherhood, that response of heart to heart, which we are wont to look for in those whom we esteem our brethren in the faith." " Then, methinks, you yourself feel this perplexity as keenly as I do. You tell me not how we should be relieved from it." "These perplexities trouble us only," replied Mr. Campian, " when we discern not and distinguish not, as we are bounden to do, between that which is of the essence, and the things which be but conse quents of the Christian state. And herein is the fault of many godly men ; and notably of the most part that are eminent in godliness. The essence of the Christian state is faith which worketh by love a persuasion of God s truth in the Grospel, with affections of the heart and will answering thereto ; and passing, as of necessity they must, into the out ward conversation. But the knowledge of Christian principles, the tastes and experiences of the spiritual mind, these be but consequents, not to be found of necessity in every case where the substance is." 123 THE WASHINGTON. " Yet surely, in so saying, you overlook the teach ing of the Apostles," urged his companion. " If these things be but consequents, yet they seem so to follow that to lack them is to lack the root from whence they spring. They be consequents that be tests also. Must we not conclude this from Scripture ? " " Not conclude it in such wise, as to deny God s voice when He speaketh to us from other quarters. Grod hath a living voice in His present dealings with His Church ; and, as heeding that voice, we must apply even Scripture. We are allowed - - nay com manded to do this. For Spiritualis judicat omnia. ( The spiritual man judgeth all things... comparing spiritual things with spiritual. You shall judge these things, therefore, as you are bidden to do. You shall compare them one with another, marking that which resulteth from such comparing. But take heed how you judge. For it shall need a sound judgment to conclude aright. The issue is not always that which we looked for. So in this case. True it is that the Apostle Paul prayeth for all believers illuminates oculos cordis ( that the eyes of their understanding be enlightened, that they may know the hope of their calling, and more of the like. Nay, he not only prayeth, but exhorteth also, and seemeth to expect that thus it will be with all who BOUGHTON GREEN FAIR, 129 are truly Christ s. Yet methinks he doth not so expect this as to deny baptism to such as have not attained it ; or to pronounce such, being baptized, to be fruitlessly and in vain baptized. Every where the conditions which are of the essence are the same ; Si credis ex toto corde ( If thou believest with all thy heart ; if thou ( show thy faith by thy works. And where these are, there the grace of God is likewise : and the promise standeth fast, ( He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved ; yea, is in a state of salvation." " I consent to what you say," answered the other, " yet not so as to be wholly set at rest. You grant the Apostles looked for, nay, called for those results of Christian faith which you call consequents. Were not their expectations then sanctioned and guided by the Spirit of Grod, even as their in junctions were ? Can we say that they looked for and demanded that which, nevertheless, we may be content to want? Or if we grant that it may be safely lacking in the weak, the foolish, the babes in Christ, can we be content to find it lacking in those whom we see to be strong, and believe to be sin cere ? " " Let us beware of impatience in Grod s cause," answered the clergyman. " Is it ours to instruct K 130 THE WASHINGTON. Him ? I Will acquiesce, nay be content, with what ever I see to be ordered of Him, even though it be contrary to that which my own reason concludeth from parts of His word. Yet here, in this matter, though with reverence I say it, I seem to perceive some causes why the Apostle s expectation should not be fulfilled altogether in these our own days, as it must needs have been in theirs. In old times, when the Church and the World were for the most part visibly severed, set the one against the other, struggling the one against the other the state of each Christian also was doubtless more plainly and visibly marked out ; and these consequents we speak of became in effect almost of the essence of that state. But now such outward separation is impos sible : the visible boundary is effaced. And even so it is also in great measure with each individual Christian. Many things, once distinct and clearly marked the one from the other, have become confused and hard to trace. Hard, that is, in the eyes of the Church : not so to the eye of (rod. His Spirit worketh no less effectively; but* He wieldeth His instruments after a different fashion, dividing to every man severally as He will. He adapteth men to His own purposes. It may be that some are kept purposely lacking in the points we speak of, to the BOUGHTON GKEEN FAIR. 131 end that they may be the better suited for perform ing His work in the world. The blunter edge, as we esteem it, is of more use and service for the work whereto they are framed. Some such men, I doubt not, will be found at last to be more honoured in struments in (rod s hand than many whom we ac count nearer to Christian perfection." "I would gladly believe it, preferring them in honour," answered Edward Spencer. "Yet is not Christian perfection the highest honour that is of (rod ? And the spiritual mind we speak of, appre hending and delighting in the things which are freely given us of Grod, is it not needful at all rates for Christian perfection, even if it be not of the very essence of the Christian state ? And can we think then, that for His own purposes Grod keepeth back any men from that which is needful for their own perfection ? " " Stay to mark the end," replied Mr. Campian ; " even the end on earth of such Christians as I speak of. Some such have I seen, Grod be thanked, and ministered to them in their last days. How rapidly has that which we thought lacking in them been supplied I that which they too learned then to perceive had been indeed lacking; humbling themselves with shame before Grod for the blindness K 2 132 THE WASHINGTON. of heart which had till then possessed them. The deep sense of indwelling sin the nearness of the Saviour the abiding presence of the Holy Spirit these things, too little recognised before, have then been descried by them as with open face. And the work of perfection has gone forward, like sunrise in a southern clime. Some such cases have I seen with awe and adoring delight. Conversion, some of our brethren would call it. Not so I. Eather would I call it the completion of a Christian course, ordered in all things and sure run from first to last according to Grod s appointment the attainment of that perfect day in which the shining path of the just shall issue." " Then are we not to measure God s work by any rule," observed the young man; "even though we should fashion that rule wholly from His word ? " " No, truly," answered his pastor ; " and herein is one great fault of those our brethren whom yet we revere as most eminent in godliness. They run counter to that which charity and sound reason and the voice of Grod in His Providence plainly persuades us unto. And thus they provoke against them, not those only whose religion standeth mostly in form or superstition, but men also of sound judgment and unfeigned Christian faith. Men like your honoured BOUGHTOX GKEEN FAIR. 133 father, what can they think of our godly brethren, when they see themselves suspected, and regarded as not being so much as members of the Church at all ? Shall the eye say to the hand or to the foot, Because thou art not an eye, therefore thou art not of the body." " Truly, I approve that which you say," remarked Edward Spencer ; " and it seemeth to me reasonable and agreeable to Grod s appointment, so long as the Church shall consist of members with several and diverse functions belonging to each. Not only is their work different; but their sensations must be different also. Those that answer not to the sensa tions which in us are strongest of all, may yet be members of the same body." " Yea, and moreover they may be the worthier members," added the clergyman. "In very truth I ofttimes think they are so. Men like your father seem to me ofttimes to be nobler members of the body of Christ than those to whom I feel myself akin more like the confessors and martyrs of old times needing only that times of difficulty and danger should return, to be foremost again in the good fight of faith. Those spiritual tastes and affections which are so fair to contemplate are perchance but as the beauteous environment bestowed on the weaker K. a 134 THE WASHINGTON. members. It seemeth to me oft as though God Him self dealeth with His Church according to that which is affirmed by Paul, Quce inhonesta sunt, dbun- dantiorem honestatem habent : Those members of the body which we think to be less honourable, upon these we bestow more abundant honour, and our uncomely parts have more abundant comeliness. For our comely parts have no need ; but (rod hath tempered the body together, having given more abundant honour to that part which lacked. We, the weaker, the less comely members, how are we cared for ! feeble and despicable in ourselves, yet clothed with the Kedeemer s special honour, and made conscious more than the stronger be of the care extended to us ! They to whom Grod has given more strength are cherished less. Yet they will need that clothing too," pursued the old man, seeming to forget the presence of his companion, as he dwelt upon the thought. " Yes, they will need it also. When the strong hand droops, when the fleet foot is stilled in weariness and pain when the chills of death come on, and the natural powers stiffen and fail they too will need the same clothing which is spread over us as our ordinary portion. Lord, grant it them in their hour of need ! cherish them with thy protecting and fostering care ! " BOUGHTOX GREEN FAIR. 135 The friends had passed the point at which their paths separated : yet Edward Spencer had walked on, absorbed as his companion also was in their conver sation. As they neared the village, the young noble man stopped at a spot where a diverging pathway led backwards to Althorp ; and with an affectionate farewell the friends separated : Mr. Campian arriving at his lodging some hours before the return of his host with his disabled charge ; Edward Spencer re joining the family circle with a lightened heart, less inclined to think evil of scenes and occupations from which his principles led him to abstain himself, and relieved in great measure from the perplexity which set the better instincts of his nature in antagonism with the tenets of his creed. K 4 13G THE WASHINGTON CHAP. V. THE HAWKINa STAND. IT has been seen that Lord Spencer was reserving the herons in his park for a great and special occasion which was approaching. This was the inauguration of a new hawking and hunting Stand, which he had just built at Althorp. After the royal visit, with which he had been honoured at the commencement of the reign, he had determined to commemorate the event by placing a monumental building at the gate of the park, where the Queen and Prince Henry had made their first entrance, and where they had been received with that entertainment which has been already described. And accordingly he had erected a hunting Stand on the spot ; embellishe.d with the royal arms, to mark the occasion which it commemo rated. A Stand of this kind was not an unusual thing at that time in a great park : the object of it being to enable ladies to watch from a favourable eminence the sports which they desired to witness, and even under some circumstances to take part in them. THE HAWKING STAND. 137 The spot selected in this case was a very suitable one for the purpose. Situated on the northern edge of the park, where the inclosing fence ran along the summit of the ridge, it commanded a view of almost the whole inclosure; looking down over the house and gardens, the pool and the brook, and up to the boundary palings which crowned the opposite slope : while on the other side, beyond the limits of the park, it commanded a still more extensive view over that wider valley which lay between Althorpand Holdenby, including the low marshy grounds at the bottom, where hawking was for the most part carried on. Near it to the west, and also on the edge of the park, stood the heronry ; a rowof tall trees, which long before the enclosure of Althorp had been the annual resort of herons, and where now they continued to build in increasing numbers : while immediately below it, outside of the park, and on the edge of the marshy grounds, was a large piece of water, not so extensive as Althorp pool, but like the latter furnishing a constant supply of food to the voracious inhabitants of the wood above. A heronry in those days was an almost necessary appendage to the seat of a gentle man of distinction ; and care had been taken at Althorp to provide for its continuance, Lord Spencer s father and grandfather having both of them planted 138 THE WASHINGTON. woods of oak to succeed the trees which were then past their prime: a fact which was duly recorded upon stone tablets, erected in the midst of the rising plantations. All these woods were so placed that they would not intercept the view which the Hawking Stand commanded, either of the park itself, or of the valley to the north of it : nor was any other growth allowed to interfere with this primary object. The little spinny, which stood beneath the Hawking Stand, at the entrance of the gardens, was composed of bush and underwood ; and below this the garden alleys led downwards to the house. Immediately behind the house, as we have seen, came the bowling-green ; both that which in strict propriety bore the name, and also the bowling-alley, bounded by banks of turf, and by an exterior line of ditch communicating with the moat. In the same level space, artificially enlarged till it mounted by terraces up the slope of the hill, lay the gardens the great and the little garden with their gravelled alleys, their prim hedges, and their " quarters " with " knots and mazes " cut out on the green sward, very much in the manner, which, after various intervening fashions, has now for some time again prevailed. Awa}^ from the centre grew the potherbs and other produce which served more for use than ornament ; while the line of alleys, THE HAWKING STAND. 139 mounting up the hill side to the spinny we have spoken of already, passed through the orchard, the cherry-yard, and the vineyard, which there courted the rays of the southern sun. Passing up these alleys once more to the Hawking Stand, the visitor may examine its appearance and structure. It was built of the yellow sandstone of the country, the ground plan being of the form of the letter T ; the leg of which letter represents the projecting porch. Over the porch, however, as in Althorp house, the upper story of the building was continued in one unbroken level ; and the roof ter minated in gables, at all three extremities alike. The upper story presented, on the exterior, one con tinuous arcade of windows : and within, it formed a single room, lofty and spacious, reached by a spiral stone staircase, and affording to the spectator a clear view on every side to the full extent which the eminence commanded. The walls above the win dows, and the vaulted ceiling of the room were covered with paintings in distemper, representing those scenes of hunting and hawking to the service of which the building was dedicated. This Hawking Stand, completed in the summer of 1613, was now to be opened by Lord Spencer; who had invited his neighbours from all the country 140 THE WASHINGTON. round to assist at the inauguration. The principal sports of the day, those of the afternoon, which alone those guests who came from a distance would be able to attend, were to consist of hawking ; all visitors who possessed hawks being invited to bring them, as no lack of quarries was anticipated. Grreat care had been taken, as we have seen, to secure a large supply of herons, and prevent their becoming wild : so that the usual exercise of falconry had been de ferred that season at Althorp, though the ordinary use of the heronry had been permitted as in former years. A heronry, as has been observed, was a com mon appendage at that time to a gentleman s seat ; and this not only for the sport which it afforded, but as a part in fact of the poultry establishment. As early as March, or in favourable weather even earlier, when the first broods of young herons were sufficiently forward, the nests were climbed while the parent birds were out a-fishing ; and the number of young ones which household demands required, having been so taken, were then brought alive to the cram-maid. That important functionary, who had also the care of the capons, the quails, and whatever other poultry was under process of fatten ing, fed the young herons with meal and bullock s livers ; till they were at once plump enough for use, THE HAWKING STAND. 141 and free from the fishy taste which their ordinary diet engendered ; after which they were delivered . over to the culinary arm, to be prepared as dainties for the table. This species of poultry continued to be available till far on into the summer ; when the latest broods of young heronshaws were too strong on the wing and too strongly imbued with fishy flavour to be any longer within the reach, or suitable to the purpose of their captors. Body was a great adept at climbing heron s nests; and this was a constant part of his employment at Althorp. The heronry, too, was a favourite haunt of Master Robert Washington ; who took far more interest in the quiet observations he loved to make there, than in the more exciting amusement of falconry; though this latter was a sport in which he would sometimes join with zest, more especially as he esteemed the oil of a heron s leg a sovereign attraction to lure fish to the bait. He loved to mark the first arrival of the herons at the beginning of February; and to watch their habits as they settled down, availing themselves of the old nests which remained from the previous season, which they duly repaired, and then built new ones to make up deficiencies. He observed how they forbad the rooks, which swarmed in some parts of the park, to touch a single tree within their 142 THE WASHINGTON. special domain; while the wood-pigeons and the starlings were allowed to settle in the branches below them, and seemed to value highly the honour and the protection thus accorded to them. Though the rooks, however, were easily beaten off, not so the ravens, the buzzards, the kites, and even the carrion crows ; some of which would at times battle fiercely for possession, assailing the herons and en deavouring to pull their nests to pieces : nor would victory always have declared on the side of justice, had it not been for the interference of the falconers ; who, as soon as they observed the combat, would bring their crossbows and their fowling-pieces to the support of the rightful cause, Master Washington himself not seldom coming forward as informant against the invaders. Nor did he give over his interest in the herons, after they were secured in the peaceful possession of their ancestral homes. In the advancing spring, when the young ones were hatched, he observed how the parent birds never failed to come home in full force at sunset, at whatever dis tance their fishing operations had been carried on : and, concealed under the shadow of the park fence, lest he should alarm them, he would watch them sitting on their nests ; their long necks and bills and lark crested heads gleaming grey in the cold level THE HAWKING STAND. 143 rays, that shot through the bare branches of the lofty trees : their keen quick eye ever on the move, to detect the first approach of danger; and their loud yelping note, with its clear metallic ring, re sounding through the woods. Later in the season, when the thickening screen of foliage favoured the approach of an intruder, he would venture under the trees ; and would often find at their base large quantities of fish, which the eager haste of the young herons or the clumsy kindness of their parents had allowed to drop from the nests above ; and which, once dropped, were never sought to be recovered : while sometimes he would find one of the young birds themselves, which had overreached itself in snatching at its food ; and which lay there, dead or dying, with broken leg or wing, unheeded by its parents aloft as being beneath the condescension of their sympathy. Such was the heronry ; many an inmate of which was destined to fall that day, in honour of the open ing of the Hawking Stand ; the young ones even of the most backward broods being now pretty well able to shift for themselves, as it was by this time the middle of July. The weather was most propitious on the appointed morning; and large numbers of the neighbouring 144 THE WASHINGTON. gentry availed themselves of the invitation of the noble host. The house at Althorp was filled too, with guests from a greater distance chiefly members of county families who were on terms of intimacy with Lord Spencer, but who could scarcely have attended on the occasion had they not been accommodated with lodging for a night or two. The Lord Mordaunt from Drayton, and Sir Greorge Fermor from Easton Neston were of this party, together with the Griffins of Dingley, the Caves of Stanford, the Elmeses of Lilford, and the Pargiters of Grretworth; kinsmen, these latter, of the Washingtons, and connected re cently by marriage with the Spencers also. Philip Curtis too, who had been absent at his own home at Islip ever since Boughton Green Fair, was to take up his quarters again that night at Althorp ; and to spend there the few days that yet remained, before he and John Washington must return to London. Besides these guests, the more immediate neighbour hood of Althorp supplied many visitors to the day s entertainment ; for Northamptonshire was even then noted for the large number of gentry who resided on their own estates country squires who have sup plied from its earliest institution more than a pro portionate share of the baronetage of England. There were the Morgans of Kingsthorpe and Hey- THE HAWKIXG STAND. 145 ford, (connected with the Tredegar family) ; the Hey- ford representative of whom, thirty years afterwards, perished with the youthful head of the house of Spencer on the bloody field of Newbury. There were the Worleys of Dodford, accompanied by their neighbours the Thorntons of Newnham. And there were the Andrews of Harleston ; together with the senior branch of the same family from Charwelton, headed by Sir Eusebius Andrew. The latter neigh bourhood, on the south-west of Althorp, in the direc tion of Sulgrave, contributed the largest number of guests. There were the Spencers of Everdon, cousins of my lord ; the Mathews of Bradden Hall (a beauti ful old specimen of English domestic architecture) ; and the Harbys of Adston, and Wattses of Blakesley; parishes, both of them, in which the Washingtons also had been considerable proprietors before their days of adversity : while Canons Ashby not only sent the Drydens (Sir Erasmus at their head, grandfather of the poet), but also their kinsmen the Copes, posses sors at that time of the ancient priory. But the principal family from that side of the country, rivals of the Spencers themselves in property and influence, were the Knightleys of Fawsley and Norton ; re presented by Sir Eichard, and his eldest son Sir Valentine. These gentlemen were the leaders and L 146 THE WASHINGTON. principal supporters of the Puritan cause in the Midland counties; having not only promoted and headed the famous Northamptonshire petition for religious toleration, which had so deeply offended King James at the beginning of his reign, but dis tinguished themselves by a more questionable zeal in the support of Martin Marprelate, whose active press with its libellous publications was suspected to have been at work for some time within the precincts of Fawsley itself. To the north of their estates, and of the town of Daventry, the county had been greatly unsettled within the last few years by the confiscation of the lands of Catesby the conspirator ; but, (con tinuing the circle eastward) after Watford Court the seat of Sir Eichard Burnaby, the neighbourhood supplied the Osborns from Kelmarsh, the Reades from Cottesbrooke, the Ishams from Lamport and Pychley, the Bretons from Teton, and the Bernards from Abingdon; a family who in the preceding century had been proprietors of the manor of Little Brington ; and the young heir of whom, now still a child, after wards married Elizabeth Hall, Shakspeare s favourite granddaughter. From the immediate neighbour hood of Northampton, came also, besides the Free- mans and Longuevilles of Great and Little Billing, Sir Bartholomew Tate of Delapre Abbey (kinsman of THE HAWKING STAND. 147 the Lords Zouch and Hatton, and father of Zouch Tate, the author of the " Self-denying Ordinance ") ; and Sir William Samwell of Upton, whose distin guished grandson, James Harrington a author of the Oceana, had been born in his house only two years before; while from some few miles beyond came the ancient family of the Wakes of Salcey, of whom the famous diplomatist Sir Isaac Wake was only the cadet of a junior branch, and employed still in the service of his king and country at his impor tant post in the city of Venice. Nor were others wanting, of lesser name and note, including some of the more influential citizens of Northampton, with whom Lord Spencer cultivated a kindly and even cordial intercourse. But by far the most important visitors of the day, were the Lord Compton and his family, attended by the King s falconers and other servants from the royal household at Holdenby. The Lady Compton of that time was the heiress of "the rich Sir John Spencer" of London (no relation to the Althorp family *) ; and the writer of that celebrated letter to her " sweet life," well known to antiquarians and * Though it is difficult here to avoid the mistake ; for Lord Comptou s father, the first lord, had married a daughter of Sir John Spencer of Althorp. L 2 148 THE WASffiNGTONB. historical students ; wherein, after stating the expec tations she entertained with regard to her establish ment and private allowances, accumulating such demands that one feather more must break the camel s back, she suddenly pours forth (in a kind of lady s postscript) requests of such preposterous ex travagance, that the most indifferent reader, whose business is to read only and not to grant them, can contain himself no longer. This " loving wife " came attended that day with pomp to her heart s content, having royal servants in royal liveries to ride after her, besides the establishment which she had fixed for herself; and which shall be described in her own words, as a specimen of her more moderate expecta tions. "I would have two gentlewomen, lest one should be sick : also, believe, it is an indecent thing for a gentlewoman to stand mumping alone, w r hen (rod have 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 and will have a horse. Also I will have six or eight gentlemen : and will have my two coaches, one lined with velvet to myself, with four very fair horses : and a coach with my women, lined with sweet cloth, orelaid with gold : the other with scarlet, and laced THE HAWKING STAND. 149 with, watched lace and silver, with four good horses. Also I will have two coachmen, one for myself, the other for my women." Great must have been the sensation produced among the beauty and fashion of Northamptonshire ; when this magnificent lady came sweeping up the broad stone staircase of the Hawking Stand, and into the lofty painted chamber whence the sports of the day were to be witnessed. The Lord and Lady Compton were not the only members of the family present. They were accom panied by their son, the gallant Spencer Compton, afterwards that heroic Earl of Northampton who fell at Hopton Heath. He was now a student at Cam bridge ; and won his first public distinction a year or two afterwards, as one of the original performers of the famous comedy of Ignoramus, then for the first time acted at the University before King James. Lord Spencer was seen everywhere, receiving his guests with the frank and hearty courtesy which marked all his actions and demeanour ; and making arrangements with all who had brought hawks, what part they were to take in the amusements, and to which division of the sportsmen they were to belong. The number of mounted gentlemen was too great to admit of all riding together ; and three or L 3 150 THE four separate parties were formed to prevent con fusion. He himself took the lead of one division ; Lord Compton with the King s falconers of another ; and it was clearly planned between them, what share of the sport was to be allotted to each. Several ladies too preferred to ride a-field, rather than remain in the Hawking Stand ; foremost among them Lady Anderson, who attached herself to her father s party. And so the sport began. The park itself yielded several quarries : care being taken, by men placed purposely in charge, to spring the herons at the pool, and to frighten them from settling in the heronry, so that they should fly over the spot where the sports men were waiting for them. But the station taken up by the latter, outside the park wall, was just in the "passage," from the heronry to the principal feeding grounds on the Nen : and, the wind being in a favourable quarter, good sport was obtained with the returning birds as they came back heavy with the fish which they had swallowed; many a fine quarry being brought down by each of the parties, amidst great applause, and to the hearty content ment of the spectators. The hawks principally employed were goshawks and gentil-falcons ; the former being used principally by the party that descended into the valley, to beat the margin of the THE HAWKING STAXD. 151 ponds and streams; the latter by those who waited to intercept the herons in their homeward flight ; two hawks being generally cast off together in pursuit of the same quarry. The finer and more costly species, the gerfalcon, was of course a rarer bird, and not often to be obtained even by enthusiasts in the art-. The finest cast of these was in the King s possession noble haggards, lately brought from Iceland a present from the King of Denmark: and Lord Compton reserved them for such special service as might present itself. There were of course some failures : for the train ing required for the sport was very great, and the herons were bold and strong on the wing. Some times a hawk would prove ef too fond of the man ; " and after the quarry was sighted, and she herself cast off, would return to the fist, courting the caresses of the falconer. Or still more commonly the hawk failed to gain " place enough," and gave up the pursuit. More than one also of them was killed; for the herons strove to defend themselves against the swoop of their pursuers, by throwing themselves on their backs as they flew aloft, and presenting their formidable beaks to intercept the descending blow ; sometimes with such effect that, when the combatants came tumbling down from the L 4 152 THE WASHINGTONS, aerial heights, the hawk was found to have been transfixed by the defensive thrust of her intended victim. Generally, however, the hawk s aim was so true, her eye so quick, and her swoop so sure, that, (though it often required several less successful stoops to effect it,) the neck or wing of the heron was broken, or even a death-stroke inflicted on the head. And so the time passed pleasantly ; two of the parties being now at a considerable distance from the Hawk ing Stand, carried a mile and more away by a successful flight. But see! what is that aloft, soaring over the heads of the nearer cavalcade? It is a kite, presenting himself on the field of action with the expectation rather of an assailant than a victim. Could we strike him down? Could one of the gerfalcons be got to sight him ? Lord Compton will try. The best of His Majesty s new cast shall be flown at him, if she will take him at such a mount. Yes : she sights him : she springs upward from the fal coner s fist, eager for the lofty chase ; and her partner follows not long afterwards, joining in the pursuit. And now ride, gallants, ride. Eide, ladies, ye that have the heart to follow. We shall scarce come up with them in time. The kite must be well nigh over the park wall of Holdenby. Look ! he marks THE HAWKING STAND. 153 his pursuers, incredulous at first that he is the object of pursuit. But in good truth it is so: and he pauses; he wheels about; he balances himself aloft; and now soars upwards. The better for us ; we shall come under them now: but surely an error on his part, for he can be no match thus for those fierce children of the north, accustomed to soar over the icy peaks of their native mountains. The two hawks have separated. Grulrand has flown down wind, in tending no doubt to mount presently with better effect ; but (rudrun makes straight for the quarry, and is already pressing him hard. Mark now that up ward chase. How. beautiful a sight ! the two birds wheeling in spiral ascents, their curving orbits cross ing one another, now on this side, now on that. The pursuer is gaining on her prey. The angle of her upward flight is steeper, the circle more contracted. We must be well under them by this time. But who shall say now, how the chase is going? The birds are nearly of a size ; and though the outspread wings of either must measure five feet from point to point, they are become as tiny specks, indistinguishable one from the other, and scarcely discernible at all. The falconer has thrown himself from his horse. He is lying on his back upon the ground : his hands shad ing his eager eyes which strain to catch a view of 154 THE WASHINGTON S. his adventurous charge. Ha! she has gained her place she stoops she is upon him. Heavens ! she has missed her swoop he has escaped her ! But no. Grulrand too is up with him now, to aid her partner ; and beats back the kite, as he attempts to scud down the wind. See that stoop once more. It was Gudrun again. And look ! here they come ; one falling fluttering mass, enlarging on the eye, as they tumble headlong from that dizzy height ! And the kite lies dead at our feet struck to the brain by the strong beak of the conqueror ; while she, with, fluttering wings just breaking the last fall, has ac cepted the lure, and returned to her attendant, re ceiving the reward he holds to her, and loaded with his proud caresses ; her gay embroidered hood, and tufted crest replaced in triumph on her victorious head. Even from the Hawking Stand the sight was an ani mated and exciting one ; and in some respects a more beautiful spectacle than from below. The mounted groups moving along the hill side, or galloping over the plain the eager horses the many coloured dresses of the riders the hardly distinguishable, yet gleaming, shifting figures of the party far away in the distance the crowd of spectators above, massed together under the park fences and as a filling back ground to the scene, the royal mansion of Holdenby, THE HAWKING STAND. 155 here rising full in view above its lines of terraced garden, and amply justifying under the rays of the westering sun the common country proverb, " It shines like Holmby." The massive chimneys and crocketed pinnacles stood out against the sky ; as did also the two lofty arches, that flanked the en trance court on the eastern side ; while the rich pi lasters and arcaded storeys of its principal front left so large an expanse of glass presented to the view, as almost to parallel the description of Proud Hardwick Hall, More window than wall. The fine woods of the noble park, interrupted to make room for the garden terraces, fell like a mantle on either side, and almost met at the foot of the hill ; while fish-ponds and sheets of ornamental water glistened here and there amidst the masses of foliage. Amy Washington had been sitting with her friend Margaret at the open windows of the Stand, enjoying the lively spectacle below her, and pleased to meet so many of the friends of her childhood from the neighbourhood of her well-remembered home at Sulgrave. She had just gone below, on some errand for Margaret Spencer ; when she saw Body limping 156 THE WASHINGTON S. along, coming apparently from the pool, and making for the gate in order to join the hawking party out side. She was surprised to see him there : for he had not yet made his appearance since Boughton Green Fair ; and his place at church had been taken for two Sundays by William Leeson, one of old Kobert SterTe s sons-in-law. " Oh, Eichard, I am right glad to see you," she ex claimed. " I thought not that you should have been here to-day. Your ankle then is in better case, I hope." " Not much to crack of, Mistress Amy," answered Body. " I ought to be on my bed by rights, this blessed day. But a man must not think of himself when tis duty calls him. Who should have sprung the herons, think ye, down yonder at the pool, if I had been away ? There s not one of them my lord could trust. A parcel of cloutshoes, all of em ; and are as ignorant of fowls as of Christians. They had frightened the fowl all of a heap, an I had not been there ; and sent em all a-skeltering to Daventer, I ll warrant them, in place of flying where they was wanted. No, no, Mistress Amy, I m not the man to shirk the call of duty. Legs or no legs, I stand to my post." " Well, Eichard, you have done your work rarely, THE HAWKING STAND. 157 I promise you," said Amy. " The herons seemed to come just as they were wanted. I hope you will not be yourself the sufferer. And old Eobert too, is he better to-day?" "He s a poor creature, Mistress Amy," answered Body ; se a poor creature. He s taken nothing thin se nriight, and better, but a few broth. Alice Leeson made him a few yestereven ; fresh they were, and as sweet as could be ; but he could not eat them. And he s deadly bad this morning. I doubt I shall find him alive to-night. He was took with a cold dither ing just before sunrise : and he thinks himself he s going fast. He has been calling for Master Campiari ever sin ; and wants, as I gathered, to have the Com munion. He is mighty fond of Master Campian too." <f How could you bear to leave him, Richard ? " cried Amy. " I hope Master Campian tarried by him when you were gone. Doubtless you sent to him straightway." "Why, you see twas no easy matter, Mistress Amy," answered Body. " All the lads and wenches had run off to see the gentlefolks ride into the park : and Alice was forced to stay by him, and see to him. So who was to go and bring Master Campian ? " " For shame, for shame, Richard," exclaimed Amv, 158 THE WASHINGTON S. " to leave your poor old uncle at such a time, and not so much as bring the minister ! And you able to walk hither ! " " Nay, Mistress Amy," replied Body. " Each man hath his place and work, which he is bound to take heed to. Any fool can run an errand, I trow. But tis not any man can spring the quarries. And what had my lord said, an I had not been here ? And who should get the heron s legs for Master Washington, which I am a-seeking now ? " " Fie, fie, Eichard," cried Amy indignantly. " I shall go myself to Master Campian this minute. I could not have thought this of you." And, turning disdainfully away from Body s re monstrances, she ran up stairs to tell Margaret Spencer of her intentions, bidding her look no more for her that day ; then, in a minute more she had passed through the crowd, and was pursuing the road outside the park fence that led up to the village. She had not gone far beyond the first corner, when the sound of horses hoofs behind her attracted her attention ; and, looking back, she saw Philip Curtis coming on at full gallop, with the intention ap parently of overtaking her. She paused, and waited till he came up. Poor Philip had been gazing all day at the Hawk- THE HAWKING STAND. 159 ing Stand, keeping as near to it as he could, with the one hope of catching a glimpse of the face and form which was ever haunting his memory : and, though sometimes for a moment he thought he saw Amy among the many that thronged the windows, yet he lost the sight of her as soon as he seemed to catch it. But at last, that single figure emerging from the gate, and gliding along the wall, surely it must be her s yes, it plainly was. In a moment he saw his opportunity. An excuse for following her flashed upon his mind. His mother had charged him with a message for Master Campian, whom she had known in former days, and for whom she enter tained a reverential regard ; and though Philip would under ordinary circumstances have been in no great hurry to deliver his message, he was overjoyed to remember that he was the bearer of it now. Riding gently, to attract as little attention as possible, till he had rounded the corner, he then set spurs to his horse, and in a trice he had overtaken Amy. Throwing himself from his horse, and flinging the reins over his arm, he was by her side at once, and walking with her towards the village. " I feared you were the messenger of some tidings of alarm, Master Curtis," said Amy. "Methought you were in so hot haste." 160 THE WASHINGTON S. Philip explained his purpose ; and craved permis sion to avail himself of her guidance. " "Tis a simple road to the village ; and one where in you shall scant err, though strange to it before. But maybe the house itself were less easy to find to-day, seeing that all the folks of whom you should enquire are watching the sports down yonder. I am myself bound for Master Campian s house, however ; and will conduct you thither gladly. But methinks tis pity you should leave the field so early, Master Curtis. Might I discharge any message for you? The rest were as well delivered, maybe, some two or three days hence. You part not, I think, for London with John till Monday at earliest." " Tell me not of that sad parting, Mistress Amy," answered Philip. " Tis a weight upon my heart to think thereon. Deny me not at least the content ment of your guidance now." " Tis a sorry requital, Master Curtis, for your guidance of John," said Amy, smiling; "and I marvel at him that he is not here to do that service himself. It had cost him little pains ; and you had been back from the village in less time than now you will need to walk thither, with so tardy a guide as me." " welcome tardiness ! " answered Philip vehe- THE HAWKING STAND. 161 mently. " joyful lingering ! but passing only too swiftly. May we not slacken the pace, Mistress Amy ? Fain would I slacken it till we should scarce stir; and then undo the way that we had made, that I might linger over it again." Amy looked at her companion with surprise, think ing he was attempting some of the high-flown and artificial compliments, which were in fashion, as she knew, with the gallants of the time. But his earnest gaze at once undeceived her ; and the pur pose of his presence flashed for the first time upon her thoughts. She turned pale, and was silent ; in voluntarily slackening her pace, as the fears and per plexities of her position came crowding on her mind. Philip Curtis was emboldened by what seemed a compliance with his request, and a sign that his words were not unwelcome. " Oh, Mistress Amy," he exclaimed ; (S how can I bear to leave you ? How sick at heart have I been these last long weeks since I have been away ! Each day s sun has seemed dark in the heavens to me ; and not till this morning, not till now, has the brightness returned. Oh happy chance, that has not only restored me your companionship ; but given me this occasion, which I have vainly longed for, vainly sought before I How have I desired to tell M 162 THE WASHINGTONS. you how I love you ! But surely you know it : you could not but know it. My heart has cleaved to you, ever since I saw you first nay, before I saw you. For, from the first hour I met with your brother, I loved him tenderly, so as never I loved a lad before. And when you came, I knew the cause. Twas his likeness to you that made me thus affect him ; the dawn that heralded the rising of my sun. Speak to me, Mistress Amy. Tell me at least that I may speak on. Tell me that you forbid me not ; that you are content to hear my words." Amy felt as one stunned by the shock of the discovery thus made to her : and was nearly allow ing Philip Curtis to misinterpret her silence again. But by a determined effort she mastered her weak ness, and replied. " It is not well, Master Curtis, to accost me thus. lieve, it is not well. You have taken an advan tage in seeking me here. Push it not farther. It is not generous, trust me, it is not manly, thus to address a helpless maiden. I knew not of your wishes. Else you had not found me here. It were meet to have spoken to my uncle, to my father. Without them you have no right to speak. They would have shielded me from this intrusion. " Blame me not, Mistress Amy," said the young THE HAWKING STAND. 163 man entreatingly : " and think not evil of this my procedure. They know it all, I doubt not. Your uncle and aunt know well how I am affected towards you. And they mislike it not : else had they long since hindered me of coming to their house, day after day. I hoped that you knew it also. I trusted you forbad me not to love you. Of them I am well assured. Their words, their looks ofttimes showed me they were privy to my intent. Else I had not wronged you by speaking to you thus. But I cannot woo you through them, Mistress Amy. That were a thing unworthy of you. I cannot think of you as of those maidens whose hearts are at the bidding of their parents and their guardians. You are the mistress of your own affections ; and none else hath worth to be so. To none else will I address myself. Tis to you and you only I submit my fate." " Pardon me if I wronged you," answered Amy : "I was hasty in my words. I misjudged you, Master Curtis. But oh, speak no more upon this matter. Banish these images from your mind. Tis but a youthful -phantasy. You have small knowledge of me, and tis best forgotten. Others will please you better soon, and with better cause I doubt not." Philip poured forth his protestations, vehemently asseverating that no one else could ever be to him M 2 1G4 THE WASHINGTON S. what she was ; vowing that he had deep and solid grounds for his love, in all that he had observed and heard, as well as from the attractions of the eye ; and entreating that he might be allowed to show the truth and permanency of his affection, and to try with her parents sanction to win hers in return. But Amy resolutely refused. "No, no, Master Curtis," she said. " Ask me not to adventure that which I should perforce mourn over were I drawn into it. I am free in heart now ; and desire to be so. I am young, and unfit for the trials of woman s life. I have duties appointed me, which I would not lightly forsake. These are dear to me, and salutary, arid all I can desire. Why should I seek to be entangled farther ? And for yourself (pardon me that I say so) I know T not wherefore I should wish to affect you more. I owe you thanks, for that you have shown my brother kindness. Be content with these, and with my wishes for your welfare. Seek no more. Strive to forget that which hath passed already." They had now reached the churchyard ; and an other turn would bring them upon the houses of the village. So Amy, bidding her companion remember that they were now under observation, repressed the passionate reply that was rising to his lips. They THE HAWKING STAND. 165 passed on through the straggling line of cottages, till they reached Simon Marson s house ; at the door of which one of the little boys, in his grey week-day dress, was playing with dirt-heaps before the thresh- hold. " Here, Will," cried Amy ; " Oh, Hal, is it thee ? hold the gentleman s horse, while we pass within." And she led the way into Mr. Campian s parlour. The clergyman glanced with surprise at his two visitors ; whose countenances bore, in spite of all efforts to conceal it, the marks of troubled and agitated feeling : but, forbearing inquiry, he listened to Amy s explanations, and assented to her proposal that she should go on first to Robert Steffe s, and make the needful preparations ; while he would speak with Master Curtis, and follow in a short time. So Amy took her departure, much relieved to find herself alone again; and thankful that, instead of being left to reflect upon the agitating interview that was just over, she had an object of absorbing interest, by dwelling upon which she could calm her agitation, and regain the composure of her mind, while opening her heart in the purest form of sympathy to the sorrows and sufferings of others. And as she knelt that afternoon by the bedside of the dying man, receiving with him and with his daughter the pledges M 3 166 THE WASHINGTON. of their common salvation, a prayer went up from her heart for Philip Curtis too, that he might find a better solace, and secure a better happiness, than any which her love could have supplied. Meanwhile poor Philip stammered out his message from his mother ; feeling, with painful embarrass ment, how little he could account for his absence from the hawking field upon so slight an errand, when the next day would have done as well ; and scarcely able to arrange his words upon the subject, while his thoughts were ever wandering along quite another track. Mr. Campian received the message with cordiality, dwelling with pleasure on his recol lection of Philip s mother, and expressing both his Christian regard for her, and his warm interest in all that belonged to her. " But how came Master Curtis to enjoy such fair guidance to my poor lodging ? " he continued, fixing his eyes full upon his guest. Philip felt at once that his secret was known ; but anxious not to compromise Amy at any rate, he answered, blushing deeply, " I overtook her on the road, Master Campian ; and forced my presence on her. Would it had been more welcome than it was !" The old man looked on him with compassionate kindness ; yet with a glance that seemed to pierce THE HAWKING STAND. 1G7 into his secret heart, as he replied, " Happy is the man, who shall win that treasure ! Yet only happy, if he shall deserve it ! Master Philip, you are the son of a godly mother ; and I would fain hope that you are like to her. But it is not always so with the children of the best of parents. I ask not for your confidence : but take this counsel from your mother s friend, not without his blessing. Whatever be that you desire to compass, ask it of Grod. Think not to find it without His permission, without His gift. Thus only can it turn to your happiness ; or that of one whose welfare should be no less precious to you." Philip shrank from these words with a fainting heart ; but they made a lasting impression on him, an impression greatly deepened by events which happened shortly afterwards. Taking a hurried farewell, he rose and left the house : riding disconsolately up and down the green road where lately he had walked with Amy, till the people of the village began to pour in from the hawking stand : then setting spurs to his horse he galloped across the plain, wandering over the country, till the approach of night assured him that the great supper at Althorp must be over, and that he might return unobserved to the privacy of his chamber. M 4 168 THE WASHINGTON. CHAP. VI. THE CLEEKSHIP. OLD Robert Steffe died that night ; and, according to the usage of those times, the funeral took place a day or two after. On the following Sunday the mourners came to church in a body, as was the general custom in the parish on such occasions : and a larger congregation than usual assembled, expect ing to hear some tribute in the sermon to the memory of the departed an expectation which Mr. Campian took care not to disappoint. Body, who had been chief mourner at the funeral, saw no reason on that account to forego for that Sunday the duties which he had been accustomed to discharge as his uncle s deputy; and he took his place in the official seat, not without a confident assurance that it would now be his own by right. All the Marson family were at church ; except Ellen, who had been left at home to keep the house, and look after the dinner, which Simon always in sisted should be a comfortable one on Sundays. THE CLERKSHIP. 169 Simon himself, with his great brass spectacles on his nose, and his prayer-book in his hand, carefully followed the service, bearing his part audibly in the responses : while his wife, flanked on either side by Will and Hal in the sad-brown Sunday dittos, held nothing in her hand but her pocket Geneva Bible ; resolutely abstaining from word or gesture that could indicate compliance with what was going on ; and barely tolerant of the superstitious changes of posture and vain repetitions, of which in her opinion the service consisted for the most part. When the lessons came, she opened her Bible and followed the minis ter ; finding here, however, new matters for grief and vexation in the strange vagaries and unsound renderings of the new Authorised Version. The second lesson for that morning s service was the sixth chapter of St. John s Gospel : and much was Elizabeth Marson distressed to find Easter turned into the ( Passover ; the litle boy with the five barley loaves merely designated as a lad ; and 6 the broken meat which remained, transformed into ( fragments " that blessed broken meat" as she said afterwards, " which one could think on, every time one took his victuals; and feel, as one brought along the remains of a meal to a poor neighbour, that the Lord s blessing went with it. And now tis 170 THE WASHINGTON. to be c fragments forsooth ! What do poor folk know about fragments ? This it is that comes of popish scholars handling the word of Grod, and certain rich men which are clothed in purple and fine linen, and fare deliciously every day. " At all these alterations poor Elizabeth fidgetted in her seat, and even uttered a slight moan : but when the minister came to the 22nd and following verses, she could contain herself no longer. Her own version ran thus. " The day folowyng, the people which stode on the other side of the sea sawe that there was none other shyp there, save that one wherinto his disciples were entred ; and that Jesus went not with his disciples in the shyp, but that his disciples were gone alone ; and that there came other shyppes from Tiberias, nye unto the place where they ate the bread, after the Lord had given thanks. Then, when the people saw that Jesus was not there, they also, &c." The complicated and long-drawn sentence of the Authorised Version in this passage kept Elizabeth in a torture of suspense, as she listened with arrested breath ; and she recovered herself with so loud a groan, that the eyes of all the congregation turned towards her, and Lord Spencer himself looked up in astonishment to see what was the matter. How- THE CLERKSHIP. . 171 ever Mr. Campian went calmly on, guessing pretty accurately the cause of the disturbance ; and Eliza beth, who was somewhat ashamed of her involuntary outbreak, restrained herself more carefully ; till the rendering of the 37th verse, which was one of her favourite texts in support of the doctrine of in defectible grace, and which the new translators seemed to understand of unbounded mercy, so shocked her, that with a gesture of despair she turned her head away in disgust from the reading pew. Simon Marson s sittings were nearly opposite Lord Spencer s ; and the latter had been watching her, since he looked up, with something of curiosity and amusement. But his attention was now attracted to Body, whom he probably would not have noticed but for the other little incident. Body was seated in his official place, with his arms folded, and his head thrown back, in the attitude of one who knew and felt his own unrivalled importance. Not King James himself, uniting in his single person the rights of Tudors and Plantagenets, of William the Con queror and of Egbert, could occupy the throne of England with a prouder sense of his indisputable title than Body felt, as he sat there in his place as Parish Clerk of Brington. ^nd as the service went 172 THE WASHINGTON S. on, the triumphant tone of his Amen, and the jubilant emphasis which he gave to the responses in the Litany, however little they might serve to aid the devotions of the worshippers, were at any rate a faithful reflex of the feelings uppermost in the chief mourner s heart. When the sermon was over, Mr. Campian, as he was disrobing, received a message that " my lord " wanted to speak with him outside ; and issuing from the chancel door, he found Lord Spencer waiting for him there. "A word with you, Sir Parson, by your leave," said his Lordship playfully. " Walk with me towards Althorp a little space, I pray you. Or why should you not dine with us to-day ? Nay, nay," he added checking the clergyman s reply, "Mistress Marson will do well enough without you. Here, Alibone; run, tell Mistress Marson that Master Campian will not be at board with her to-day : I have craved the favour of his company. Better a dinner of herbs at Althorp," he added, smiling, when the attendant had departed, "than a stalled ox with such sallet as your hostess hath got ready to serve with it this morning." " And now, my good friend," he pursued, as they left the church-yard, " I would fain speak with you about the clerk. Surely you intend not to give the THE CLERKSHIP. 173 place to Body yonder. The fellow is well enough in field, or in the heronry ; but he does us scant credit methinks as our Parish Clerk." "Your Lordship shall remember," answered Mr. Campian, "that I am but curate here : and have not the power to appoint or elect the clerk. It rests with Master Proctor, not in any wise with me." " But it is for you to point out to Master Proctor, what is fitting ; " said Lord Spencer. " Pardon me, my lord," answered the Curate. "Master Proctor is exceeding jealous of any motion of mine ; and ever conceives me to be grasping at that which I should forbear to touch. I have had much experience thereof: and my conclusion is to ask nought, and point out nought, wherein he shall not prevent me by requesting to be advised." t( Speak then with me," said Lord Spencer. " I should by right have a voice in this matter, if I mistake not. Hath not the patron of the advowson equal power with the parson to elect and appoint a clerk?" " I know it hath been so used in sundry parishes," answered the clergyman : " but how the law standeth I know not. The canons, that were agreed upon in his Majesty s reign that now is, speak flatly against any right but the parson s." 174 THE WASHINGTON^. " I know not that those canons were ever ratified and enacted by the other estates of this realm," replied Lord Spencer smiling. "But Mr. Proctor at all rates will scarce deny me the licence to advise with him ; and to this end I need your counsel. Whom would you appoint,, if you were rector ? I am well assured not him we saw to-day. Come, tell me frankly," he pursued, seeing that his companion hesitated to answer : " I claim it of you, as a duty owed to your flock. None should bear an office in the Church, be it never so humble, but a discreet and godly man, respected of all, or worthy to be respected. " " You say right, my lord," answered Mr. Campian : i( and seeing that it is so, I will reply to your inquiry. Either of old Robert s sons-in-law, either William Leeson or Eichard Dunkley, would be a graver and better man to advance to the post than Richard Steffe. Both can skill to read, and are of a sober conversation. But were I rector, I should elect Thomas Burbidge as the fittest man of all. Or stay ; there is his father, old Matthew Burbidge, who would doubtless be much contented to fill this honourable post in his last days. He is the patriarch of our village ; and in the evil days, when the old religion was restored, he is reported to have borne manful testimony to the Gospel truth. It were no slight done THE CLERKSHIP. 175 on Eobert Steffe s kinsman, to advance such an one rather to the office. His son Thomas were ever at hand, to fill his post when he were indisposed ; and to succeed him when he shall decease. Old Matthew hath but a short space to live (seeing he is past four score years already*); but his grey hairs have been found in the way of righteousness; and we should delight to honour them." " Enough," answered Lord Spencer. " Say no more. I shall despatch a messenger to Master Proctor. Some of my people will be journeying this week to Wormleighton ; and by their hands I will send a letter. But it grieves me to think, my friend, that matters should stand thus between you and our good parson yonder. It is by reason of your phantasies, I trow, and your notions touching Church ritual and doctrine. Pity, that you should move in such affairs ; and mix yourself up with men, that love you not for all your pains. What thanks are they you get from these malcontents and sectaries ? They see you square not with their conceits ; and they will none of you * Mr. Campian was mistaken in this. Old Matthew Burbidgc survived both Lord Spencer and Mr. Proctor, living on till 162-8-, as the following entry in the register testifies: "Matthew Bnrbidge, Clark of the p.ish a long time, and of y e age of fourscore and sixteene yeares dep.ted this life and was buryed the eleventh day of Januarij, 1628." 176 THE WASHINGTON. themselves. See Mistress Marson now. You are as much papist in her eyes, as any of us. Mark what shall come of the concessions you would fain grant them." fi We must not take much heed to that which men think of us personally,," said Mr. Campian, smiling. " Nevertheless I deem not so hardly of Elizabeth Marson, as your lordship seems to do. She hath, it is true, many causeless prejudices and headstrong ways ; with confidence in her own judgment more than that her knowledge warranteth or supporteth. Yet hath she the root of true godliness within, and therewith the root also of meekness and of charity. She, and such as she, had been won to compliance long ere this, in all necessary points, had we treated them with forbearance and patience. We ourselves have driven them beyond reasonable lengths, by stoutly pushing little things wherein they found their conscience to be aggrieved. See now the matters which they have scrupled most. The sign of the cross in baptism, the usage of kneeling at the Lord s Table why force these things on those that mis- liked them ? why leave them not, that which indeed they are, as things indifferent ? Nay, even the wear ing of the surplice, though herein the decency of public ministrations were more concerned, I see not wherefore it should be forced on ministers that THE CLERKSHIP. 177 scrupled it. Twere no great breach of public decency that some few ministers should pray in the same habit wherein they preach, a habit as decent and orderly as the other. In the time of our children, or at furthest of our children s children, these scruples had been forgotten, as airy and baseless things : and either an uniformity of practice had prevailed ; or such habituation to diversity of practice, as all men should have allowed it without offence." " You hope too much, methinks, Master Cam- pian," answered Lord Spencer. sti You judge accord ing to that you desire : though I too was of your mind once, touching the things you speak of. But I fear me concession in these matters were but to breed new scruples. Phantasies indulged bring other phan tasies succeeding ; whereof in truth many have arisen already. Mistress Marson here she seemeth to have some new scruple about Scripture itself; if I may judge from her demeanour but now in church." " Tis a misapprehension on her part," said the clergyman, " issuing out of ignorance, and needing to be treated through patience and fair opportunity. Men are prone to suspect even good and wholesome deeds in them they have learned to mistrust. But speak we not of Mistress Marson, my lord, or such as her. I would fain speak of them that be discreet and 173 THE WASHINGTON S. learned, as well as godly. They too have scruples, and we respect them not ; and herein we greatly err. Did we but consider such, and bear their burdens, dealing tenderly with them, we had long ago won their aid to instruct the unlearned also, and draw their minds away from questions that minister con tention." " My good friend," replied Lord Spencer, ee you shall scarce find these men, methinks, whereof you speak. I look vainly for such among the Puritans. Learned they be, many of them, I grant ; and godly, I doubt not : but discreet they are not. They are not content to ask such things, which it were possible to concede. They press for other things which subvert all disci pline and order : setting up for the most part their own Geneva platform, as ordained of God forsooth ; and now of late, sundry of them, their Independent platform also. You shall scarce find me a man of sober reason among them." " We are not far to seek for one at least," said the clergyman smiling, and looking significantly towards the young men who were walking some hundred yards in advance of them. "Ha! my dear son Edward, you mean," said Lord Spencer smiling also. " By your leave we will not take account of him. He hath scarce years enough. THE CLERKSHIP. 179 methinks, to have the experience requisite for dis cretion. He will judge more soberly anon." " Ask of him nevertheless," pursued Mr. Campian ; ({ and he shall tell you of many others ; and so could I ; whom if your lordship should know them and discourse with them, you should esteem possessed of all those qualities whereof you spoke. We may not judge of any set of men by the forwardest and the loudest. Ofttimes they are the shallowest likewise." "Nay," said Lord Spencer, "I dea] them not so scant a measure of justice, as to judge of them by the worser sort. See now those grave and reverend doctors that came to the conference with his Majesty at Hampton Court. How sorry was the figure they made ! How poor their argumentations how aim less their motions how weak their cause ! " "Truly I think not of that conference but with grief and heaviness," answered, the other. " Our brethren were shamefast, as they themselves confess, straitened in spirit, tied in tongue. Though believe, my lord, we read not a worthy and a true rehearsal of that disputation ; nowise in that report which hath gone forth from Dr. Barlow, and which is most divul- gated amongst us. Dr. Eeynolds ofttimes complained grievously twas a recital drawn up to flatter the King s Majesty, and much turned aside from the N 2 180 THE WASHINGTON^ truth to compass that end. And many a time have I heard my learned and godly friend Dr. Sparke, who was one of those doctors (and whose worth and ex cellency your lordship esteems as I do) many a time have I heard him say that here is no even-handed recital of the arguments set forth on either side. Yet he too doth not stick to confess that he and his brethren fell far below the measure of themselves. And how should it be otherwise ? Standing without friends or countenance, before a crowd of courtiers gathered to witness their discomfiture kept wait ing with contumely while the King s Majesty con ferred with their adversaries how to overthrow them -brow-beaten on every side when admitted to his presence received by himself with scurrilous re proaches, interrupted, silenced, jested on how should they speak freely or advisedly? Had they been persecuted men, arraigned for their Christian faith, called to witness a good confession before an unbelieving judge, I doubt not that even so Grod had given them a mouth and wisdom to render a reason of the hope that was in them. But such was not their task. They were bidden to speak as brethren unto brethren, though amidst such signs of brother hood as this to confer, heart to heart, and mind to mind, while scorn and bitterness were on all faces THE CLEEKSHIP. 181 round them. It was canticum Domini in terra aliena ( the Lord s song in a strange land. I marvel not that their tongue failed, and their hearts sickened within them. My lord, that was no Chris tian conference : no endeavour to ascertain by the light of (rod s Holy Spirit how disagreements should be composed how unity should be preserved in the bond of peace how truth, diversely viewed in her divers aspects, should be suffered, without hasty pre- judications of men, to show herself justified of all her children. And as it was then, so alas ! it has been since. Scorn, bitterness, persecution, these are the weapons wherewith the stronger party have met all motions for changes or accommodations ill weapons these, even if all truth were on one side, all error on the other. How much worse then, if truth be wholly on neither side ; if conscience and reason can at least plead rightfully for indulgence and patience towards the weaker." " Truly there is much herein to blame, I grant, on the side of the rulers of the Church," answered Lord Spencer. " Ofttimes it shameth me to mark the carriages of my lords the Bishops. We of the temporal estate demean not ourselves before the King as they do. All men know that there is scant cause for doing reverence to him, were it not for the N 3 182 THE WASHINGTON. office lie holds. Yet will my lords of the clergy extol him as one taught of Heaven, and filled with spiritual graces, in a fashion well nigh blasphemous. And these same prelates shall then carry themselves towards their flock, as being lords over (rod s heri tage. Many cruel courses have they been guilty of ; whereof, as you know, I am no defender. Yet me- thinks you are not just nor even-handed, my friend, in the measure of your blame. Scorn and arrogancy these be weapons wherewith the Puritans have this long while contended, adding thereto narrowness and folly to boot. And were they masters in the Church, there were more oppression, I verily believe, of recusant consciences than at any time either in this reign or the late Queen s Majesty s. They have been handled themselves exceeding roughly, I grant. Yet shall you call to mind that the Bishops, and the of High Commission also, have herein but enforced the law a law which they did not make, and wherewith therefore it were scant justice to charge them." " Yet it is a law," answered Mr. Campian, " in the severity whereof they have taken manifest pleasure a law, which it needed but a word from them, yea, but an intimation of their willingness to consent, and both your lordship s House and the Commons THE CLERKSHIP. 183 House of Parliament had right gladly altered it this long while past." " I deny it not," replied Lord Spencer, " though the hardest matter had been to have wrought His Majesty to a contentment therewith. You see, however, that the severity whereof you complain hath been much relaxed of late, both by the High Commissioners, and also by my Lords the Bishops, since their rebuff in the Star Chamber." " Yet it seemeth to me," said Mr. Campian, fi not so much repented of and laid aside, as diverted for a while upon others. The weight of punishment hath fallen in these latter years more upon the Papists : a thing whereat sundry of our brethren have thought fit to rejoice, joining their endeavours also to crush them whom they account the common enemies. Tis unwisely judged. They are but foster ing a propensity which will soon turn again upon themselves ; and I fear me that by many of our prelatical clergy Puritanism is a thing accounted worse than Popery ; as indeed Dr. Laud hath plainly declared but lately in Oxford. And alas ! my lord, know we not that the fires of persecution have been kindled anew but two years since ? Legate burned at Smithfield, Wightman at Lichfield, for opinions very grievous indeed, and full of heresy, yet opinions only, N 4 184 THE WASHINGTON. issuing not in any evil act such as those the civil state should resent and punish. Will not this humour be ready to turn forthwith upon those whom for a while it seems to spare ? I deny not that the humour of intolerancy hath shown itself among the Puritans also, and that increasingly. I see it with grief: I confess it sorrowfully. Presbyterians and Brownists are now stiff for their own discipline, claiming as of Grod s authority that which once they did but commend as the better course. But it began not with them. Far otherwise might it have been ; had differences, which perchance are unavoidable, been treated from the first with Christian consideration. Would to Grod that even now it were in the hearts of our rulers to use the remedy of concession and conciliation ! " " That tide is past," replied Lord Spencer. " Tis too late to use that remedy now, even if it ever were a remedy in truth. But I doubt you judge erroneously even from the first. When men have got their will in one thing, straightway they desire it in another : and most of all, if their will be not based on reason. So it is with these Puritans. Yield them one point ; and they shall clamour in continent for others, greater and more than the former were. You shall find that you have but THE CLEEKSHIP. 185 encouraged them to make larger demands, and more extravagant. You have let in water ; which shall pour on, till it carry all away as with a flood. Such is the nature of man : and our wiser course is there fore to refuse at first whatsoever shall seem unrea sonably asked, or asked without sufficient cause ; according to the old and true saying, ( Resist first beginnings. " " But those first requests were surely not unrea sonable," urged Mr. Campian. ft The ceremonies and vestments which were scrupled had been abused to superstitious ends, and were truly a matter of offence to weak minds. And albeit the abuse was separable (I grant) from the sober use thereof, yet herein should the Apostle s rule have been observed, Sustinere imbecilitates, f To bear with the infirmities of the weak. In that we heeded not the Apostle, we have provoked unto more strife. For the rest, I deny not that which you say of the nature of man : yet will I urge you to remember that it is not with bare human nature we have to deal in the governance of the Church, but with that nature corrected and controlled by the Holy Spirit of Grod. Obey we Him in the shaping of our own course ; submit we to Him in our own way and motions : and He who ordereth all hearts besides will not suffer our brethren 186 THE WASHINGTON. to proceed to those lengths which you apprehend. He will check and restrain the impulses of the heart in those, even as by His grace they are checked in ourselves. He will not fail to guide and govern His Church, if only we seek and follow His guidance. But alas ! herein our rulers have not trusted Him ; neither do they trust Him now. They prefer the barriers of man s devising to the unseen safeguards which He provides dead forms of traditional agree ment to the unifying power of His living presence." " My friend," said Lord Spencer gravely and re verentially, "I were loth to speak lightly of your trust; or to deny the power and willingness of Almighty Grod to lead us when we turn to Him. But we do ill in this world to forsake the paths of sober carefulness. God wills us to profit by human ex perience; and to act according to the conclusions thereof. They speak but foolishly, who would make an opposition between the wisdom of Grod and the wisdom of man. The latter is indeed the reflected light of the former, and it is the only light which is given us for the most part to walk by. I fear me that your confidence would lead you to adventure that which should end in failure. Were all men such as you, then were perchance the course you would persuade us to, a safe one and a true. But such they are not : and our carriage towards them THE CLERKSHIP. 187 must be ordered accordingly. Even within the Christian Church the greater part of men are little affected by those spiritual influences you speak of little within reach of those influences. We cannot alter this fact. "We must deal with them according to that they are, not according to that we desire for them. Now you would disregard the warnings of experience. You would cast pearls unto swine ; and they would trample them under foot yea, turn again and rend you. No, truly : " he added, after a pause, " I see no remedy for our present evils in the Church, but that which I have ever propounded, ever pleaded for when others advocate it. Let each man worship Grod after his own conscience, and according to his own light. Let the laws of the realm accord this freedom fully to every one. Let those that scruple our ceremonies, that mislike our discipline, separate themselves from us and depart. Let them frame their own churches set up their own platform construct their own confession, ceremonies, fashion of worship. And we on our part, we will maintain ours, unchanged, un- mutilate, according to that we judge both best and fittest. So alone can there be peace : so alone can each man find his own profit without detriment to his neighbours." " In so far as you speak as a legislator," answered 188 THE WASHINGTONS. the clergyman, "I agree to you herein. The civil power should freely allow diversity of opinion and of worship ; neither ought we to enforce our own dis cipline and ceremonies by pains of law on any man. But as a son of the Church I would have you speak otherwise. The Church hath a higher strain of charity than this whereto you would persuade us. The Church must never say, Send the multitudes away; but rather that other voice befitteth her, whereof we read this morning, e They need not depart. Give ye them to eat. The Church must never willingly suffer any of her children to go forth of her, as confessing her self unable to feed them ; never bid them take their own way, while she shall take hers. That state of things were a sore calamity: a grievous departure from the more excellent way which Scripture holdeth forth to us. Image that state as really established. Image it as our own state here here at our very doors. So should we best judge of it. There be sundry in this parish, besides Mistress Marson, who would much affect that which they esteem a purer discipline, a scriptural platform. Tell them that it were no evil to make it for themselves no sin to separate themselves from their Christian brethren no displeasure done to God, to rend the body of Christ. And what should follow, of necessity ? They would THE CLERKSHIP. 189 make of themselves a separate community a com munity bred of distrust and distaste of our Church arrogating to itself a greater purity, esteeming it a duty to win proselytes. They would elect a pastor for themselves one for whose fitness there were small security one it may be ignorant and headstrong one certainly zealous for a party following. What but evil could spring from such a source as this ? What but suspicions, jealousies, heart-burnings? Even the godly, who now worship together, were then divided among themselves. Of the rest, men would join themselves to one community or the other, as fancy led them, or convenience, or worldly interest ; nay, some would take either this side or that out of envy or ill will. Men s souls were es teemed objects of rivalry. The very children were causes of contention, under which community they should be nurtured. Alas ! where were a pastor s work in such a case ? where the work of an evan gelist ? Who is even now sufficient for these things ? But then a man s very zeal in his Master s service, his very desire to win souls, were a thing suspected and misjudged of all men : yea, he would perforce suspect himself. This were the very evil which St. Paul denounces ; the gangrene over which he weeps, when he did but see it threatening the Church." 190 THE WASHINGTON. " But you cannot escape it," said Lord Spencer. (( Even now we have not escaped it. It was a con sequence which followed of necessity from the Refor mation of religion. Here have been the Papists ever since ; who refused to consent to that movement, and separated themselves accordingly. And so it must be on the other side also. Whatever be the model of the Church agreed upon,, there will be those that mislike it and stand aloof. There must needs be a multitude of sects. You must look for it ; you must consent unto it." " If offences must needs be," answered the clergy man, fi yet let us avoid the woe that falls on him by whom they come. If schism be indeed unavoidable, yet let it not be through our fault. Let the guilt rest with those who should wilfully and uncharitably refuse Christian unity and fellowship. But let us, on our part, strive to preserve that unity by insisting on nought which is proved to distress the conscience of our brethren yea, by permitting large licence also in things of themselves indifferent. Let all things be done to edification. Where aught is found not to edify, yea rather to hinder and to offend, let it not be pressed. Doubtless there will be diversity of practice resulting therefrom, and this in greater things than vestments : but better diversity than THE CLERKSHIP. 191 division. Nay, I see not for my own part the evil of diversity,, or indeed that it is other than good. In veste varietas sit, scissura non sit, as saith the ancient father. Let the vesture be of divers colours ; only see there be no rent made thereof. " " Your rule cannot be applied," answered Lord Spencer. " Turn it to practice, and it shall fail you incontinent. Every Church must have her rules, her ceremonies, her discipline ; which no member thereof may presume to depart from, or to set at nought. And in framing these rules who shall decide which be things essential, which be indifferent ? Whatever be settled, sundry men nevertheless, though they be good Christians, will mislike the settlement and with draw themselves. It were vain to seek to retain them ; vain likewise to blame them for that they do. * " I cannot consent to that you say," replied Mr. Campian. " To think so were to give up the hope of a true Church Catholic. It were to assert that our Church of England neither is, nor can be, the Catholic Church within this realm ; but only, at the best, a part thereof. If this be so, let us take knowledge of it once for all, and confess it openly. Let us take our place, as but a sect among other sects. Hereby were much strife and disputation avoided. But Scripture plainly persuadeth otherwise. Should we 192 THE WASHINGTON. count it right and good to say I am of Paul, and I of Apollos, that were to depart from the rule which Grod hath given us ; to mistrust the power of Divine truth to unite and to solidify. What Grod hath com manded, that He can enable to perform : and He will enable those that lean upon Him. Grod hath com manded union union in worship and in order, for the common edification. Shall we say that such union cannot be ? and cite in proof thereof the ex perience of our unhappy differences ? Alas ! we have never yet tried the way of union which He pointeth out. We are stiff, each of us, for our own opinion each for our own mode of worship. We seek not with brotherly forbearance to consider each the other ; we inquire not, we care not how others shall be edified, whose needs are not as ours. We elect rather to do as do the Papists, changing only in some measure the ground we stand on. We appeal to Church decretals to the practice of this century and that to the opinions of Holy Fathers to the letter of Scripture, strained to meet our views, we make these things our rule of truth, in place of re garding them, (that which they rather are,) as but helps towards the truth. We despise, yea would often silence that other help, the voice of Grod speaking through His living witnesses. We heed not that word THE CLERKSHIP. 193 of the Apostle, e Quench not the Spirit : despise not prophecyings. For truly, if we despise prophecyings, if we contemn the voice of wise and holy men that now are, heeding not their admonitions, trampling on their consciences, refusing them even liberty of speech, it is no wonder if we shall quench the Spirit too; if we shall forfeit altogether the guidance of Him who would lead us into that truth which is needful for our peace, and into union among ourselves. Alas ! this is that we do. You will scarce bear me out herein, my lord, in all that I would fain say ; nor honour, as I honour, some of those that have suffered for conscience sake. Yet shall you remember how our rulers put to silence the warning voice of good Bishop Rudd ; and how they slighted and rejected the sage counsel of Sir Francis Bacon, that I name him only whom I take to be the wisest man in these realms." " I deny it not, Master Campian," said Lord Spencer, " yet would I fain hope that I see an amend ment in that their former course." " Nay, my lord," answered the clergyman, " I fear me it will go to greater lengths yet. There be many that are striving to undo the work of the fathers of our Reformation to narrow the pale of our Church, in place of seeking lovingly to enlarge our Christian o 194 THE WASHINGTON S. liberty. We of the clergy have asked for relax ation, in things wherein we find ourselves too much straitened. But they give us that answer of the king of old. Ego autem scorpionibus : ( Ye murmur at the whips : we will chasten you with scorpions. They have bound on us additional yokes : and they desire to bind more. The expressions of our Liturgy, w r herein hitherto we have consented, as agreeing merely to the use thereof, they would turn into new articles of religion ; constraining us to assent also to the teaching thereof, yea and to the deductions therefrom to be drawn. And finding that herein is great cause of offence, great occasion of doubts and questionings to tender consciences, especially in the matter of the office of Baptism, they desire and intend to press this further, hoping thereby-to cast out all such ministers, however godly and well affected to the Church, who scruple the doctrines which seem therein to be contained." " Herein you have scruples yourself, if I mistake not," asked Lord Spencer. " Truly," answered Mr. Campian, " I think there be sundry things in our Book of Common Prayer which it were well and wise to alter. And notably in the office for the Administration of Baptism. It seemeth to me that our Reformers, those of them at THE CLEEKSHIP. 195 least who drew up that office, had a persuasion in their minds touching Holy Baptism answerable in many points to those very errors and superstitions concerning the other sacrament which they were content to die rather than countenance. I can scarce conclude otherwise from the language they have re tained. And gladly would I see this amended, or some licence of usage allowed herein ; albeit not so as to condemn or offend those that think otherwise. In obedience to authority, as a minister of the Church, I use her offices, and I consent also that they be not repugnant to Holy Scripture. Yet, if called on to approve them altogether, and to accord thereto a consent not only functional and in the large, but doctrinal and scientifical, that were to me impossible. I must needs give up my ministry rather. And this is that which is heartly desired by a large part of our clergy. This end they will compass, if it be permitted them. They would put out of the ministry all who make not religion a thing mainly and essentially of sacraments." " I see that there be sundry such hot spirits in the Church," observed Lord Spencer : " but my Lord of Canterbury at least is of a mind far other than this; and I would fain hope that he shall still control them." o 2 196 THE WASHINGTON. " Alas, my lord, what can his Grace of Canterbury against prevailing numbers? and such they have, of the opposite side, if we may conclude from that which hath been done of late in the convocation. Even now he is forced full often to give way ; and, were he taken from us, one far different were like to -come in his place ; one that were more to the mind of the king, and more acceptable to the most part of the clergy. The more forward of them be already confident to avow and boast of such inten tions. To override the articles of religion which were agreed upon for the establishing of consent touching true religion, and so wisely shaped to that end to make the words of the Prayer-Book, rather, the touchstone for doctrines, and press them sharply by some form of assent to be required, which none shall be able to escape, or turn the edge thereof, this is the policy they boast of and desire to enforce. And if it shall succeed, what can come thereof but dis ruption to this Church of England, worse disruption than any which hath threatened us as yet ? Think you, my lord, the guilt of such disruption will rest with those who are thus driven forth of the com munion wherein they would fain abide ? " (( None can say so," answered Lord Spencer, " whether in the sight of Grod or of men." THE CLERKSHIP. 197 "Yet will our rulers seek to fix that guilt on them," continued Mr. Campian ; " yea, and pursue them with penalties of human law. Mark their principles. They maintain, that which I too confess, the duty of the Christian Church to remain one and undivided ; (though they make not that unity an unity of the Spirit, nor think to preserve it by the bond of charity.) They assert with you the right of the Church to make her own rules, and to claim obedience from her members therein ; (though they consent not with you to leave to every man a free dom of membership). And to these things they add, (that which neither of us alloweth), the claim to repress by force the maintenance of doctrine contrary to their own. Seeing that these things are so, what must we not fear ? There be dangers im pending over this Church and realm, my lord, which may Grod avert ! and dangers not only to liberty of worship and belief; for tyranny in the Church ever allieth itself with tyranny in the Commonwealth also." " I too have many forebodings of evil near at hand," answered Lord Spencer; "though the signs I regard be other for the most part tnan those you speak of. It behoves us to be vigilant and careful : and that the Commons of this realm should unite with us, of the Lords 1 House of Parliament, in guard- o 3 198 THE WASHINGTON S. ing the liberties of all. There must needs be a Parliament summoned in this coming spring, me- thinks. The king shall scarce do without one. Yet even were it summoned, tis a hard matter to rouse a Parliament to action. You shall scarce do it, save through the purse. But we must change our dis course now, Sir Parson; or our friends here shall scarce relish our company." And joining the others, who had waited for them on the bridge over the moat, they all passed together into the house to dinner. Body s confidence, that he would now be clerk of the parish in his own right, was based on something more than his own good opinion of himself. He had already taken measures to secure his object, and apparently with good success. Not that he had applied to Mr. Campian ; for he was fully aware how little influence the curate had with the absent rector, and rejoiced that so it was ; nor had he written to Mr. Proctor himself, wisely judging that it would be better to contrive that the suggestion should come from some other quarter. But for some time past, ever since his uncle s health had begun evidently to fail, he had taken measures to ingratiate himself with the rector of a neighbouring THE CLERKSHIP. 199 parish, whom he knew to be Mr. Proctor s especial friend and confidant, and who was generally deputed by the latter to act for him in cases of importance. The Eev. William Phillipps, Hector of Whilton, was one whom the rigid Church party would have agreed to point out as the model clergyman of that neighbourhood. He was a man, who, to high moral character, and industry in his ministerial work, added the most careful observance of all ecclesiastical ordinances and proprieties. His communion-table was scrupulously fixed at the east end of his chancel. Holy Baptism was administered according to the strictest provisions both of the Eubric and of the Canons. He had daily service in his church ; besides the Litany on Wednesdays and Fridays ; always tolling the bell to give notice thereof; though no one attended, except members of his own family and household. And he carefully observed all Saints days, Vigils, and holy seasons ; not failing to keep the fasts himself, and exercising no small self-denial also in his systematic course of almsgiving. But though Mr. Phillipps enjoyed accordingly, in a con siderable measure, the respect of his parishoners, or at least of the better ones among them, he had but little influence over any. For, in the first place, he was only what was then called " a reader." He o 4 -200 THE WASHIXGTONS. despised preaching, as a superfluous and even hurtful practice. What could the people learn from it but that which was better taught them by the Prayer- Book, and by the lessons out of Holy Scripture as appointed by the Church to be read ? or, if further applications of Divine truth were anywise needed, were they not provided in the Book of Homilies, one of which he was always willing to read to them on Sundays ? The consequence was that his people preferred to go to Norton church, where the minister was such as might be expected in a parish belonging to the Knightley family ; or further on to Daventry, especially at the time of the evening lecture. This was a very sore point accordingly with Mr. Phillipps : and as his pastoral visits were chiefly taken up with expostulations upon this matter, or with exhortations to maintain the grace given them in the one sacra ment by attendance on the other, he found but little welcome either in the houses of his people. Many of them went over regularly to the prayer meeting at Buckby; nor would his churchwardens consent to present these offenders to the Ordinary : so that poor Mr. Phillipps s ministerial life was not a very successful or happy one. Brington he regarded as a very irregular and loosely administered parish ; and would sometimes expostulate with Mr. Proctor THE CLERKSHIP. . 201 about it, commenting upon the very lax principles of his curate. Still Master Campian was not one of the principal objects of his dislike, being one whose preaching had little attraction for the masses. He regarded him with grave disapprobation, indeed, and something of contempt : but he did not look on him with half the horror which he felt for many others ; for " holy Master Dodd " (for instance) the ejected minister of Banbury, now settled at Canons Ashby, under the protection of the Drydens^ and the Copes, though often suspended or silenced there, as in the other cures which he held before his death ; or for Dr. Preston, the great Puritan divine of Cambridge, who, being an intimate friend of the Knightleys was constantly at Fawsley, arid whose preaching drew multitudes from all the country round to hear him, the more so because he was himself a native of Heyford, a village of the neighbourhood. Even some of the great Church dignitaries came in for no small share of Master Phillipps s blame ; for though he was loud and profuse in his exaltation of bishops in the abstract, he did not hesitate, when dealing with particulars, to pronounce Dr. Abbot, the then Arch bishop of Canterbury, little better than a Puritan ; or to comment severely on the present remissness of his own diocesan, old Dr. Dove, who had sadly 202 THE WASHINGTON. fallen off in activity since those good days when five disaffected ministers were silenced by him in one morning before breakfast. Mr. Phillipps also affected a higher social position than was usually enjoyed by the clergy at that time ; for he was a man of some private means, and had bought the advowson of the living: so he thought himself entitled to stand on the same level at least with Mr. Lane, rector of the neighbouring parish of Dodford ; who, besides being a parson, was also one of the small squires of the county. Such was the ally upon whom Body placed his chief dependence for the attainment of his object; and he had succeeded so well in recommending him self to the favour of his new patron, that the latter thought he saw some hope for Brington, now that he had discovered so loyal and rightminded a son of the Church, and one whose way was open also to a post of some influence and honour. He had written strongly to this effect to Mr. Proctor more than once ; and on the death of the old clerk he had sent a special messenger over to Boddington with the news, begging to be allowed to make the appointment without delay, and requesting all powers necessary to give it legal validity. In the evening of the day after the Sunday we THE CLEEKSIIIP. 203 have just described, Mr. Campian and Simon Marsoii were walking up together from Simon s rickyard; when at the churchyard gate, as they turned the corner, they met Mr. Phillipps and Body, the latter with the great keys in his hand, evidently just come out of the church. On ordinary occasions the two clergymen would have thought it best to exchange no salutations, beyond a civil and distant bow ; but, brought thus face to face as they were, there seemed no help for it but to speak. " Sir," said the stately rector, with an air of more than his ordinary stateliness, " I was but now viewing your church or rather I had ought to say, Master Proctor s church by aid of the kind guidance of Master StefTe here. I would that yourself had been by, to hear the excellent remarks he made; though I fear rne his modesty might so have checked him. He doth deplore many things in the ceremonies thereof, Master Campian ; as indeed do I, and as all true churchmen needs must." Simon Marson turned a glance of astonishment and scorn full upon Body ; who would gladly have given a week s earnings to be behind the church tower, and who stood there, miserably conscious, as Mr. Campian replied " Truly it were an occasion of much contentment 204 THE WASHINGTOXS. to me any day, Master Phillipps, to company you hither. And as for Richard here, I will gladly listen at all times to aught he hath to say." " There are many things we did deplore, Master Campian," continued the rector ; " that by your leave I should say it. First that this fair church should be shut up throughout the week. Said you not so, Master Steffe ? w " Ay, Sir William :" answered Body. " Shut up throughout the week. No sound of church prayer or church thanksgiving heard therein. Not so much as a litany said on Wednesdays and Fridays." " It ill suits the habits of our labouring country folks to attend services on week-days. Else would I gladly minister to them here," answered Mr. Campian. " But it accords ill with their daily toil. I should but pray with empty benches." lf Better with empty benches than not at all," replied Mr. Phillipps. " Forget you that which the Church herself directeth? Disobedience, Sir, is as the sin of witchcraft. And moreover bethink you what wrong is done to those, like to Master Steffe here, who much desire to come. You rob them of their privileges : I might say their birthright," he added, turning towards Body. THE CLEKKSHIP. 205 Body tried to look like an ardent week-day church goer ; but he quailed before Simon s eye, and could only answer, " Ay, Sir William." " And even on Sundays," pursued the rector, " Master Steffe doth tell me much that grieves me at heart ; and this with a feeling that doth him honour. Scarce could I credit it, but that it is he that re- porteth it. I hear there be some that kneel not at the communion ; yet, nevertheless, the elements be administered to them. I hear that in sundry points the canons be disregarded, nay even the rubrics also. I hear that the sacrament of holy baptism is not then administered when the Church doth direct, but that you defer it till the congregation hath departed. Hear I aright, Master Campian ? Wonder we that ungodliness and insubordination are so rife, if we present not to the people that which should instruct, should recal, should edify them? If the Church fail to hold up her light, no marvel that all around lieth in darkness. Better than a score of sermons, Master Campian, that exhibition of the highest mystery of our faith, those stirring addresses that clear exposition of pure catholic truth, which is con tained in the wholesome words of the Baptismal Office." " I care not to discuss the matter with you now, 206 THE WASHINGTON. Master Phillipps," replied the other : " neither indeed is it to yourself that I am in any wise accountable. Yet thus much will I say, to deal honestly with you. I expect not the edification, whereof you speak, from the public ministering of baptism. Truly, if I judge from my own observation, there is no part of our Church s ordinances, whereat simple folk be so prone to be offended, or so like to be estranged in affection from the Church, as by the office ap pointed to be used in the ministration of that sacra ment." " Sir, do you remember your ordination vow ? " asked Mr. Phillipps, aghast at this reply. " I do perfectly remember it," answered the curate. " Master Phillipps," he added, " I am quite content to discourse over this matter with you, if such shall be your pleasure, by ourselves alone. But let us leave to handle it now. Tis a disputation will engender heats. Twere better to avoid the presence of others." Body had long ago come to the same conclusion ; for he felt as on tenter-hooks all this time, standing in great fear (as he always did) of Mr. Campian, and being still more discomposed under Simon Marson s glance, which he knew was fixed on him, though he dared not look that way. So he found courage to second the remonstrance. THE CLEEKSHIP. 207 " Truly Master Campian saith well ; " he observed. " Tis not fitting that laics should listen to disputations of their spiritual pastors." " I commend your modesty, Master Steffe," replied the rector ; " your modesty and your judgment. Tis an observation well becomes a good son of the Church ; though you learned it not, methinks, from Millenaries. Master Campian (he continued) you will scarce be surprised at that which brings me hither. Your rector has signified to me his intention of appointing Master Steffe to the office of parish clerk, left vacant but now by his lamented uncle. Tis an appointment, I would fain hope, shall sufficiently content you : though I fear me not because Master Steffe is so staunch to the Church. But such is Master Proctor s judgment. Even now a messenger, come from him, is tarrying in my house at Whilton : and by him I shall send back to-morrow morning the needful papers for Master Proctor to sign." " Pardon me, Sir, that I ask you," said Mr. Campian, " if the messenger were charged with a letter to my lord Spencer also." " No, Sir ; there was none such letter," answered Mr. Phillipps. " Wherein should this matter pertain to his Lordship ? " " Tis one at least wherein my lord desires to advise 208 THE WASHIXGTOXS. with Master Proctor," answered the curate : " and it- were to do a sore displeasure to my rector not to advertise him of that desire. I am well assured, and you too, methinks, Sir, are no less so, that Master Proctor desires in all things to show respect to my Lord Spencer s wishes. And it were an unfriendly thing not to give him notice now. Pardon me that I suggest it, Sir; but were it not well, before the messenger returns to Boddington, that he ride down to Althorp, and enquire whether there be any com mands from my lord that he should convey ? " " I will consider of the matter ; and do that which seemeth me best," answered Mr. Phillipps. e( Come, Master Steffe : we linger too long already." And, taking a cold and haughty farewell of the curate, the stately rector marched off along the road to Whilton ; Body pacing by his side, glad to be released at any price from the pillory he had been standing in, though the prospect of Lord Spencer s interference had thrown a sudden damp upon his hopes. Simon Marson stood gazing after him, with a look of ineffable contempt : then after a minute s silence he exclaimed, (( He war all ays such a nineted one ! " What say you ? " said Mr. Campian perplexed. THE CLERKSHIP. 209 " So gallons a knave," growled Simon in explana tion. Then seeing that even this elucidation of his meaning did not seem quite satisfactory, he added, " So full of his tricks and flummery." 210 THE WASHINGTON. CHAP. VII. THE SEPARATION. THE best laid plans are often disconcerted; the strongest and most indisputable claims are not always either conceded or allowed. So it was in Body s case. Another won the prize which he re garded as his own. Within a few days after the interview which has just been recorded, came the final decision of Mr. Proctor in favour of Matthew Burbidge; and Body had to give up the seat and keys of office to a stranger,, whom he regarded as an usurper also. This was very mortifying: but he knew how to put the best face on a reverse as well as a success; and indeed his mortification was not un mixed with feelings of relief; for he never forgot that meeting at the churchyard gate,, and he com forted himself under the loss of his patrimony with the reflection that he should not at any rate be exposed to a repetition of the agonies which he had endured on that occasion. But we are wandering from the strict sequence of THE SEPARATION. 211 our story. On the morning after Mr. Phillipps s visit of inspection to Brington church, Philip Curtis and John Washington took their departure, and set forth on their return to London. John had already trespassed on the limits of his school holidays, though not without permission. Lord Spencer had obtained for him an extension of leave, which would expire however on the Wednesday night. Before sunset John must be in college : but he and his companion had finally settled that they could accomplish the journey in two days, by making a very early start in the morning; and Philip had of late become even more sanguine and positive in his conclusions about this matter than his younger friend. He had been making inquiries of an old acquaintance, who had travelled up to London by the Coventry waggon : and he was now loud in his praises of the accommodation which they should find at Dunstable, which was to be their half-way resting place for the night. On Tues day morning, accordingly, at an early hoar, the friends were on horseback in the stableyard at Althorp, duly equipped with their saddlebags for the journey; and Body was in attendance to guide them by a shorter way, that should avoid Northampton, and bring them into the great road which led from Coventry to the metropolis, falling in at Stony Strat- P 2 212 THE WASHINGTON. ford with the northern line to York and Scotland, which passed through Northampton and Leicester. Poor Philip had been on Monday to Little Brington, to take his farewell : and Amy had not avoided him ; though she took care neither to see him alone, nor to give him any reason to suppose that her purpose had at all wavered. He was himself embarrassed and depressed. Nor did this escape the notice of Robert Washington and his wife : but, as they knew not of the interview that had taken place, they forbore to make any remarks in Amy s hearing upon Philip s demeanour, and attributed it (when talking over the matter alone) to the sorrow he felt in going away, and to the timidity and irresolution which had pre vented him from declaring his attachment. Nor even did Mr. Campian touch upon the subject in his conversations with Amy. She saw that he knew her secret : and he on his part perceived that she was aware of his discovery. But he thought it better not to make open mention of it ; though the knowledge of it silently influenced his tone in talking to her, and made him dwell with careful and affec tionate sedulity on all the subjects which he judged most likely to occupy and soothe her mind. He strove to quicken her interest in the little domestic and social duties in which she was engaged ; to make THE SEPARATION. 213 her feel their importance and their dignity their sufficiency to call forth the faculties both of heart and mind ; and to make life happy, however narrow be the bounds of its horizon. And Amy, knowing well what her pastor was thinking of, and firm from the first in the same judgment herself, felt grateful for his delicate sympathy; and often thought how happy she was to have such a friend and counsellor ; while life itself, with its humble yet salutary routine of occupations, afforded her all that a Christian need ask or wish for, room for learning, and for working out, Grod s gracious will concerning us. Nevertheless, she sadly missed the lively society of her affectionate and joyous brother. And, when her uncle and aunt would add that they missed Philip Curtis hardly less, was there not really something of a response in her own heart ? Who can tell ? Cer tain it is, that, one evening, when Mr. Campian was at supper with them in the little parlour, and the con versation turned upon Philip Curtis and his relations, Amy listened, with an eagerness which she would have been ashamed to confess, to the details which her uncle and the clergyman entered into about Islip and the family there ; and, above all, to Mr. Campian s narrative of the circumstances of his acquaintance with Mistress Curtis, and to his warm commendations p 3 214 THE WASHINGTON S. of that lady : and Amy cherished from that day for wards a great desire to know her, and a conviction that nowhere would she find one more exactly suited to be a friend to her, and perhaps something more than a friend. August came ; and the family at Althorp went, as they were accustomed, to spend a month at Worm- leighton, so that Margaret Spencer s society was also lost to Amy ; though the intercourse, which was con stantly kept up on such occasions between the two places, enabled the friends to interchange letters twice or thrice a week. Amy was therefore thrown more than ever upon Mr. Campian, for that real exchange of thought and feeling which gives the zest to life ; and which at once interprets to us and animates the shallower or more constrained intercourse with our fellow-creatures, of which ordinary life for the most part consists. She had resumed her studies also, which the busy pleasures of the summer had almost broken off reading the books which he selected and lent to her; and ever finding refreshment and in struction, in talking over them with him, as well as in conversing upon those more practical employments and personal interests which she shared with him in no small measure as his assistant in various parochial matters. THE SEPARATION. 215 He had been at the house with her one evening, arranging some little plans which he hoped to exe cute with her next day; and Amy had gone to bed, with her thoughts somewhat fuller than usual of the doings of the morrow. Dreams of the future, shaping themselves incongruously out of the recol lections of the past, chased one another in rapid succession through her mind. She awoke in the grey twilight of the morning, before the sun had risen ; and was a little startled to see Audrey standing in the room near her bed-side. Another glance told her that there was something distressing to communicate. The girl was standing with a terrified air by the door she had just opened, hesitating and afraid to speak. In answer to Amy s enquiries, she only burst out into a violent fit of sobbing. " Oh, Mistress Amy," she exclaimed at last ; " they said I must come and tell ye. Oh, Master Campian ! " " What of him ? " cried Amy, much alarmed. " What is the matter ? Is he sick ? Tell me straight way." " Oh, Mistress Amy," replied the maid ; " it has pleased the Lord to take him." Amy sprang from her bed in an agony of terror. It was too true. There was a special messenger, despatched to her by Simon Marson, with the fatal P 4 216 THE WASHINGTON. tidings. Mr. Campian had fallen down in a fit the evening before, soon after he reached home; and had never spoken again. They had procured medical aid in the night, but to no purpose. The good pastor was no more. The Marsons had sent to beg Amy to come to them, before others of the neighbours should hear the dreadful news. As soon as she could recover from the first over whelming shock, Amy hurried from the house to go over to Great Brington ; leaving strict injunctions that her aunt and uncle should not be told till her return, unless she were delayed so long as to make them uneasy on her account. It was now about five o clock. The grey morning light had given place to the brilliant rays of the unclouded sun, just shooting his level beams over the wooded heights that fringed the eastern horizon. The autumnal mists were creep ing chilly over the valley below : but the cloudless sky and springing sunlight betokened a hot and favourable day for the harvest, which had just com menced ; and seemed to be calling on all nature to rejoice. Yet it was the joy of lifeless, not of animated nature. There were no birds, as in spring time and early summer, to answer the morning call with their notes of gladness : and Amy felt that stillness con genial with her own feelings ; as though it meant to THE SEPARATION. 217 tell her that the lesser joys of earth were silenced, though the brightness of heaven itself smiled un changeably over the face of all things. All was still and mute. Here and there the figure of a reaper was seen, moving across the fields to his morning work, before the usual hour of toil : but no one met her, as she pursued her way ; and in the village itself there was no sign of wakefulness, save indeed the swallows that darted past her in the sunshine from under the eaves of the houses, and whose rapid movements and sharp unfeeling twitter smote painfully on her heart as she neared the fatal spot. She approached the house, with hushed breath, and steps that invo luntarily slackened into the pace of a mourner - almost longing to protract the suspense, and to in dulge the fancy that all was well within those walls as hitherto : and when her hand was on the garden gate, and the moment was come for facing the dread reality, she paused, with a sickening faintness that checked her beating heart ; and then advanced me chanically, under the spell of a strong incredulity that succeeded the emotion. Ellen was at the door to meet her, hiding her face with one hand in her apron, while she extended the other to meet the grasp of silent sympathy. Will and Hal were sitting motionless on the settle by the chimney ; and, seeing 218 THE WASHINGTON S. Amy enter, they began at once to cry : while Simon, rising from his seat, thanked her in broken accents for her kindness in coming to them, and told her in few words the short and fatal story of their loss. Mr. Campian had fallen suddenly on the floor of the room, soon after his return home. They had sent off directly for the doctor ; who pronounced the attack " apoplexia," and had blooded him profusely. But all in vain. Death had ensued, soon after midnight. " Ye 11 try and comfort my poor wife, Mistress Amy," he added. " She takes on, pitiful to see ; and nought that we can say seems any manner of use. She says she treated him so bad ; and true enough tis, for that. She carried not herself toward him, as she ought to have done ; and I cannot be for the denying of it. She s upstairs in the chamber now. She will not leave it. More s the pity : for nought remains to be done there now : and it does but make her ail the more." Amy went up stairs to the humble chamber, in vested now with the sublime dignity which is given by the presence of death. Elizabeth Marson was seated on the stool at the little table ; which was still covered with the books and papers of him who but yesterday had used it in all the vigour of his mind. Her face was buried in her hands; her THE SEPARATION. 219 elbows rested on the table. She took no notice of Amy s entrance: and the latter on her part said nothing ; but, gently advancing, stood at the foot of the pallet, upon which lay the remains of him whom both so loved and honoured. There, cold and stiff, was the face which would never smile on her again ; the eyes which would never open more, to exchange glances fraught with meaning, and to convey new expression to the accents of that tongue which was now for ever silent. The slight contortion, which the fatal attack had left upon the features, was almost past away. The reverend grey hairs flowed from under the black silk cap which had been placed upon the head ; falling peacefully on either side. Amy gazed for some minutes, in awe and deep emotion ; yet without fear and without repining ; bowing to the will of God, and sustained by un- doubting confidence in His faithfulness and love. Then, with beating heart and streaming eyes, she knelt at the foot of the pallet ; silently, in the presence of the silent dead, asking for strength and comfort, not only for herself, but for those who shared w^th her the burden of this great affliction. Presently she rose from her knees, and addressed herself to the work of consolation. In a gentle voice she repeated the first words of Scripture that 220 THE WASHINGTON. came into her mind, the words that were inscribed over the doorway of her own home ; and then some others of the affecting texts which are introduced into the Burial Service. But Elizabeth Marson made no reply ; no movement even ; and seemed unconscious of the voice that spoke to her. " Bethink you, dear Mistress Marson," continued Amy, "that we should not sorrow as others who have no hope. It is for us to show, at such a time, to them that need the lesson, how real and how effectual are the truths on which we rest for support. Others will be watching us. Let us show them what is that peace and comfort a Christian is able to lay hold of/ Still there was no response, and Amy continued: " It is not for him you mourn, Elizabeth ; I am well assured. You doubt not, you cannot doubt, of that state whereupon he is entered. And you grudge him not his reward. You would not keep him from his rest, whereto Grod hath called him. It is for yourself you mourn : for yourself and us. Let us strive to comfort one another, even as we are bidden : and chiefly we who were th nearest to him, and the dearest. Say I not well, Elizabeth ? Deny me not the right to comfort you. You would not shut me out from the nearest place. You and THE SEPAKATIOX. 221 Simon and I, we should be the nearest of all to .him ; and nearest each to the other therefore. Con sider what he himself had wished. So do yourself, so let me do, as he would fain have seen us." Amy had touched the right chord ; and Elizabeth lifted her head from the table, staring however with fixed and comfortless eyes upon her youthful friend. " Tis no place for me, to be among the nearest to him," she said. " I have no right thereto : I, who have been so cruel to him, so ungrateful, so wilful and hard-hearted in all my carriage towards him. Oh, Mistress Amy, I begged him to forgive me ; and he never spoke. I knelt by him last night, as he lay there; and begged him, before he went, if he knew that he must go, to give me some little sign at least that I had his pardon and his blessing. If he could not speak, yet to press my hand to move his finger to look on me to give me one look, whereby I might know it. But there was no sign none, none : and oh, I am of all most miserable ! Even if (rod shall forgive me, yet I had not his forgiveness ; and I can never have it now." And again the poor mourner buried her face in her hands; and leaned forward, with a shudder of misery, on the table. "But you had his forgiveness, dear Elizabeth," 222 THE WASHINGTON. said Amy. " In very deed you had. Oh, doubt it not. He could not speak to you last night : he could not hear you. The mind was gone. His course was already finished. It was but the unheed ing lifeless body, of which you asked a sign ; asking accordingly in vain, as you would of yon pale corpse. You had his forgiveness long before ; you had it always. But speak we not of forgiveness. You had his gratitude, his esteem, his trust, his love. He was never vexed with you. He thought you mis taken (I deny it not) in sundry lesser things. He wished to see a change therein. But he ever said, that, if he had a true friend on earth, who should stand by him in weal and woe, betide what might, that friend was Elizabeth Marson." " Did he say so ? " said poor Elizabeth, looking up with flushed face and flashing eyes. " Twas the truth indeed : Grod knows it was the truth. But how good of him to say so ! " " And, more than this, Elizabeth," pursued Amy ; " I have heard him say concerning you, when some blamed your ways, and would remark that Gospel truth bore better fruit than was here to see I have heard him say, that he doubted not that your heart was right, and truly established in grace : that affliction and trial, yea, fiery trial and persecution THE SEPARATION. 223 (if ever that should come) would show the work, of what sort it was. He doubted not, Elizabeth, that, should such times return, and when many should fall off, many, perchance, of them that blamed you, and not without reason blamed you yet had you stood firm in the faith you have professed ; that you had been found, among the few, however few, who then would show that they had not believed in vain." " Oh, no ! Mistress Amy," answered Elizabeth : "he thought too well of me. Grod grant his hope were true ! But here is affliction come upon me ; and I feel as though I were a dissembler and an hypocrite. Trial is come ; and all my strength is gone already. I thought I was strong : but lo ! Grod hath turned away his face from me, and I am troubled." " But you are not turning away your own face, Elizabeth, from Him from whence cometh your help. Wait humbly; and all will be restored to you. Hope on : for you shall yet praise Him who is the strength of your countenance, and your Grod. This is that Master Campian was wont to say; that we must be content to share our strength with our brethren, with other members of the Church ; and lean on them at times, or through them upon Grod, 224 THE WASHINGTONS. when we cannot stand alone, and our own strength seemeth to be taken from us. Perchance you have thought to stand too much by yourself, Elizabeth ; whenas it is ever fitting that we should seek to bear each other s burdens ; yea, and be content that we should sometimes be found as the weaker, needing like aid ourselves. So Master Campian was wont to admonish us. - He would fain have seen in you a greater willingness thereto." " Oh, tell me that which he would fain have seen ; " exclaimed Elizabeth eagerly. (< I am loth to discourse thereupon now," said Amy, embarrassed. " I came to minister consolation to you, if God permit ; not to speak as in reproof, or as though I were sufficient to instruct you. Pardon me that I say no more of that whereto you would draw me." " Oh, open to me all," answered the other : " all without dissembling, dear Mistress Amy, in Christian simplicity and truth. You are to me as a messenger of God. If you have aught of counsel to bring to me from that dear saint, it shall be more precious to me than rubies. Oh, tell me all." " He sorrowed to see you, as methinks you have ofttimes heard him say," resumed Amy, "so stiff against the order of that Church whereof God s THE SEPARATION. 225 Providence hath made you a member. He esteemed it to be a sore hindrance and damage to your own spiritual welfare, that you so resisted and opposed that whereto you should rather meekly submit your self. Even if you did mislike some things therein, yet should you not fret yourself and chafe against them ; but rather strive to think the best thereof, and use them accordingly ; even as duteous children use that which is appointed of their parents, not thereby professing their assent thereto, as of necessity the best that could be devised, but as honouring the ordinance of Grod. In like manner he would fain have seen you submit yourself; not speaking against the ceremonies, nor conceiving needless offence there at ; and in the public worship of God s house, con forming yourself to that which is ordered, so as both your brethren should be the better edified, and yourself also. And herein he did much maintain, that every truly spiritual mind would ever find edification in the hearty use of the sweet and whole some words of our Book of Common Prayer. He was assured that you would find it so, did you but endeavour yourself thereto. It was ever his counsel, Elizabeth (say I not well it is his counsel now ?) that you should make trial, as in (rod s sight, of this procedure." Q 226 THE WASHINGTON. Elizabeth had coloured deeply, as Amy spoke ; and signs of violent inward struggle were visible on her face : but she answered gently, " I will endeavour myself thereto, Mistress Amy. Have you aught more to advise me of?" " He did mislike," continued Amy, hesitating, "for you bid me tell you he 1 did mislike that you should attend that prayer-meeting at Buckby. Not that he would disallow Christian fellowship with any that are Christians indeed. But thus to separate yourselves, to the offence and grief of many, was (so did he esteem it) an evil without countervailing good. He feared it should engender mistrust and bitterness in you towards others, should create, between you that did there meet, a bond less pure than that of Christian brotherhood, yet counter feiting it to the damage of the purer one and should breed a humour in your own selves of pride and wilfulness and self-exaltation. Could he speak to you now, Elizabeth, he would entreat of you to go thither no more." " And it is well said," replied the other unhesi tatingly. " I ever came back from the meeting with a strangeness in my heart towards him, and oftentimes with scorn. I was proud of my gift, gift (so I called it) of prayer. I was proud to exercise it. THE SEPARATION. 227 But I fear me there was little therein that cometh from above ; though I would fain have persuaded myself that it was so. Ofttimes have I felt, and I feel it now, that twere better to withdraw myself. Grod heareth most readily the prayer of the meek and humble ; of them that seek not to exalt them selves ; of them that seek not to stand foremost among the foremost, even in the things which seem to be spiritual, but ( make themselves equal to them of the lower sort. " " One matter more, Elizabeth : and I -have done ; " said Amy, much encouraged by the effect her words had produced. " Suffer me this once ; though it must needs be grievous, I fear me, for you to hear me. Our beloved friend sorrowed much that you did so misjudge and disallow the New Translation of the Holy Bible. "Tis the work, believe, of godly, learned and pious men ; and Master Campian did very highly esteem it as such. He ever said twas a truer and more faithful rendering of the word of (rod out of the original tongues, than any that went before it. He believed that (rod s favour rested on it : that it was a gift blessed of God Himself to this Church and Nation. And he did esteem it a duty of every one to promote the general reception thereof to accustom himself thereunto, not as rejecting the Q 2 228 THE WASHINGTON. aid of former translations, but so as acknowledging the pre-eminent worth and authority of this, and as helping to assure the blessing to the whole people of England of hereafter having one only Bible whereto all should alike defer. Believe this my testimony, which I deliver to you from him ; and despise not that which he so greatly honoured." Elizabeth had turned deadly pale during Amy s last words ; and a painful struggle had evidently gone on within her. But she now silently arose from her seat, as if some resolution had suddenly formed itself within her ; and taking up her cherished treasure, her Geneva Bible, she advanced towards the pallet upon which lay the honoured dead. Reverently she lifted the stiff cold hand; and placed her Bible beneath it, letting it then sink down again by the lifeless side. " Take it," she said, fixing her eyes upon the calm motionless face. "Take it, dear man of Grod. Be this a peace-offering between me and thee. It shall lie with thee in thy coffin : it shall rest with thee in thy grave ; the most precious offering that I have to give, and not despised of thee. And I will take thine," she added, lifting Mr. Campian s pocket Bible from the little table, and clasping it to her heart," I will take thine, dear saint. I call God to witness that thou hast given it to me here. Let no THE SEPARATION. 229 man say thou hast not given it me. I will study it for thy sake ; and may God open my heart and understanding to receive His word more fully. May Grod give me grace," she continued, throwing herself upon her knees before the bed ; " may He make me humble, gentle, patient, and wise unto salvation ; a follower of thee, even as thou hast been of Christ ! " She sobbed aloud; and the tears gushed forth freely and plentifully. Amy saw that her work was done ; and that her friend had now turned wholly to a better Comforter. So, silently pressing the hand of the weeping mourner, she softly descended the stairs ; and, after exchanging a few words of affectionate sympathy with the family below, and bidding them not disturb Elizabeth, for that all now would be well with her, she bent her sad steps homewards to carry the dreadful news to her aunt and uncle ; and then shut herself up in her room, to reflect upon what she had lost and what was now before her ; praying for that strength and consolation which she knew could be drawn from one source only. It was indeed to her an irreparable loss ; and a blow which it required all Christian fortitude and faith to bear. She hardly knew as yet what it would prove to her ; for overwhelming sorrow often brings its own mitigation with it, either in the incredulous dulness Q 3 230 THE WASHINGTON. that numbs the anguish of the heart, or in the sense of the Divine presence often felt most of all amidst helplessness and desolation, and in the consciousness that suffering is an elevating and ennobling thing, silencing the baser passions of our nature, and giving their rightful prominence to the higher aspirations and faculties of the soul. Yet, from the first, Amy could not but foresee how changed her life would be henceforward ; how impossible it would be to find another pastor who would be a father to her as well as a faithful friend ; and how, under any other but him, even should such an one prove an able and effec tive spiritual guide, the pursuits and occupations to which she had habituated herself would lose no small part of their freedom and their sweetness, though much of their usefulness might remain. She had left the Marsons house, before the rumour of the curate s death had got abroad in the village. But soon it spread like a conflagration ; and all hearts were struck with awe and sorrow. Even those who had habitually disparaged and neglected him felt, in the shock of his sudden removal, that there was a secret in his character and principles which they had not fathomed or divined: and many a timely warning, many a patient act of self-denying kindness came to their remembrance, not without effect. The few who THE SEPAKATION. 231 had really appreciated him, and the many who had revered and loved him, mourned over his loss as that of the father of the village. Lord Spencer, on hearing of his death, had returned at once from Wormleighton, bringing with him his two younger sons; that he might attend the funeral, and be on the spot to facili tate any business, and execute any requests, which might have been left by the deceased. He was accom panied too by Mr. Proctor : who himself performed the funeral service, and stayed over the Sunday to preach the sermon which the occasion demanded ; an at tention and mark of respect to the memory of their beloved minister, which the parishioners hailed with great satisfaction ; though Mr. Proctor, while doing full justice to the moral character of his curate, was little capable of a higher exposition of his subject, and failed to touch the chords which vibrated most deeply in the hearts of such listeners as Amy Wash ington and Edward Spencer. It was a tribute of honour, however, on the rector s part, which all ac cepted with joy, that, besides these personal attentions to the memory of their pastor, his remains were laid within the chancel ; and a ledger stone was placed over him at Mr. Proctor s expense, bearing an in scription which he had himself composed. It is not always that the purest merit meets even with this Q 4 232 THE WASHINGTON. measure of recognition. Many a pious clergyman on either side of the two great parties in the Church, crowned in that century, by a very different close, a life of humble and self-denying usefulness. 233 CHAP. VIII. LABUNTUK ANNI. AMY WASHINGTON S life had now become a sad and desolate one : but she braced herself resolutely to the performance of her ordinary duties, uncheered though they were by the sympathy and assistance of her beloved pastor. And she found much con solation in her intercourse with the Marsons, espe cially with Elizabeth ; and in the task she had voluntarily undertaken of giving instructions to Hal and Will. It was some time before a permanent successor to Mr. Campian was found. The person who at last settled down in tenure of the office, both as curate of Brington and as chaplain at Althorp, a Mr. Symcotts, was a man of good education and moderate principles ; who became a great favourite with Lord Spencer and his family, being promoted eventually by his patron to the rectory of Wicken ; and often staying at Althorp as a guest, when his official connection with the house had come to an end. Amy Washington too was well satisfied with the arrangement: but her relations with her new 234 THE WASHINGTONS. pastor never were, and never could be, what they had been with him who was gone. Soon after Mr. Campian s death, the Althorp family returned from their annual sojourn at Worm- leighton ; and Amy recovered the consolation of her friend Margaret Spencer s society. But that con solation was now largely alloyed with deep anxiety and apprehension ; for the symptoms which had shown themselves for some time of declining health in Margaret s case were now sadly aggravated ; and it had become but too apparent that she was fast sinking in a decline. Lord Spencer strove to hope for the best, not daring to look forward to the fatal result ; for Margaret was the child upon whom his tenderest affections were concentrated, her mother having died soon after her birth ; and the fond father clung to the hope that the dreadful blow which threatened him might be averted after all. But every one besides saw but too clearly that the case was hopeless; nor did the medical attendants make any secret that they so regarded it. Margaret had been carried into the room which had once been the nursery, and which still bore that name ; a room which opened on one side into Nurse Kempe s chamber, and on the other into Lord Spencer s apartments ; for he loved to be thus in constant LABUNTUR AXBTI. 235 proximity to his darling daughter ; and he was ever tearing himself from the busier duties of life, to gain an hour or two of her society. Here Amy also was a daily visitor ; bringing with her consolation, such as none else could bring, to the bedside of the poor invalid : for there was unreserved confidence between the two friends ; and, as Amy did not cherish the vain hope to which the affectionate father still clung, there was in this respect too a common understand ing between them, for the persuasion had early taken possession of Margaret s heart that her illness would be a fatal one. Left too, as they were, with out a permanent minister, Amy felt it to be her duty to assume something of a pastoral relation towards her friend ; and she had the joy of seeing that not only was this recognised, but valued increasingly by her to whom she ministered. And so the months passed away. The last genial gleams of autumn gave place to the approach of winter : the glowing tints on the woods of Althorp changed to the sere and withered leaf: and the howling winds of December shook from the trees the last remnants of their once brilliant foliage. And just as the first snows fell, and the first coating of ice had begun to form thickly upon the pool in the park, and upon the moat which girt the mansion, 236 THE WASHINGTON S. the long-dreaded blow was struck in the chamber of death; and Althorp was once more a house of mourning. It was a terrible affliction to the affectionate father ; and like a renewal of the bitterness of seventeen years before. But he bore it nobly and unflinch ingly; striving to perform the duties of his station, and to let none of his dependents suffer for want of energy or consideration on his part ; nor could many of those about him know what anguish tore the bleeding heart within. The one who best knew his feelings, and was most intimately admitted to his confidence, was his son Edward. The father and the son had been drawn closer together, and Jearned to appreciate each other better, in this season of their common sorrow. Nor could it be otherwise, under the circumstances, than that Amy also should be drawn closer to Edward Spencer. Though maidenly reserve on one hand, and generous respect and diffidence on the other, imposed a seemly restraint upon their intercourse, yet both felt that there was a^ond of deepest sympathy between them, closer and stronger perhaps than either could find elsewhere ; and the Christian friend ship which united them already wanted but some little encouragement to cause it to pass into the LABUNTUR ANM. 237 purest form of love. Nothing could have been more natural than that this should have been the result : and with the feelings which were then uppermost in Lord Spencer s heart, it would probably have pleased him well to have seen Amy his daughter-in-law, the wife of his best-loved son ; and to have kept them near him continually, to cheer his desolate home. But it was not so to be. Edward Spencer had discovered Philip Curtis s attachment to Amy ; and the know ledge of this checked the rising feeling in his own breast, forbidding him to entertain the thought which might else have found a ready welcome ; and on Amy s side too (so inexplicable and so capricious are the workings of love) who shall say that, deep as was her respect and warm as was her regard for Edward Spencer, she would have preferred him as a rival to the suitor whom her judgment had prompted her to reject ? Such then were the reasons which prevented a con tingency, not improbable otherwise : and for the good of the family, and the interests of Althorp, it was well doubtless that it should be so. The bride, who was soon to be introduced into the house, was not the bride of Edward Spencer, but of his eldest brother William : a lady more suitable to the rank of the family ; and who at once entered upon the manage- 238 THE WASHINQTONS. ment of that household of which she was one day to be the mistress in her own right. The first thing which roused Lord Spencer from his absorbing grief was the meeting of Parliament in the spring of 1614. It had been long seen that a Parliament must be called : for, much as the king disliked it, how was he to do without one ? It was summoned accordingly; and made a noble, though unsuccessful stand, in behalf of the rights of liberty, and in opposition to the principles (if by that name they may be called) which were still predominant at court. Lord Spencer as before, bore his part therein as became a patriot ; and, though on that occasion his efforts were unsuccessful, he lived to see another and more effectual stand made against arbitrary government in 1621 ; when his influence was felt in the House of Commons also, in which not only his two eldest sons sat as members respectively for the county and the town of Northampton ; but Edward Spencer also, having now entirely given up the thought of taking holy orders, bore his part, as burgess for the borough of Brackley, in supporting the cause of justice and the rights of Parliament. The transactions of that ses sion, pregnant as they were with important conse quences to the cause of freedom, belong to History : but it may be permitted us to notice that among LABUNTUE ANNI. 239 those " gallant spirits that aimed at the public liberty more than their own interest," and that " supported the old English honour and would not let it fall to the ground," the voice of the annalist gives a pro minent place to the name of Eobert Lord Spencer.* While Althorp was still deserted, with little pro spect opening as yet of the return to its walls of hap piness and social life, Amy continued to lead in her village home her monotonous life of humble duty. The sorrows she had passed through, and the necessity which more than ever lay upon her for independent exertion, had ripened her character to a womanly strength beyond her years ; and her sustaining influ ence was felt, not only by those more immediately about her, but far and wide among her neighbours. Secretly, however, she was conscious of a desire to find some external support to lean on, beyond what she possessed : nor can it be a matter of blame, if in spite of herself her thoughts would often turn to him who, as she knew, still loved her devotedly ; and if the hope sometimes grew strong within her, that she might eventually find in him the sympathy and guid ance which her heart longed for. That Philip Curtis loved her still, and cherished hopes on his part, she * Parliamentary History, vol. v. p. 474. See also Hallam s Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 503. 240 THE WASHINGTON S. knew through her brother John : for Philip diligently cultivated intimacy with his young friend, whom he had made his confidant, and in whom he found a warm advocate of his suit; though how he was to succeed in seeing her again he knew not, as there seemed little chance under the circumstances of an invitation to Althorp ; and to pay a visit to Brington uninvited would be to outrage Amy s feelings, and to forfeit perhaps for ever those hopes which patience and modesty might one day realize. And so one year, and then another wore away, with little to break the sameness of Amy s life : and if it was broken after that interval, it was only by a third great sorrow no less heavy than those which she had endured already. Her father, who always made a short stay at Brington every year, and whose visits had been the chief source of pleasure which Amy s life admitted of, especially if ever he brought John with him, had come there in the course of his annual circuit in the year 1616. He seemed de pressed, and out of health : but insisted on going on, as usual, to visit some of his other friends in the midland counties. From time to time his relations at Brington continued to hear but a poor account of his state of health ; and at last, late in the autumn, they received a notice from him that he was coming LABUISTTUR ANSI. 241 back to them to be nursed. He came accordingly ; but tie had returned to die. Again the sad duty devolved on Amy of ministering by a sick bed, with little hope of seeing the sufferer recover, and that little a hope which day by day was waning. And again, as the keen midland winter set in with all its severity before the middle of December, the fatal blow had been struck ; and one more of those who were dearest to her on earth was laid in Brington church. He was buried at the entrance of the chancel, not far from her beloved pastor : and if the parish church was not to her in some respects what once it had been, it had yet gained an added sanctity ; and was even dearer to her now as the House of Prayer, than ever it had been in her days of unclouded happiness. The intercourse between father and daughter, during those last weeks of illness, had been wholly unreserved: and, while leaving her his tenderest blessing, he had expressed his earnest hope that she would not reject the love of Philip Curtis, which he knew was still given to her in undiminished measure, and which he believed to be capable of ensuring her happiness and her welfare. Indeed the same interval which had so ripened Amy s character had not been without effect on Philip also. The news of Mr, 242 THE WASHIXGTOXS. Campiau s death had stamped ineffaceably on his heart the few words the clergyman had spoken to him in their last short meeting. Those words were invested with a supernatural sacredness in his eyes as of a message from above, a message addressed directly to himself. And association with Edward Spencer, towards whom he felt himself especially drawn, had aided other beneficent influences in working a great development of his character. So that, when at last the opportunity was given him, for presenting himself again at Brington, as given him it was in the following summer by an invitation to stay at Al thorp, the course of true love ran with a smooth ness which exceeded all that he had dared to hope ; and after the first interview, eagerly watched for and tremblingly used, Philip Curtis found himself the accepted lover of Amy Washington. Prudential considerations even then forbad the prospect of their immediate union : though Robert Washington and his wife earnestly and most sincerely dissuaded any delay on their account; and Amy herself felt that their unfeigned desire to see the marriage hastened, and her father s dying injunctions to the same effect, absolved her from any claim of conflicting duty. Meanwhile it was happiness enough to dwell on the boon which had been granted her, the LABUNTUK AIs T NI. 243 boon of devoted affection long tried and proved, and which now she felt she was justified in returning, her judgment and principles confirming the verdict which had been long ago given almost unconsciously by her heart. And now let us look around ; and see what changes had gone on, meanwhile, and were going on, at Althorp.* Lord Spencer s eldest son was made a Knight of the Bath in November 1616, on the occasion of Prince Charles s formal advancement to the rank and title of Prince of Wales ; Sir Spencer Compton also being one of the few distinguished noblemen and gentlemen who were at the same time invested with the honours of that order. Sir William Spencer (as we must now call him) had even before this contracted a marriage with the Lady Penelope Wriothesley, daughter of that Earl of Southampton who was amongst the foremost of the patriotic party in the session we have lately referred to, and who is perhaps still better known to posterity as the patron and befriender of Shakspeare. Lord Spencer, delighted with the match, and cheered with the prospect of * It may be well to remind the reader that all these sketches of domestic and household arrangements are drawn from authentic documents. Other similar details will be found in Appendix (A.) Section IV. R 2 244 THE WASHIXGTONS. restored domestic happiness, had arranged that the newly married pair should thenceforth make their home with him at Althorp. Alterations were made in the house accordingly, to provide suitable accom modation for the new establishment ; a private with drawing room for my lady, arid a closet for Sir William, forming a portion of the newly organised apartments. Althorp smiled again with new radiancy, under the happy auspices and brightening prospects which now had risen upon it: and the old lord was soon still further gladdened with the prospect of grandchildren. Before the first year had expired, " Duckett the coachman " came down from London, bringing with him a certain Mistress Vining, hitherto unknown at Althorp ; and about the same time a Doctor Clayton, celebrated at Oxford for his medical skill, was ob served among the guests who enjoyed my lord s hos pitality. And shortly after the arrival of these two, the iron cradle was once more brought out from the wardrobe at the Gatehouse, though so transformed that Nurse Kempe would not have recognised it again : for now it had " a canopy and a covering of silver velvet, laced with open spangle lace of gold and silver, and curtains of the same stuff suitable, fringed with crimson silk and silver." Poor Nurse Kempe was no longer in existence. Nurse Detheridge reigned LABTOs T TUR ANNI. 245 in her stead : and, for many years to come, neither she nor the iron cradle had a sinecure ; arrow after arrow being added to the quiver at Althorp, till the number had amounted to thirteen in all. It was not however till the year 1620 that a boy was granted to the noble parents, to inherit the title and estates : a boy whose birth gladdened all hearts ; and whose beauty and engaging manners and noble disposition made him, as he grew in years, not only the delight of his parents heart and of his grandfather s, but the pride and glory of the tenants and of the peasantry around. How deeply would it have wounded the hearts of those who so cherished him, could they have foreseen that their beloved Henry, after showing himself one of the noblest spirits of the age, both in the senate and in the camp, and winning for his house the earldom of Sunderland by his gallantry, would perish on the hard fought field of Newbury before he had completed his 23rd year ! The Lady Penelope was not only possessed of many of the virtues of her family virtues which culminated in the per son of her brother, the Lord Southampton of the Civil Wars and of the Restoration, and in that of her niece the heroic Lady Rachel Russell ; but she added to these no small portion of the qualities of her Homeric namesake. Under her superintendence the R 3 246 THE WASHING TONS. household at Althorp became a pattern of good ma nagement. Not content with the books which were duly kept by the bailiff, and the steward of the house hold ; and which showed the several items of expen diture belonging to the kitchen, the stables, the park, the farms, &c. books which were inspected and balanced weekly by Lord Spencer or Sir William, or sometimes in their absence by herself she devised and enforced another and more complete system of accounts : which showed week by week the rate as well as the extent of all household expenditure, and the exact state of the stores of every kind which remained. The estimated value of every bullock and sheep that was killed, and of every other article of farm produce which was brought into the house, ap peared to her as important to know and to record, as the money which had gone to defray the purchases of the cater : while the last column of the book informed her practised eye every Saturday which of the stores was running low, and how soon it would need reple nishing.* Not a pound of " Bristow soap " or of " resons of the sun " not an ounce of " small mace " or " synnamond " was issued for the kitchen or the parlour ; nay not a dozen of watch-lights was delivered * See Appendix (A.) Section III. LABUNTUR ANNI. 247 to Nurse Detheridge or Nurse Macharness, nor a pound of "hard sugar for drinkinge in the morn- inges ; " but it was duly set down and reported to my lady, and its deduction correctly recorded from the stores that were in hand. These precautions of sound economy were justified by the result ; for the expenses of housekeeping were kept thoroughly in hand, though regulated with liberality and splendour. The num ber of domestic servants increased under her admi nistration to more than fifty ; and great was the show which they made on state occasions with their goodly array of liveries, especially the coachman and pos tilions with their laced cloaks and banded hats, their silk broidery and " ribbonings and garters," or those favoured attendants who came forth resplendent in their " summer suits of Padua scarlet serge." Some of these servants, especially "those whose names proclaimed them Frenchmen, and those (for some such the household contained) who were gentlemen by birth, were paid at the extravagant rate of 61. per annum: though the vast majority received the usual wages of 21. a year for men, and ll. 13s. 4<i. for women; Groodwife Webb, the housekeeper (as Mis tress Segrave before her) receiving a salary of 31. One obvious measure of economy was not discovered, or at least was not adopted, by the Lady Penelope R 4 248 THE WASHItfGTOXS. till the year 1636 ; and that was the system of putting the servants on board wages, when the family was absent from home ; though the Percy household book shows that it was no secret in the art of house keeping as early as the reign of Henry VIII. After she had adopted it, the liberal allowance of 3s. 4cZ. a week to each servant must still have left a wide margin for saving, amidst the profuse consumption which was the rule at Althorp. Profuse and liberal in all its arrangements, the system of housekeeping provided for my lord s table the most magnificent cheer. Old Thomas Fuller in his ee Worthies of England," when commenting upon the proverb al ready quoted concerning the Mayor of Northampton, thinks it worthy of special mention that Althorp was at this period supplied with oysters weekly during the season. This fact, no doubt, made a deep impression on the good people of the county ; and so determined was the Lady Penelope to keep up the character of the house in this respect, and supply those dainties in all abundance, that at last an " oyster-man " was made a permanent member of the establishment, his sole business being to travel backwards and forwards between Althorp and the eastern coast, bringing four, five, or six barrels of oysters each week for the use of the table. For many years however the supply was LABUNTUK ANNI. 249 regularly received from London : and not only oysters, but every sort of sea-fish also, turbot, and brill, and salmon, and mullet, and soles, and whiting, and cod, and many varieties besides, formed a part of the good cheer set before admiring guests in the hospitable mansion. For this purpose the two Lon don carriers, Legg and Shortlegs, were kept con tinually on the trot ; each of them making a weekly journey, backwards and forwards, with their trains of pack-horses ; grocery and Lent provision (unless when bought at Stourbridge Fair) and hogsheads of wine, besides numberless miscellaneous articles, and occa sionally a letter, being also among the packages which they brought down from the metropolis. Nor did they always go up unladen, as far as Althorp was concerned. Sometimes there was a buck to send as a present to Southampton House, or as an offering to " my Lord of Canterbury," or to some other noble man or friend : and, when the family went up to London, or came down from thence, the trunks and packages with clothes and plate and linen were usually despatched through the agency of these same carriers. Presently however a new conveyance was started by some enterprising and spirited individuals ; and from thenceforth it was to Sherman and to Hop kins " the waggin men " that was entrusted the 250 THE WASHINGTON. carriage of the hogsheads of claret and sack and canary and muscadine, as well as of many other sorts of goods which were procured from London : though Legg and Shortlegs, being quicker in their move ments, still continued to bring down the fish, " fresh ening it on the way," during its two or three days passage, and doubtless succeeding in delivering it in that condition which to the Northamptonshire palate of the seventeenth century seemed its normal and un exceptionable state. And thus the season passed at Al thorp ; gladness and hospitality being the order of the day, and a new spring of domestic peace and happiness cheering the declining years of the good old nobleman. Meanwhile a singular and unexpected turn of fortune had wrought a great change in the position and prospects of the Washington family. Amy s eldest brother, William, had married a daughter of Sir George Villiers, a country gentleman in Leicestershire. The marriage was a suitable one on both sides, and in most respects an equal match ; promising little advantage, at best, or means of ad vancement for the Washingtons. But in 1614 G-eorge Villiers, a younger son of the Leicestershire knight, had attracted the attention of the King, who first met him at Apethorpe in a progress through LABUtfTUR AXNI. 251 Northamptonshire; and within a short time after wards he was established at Court as the favourite, Carr Earl of Somerset having now fallen into disgrace through the irresistible weight of public opinion. Nor in his rapid rise in wealth and rank, as Viscount Villiers, and as Earl and Marquis and Duke of Buck ingham, did the new favourite forget his own rela tions or the friends of his youth. Buckingham was a man of warm affections and generous disposition ; and, whatever were his faults and vices, he thought less of consolidating a powerful party, and purchasing the favour of those who might be of use to him, than of promoting the interests of such as seemed to have a natural claim upon his bounty. Titles, privileges, manors and other sources of wealth were lavished upon his own family. His brothers and sisters of the half blood (of whom Mistress Washington was one) came in for a proportionate share of these advan tages: nor did the stream stop there; the bounty which enriched Sir William Washington flowed on also in a lesser measure to the other members of the Washington family. John obtained a place at Court, with the prospect of farther advancement : Lawrence, now a student at Oxford, and the other younger brothers were encouraged to hope (and the hope was not disappointed eventually) for assistance and pro- 252 THE WASHINGTON. motion in the various professions which they severally adopted. Amy s father had lived to see the dawn of this new prosperity ; and though he did not venture to anticipate all that it would grow to, the prospect had cheered his last days, and diminished his anxiety for the numerous family which he left behind him. John Washington, now grown to manhood, and able to take advantage of the opening at court secured to him by the favourite, had never inter mitted his friendship and his intercourse with Philip Curtis. It had been one of the dearest wishes of his heart to bring about the union between Philip and his sister. He had ever supported his friend s cause warmly and generously ; and so far not with out effect, that he had kept constantly alive in Amy s mind the undoubted persuasion that her absent lover still thought of her, and still hoped, with undiminished fervour of affection. Nor was it only in London that John had maintained his intercourse with his friend. He had visited him at Islip also ; and there, while thinking how best to act as an ambassador in love s court, and cherishing plans in behalf of his friend, he had become himself involved in another love-suit, not as advocate but as principal. The charms of Mary Curtis, one of Philip s sisters, had so captivated him, that in a short time he was LABUNTUR ANNI. 253 as deeply in love as Philip himself; and before his boyhood was well over, he had declared his attach ment, and found it was returned. The double marriage between the two families was now a matter fully decided on ; and only waiting for favourable circumstances to bring it about. Young as he was, John had the advantage in this respect. He felt himself already able to maintain a wife ; and was only waiting to become legally of age, and thereby made competent to avail himself of his patron s promised bounty in the shape of lands and manors. And, as soon as that object was attained, he claimed the hand of his affianced bride. So that he was already himself a married man, when on the 8th of August, 1620, Master Philip Curtis was married in Brington church to Mistress Amy Washington. It was not without many feelings of sorrow that Amy left the house of her uncle, and the scenes in which her childhood had been trained, and her character ripened through affliction and through joy for the duties of rnaturer life. But her uncle and aunt rejoiced so unfeignedly at her marriage, and seemed so well able with the aid of attached and faithful servants to ensure each other s happiness and welfare, that she passed to her new home at Islip without any serious misgiving on the score of 254 THE WASHINGTON^. duty owed to those her adopted parents. She was there within easy reach of them, whenever her services should be needed. Nor did she wait for such special calls, to bring her often to their side : their claims on her affection and duty, and the hospitable invitations also of her friends at Althorp, frequently drawing her back to her old and much loved home. It was well for Amy that these visits were fre quent: for, sooner than she had anticipated, the possibility of honouring and cherishing her adopted parents came to an end. John Washington had spent the first week of 162- at Althorp; and, when from thence he went on to Islip, he took with him but a poor account of his uncle s state of health ; so much so, that Amy thought it desirable to go over to Brington herself, prepared to remain there if she judged it necessary. She discovered that her brother s fears were but too well grounded ; and, with as little appearance of alarm as possible, she took measures to stay. Robert Washington sank gradually : and early in March he too was carried to the church, already so consecrated in Amy s eyes by the ashes of those she loved best. Nor did he sink alone. His fond and faithful wife, whose every thought and interest was bound up with her husband, LABUNTUE ANNL 255 did not live out the week after his funeral. The grave, which had just been closed, was again opened to receive the remains of the nine-days widow; .and the ledger-stone, which was laid over it, recorded on a brass the names of the faithful pair who "slept below, "after they lived lovingly together many years in this parish." And so terminated the connection of the Washing- tons with the village which had given them shelter in the days of their adversity. The younger gener ation, who stood beside the grave, to render the last offices of respect, were themselves in the bloom of prosperity and of hope. Amy s two eldest brothers were present at the funeral Sir William, the repre sentative of the family, and its representative in a position which it had scarcely attained before and Sir John, (as he had become since his visit to Althorp in January), a person of consideration at court, and now also a landed proprietor in Yorkshire. Amy and her husband stayed awhile, to wind up the affairs of her deceased relatives ; and then delivered the little house, of which her father had been the first tenant, and with which so many associations were bound up, to the strangers to whom it had been assigned. But though the last link with Brington as their 256 THE WASHINGTON. home was thus broken for Amy and her brother, they did not cease to visit it often, through the kind hospitality of their noble friends the Spencers. Never a year passed, and scarcely half a year, but Sir John Washington was among the guests at Althorp, often staying there for weeks and weeks together. He too was early called upon to taste the cup of sorrow. A few years only of married life were granted him ; when he was left a widower, with three young children, sole monuments of his wedded happiness. But even in the early days of his affliction he sought for consolation at Althorp ; and in after years, though duty and necessity obliged him to spend much of his time in London, and at his manor of South Cave near Hull, his favourite residence was always in North amptonshire, among the relations and near the tomb of his beloved wife at Islip, or amidst the scenes of his childhood and with the friends of his youth at Brington. Nor did the death of the old Lord Spencer in 1627 make any difference in this respect. The new peer and his noble lady regarded John Washington as one of their chiefest friends ; and showed every disposition to keep up their old connexion and the remembrance of their kinship with the family, inviting his brothers to the house as well as himself. Nay, when Lady LABUNTUR ANNI. 257 Spencer s daughters grew too old to be left entirely under the care of nurses, and a lady was required to aid their mother in educating and taking charge of them, the person invited to undertake this office, and who for many years continued to discharge its duties, was Mistress Lucy Washington, a younger sister of Amy and of John. William, Lord Spencer, though a man of kind heart and generous disposition, had not the strength either of mind or of character which distinguished his father. He took little part in politics, and did not care to exert himself in the cause of the great prin ciples of liberty which were so seriously at stake during his lifetime. His days were spent chiefly in the country, amidst domestic duties and rural sports, which he pursued with great zest ; not only keeping up with spirit the usual amusements of hunting and hawking ; but coming forward as a zealous promoter of the newly revived art of horse-racing. He formed a race-course in Althorp park : though, the science of the turf being still in its infancy, he thought it enough to keep a single horse of his own for the purpose, which no doubt contested the prize of pre-eminence with those of his neighbours and sporting friends who indulged in the same tastes. But he bequeathed to the county a more permanent monument of his tastes, 258 THE WASHINGTON^. by founding in 1632, by deed of agreement with the Corporation of Northampton, those annual Easter races on Harleston Heath, which (after a temporary suspension in the last century) have now been trans ferred to the immediate neighbourhood of the town ; and by instituting a cup, to be run for on that occasion, the memory of which is still perpetuated in the Althorp Park Stakes ; while the gift itself has been renewed on a yet more liberal scale by his descendants, in the Spencer Plate. The house of such a nobleman was of course the great rallying place of the sporting gentlemen of the county. But there was another peculiar element to be found in the society of Althorp. Besides the various noblemen and family friends who resorted thither, the most frequent and acceptable guests in the house were learned and celebrated physicians, espe cially Doctor Cotta, a graduate of Cambridge, who was at that time an eminent practitioner at Northampton, and Doctors Ash worth and Clayton, notable men both in their day as lights of the medical world at Oxford. In theological matters, William Lord Spencer had no liking for the Puritans. He attached himself to the opposite school; cultivating the friendship of Archbishop Laud : and had that prelate visited Brington church, he would have been gratified to LABUtfTUR ANNI. 259 find that for the one surplice, which had contented Master Campian, was now substituted the prescribed number of four: and that of the two communion tables one had been dispensed with, the remaining one being duly set up at the eastern end of the church and fenced off by an enclosure of ponderous rails. The death of Mr. Proctor gave Lord Spencer an opportunity, soon after his accession to the title, of appointing a rector of his own choice : and Mr. Catelin, whom he nominated accordingly, being like his predecessor an absentee, the curates who were left in charge of the parish, and who were also domestic chaplains to my lord, were little likely to prove un accommodating to his wishes. Elizabeth Marson was no more. Lord Spencer s Puritan brother, Sir Edward, was seldom or never at Althorp. And when the time came for sending Henry Spencer, the heir apparent, to Oxford, the college of his uncles was avoided ; and Magdalen was selected instead; a college then under the presidency of Dr. Accepted Frewen (afterwards Archbishop of York) ; who, though born and bred (as his name implies) in the Puritan section of the Church, was himself very strongly of the opposite bias, and was distinguished at Oxford as the trusted friend and most industrious agent of His Grace of Canterbury the Chancellor of the University, s 2 260 THE WASHIXGTONS. 1 It is not onr purpose to enter minutely into the details of these uneventful years. Else we might expatiate on the improvements that were made in the pleasure grounds and the mansion of Al thorp ; for Penelope Lady Spencer was not one who would readily allow herself to be behind-hand in any matter of refinement or good style of living. And we might trace the effects produced upon the garden by the last new edition of my Lord Bacon s Essays ; how the alleys were disposed afresh, and a new pleasure-house added to the walk upon the mount ; how new fruits and vegetables were introduced ; how a pheasantry was set up with due precautions to ensure its success ; or tell how the house was enlarged, and a best with drawing chamber added, with windows constructed " balconia fashion " ; nay, how by the skill of cun ning workmen a bell was hung on pulleys in my lady s chamber, in such a manner that she could summon her waiting-woman by means of it from another quarter of the house ; or how the carpenters of the establishment not only fashioned another cradle for the use of the nursery, (this time not of iron), but also devised and executed a little coach for Mr. Henry Spencer, when he was three years old ; by means of which that young gentleman and his brothers and sisters after him were enabled to take the air, with a LABUJS T TUE ANNI. 261 great saving of fatigue both to themselves and to their nurses. But we must not pass unnoticed the great event of those years, an event doubtless of unrivalled impor tance at the time to the parish and neighbourhood the banquet given by my lord to King Charles and Queen Henrietta Maria in the year 1634. Their majesties had been making a progress in the midland counties, spending some time especially at Bolsover Castle, the Earl of Newcastle s seat in Derbyshire, where they were magnificently entertained : and King Charles, on his way back to London, had halted awhile at Holmby House, to introduce his Queen to that royal residence and make some acquaintance with the neighbourhood. It was on this occasion that they honoured Althorp with their presence. Preparations had long before been making to give them a suitable reception. The Great Chamber had been altered to make it more adequate to the occa sion : and a new stone staircase had been constructed to make a nobler approach. Agents were stationed in London to cater for the banquet; others were sent into the fens to procure wild fowl and fish: and during the previous week the markets of North amptonshire and the other midland counties, as well 262 THE WASHINGTONS. as the principal noblemen s and gentlemen s seats in the neighbourhood, were ransacked or solicited by the emissaries of my lord for the supply of the requisite delicacies. And the result was worthy of the pains expended on it * : " A table richly spread, in regal mode, With dishes piled, and meats of noblest sort And savour, beasts of chase, or fowl of game, In pastry built, or from the spit, or boiled, Gr is -amber- steam d; all fish from sea or shore, Freshet, or purling brook, of shell or fin, And exquisitest name." MILTON, Paradise Regained, ii. 340. The Great Chamber was reserved for that portion of the company which was judged worthy to be admitted to table with their majesties; but many were the guests who were entertained besides, in a tent pre pared for the occasion, and in the bowers which were set up in the front court and thronged with feasting retainers : while outside in the park suitable sports were provided for His Majesty, not only in the bucks which Althorp itself supplied, but by a stag brought over from my Lord Brooke s to be hunted on the occa sion ; and the race-course was opened for the exhibi tion of that art of which Lord Spencer was so distin guished a patron. * See Appendix (A.) Section II. LABUNTUE ANNI. . 263 Henry Spencer was a student at Oxford, when the death of his father in 1636 called him at an early age to succeed to the title and estates. Under the charge of his mother, and the guardianship of his uncle, Lord Southampton, he grew up to be one of the noblest and purest characters of those troubled times in which his lot was cast. Inclined by natural disposition, as well as by education, to range himself with the upholders of the Monarchy and the Church ; he was yet drawn by principle, and a high sense of justice, to espouse the cause of civil and religious liberty. And accordingly, as soon as his age entitled him to take his seat in the House of Lords, he dis tinguished himself as an advocate and supporter of all those liberal measures which were judged necessary as safeguards against the encroaching power of the crown ; standing by the side of the Lords Northum berland and Essex, and the other noblemen who were afterwards the leaders of the Parliament during the civil war : and being nominated by a vote of the HousesLord Lieutenant of Northamptonshire.* When however the civil war was imminent, after boldly and earnestly doing his utmost to avoid it, and protesting against those proceedings which drove the King to extremity, he placed his sword and his fortune at * Parl. Hist. vol. x. 8 4 264 THE WASHINGTONS. the disposal of his sovereign ; and, raising 1200 men from a neighbourhood predominantly Parlia mentarian, marched at their head to join the royal standard. Like Falkland he had chosen the side to which loyalty and duty compelled him in that last emergency ; and like Falkland he fell, on the same day, and on the same sanguinary field ; leaving to his infant son the earldom of Sunderland with which the King had rewarded his gallant conduct but a few months before. He had been married for about four years to the Lady Dorothy Sidney, daughter of the Earl of Lei cester, and sister of Algernon Sidney ; a lady whose charms and virtues were celebrated by the poet Waller, under the name of Saccharissa. She was indeed worthy of her chivalrous husband : and during the short period of their wedded life, when the youthful nobleman could escape from the turmoils and cares of his public duties, no home in England witnessed purer and truer domestic happiness than Althorp. The death of William Lord Spencer had not caused any diminution of the intimacy which subsisted be tween the family and Sir John Washington. He was among the earliest guests that were admitted to the society of the widowed lady and her orphan children. LABUNTUR ANNI. 265 And year after year he had continued, as before, to be a frequent visitor at Althorp, and to share in all that interested and occupied the family. He was the companion and encourager of the young nobleman, more especially, in the martial exercises to which he presently devoted himself. For finding, as he grew in years and thoughtfulness, upon what unsettled times his lot was cast, and anxious, under any emer gency that might arise, to be fitted for the duties to which his rank and influence might call him, the young Lord Spencer had given his most sedulous attention to the science and practice of arms. Field sports, of which he had been passionately fond, were discontinued ; or thrown at least into the background : and for some time his chief occupation at Althorp was in perfecting himself in the chivalrous accomplish ment of riding " the great horse," as the war-charger was then called. In this manly and laborious exer cise, both before and after the period of his marriage, he was encouraged and aided by Sir John Wash ington ; whose eldest son also, Mordaunt Washington, a youth just entering upon manhood, had begun to accompany him in his visits to Althorp. But, soon after this period, the intercourse so long kept up began to slacken. Differences in politics, at least in critical times, breed coldness or shyness, even between 266 THE WASHINGTON. the fastest friends. And the King s service also, required the presence of his more devoted adherents, either in London, or in the particular neighbourhood where each could best make his influence felt. And when the final crisis had again united the ancient friends in the support of the same cause, the storm which burst over the country warned every man to abide at his appointed post : and, in the deadly shock which ensued, John Washington s fortunes were severed from those of the noble house with which for three generations the current of his life had been associated. 267 CHAP. IX. THE EMIGRANT. THE sound of a carriage or a horse approaching gene rally brings all the cottagers to their doors or windows in a retired country village, where such transits form often the most important events of the day. But it was otherwise in 1657 ; when, on a fine summer morning of July, the clatter of a horse s hoofs was heard by the inhabitants of the little hamlet of No- bottle on the road which led from Northampton. Alarms and rumours of dangers, and the occasional experience of arbitrary acts of violence, both from the Levellers and from the Grovernment troopers, had bred suspicion in every mind : and to say as little as possible, and be seen as little as possible, was the aim of every prudent person, and had b,ecome an instinc tive habit with the very children of the place. So, when the horse to whom the hoofs belonged had reached the little green, round which for the most part the cottages of the hamlet were clustered, every door was shut, every window blank ; nor did any 268 THE WASH1NGTONS. sound betray the existence of life within the humble dwellings, before which the traveller paused. He had evidently expected to find some one of whom he could make enquiries ; for he halted upon the green, and looked round as though seeking a guide or an informant. He was a man well advanced in life, apparently nearer to sixty than fifty years of age, plainly clad in brown cloth doublet and cloak, but with an air of dignity and self-possession which showed a rank superior to what his dress implied : while his furrowed brow, and face bronzed and slightly scarred seemed to tell both of suffering and of service in the wars. He had not to look long for the object of his search ; for presently an old woman, who had taken refuge behind the tree in the centre of the green, thinking apparently that she could get across the road to her cottage while the stranger was looking another way, emerged from her hiding-place, and attempted with the aid of her stick to execute the rapid move ment she had planned. The horseman gently ap proached her ; and, seeming after some delay to obtain the information he wanted, rode off with a courteous expression of thanks. As soon as horse and horseman had disappeared over the crest of the next hill, latches clinked and hinges creaked on every THE EMIGRANT. 269 side ; and the whole domestic population of Nobottle poured forth upon the green, to learn the news from their aged neighbour. " Who is he, Cicely ? " What said he ? " " Tell us all about him, Cissy," cried the whole circle of inquirers together; the advancing lines converging upon poor old Cecilia Hoare, who still stood quaking upon the edge of the road, the passage of which she had too adventurously attempted. " Oh dear ! oh dear ! " answered the old woman. " What a feelth I have gotten to be sure ! It takes me all over, top and bottom-like of a stroke. Oh Lord, Lord, how rapid it do come ! " " Here, Cicely, lean on me," said Lettice Halliwell, the kindest and shiftiest soul in all the little hamlet community, as she came forward and took the old woman s arm. " Don t ye go for to dash the poor old goodwife, neighbours. You see how she s frit. She ll tell us all about it anon. Here, Cissy ; best cross the road straightways, and get safe home. Mind the rut now. Bravely ! we re safe across. Here s only one rut more. That s a comfort anyhow. For when a wheel gets into em, I ll dare it to get out again. Ah, twere not so in old days, Cissy ; when your good man was used to dig em in twice a year, spring and fall ; and somewhiles drop a few stones on em too, (rod 270 THE WASHINGTON. rest him ! I do think they be deep enough for our graves now. But be of good cheer, Cissy. We won t drop in yet, an we can help it. There now. Over that too ! " " Is he gone, Lettice ? " asked the old woman. " Is he awaiting still ? " Clean gone, Cicely," answered Lettice. " Take heart on it, neighbour. A harmless gentleman, I warrant him." " He axed me anent the house as Will Marson live in," said Cicely, volunteering now the long de sired information. "I tould him as twere Groodman Marson lived there. He minds Squire Washington, I suppose, as lived there in the old lord s time. That were years agone, Lettice, afore you was born. I tould him it were Groodman Marson now. Oh dear, dear ! I m afeared he s come after my young lord and my lady, for to take them off to Lon on ; and I ve tould him about Will Marson ! Oh dear ! To think I should have tould him ! Me, as has known the family ever sin I were a babby; and nursed one of the babbies mysen , pretty dear ! But he axed me, Lettice, and I tould him ! Oh dear ! May be tis the Lord Protect us himsen , come from Lon on for to fetch ? em." " What manner o nose had he, Grooddy ? " cried out THE EMIGBAXT. 271 young Joe Turlington,, who had been waiting im patiently for Cicely s story, which seemed now likely to end pretty much as the labour of the mountain did. " Nose, quotha ? " answered the old woman, who had now recovered her breath, and something of her self-possession; and who was startled and irri tated with the loud abrupt manner of her questioner. " I m not a going for to say nought again the gentle man s nose. A civil gentleman is he, and a goodly ; and spoke me fair as a gentleman had ought ; and called me ( good mother, that did he, marry, and dame too. Look to thysen , Joe. Long ere thou get a nose so lissome and so shapely." "Tan t old Noll then, Oooddy," replied Joe. " Rest you easy of that. Old Noll s got a lump at fend of his nose as big as Wade Hill yonder, and as red as hips at Allhollun-tide." " Tis a harmless gentleman, as I said, Cicely," resumed Lettice. ff And if he be not, you did but what was civil and Christian-like. And no harm neither. Trust Will Marson for that. Little shall any man get out of Will Marson, an Will see cause to hold his tongue." Meanwhile the horseman, whose movements were a good deal quicker than Cicely s, had got far on 272 THE WASHING TONS. his road to Little Brington ; and, without further halt or hesitation, rode straight to the house which the Washingtons had once occupied ; and, dismount ing, knocked at the door with the handle of his whip. As no one answered at first, he proceeded to tie his horse to the ring by the door side, and then knocked again louder and longer than before. The bolt was presently drawn ; the door partially opened ; and a middle-aged man, of moderate stature but strong sinewy limbs, with round head, short hair, and keen black eyes, showed himself cautiously at the opening. " Master Marson, as I suppose ? " said the stranger. " Master Hal Marson ? " " I am Master Marson," answered the other ; " but not Hal Marson. My name is William." " Pardon me, that I had forgotten," replied the stranger. " May I have speech of you ? " " By your favour, Sir, I would know first what is your pleasure with me," answered Will Marson, reducing the already narrow opening through which he carried on the parley. " Why, Will," replied the visitor, smiling ; " how long am I to stand here in the road ? Is this the way you requite an old friend, who has tossed you scores of times over his shoulder ? " THE EMIGKANT. 273 " Sir John Washington ! " exclaimed Will Marson, flinging open the door in astonishment. e( Can it be you, come back to us? Grod be thanked that I should see you here again. I never thought to see you more ; leastwise in my own house, and one that was your house too, Sir, long years ago." And the tears stood in the sturdy farmer s eyes ; as the two old friends cordially grasped each other s hands, standing within the little room so full to both of life-long associations. " I did not know you, Sir John ; " continued Marson. " I had not known you anywhere, this first while. But I see it now; I see the face I remember, coming out again as before. Ah Sir, tis a wondrous change time makes in things which seem to us the most familiar." " And most of all," added John Washington, " when time brings such troubles and roughnesses, which these latter years have brought, to me at least. Tis a miracle of mercy that aught remains. I have had my part of fightings and hardships, since we two last met ; ay, and of sorrows weightier than both." " Then you ivere the Colonel Washington folks talked so much of," answered Marson, " at the storm ing of Bristow, and at Worcester siege, and in fights yonder in the , west country. I allays said it were T 274 THE TTASHINGTONS. yourself and none other, when folks declared there was not a stouter and more valiant soldier in His Majesty s army." " You are wrong there, Will : " said Sir John Washington. " Twas not me you heard talk of. Twas my nephew Henry, eldest son to my brother Sir William that you remember here. He hath won great glory for our name. Twas a goodly thing to hear the saying that was ever used amongst our army, when some great venture was to be run, and there was a backwardness to face the peril that hin dered. c Away with it, quoth Washington. * That was the saying. Our name was ever in men s mouths. But for myself, all that I can say is that I have brought on it no discredit, as I hope : having done my duty to my king, or tried as best I could to do so." f * Tis a comfortable reflection, Sir, even in these bad times : and one which I too enjoy, thank Grod for it. You marvel, as it seems, to hear it : but I too have borne arms. I went with our young lord, when the wars first began. There were some 1200 of us, horse and foot together, that he gathered from the country round here. And never men had a nobler leader ; or one they were more ready to follow to the * Da. Lloyd. Sufferings of the Loyalists. THE EMIGRANT. 275 death. He gave us pikes, and taught us the fashion of handling them: and the enemy could tell you, I dare say, whether or no we learned how." " I doubt not you stood to arms like stout English men, my good friend," said Sir John ; " though I thought not to hear you had been out in the wars. And were you with my lord, then, at Edgehill fight?" " That was I," answered Will ; " and saw my lord charge with His Majesty s guards upon the roundhead rebels, when they broke them. Twas gallantly done ; and my lord won mighty praise that day from all who saw him, as doubtless you have heard. How proud we were of him, when the king made him an Earl ! Those were brave times, Sir John. Bat ah ! the heavy days came soon. I was at Newbury fight too, when the villains killed %im. Little had I thought to see that end. How gladly would I have laid down my life to save his, for his poor lady s sake and his fatherless babes ! and few of those that followed him but would have done as much. But I was sent back hither instead, to carry the heavy tidings to my lady, and help to bring along the sad burden we were put in trust withal." " Surely you did not bring the body home from Newbury field ? " inquired Sir John. T 2 27C THE WASHINGTON " No," answered the other, " we could not do that much : the more, because a retreat was commanded that very night ; so that we could not so much as seek out a churchyard wherein to bury him. We dug the grave there where he fell, on the field of battle ; and there we left him. And Master Law rence, the chaplain, who was with us, read the prayers out of our service book over him. But, since we could no more, we brought his heart. Twas grievous work to do so. But Master Lawrence was stout upon it, that twould be the best comfort for my lady. So he, and Master Balph Catelin, and Valentine Shirley, (my lord s man, that you re member) would have it so ; and they gained leave for me and Alibone to come along with them : for twas scant safe to cross the country then, without a convoy, after we were past Brackley. Thank Grod, we did our errand without let or hindrance. And here I have abode since : for my lady was loth to let me depart again ; and she won from the Colonel the favour of my discharge. Ah ! many a fine fellow of those 1200 never came back again to his home! many as you remember lads here with you. But I prate long about myself, Sir John, when I should be asking concerning you. You must needs have done and suffered much. Tell it me, I pray you." THE EMIGRANT. 277 Sir John Washington complied ; and gave his com panion an account of the course of the war in the north, beginning with the king s attempt to gain pos session of Hull, and ending with the fatal battle of Marston Moor, which had given the parliamentarian party the command of the northern counties, crush ing all further resistance. He had gone through the whole struggle in the army of the Earl of Newcastle ; and when that nobleman had thrown up his com mand in despair, and abandoned the country, he like others had made his submission, and had been allowed to live on his own estate at South Cave near Hull, though subject of course to many restraints and disabilities as being a notorious royalist. " I marvel, Sir John, that they should allow you such a measure of peace, even as that whereof you tell me ; " observed Will Marson. " The worshipful gentlemen in these parts, who have stood for their king as you have done, were driven from their homes, and stripped of lands and goods. Nought has been left to many of them, but their own fair fame, and the good conscience whereof none can rob them." " We were brought to an extremity, sooner than you here in the Midland : ere men s minds were so embittered by long fighting. And besides that, Will, they were gentlemen then that had the rule of the T 3 278 THE WASHIXGTONS. contrary side ; gallant gentlemen, (I must say that of them,) though they did lift up their hand against their king. They knew how to honour and trust a brave man that had met them bravely in a fair field. There was my Lord Fairfax at the head of them, a worthy gentleman who had known the most part of us in better days, and who wished us no ill, nor asked better security than our plighted word. And there was Sir Harry Yane ; whom I must needs com mend also, though he hath gone to greater lengths. He had known my brothers at Westminster School, where they were fellow-scholars and playmates ; and was therefore the better disposed in my regard. Had such remained in authority, I could have been well content to have bided the time (as had surely been the case in no long while) when they should have come to their sober minds again, and should have brought back his Majesty to his undoubted rights. But now He checked himself; and, looking round the room, and dropping his voice, asked sig nificantly, " All friends here, Will ? " " Trust us for that, Sir ; " said Marson. " There s scarce a man in the town, but is staunch at heart for the cause : though we ve bad examples enough, (rod knows, within easy reach of us for that matter. But be others what they may, I keep no eavesdroppers THE EMIGRANT. 279 about me. Me and Ellen, we live together, and do all our own work for ourselves. Tis little we want ; and we would fain bring no man into temptation to spy into our concerns and prate about them. She Jl be right glad to see you, Sir will Ellen. She has but gone to look up a neighbour, out Harleston way, and she s safe to be back by nightfall." " Then you re not married, Will ? " asked his guest. " Married, Sir ! No, nor never were. Here s little marrying or giving in marriage now-a-days in these parts. Folks were well to think twice, before they so tie themselves in these troublesome times ; and no one knowing what shall come next. And pretty marriage it is, now, Sir. I should scarce feel that I d got a wife ; or she a husband, after their newfangled ways. To be cried at the market cross like a stray nag ; and then had up afore the justices, like a sturdy vagrant or a sheep-steal er. That s scarce my notion of being joined together by Grod. I cannot think how any honest woman can put up with it. No ; we stick together, Ellen and me ; and do pretty well, with the blessing of the Lord, till better times shall come again. I ve a few closes here by my lady s favour ; for she s considered me mightily, ever sin I came back from the wars : and more than ever lately, now Master Catelin s dead, and Valentine Shirley too. T 4 280 THE WASHINGTONS. So Ellen and me live together. We are the only ones left now of the family; all the others gone ! Ah ! and that minds me, Sir, you called me Hal when you first came to the door. Had you forgot that Hal had been dead this many a year? Afore you left off visiting Althorp, Sir, I think ? " "I did not forget it, Will;" answered the other. " That is to tell the truth, I did forget which of you it was that was still alive. And an old woman, of whom I inquired at Nobottle yonder, seemed so terrified of me that I did not stay to ask. You know, Will, how we were ever puzzled to tell the difference betwixt you, when you were lads." " Oh ! ay, I mind it well. Will and Shall we were then, you recollect. Ah Sir ! how often I think of the pleasant old gentleman, and Mistress Wash ington, and dear Mistress Amy, and all of you, as I go about the old house : and most of all, when I come back to it of an evening, and look up to the good Scripture over the door. And now I could believe the old days were come back again, sitting with you here." "Ay, it seems but yesterday," said John Wash ington, " that I came in here, the first time I paid my uncle a visit after we had left the house ourselves. Will Traceloe came up along with me : and my uncle THE EMIGRANT. 281 and aunt were sitting there in the chimney yonder. And tis there the fishing-rod used to hang, and the keetching-net ; and tis here the books used to stand ; and why, Will, you ve made things look mar vellous like as they did in my uncle s days. I could swear it was the same table and stools and all." " Don t talk of it, Sir John," said the honest farmer blushing with pleasure that his intentions had been noticed. " I try, what I can, to make it look as it did. I wish I could do more : but a poor man can t cut his cloth like gentlefolks. But can you give me tidings of Mistress Amy, Sir ? Mistress Curtis, I had ought to call her, asking her pardon : but Ellen and me always talk of her still as Mistress Amy." " She is well, thank God, and happy ; " answered Sir John ; " as happy as one can be in such times as these. She is fortunate too in that she hath no children, and is free so to meet whatsoever may betide. Master Curtis her husband was out, you know, in the wars, with his friend and mine, my Lord of Peter borough. But that is all over with him, as tis with us. They live peaceably at Islip, though with means much abated ; waiting for that which shall come." " I am mighty content to hear it," replied the other : " and I pray Grod to have her continually in His 282 THE WASHINGTON S. keeping. But you were about to tell me concerning yourself, Sir John ; and left to do it, as I think, for fear of eavesdroppers. Will you not be pleased to proceed ? " " I have nought to keep back from you, my honest friend," answered the knight ; " you shall hear all. I told you how that I gave my word, when fortune went against us in the north, that I would bear arms no more against the Parliament, nor would conspire to overthrow the authority thereof. I have kept that word, Will ; and would keep it, so long as life remained. But I did not esteem myself bound thereby, when fraud and usurpation overthrew the authority whereto I had submitted myself. You have heard, Will, how that sundry loyal subjects of His Majesty have endeavoured openly of late to rouse the people of this realm to throw off the tyranny imposed on them. I was of that number, Will ; though the occasion did not arrive for which I looked in our northern country. We failed; and our hopes are crushed for this long while. Many gallant gentle men have paid the forfeit of their liberties, some of their lives, for the attempt. I blame not our rulers for this. We all knew well that which we risked ; and we have been prepared to meet it. So far I have escaped. But I am suspected, and more than THE EMIGRANT. 283 suspected. There are sundry that know that I was in the meetings on the moors. And, as I think it comports not with my safety to abide any longer in my home, I have left it accordingly, never to return." " Then you will settle here once more," said Will Marson, his face glowing with delight. " You will fix yourself again in the old shire, where your fathers lived and died : and be a friend and a counsellor to my lady and my young lord, as you was to them that came before him." " No, no, Will : that cannot be. I am bound for a far more distant land. I go across the wide seas to Virginia, to the plantations there. Nay start not, my friend, nor interrupt me. You think, maybe, that tis a salvage land, filled with wild red men, and fit only for miscreants and villains such as we once cast upon her shores. But believe it not. Tis a goodly land, where a man with a stout heart and a strong arm shall hold his own sufficiently against such foes as he shall encounter. And better such foes, Will, than those that lie in wait for us here. And many a gallant gentleman is there already in Virginia. There, if in any place, you shall find the old country now : the true and loyal English hearts that fear (rod and honour the king : that speak the truth in all things, and call their wills their own. Yes," he added, 284 THE WASHINGTONS. rising from his seat, and pacing hurriedly about the room ; " even though I could dwell here in safety, I could not bear to abide in England longer. The throne destroyed, and with it all that made our ancient commonwealth venerable, and beautiful, and sacred our Church proscribed our altars over thrown our laws disfigured our nobles slain or banished property violated gentle blood disgraced cant and hypocrisy ruling in high places free dom of thought oppressed and stifled where is the liberty which England whilom enjoyed ? the liberty wherewith alone a people is truly free ? The day will come, I trust in Grod, and firmly I believe it, when the old glory of the land shall return. I leave one son behind me, yonder in Yorkshire ; and I pray that he may live to see that day. I never shall : and therefore I take my departure. I and my son, and my brother Lawrence, we are bound for the New World. Within these few days we shall take ship at Bristol ; and thither I am going now. They have gone before, and are awaiting me. I follow, as I may, having despatched the matters which I tarried to attend to. Five or six days hence I look to be with them." Will Marson gazed sorrowfully at his visitor. He saw plainly that remonstrance was in vain : and, in- THE EMIGRANT. 285 deed, knowing his own incompetency to judge of such a matter, he did not venture to offer any objection. He was silent for a few minutes ; and then said, " You will at least lie here to-night, Sir John. You will not refuse us that. Twill make Ellen so proud to serve and tend you here, under the old roof." " No, Will ; it must not be," answered his guest. " I must needs go forward. I must be at North ampton to-night, where I have left my saddle-bags and other carriages. I did but reach it yestereven, having quitted Islip in the morning. And to-morrow I must be away betimes ; and get forward to Sulgrave. I would fain see the home of my fathers once more, before I leave these shores for ever. Thence I pass on to Oxford, and so to Bristol. I have but this one day to spend with you here : but I could not go for ward, without coming to bid my old home farewell. And not this house only. There be other places too I must needs visit, my father s grave, and the old church the village up yonder and Althorp also. And thou must come with me, Will ; and let us talk together of the days that are gone. Twill make it dearer to my memory, to think that one heart here cherishes with mine the thought of this last parting day. And one thing more. I would fain take away with me a note of all that is written in the register 286 THE WASHINGTON S. book here, concerning my parents and my kindred. Where can we gain a sight of the old register book, if it be preserved ? Hath the minister charge of it, whoever he be ? " 66 No ; tis not the minister ; " answered Marson. " Tis our register that keeps it. Eemember you not how that twas ordered, somewhile ago, that the books should be taken from the ministers of the parish, and kept henceforth by a register, elected and chosen of the parishioners ? Maybe twas not done so in the north. But here all were forced to obey the order. So we chose Will Traceloe to be our register ; and he now does the writing, and has the books in charge." "What!" exclaimed John Washington. "Will Traceloe ! our old friend at the Dovecote ? Is he living yet ? " " Old William hath been dead these many years past," answered Marson. Tis his son I speak of. But he lives in the Dovecote still. And you shall find him a fair spoken man, I promise you, Sir ; and an honest, like his father : and one moreover that is true and staunch for the cause. We had not chosen him else. But bless me ! here s your horse been standing all this while. Poor nag ! that I should have so overlooked him." And, hurrying off with the horse to the stable, THE EMIGRANT. 287 Will Marson soon returned ; and then set out with his guest to visit the keeper of the parish records. The transfer of the parish books to the charge of registrars, by an Act of the Barebones Parlia ment in 1653, whatever may have been the merits of the measure at the time, has occasioned in many instances the loss of the ancient documents ; and, in many more, a wide hiatus between the out break of the war and the Kestoration : as the new book, which was begun for the most part by the republican officials*, was often either lost or con temptuously rejected by the clergy on their return. But William Traceloe was a model registrar in every way. Not only did he make his entries in the neatest and most careful manner possible, with beau tiful penmanship and faultless spelling ; but he had taken the utmost pains to fill up the void which the previous years of disorder had left. Upon the break ing out of the troubles the old register book had been taken away, or secreted, by the curate in charge : but William Traceloe had subsequently re covered it ; and had carefully set down under every year (as he showed Sir John Washington) the various items, which had been either preserved as memo randa upon odd bits of paper, or which he had * See Appendix (B.) Section II. 288 THE WASHIXGTONS. gathered from the testimony of the families among whom births or deaths had occurred. Weddings there had been scarcely any, during the times of the civil wars: save that of the presbyterian minister of the parish, Master John Holland, who had married the daughter of one of the farmers, and who upon the recovery of the register had made an entry of his marriage himself, procuring the signatures of two respectable parishioners in attestation of the fact a practice which, though now required by law, was at that time quite unknown in ordinary cases. For the last two or three years also William Traceloe had been in the habit of registering the baptism of the children as well as their birth, beginning with the eldest born of good Lettice Halliwell ; though it was the births only that properly fell under his cognisance. And he spoke with pleasure of the hope he cherished, that he should soon have to hand over the register book alto gether to the rector of the parish, its rightful depositary. se Who is your minister now ? " asked Sir John Washington. " Have they set over you one of the cobblers from Northampton ? " "We are wondrously favoured for that matter, Sir John," answered Traceloe : " and in truth so we have been. He whose name I showed you but now was an honest and well-learned man, a master of THE EMIGBANT. 289 arts, and a painful godly minister, for all that he was not of the right cloth. And when he died, tis now three years since, my lady appointed a high Oxford clerk, the tutor of our young lord, Master Pierce, to be rector of the parish : neither hath her appoint ment been disannulled. The more s the marvel : for you shall not find a better churchman than Master Pierce no, not among those that are in suffering and banishment for the truth s sake nor a bolder or more outspoken.* . He hath handled pretty roughly * Thomas Pierce was one of the ablest and most eminent contro versialist writers of his day, as his writings still show ; and one that did not fear to maintain his principles in times of danger. Wood (Ath. Ox.) has a long article upon him, and many shorter notices. Jeremy Taylor speaking of him (June 1659) says "Baxter, I suppose, hath met with his match : for Mr. Piers hath attacked him : and they are joined in the lists." (Life, by Bishop Heber.) Evelyn notices him (Diary, Oct. 2, 1656) as coming on a visit to his house ; and calls him " a learned minister of Brington in Northants .... and an excellent musician." At the Restoration he was made King s Chap lain, Canon of Canterbury, and President of Magdalen; was ap pointed the next year to preach, both before the Convocation at St. Paul s, and the House of Commons at Westminster : was one of the [supplementary] Commissioners at the Savoy Conferences ; and died in 1691 Dean of Salisbury. Walker (Sufferings of the Clergy) speaks of him with high commendation ; as also does Wood, though noticing his faults, especially his fierce and ungovernable temper, which seems to have stirred up abundant strife, both at Oxford and at Salisbury. Bishop Kennett (Collections, in the Lansdowne MSS, British Museum) gives a long sketch of his character and career, U 290 THE WASHINGTON. some of the other ministers hereabouts, disputing with them on matters of doctrine : and notably Doctor Reynolds of Braunston, whom they account a champion and a great one among the Presbyterians. Master Pierce is all round them and back again, before the others well know where they should look for him." " How is it he is suffered to remain in his cure ? " asked Sir John. " Here is a special Providence over him, tis certain," answered Traceloe : " for grievous sufferings have befallen the clergy in these parts ; nowhere more so. Do you remember Master Phillipps, Sir John, the parson of Whilton ? Well ; his son, who was parson after him, (for you see Master Phillipps had got the advowson for his own) him they turned out, poor man, a peaceable diligent minister that he was, and sent him starving out of doors with his twenty-two children that he had, to beg their bread as they might.* And beg it they needs must. We have done what we could for them at Brington here : commenting most severely on both. Like too many others of his party, he seems almost to have merged the Christian in the Church man after the Restoration. * This, and the following cases, are reported by Walker, " Suf ferings of the Clergy." THE EMIGRANT. 291 and many s the time that I ve seen them take the victuals that were going to the pigs. And yonder, on the other side at Brampton, there was a learned godly minister, Master Doctor Canon. The soldiers came over from Northampton : and they drove out Master Canon, and put their own chaplain in his place chaplain they called the fellow, though he is but a tavern-keeper s son out of the town; and he s been minister at Brampton since. e Drunken Dick they call him there ; and tis a name well earned, I promise you. And worst of all was poor Master Losse at Weedon Pickney ; Sulgrave way, you know, Sir. Him the soldiers hunted to and fro through his church, like a beast of chase : and they caught the good man in the church tower, beating and wounding him cruelly, and left him for dead in the belfry." " "Tis the self-same story everywhere," observed the knight. " Mine own kinsman, Master Lawrence Washington of Purleigh in Essex, hath been cast out of his house and cure by a like violence. I cannot choose but marvel that Master Pierce hath escaped ; and so near to Northampton too." te They have made a trial of it, some base fellows from thence," replied Trace] oe ; "but we soon put them down. And for the rest of it, Master Pierce u 2 292 THE WASHINGTON^. hath such a wit, and such a tongue, to preach you or to pray you by the hour together, without book or paper, that none can gainsay him. And I daresay his life and manners are above reproach or scandal. The Triers came down here last year ; and could find no occasion against him, neither in ministry nor in conversation. Tis not from any of us they shall hear aught that shall hurt him." " Tis well said ; " answered Sir John Washington : " and it contents me much to hear that you tell me. There were ever many here that were zealous for the Church. My old friend Body, that I should name him first is he yet alive ? " Traceloe and Marson looked at each other, and smiled. " You are somewhat out there, Sir John," said Marson. " Body is turned Leveller, and what not ? Fifth monarchy man too, I suppose. He hath been most things, by turns, since the troubles began, and my lord went away. And he it was brought those base fellows over from Northampton, whereof William spoke but now. Twas a few Sundays after Master Pierce first came amongst us : and we saw half a dozen strangers come into the church, and sit down right opposite the pulpit. They kept their high hats on their heads ; and we saw by their straight cloaks THE EMIGRANT. 293 and their long sour faces what sort they were : so we looked out for mischief. Body was seated apart ; but you might tell by his eye that he was at the bottom of it. Master Pierce made a longer prayer than he was wont ; and none from the service book, though he has that by heart, and gives it us mostly ; for he knew the fellows were come for to spy out his ways. Well, before the prayer was done, one of em called aloud, Woe unto the foolish prophets, that follow their own spirit, and have seen nothing. Hereupon Master Pierce turned upon them, and sternly bade them keep silence in the congregation. Then Body stood up in his place, and cried out, 6 Arise, my sons, and fall upon him ! And all the six arose, and went towards the pulpit. Master Pierce motioned to us all to keep still : and truly I was fain to do so, for I much desired to see how Master Pierce would carry himself. He hath such a nimble wit, and such a courage, that I verily believe he had been a match for them himself. But Joe Turlington was up already, and had the foremost by the throat; and thus the scuffle had begun. So we heeded not Master Pierce any more, but handled them after our own fashion." "What did you with them?" asked Sir John Washington, laughing. u 3 294 THE " We carried them down Slash, behind the church yonder, and gave em all a souse in the pond, with a taste of the mud at the bottom. We let Body off a little more lightly than the rest, though truly he deserved it most of all : but we spared him for his grey hairs, and for old acquaintance sake. And then we bid them begone ; and they ran off over the moor towards Buckby." " And did you not bring the whole hive about your ears for this ? " asked Sir John. " No. There was a talk in Northampton of com ing over here the next Sunday, to execute ven geance on us : but the major-general stopped it. He sent to make enquiry ; and when he found the rights of the matter, he kept the scoundrels in." " We must needs confess," observed the knight, " that there is a strong hand held over the villains to that which was wont to be. Well. And Body ? " " He hath not shown his face in our town since then," said Marson ; " but we hear of him by times both at Northampton and at Buckby. He hath found his proper mates, and there we leave him." Sir John Washington had taken the copies he desired : and bidding farewell to the honest registrar, the two friends, after a hasty dinner, set off together to survey the various scenes so full of common THE EMIGRANT. 295 memories to both. It was arranged that Sir John Washington s horse should be brought to the church yard gate an hour before sunset ; for he wished to return to Northampton by the other side of the park, through the old hawking ground, and over Harleston heath. Meanwhile the friends roamed about the village, and over the neighbouring fields ; and visited the Marsons former house, and sat on fallen trees, and lay on the grass under shady hedges, talking of the days that were gone, and of the friends who were departed ; and strengthening each other with brave and loving words to trust in Gfod, and wait upon His will, and persevere in duty according as His Pro vidence should assign it to them. " I often think of good old Master Campian," said Sir John Washington. " There be many of his words that have sunk deep into my heart deeper, I think, than those of any man. And his patient hopeful carriage, and his simple doctrine, that dwelt not in forms, nor lingered in conceits, it seemed to bring (rod s message so near, and commend it so sweetly, that I have never since witnessed the like. Tis a leaven that hath worked much in my heart, Will ; and under (rod s blessing shall work on still, as I hope, to the end of my life. Thou canst scant remember him, I suppose." u 4 296 THE WASHINGTON. " Ay truly," answered Will : " I seem to see him now with his gentle smile, and reverend grey hairs. But I scarce mind me of his doctrine ; save that my dear mother was ever speaking of him till the day of her death, ever telling us that which he was wont to say and to teach. You remember my mother, Sir, how staunch to the Church she ever was." John Washington thought within himself how very different a character his own recollections called up ; but of course he did not say so, observing instead, " Ah, Will ; tis a contentment to a man to hope he will lay his bones by the side of those he loved. I sorrow ofttimes to think twill be otherwise with mine." They strolled into the park ; and wandered about by the banks of the pool, and through the heronry, and past the hawking stand, and round the race-course, and over the ridings on Windmill hill, where the great- horse exercises had been carried on, and among the different woods, every one of which had associations of its own in John Washington s memory. Here he had killed his first buck ; there he had talked with Philip Curtis on that afternoon, when the latter had returned from Little Brington an accepted lover ; here he had conversed with my lord of Southampton about Virginia, and received his first distinct impressions concerning that Plantation, of which his lordship had THE EMIGRANT. 297 been the treasurer : there he had stood by the side of King Charles, when the latter honoured Lord Spencer with his presence. They talked about those days of old ; and Sir John asked many questions of his com panion concerning his Majesty s residence at Holmby ; for Althorp park had been a favourite haunt of Charles I. during his captivity there ; he had been in the habit of coming over, sometimes twice or thrice a week, to enjoy his favourite pastime in the admirable bowling-green ; and this had been the case on the very day when he was carried off forcibly by the army, and when Cornet Joyce s sudden appearance among the spectators of the game had induced the commissioners to hurry their royal charge back to Holmby. Marson had been one of the bystanders on that, and many former occasions ; and it was with melancholy interest that Sir John Washington listened to every detail of his royal master s demeanour, under circumstances so changed, and so pregnant with fore bodings of what was yet to come. The park, far more than the country in general, bore signs of neglect and depression. Nettles grew thickly everywhere under the shade of the trees, and pushed forward in large masses, displacing the pasture in the open glades. The deer had all dis appeared ; and the long dank grass left standing for 298 THE WASHIXGTONS. hay, was full of thistles and docks, and looked as though even now it might long wait for the scythe and the rakes of the haymakers. The pools and the moat, up to the very walls of the house, were clogged and foul with weeds and rushes : and over the house itself a gloom and a melancholy silence brooded, how different from the cheerful life and activity which had formerly been its invariable characteristic ! Sir John Washington paused at the edge of a young grove of oak and beech, from which a path descended rapidly towards the house. " We will approach no nearer ; " he said. (( No, Will : I am loth to seek an interview with the Countess. She will scarce remember me. It is better than seventeen years now, since she saw me last : and I parted then from her noble husband, with some thing of strangeness between us. Well; if he were wrong then, as I know not that he was, he hath glori ously redeemed the error. No nobler fame remains than his, for those that come after to inherit." " And well has my lady borne her part," added Marson. "Yon house, Sir John, hath been ever open to loyal gentlemen and pious churchmen, in their days of sore trouble. Many is the anxious heart that hath found shelter and solace there, for all it seems so gloomy and sorrowful." THE EMIGRANT. 299 " I know it, Will," answered his companion. " She is a lady, commended and honoured far and wide throughout the land : and not only by loyal hearts, but in no small measure (as I think) by the factious also. A poet of their own, Master Waller, hath loudly sung her praises, signifying her by the con- ceitful name of Saccharissa ; and, albeit we desire not the praises of the ill-affected, yet herein he hath but spoke the truth, and his are words that find entrance to high places now, where indeed he who sits highest of all is his kinsman. May Grod reward and bless her ! And the young Earl, Will, what of him ? Doth he inherit his fathers nobleness and greatness of heart ? " (( Alas ! who shall say ? " replied the other. " He hath been brought up, poor young lord, amidst dangers and suspicions and the need of concealment. And young as he is, the mark of these experiences is stamped even now upon his face. You remember, Sir John, the carriage of his father at his age, and in truth from his earliest years ; how frank he was, how bold and bright, like sunshine gleaming over us. Tis a sad difference now. My young lord seems to doubt of every one. He shuns your eye ; and if he must needs speak you a word, he scans you first all over. But all shall be well with him, 300 THE WASHINGTON. please God, let but the old times come back. He hath a wondrous excellent wit, folks say ; and the son of such parents must needs have a heart to match it," " Tis like these young trees," observed Sir John, "that need room and air and sunshine, whereof methinks they are now unrightfully debarred. Small chance hath been given them of late, tis plain. Yet let the axe but clear away the intruders, and make space enough for those which nature hath marked out to inherit the ground ; and then shall you see these goodlier ones stretch forth their boughs, and grow in strength and seemliness. I remember well when these were planted, Will. Twas in that very year when my dear wife was taken from me. The good old lord was living then; and twas a strong desire of his to see a wood planted in the park by his son, as he had planted one himself, and his father and grandfather before him. Ay, yonder is the stone that marks the year. Let me look at it once more." He went up to the stone that stood in the centre of the grove ; and read the inscription engraved upon it. " This wood was planted by Sir William Spencer, Knight of the Bathe in the yeare of our Lord 1624." On the obverse side was added the legend, " Up and bee doing, and Gfod will prosper." THE EMIGRANT. 301 " Ha ! " exclaimed the Knight, " I had forgotten this was here. A goodly word of exhortation, Will. I take it for my parting legend, and for an omen of that which shall be. And truly the time draws near, when I must depart. Let us walk up now to the church. I will take my last look at the graves of those I leave behind ; and then farewell ! " So they went on to the church. Marson had already provided himself with the keys; and entering they locked the door, and stood in silence within. Sir John Washington was rejoiced to see that no violence had been done to it. All was uninjured, and indeed scarcely changed. With delicate consideration Will Marson lingered at the entrance ; while the other advanced to the eastern end of the building, and gazed for some minutes on the stone that covered his father s grave, and on that which marked the last rest ing-place of his uncle and his aunt. Then kneeling beside them, he poured forth his full heart in prayer. When he rose from his knees, he presently looked round for his companion ; who joined him in silence : and, pausing for a minute by the grave of Mr. Cam- pian, they then passed on together into the mortuary chapel of the Spencer family. There, too, were memorials to gaze on of beloved friends and bene factors ; the sculptured and emblazoned tombs of the 302 THE WASHINGTON. two Lords Spencer, the grave of Margaret, the plain stone that marked the spot where lay the heart of the gallant Henry Earl of Sunderland. Sir John Washington gazed with mournful interest around him, taking his last look. But his attention was immediately attracted by another monument, which he had not seen before. The device was a singular one, executed in white marble. From a funeral urn rose the figure of a man, the size of life, showing from the waist upwards ; his outstretched hand resting on a Bible ; thus conveying to the mind the sentiment it was intended to express, that, through the imperishable word of Grod, he who was there buried trusted to rise from his funeral ashes. It was the left hand, the hand of defence, that clung to the Bible ; which in its turn was supported by a circular column, " the pillar and ground of truth." The right arm, that of action, grasping the sword of the Spirit, rested on a square pillar, signifying the perfect law of Grod: while the whole figure was clothed in " the armour of righteousness, on the right hand and on the left." In an age when such devices seemed natural and edifying, Sir John Washington caught the import at a glance; and looking down he saw that the inscription bore the name of Edward Spencer. THE EMIGRANT. 303 u Is he too gone ? " he exclaimed. " I did not know it. When did this befal ? " " It was but last year, Sir John, as you may see by the date. A noble gentleman, and one we sorely miss. Folks say he was on the Parliament side : and may be it was so partly : but I will not believe that he ever lifted hand against his king. He hath been a faithful friend to my lady. As soon as he heard of my lord s death, he came to Althorp here ; and he hath stood by my lady ever since, always at hand to counsel and protect her as need arose. We all judge that twas by reason of him that my lady and our young lord have been so left in peace, and possession of their goods ; while many, with no more to charge against them, have been stripped of all. " May be he has helped to secure them," replied Washington, " though I set it rather to the credit of my lady s own brothers, my lord Lisle, and Master Algernon Sidney, who have no small weight with the factious party. Be that as it may, tis a pure and noble spirit has here passed from earth : another gone before us, Will, whom we must strive to follow one that ever so lived, that he might be ripe to die. Grod grant that we may meet him, and meet each other, when the sorrow and strife of this world shall be over ! " 304 THE WASHINGTON. The hour of parting was now come, and more than come. Sir John Washington s horse was waiting at the church-yard gate : and the setting sun warned him that no further time was to be lost. Once more he turned to the humble friend of his boyhood ; and, with clasped hands, and glistening eyes, the two exchanged their last farewell. Then mounting his horse he rode slowly down the hill, turning in the direction which he had chosen. The first little eminence on his road brought full in view the familiar prospect of Holmby. And, un prepared as he was for the sight, he recoiled in horror and amazement from the scene which presented itself. The golden rays of the setting sun lighted up the ridge, on which the royal mansion had been built but the mansion was there no longer ! All had been destroyed, after its sale by order of Parliament in 1650 ; except a small portion of the house, at the end of the range of buildings. There were the two lofty gateways, which marked the principal court : but, between these and the small remaining portion of the house, nothing was to be seen but a few fragments of arcades, and obelisks, and pilastered walls, where once the glittering front extended : while the park, denuded of its noble timber, stretched like a dreary wilderness on either side of the deserted terraces. THE EMIGRANT. 305 He halted, and gazed with tearful eyes upon that scene of desolation and ruin. " Fit emblem," he cried, " of the violated monarchy, and of the royal house which traitors have overthrown ! But a witness, no less, against those who have wrought this violence ; a witness pleading for a restoration which shall surely come ! " He turned back, and cast his eyes on the village, which the few next steps would hide finally from his view. " Farewell, beloved village ! " he exclaimed. " Home of my childhood, scene of my happiest days, resting- place of my father s ashes ! How often will thine image return to my memory, amidst the mighty forests and trackless plains of the land I go to ! Peace be upon thee ! And peace and happiness be to the noble house, which gave shelter to our race and name in the former days of our adversity ! Soon may it rise to fresh honour and prosperity, under happier auspices ! Long may it flourish, a bulwark and an ornament to the realm, with a long line of noble sons to serve their monarch and their country ! Farewell, farewell ! " Once more he put his horse in motion, and rode onwards. On he rode ; to carry across the Atlantic a name which his great grandson should raise to the x 306 THE WASHIXGTOXS. loftiest height of earthly glory ; and a coat of arms, which, transformed into the flag of a mighty nation, should float over every sea, as far and as proudly as the blended crosses of St. Andrew and St. George. 307 NOTE ON THE WASHINGTON OF SULGRAYE. IT is due to those readers who take a special interest in the ancestors of Washington (and those who do not can pass over this note altogether) to separate the fictitious from the true, and the conjectural from the certain, in the preceding narrative. And this could not be done in the narrative itself : for, what ever advantages this kind of composition may possess, in bringing facts no less than fancies in a lively form before the mind, it is obvious that the narrator, who is supposed to know every trifling detail in the daily life of his characters, must not in the eame breath confess ignorance or doubt concerning the more im portant matters of their history. The principal facts relating to the Washingtons of Sul grave have been thoroughly and satisfactorily in vestigated by the industrious and judicious historian of Northamptonshire, George Baker : and his account, combined with what Washington himself knew or discovered in America, has been adopted by the later biographers of the great President, especially the careful and learned Jared Sparks, and the accom plished Washington Irving. x 2 308 KOTE Baker s account of the settlement of the family in Northamptonshire, and the acquisition of Sulgrave by Lawrence Washington the grantee, has been followed in the preceding tale (Chapter I.), with some slight corrections, and considerable amplifications. These amplifications rest in great measure on con jecture : yet it is conjecture which commends itself, and almost adduces its own proof, by the mere state ment of it. Lawrence Washington s relationship to the great wool and cloth merchant, Sir Thomas Kitson, his change of profession his settlement at Northampton during the very crisis of the great sheep-farming movement in the midland counties a movement which, from the date of the Pilgrimage of grace, had been associated in idea, and to some extent in reality also, with the advance of the Re formation his consequent connexion with the Spencer family and the position which they in turn occupied with respect to Dr. Layton these things, put "together, can scarcely leave a doubt that the account given in the tale is substantially a correct one. There can of course be no doubt at all, that the relationship of the Washingtons to Lord Spencer was the cause of their removal to Brington, when obliged to leave Sulgrave. The additional alliance, con tracted between the families, to which allusion is made at p. 8, was the marriage of Mr. William Pargiter of Gretworth, (cousin and nearest neighbour of the Washingtons at Sulgrave) to Mistress Abigail Wil- ON THE WASHINGTON OF SULGKAVE. 309 loughby, sister of Lord Spencer s deceased wife. This marriage, which is recorded in Brington Parish Register (April 26, 1601) was noticed by me, before I observed the actual relationship of three generations back : and would have been enough by itself to account for the friendly offices performed by Lord Spencer to the Sulgrave family in distress. The question next arises, When did they move to Brington ? Baker says, " Lawrence Washington, after the sale of this estate [in 1610, to Lawrence Make peace, his father s nephew] retired to Brington, where he died." I cannot believe this to be a correct account of the matter. In the first place, Baker must have forgotten the fact (which, however, he records in his pedigree of the Washingtons) that a child of Lawrence s, named Gregory, was both baptized and buried at Brington in 160y, three or four years before the date he assigns for the removal thither. Secondly; if Lawrence Washington resided at Brington (from 1606 or 1610) till his death in 1616, how comes it that no notice of the Washington family occurs in the parish register during these six or these ten years? Lawrence Washington (as his epitaph informs us") had eight sons and nine daughters ; and his second son (as we shall see) could hardly have been older than the century ; so that births must almost certainly have occurred during this period a period, also, which probably witnessed the marriage of some of his elder daughters; since two of them at least were already married in 1618, and before 1606 the x 3 310 NOTE eldest of them can hardly have been of marriageable age. The Sulgrave Register for all this period is unfortunately lost.* Thirdly ; since the epitaph of Eobert Washington (brother of Lawrence) who died in 1622 states that he had lived many years in Brington parish, Baker s supposition would make the residence of the two brothers contemporaneous, for some time at least a conclusion which heightens the difficulty (to which I shall presently advert) of finding houses in the parish suitable for them to live in. My own conclusions, then, are those which I have adhered to in the story. Lawrence s residence at Brington (and this is almost certain from the entries, just alluded to, in the parish register) began or had begun in 1606. It was terminated by the sale of the Sulgrave estate ; which (as he was induced to join in cutting off the entail) was attended with some im mediate advantage to himself. And on his departure he was succeeded by his brother Eobert, who would thus have had twelve years of residence to justify the expression employed in his epitaph. This hypothesis which I had already formed from consideration of the circumstances of the case, is curiously (though, I grant, not conclusively) confirmed by a memorandum of Eobert Lord Spencer s, which I found in the Althorp * I take this opportunity of offering my best thanks to the in- cumbents of Sulgrave, South Cave, Islip, Denford, Radway, Pack- ington, &c., for their kind help in forwarding my inquiries. In every case unfortunately the old registers have either been lost or have suf fered mutilation. ON THE WASHINGTON S OF SULGRAYE. 311 grain book (see Appendix (A.) Sect. 4.) "1610, Oct. 10. After this week, Eobert Washington did take the windmill of me," I need hardly apologise for having sent Lawrence Washington, in my story, to live in London after this ; nor for having placed John and his brothers (without documentary warrant) at Westminster school. I proceed now to the enquiry, Can we find out where the Washingtons lived, while resident in Brington? Conjecture fixes on the house, of which a representation is given in the vignette. And the force of the conjecture will best be seen by ap proaching the question on two different sides. 1. Do we know of any house, existing now or formerly, which is suitable to the purpose? We should probably know of any house, which manifestly answered the required conditions, even if it were no longer in existence. For the estates have been in the hands of the Spencer family, from that time to this without intermission: the Althorp household books stretch down to the time of the first Earl of Sun- derland, and Manor Court rolls are extant of the time of the second Earl : the parish documents are unbroken, and in some respects singularly full : yet there is neither trace nor tradition of a gentleman s house, once existing in the parish and subsequently destroyed. One only exception presents itself the manor house of Little Brington, once belonging to the Bernard family, a portion of which still remains, and is used as a labourer s cottage. This house is x 4 312 NOTE the first that we should think of as a residence for the Washingtons. But it would seem that it was already decayed and deserted at the time we speak of; for there is no trace in the parish register of the Bernards or other gentleman s family having lived there between the years 1558 and 1606 ; nor did it belong to Lord Spencer in the 1 7th century, having been separated from the manor when the latter was sold to him, and having probably been bought by one of the yeomen in the parish, as a residence for himself, most likely by that very family (the most ancient of all, the Kennings) from whom Earl Spencer purchased it in the present century. If then the Washingtons did not live in Little Brington manor house, there was but one other, so far as we know, in which they could have lived ; and on that our conjecture rests. 2. Now look at this house itself; and try to account for it. Till lately it has been a farm house ; but it has more architectural ornament about it, (or has had) than the other farm houses of the place ; and indeed has apparently survived all its contem poraries, as being a better and more substantial building. It looks like something more distin guished than its fellows. And observe the singular inscription over the door : not such an one as we should expect, as for instance, "Except the Lord build the house, their labour is but lost that built it : " nor, " It is Thou, Lord only, that makest us ON THE WASHINGTONS OF SULGKAVE. 313 to dwell in safety," but a text speaking of sorrow and loss and vicissitude, (f The Lord givelh, the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." If we knew the history of this house should we not find something unusual and pathetic in the circum stances of the family for whom it was built ? Might not the parish register throw some light upon the matter ? We turn to the parish register : and there the only name which seems to answer our inquiry is the name of Washington. The Lord had both given them, and taken away, a child in that very year in which the house was built. Nor was this the only reason they had for dwelling emphatically on that passage of Scripture. They were bearing the weight of great reverses ; they were full of anxiety for the future, and of sad recollections of the past, while settling down in a new home under a very marked change of circumstances. I have been quite unable to find any positive proof or any positive refutation of my conjectural conclusion : but it will be seen that the conjecture has at any rate very great probability. The only further entries in Brington parish register, relating to the Washingtons, are as fol low : 1616. " Mr. Lawrance Washington was buried the xvth day of December." 1620. "Mr. Philip Curtis and M is Amy Washing ton were maried August 8." 314 NOTE 1622. " Mr. Eobert Washington was buried March y e llth." " M rs Elisabeth Washington widow was buried March y e 20th." The facts thus recorded have been worked up, with the help of the Althorp household books, and the notices preserved of other individuals, in the register and elsewhere, into the foregoing story. And now, before proceeding to the most important point of all, the personal history of John Washington the emigrant, let me dwell briefly upon what we can ascertain about some other members of the family. 1. Baker states that Lawrence Washington s eldest daughter, Elizabeth, (sister of the emigrant) was married to Francis Mewce of Holdenby. This rests on the authority of the Heralds Visitation of Northants in 1618-19. In the report of that visita tion, which is said to be the fullest, the version preserved among the Harleian MSS. (No. 1094) I find the arms and pedigree of this Francis Mewce ;* who held apparently some office in the King s house hold at Holdenby. The names both of husband and of wife occur repeatedly in the Althorp household books, and will be found more than once in the sub joined extracts. 2. The second daughter was married to Francis Pill (erroneously spelt Till in Baker, &c.), described in the Heralds Visitation -book as of Midford. A - * Of Iledgmans, Co. Essex. Morant recognises a family named Mews. ON THE WASHIXGTONS OF SULGRAVE. 315 Mr, Pill appears also occasionally in the Althorp household books, as a guest of Lord Spencer s. 3. Of Amy, my heroine, almost all that is said in the story is based on fancy ; except that she was married to Philip Curtis, as has been shown above ; and that probably she had been adopted by Eobert and Eliza beth Washington, as she alone of all the family was married at Brington. I find no trace of her and her husband subsequently (the registers at Islip also hav ing been lost or destroyed); except the incidental notices of them in the Althorp account books, which prove their continued existence in the neighbourhood, and show the social rank of Mr. Curtis, who was con stantly a guest of Lord Spencer s, and that in com pany with his most distinguished visitors. Nor can I find any further trace of the Curtis family, beyond what is supplied by the monumental tablets in Islip church, (the inscriptions upon which are given in Appendix C.) : except that, in the MS. Sheriff s book preserved at Althorp (see note to Pre face) I read in the list of the benefices of the Diocese, " Denford, Vicar: Patron, ibm. Kath. Curtis Vid."* The present Vicar of Denford (a village near Islip) informs me that there is a field in the parish still called " Curtis s close." 4. Barbara (7th daughter) married Simon Butler, of Apeltree, Northants," head of a family to which she was already related ; her mother, Lawrence * Date apparently 1640, though this list must really have been drawn up many years earlier. 316 KOTE Washington s wife, having been one of the same stock, though resident in Sussex. By this marriage, it is not uninteresting to observe, she became the an cestress of Alban Butler, author of the ft Lives of the Saints." 5. To these daughters we may add Lucy, one of the two (out of nine) whom neither Baker nor the Heralds have named. For there can be no doubt, I think, under the circumstances, that the " Mistress Lucy Washington " of the Althorp household (see supr. p. 257) was one of this family. 6. I will speak of the emigrant s brothers presently, when I come to the emigrant himself. But it may be allowed to notice first a mistake of Baker s in the Grarsdon branch of the family of Washington, a branch which is now merged in the line of the Shirleys, Earls Ferrers. Baker makes Sir Lawrence Washington of Grars don, Wilts, the second son of Lawrence, the grantee of Sulgrave. He was really his grandson ; one out of four successive generations of Lawrences having been left out by Baker. The son of the grantee, and father of Sir Lawrence, is described (Her. Vis. 1618) as of Maidstone in Kent ; for which borough he (or perhaps his son) was M. P. in 1 Jac. 1, 1603. (See Parl. Hist. vol. v.) He was Register of the Court of Chancery ; and the patent of his appointment (35 Eliz.) may still be seen among the Lansdowne MSS. in the British Museum (No. 163.) He died in 1619, aged 73, and was buried in Maidstone church, having OX THE WASHINGTON OF SULGKAVE. 317 married Ann Lewin, a Kentish lady, (Hasted s Hist. of Kent.) Baker forgot that if Sir Lawrence (who died in 1643, aged 64) was a son of the grantee, he must according to the data of the pedigree have been born fifteen years after his mother s death ! I notice this oversight for a reason which will appear before the end of the note. According to the Heralds Visit. Book, Sir Law rence, the son, was also Kegister of the Court of Chancery, like his father. It is now time to turn to the main subject of all what light can be thrown upon the history of Wash ington the emigrant ; or rather what proofs can be advanced in support of the account given of him in the latter portion of the foregoing tale. I take it for granted that it was really John, second son of the last Lawrence Washington of Sulgrave, that emigrated to America; and this in or about the year 1657. Thus much seems to be established by the correspondence between the great Washington, and Sir Isaac Heard Garter King at Arms, in 1792, which is given in Sparks s Appendix. These conclusions are now ac cepted in America, I believe, as undoubted facts. First let us endeavour to settle the date of this John Washington s birth. His father s marriage took place in 1588, his death in 1616 ; and we have there fore the limits between which his family of eight sons and nine daughters were born. As the Sulgrave Eegis- ters are lost, the dates of the several births are for the most part matters of conjecture. But I think I can- 318 NOTE not be far wrong in making the birth of John nearly coincident with the beginning of the 17th century. For if he emigrated to America in 1657, it is not likely that he was above 60 years of age ; and might be presumed probably to be younger, especially as he appears to have been by no means superannuated after his arrival. Yet, on the other hand, he can scarcely have been j^ounger than I have supposed ; for, as I shall presently show, he must have been married him self in or about the year 1620. The conclusion which I have thus arrived at im plies that his father s family consisted for the most part of a number of daughters born first, and sons born afterwards. And this supposition is confirmed by ascertained facts ; for Amy (whom Baker ranks as sixth daughter) was married in 1620; and Lawrence, the fourth son, was a student at Oxford (and in that century Oxford, students were much younger than now) in 1622.* I come in the next place to a point, which is no conjecture but a certainty : though probably it will be regarded at first with incredulity, as inconsistent ap parently with tradition ; viz. that the proper style and title of this emigrant is Sir John Washington, he having been knighted by James I. * Baker appears to have got this and various other facts con cerning the Washingtons from deeds of conveyance, and probably wills of various members of the family, then (1822) in the possession of the Rev. M. II. Bartholomew. I know not where these are to be looked for now. ON THE WASHINGTON OF SULGKAVE. 319 The proofs are these. Three gentlemen of the name of Washington are constantly mentioned as visitors at Althorp in the household books ; these three being William, John, and Lawrence. Now, besides the strong a priori probability that these gentlemen were members of the family once resident at Brington, (some of whose sisters too have already been identified in these same books), we have the fact that the names I have mentioned were those of the eldest, the second, and the fourth brothers of the family in question (Richard, the third of them, according to the Heralds pedigree, being nowhere traceable further in any existing document, and having probably died young): and, to clench the matter, the eldest of these three Althorp visitors is always mentioned as Sir William, which we know to have been the rank of the elder brother of the emigrant. There can be no doubt, therefore, that the three Washingtons of the Althorp household books are the identical per sons, whose history we are investigating. Now, though this John Washington first appears in the books in question as Mr. John Washington, and is so entered in January 162, in the following March and ever afterwards he is called Sir John Washington ; and he must therefore have been knighted in the interval thus marked out. This conclusion leads us to another equally certain, viz. that he was the husband of the Dame Mary Washington (formerly Mary Curtis), in memory of whom a mural tablet still stands in Islip church. 320 NOTE Baker does not allude to this monument, which is surprising; though, as no one suspected that the emigrant had been knighted, its bearing upon our subject was not likely to be perceived. Knowing however what we have now discovered, and having no record of any other Sir John Washington, we might form the conclusion just stated, with tolerable certainty, even without positive proof; especially when we remember that Philip Curtis (brother to this Dame Mary) was himself married to the emigrant s sister Amy. But further evidence, amounting to positive proof, is furnished by the Althorp household books : where we find Sir John Washington accom panied in due time in his visits to Lord Spencer by one Mordaunt Washington, the very name which the Islip monument records as that of the eldest son of Sir John and the Dame Mary who is there interred. I think then that it is established beyond con- j tradiction that the Washington whom all are agreed in pointing out as the emigrant and founder of the American line, was Sir John Washington, though very possibly he may have dropped that style and title after his emigration ; and that moreover, (which is of more importance) he had been married in England; and when left a widower in 1624, had three sons (as the Islip monument testifies) Mordaunt, John, and Philip sons, of whom no genealogist has taken account as yet. It is conjecture again on my part, and not ascer tained fact, that he had a place at court about the ON THE WASHINGTON OF SULGKAVE. 321 king ; and that his manor of South Cave was given him or procured for him by Greorge Villiers Duke of Buckingham. Perhaps these matters might be thoroughly made out by those who know their way about the State Paper offices, and who are sufficiently interested in the subject to undertake the investiga tion. I have neither opportunity nor knowledge for such researches. The Duke of Buckingham s profuse liberality, even towards his remote connections, is notorious enough, and excited general indignation against him at the time. The Althorp books show that Sir John Washington continued to frequent Althorp till the very eve of the civil wars, and also to stay elsewhere in North amptonshire. Probably, if he himself had a place at court, he left his sons under the charge of those who were doubly their relations, the Curtises. During the civil war we entirely lose sight of him, though there can be no doubt of course which side he took. For some years previous to his emigration, he had been living (see Sparks, &c.) at his manor of South Cave, near Hull. As to the immediate cause of his emigration, I have adopted Washington Irving s conjecture (if conjecture it be, and not rather a well-founded tradition) that he and his brother Lawrence were implicated in the royalist conspiracy of 1656 ; and driven for safety, or induced by choice, to take refuge in that great asylum of the defeated party, Virginia. But to return to an earlier part of our story. We have seen that John Washington was knighted by 322 NOTE James I. in 162 (between January and March). This, it will be remembered, was the very time when Prince Charles and Buckingham set off on their clandestine expedition to Madrid ; and the honour conferred upon Sir John was probably one of the marks of favour lavished upon the Duke on this occasion. And thus we are led to notice in con nection a passage from " Howell s Familiar Letters," which I have no doubt refers to a younger brother of Sir William and Sir John Washington. Howell was a young English gentleman, who in the course of his travels had come to Madrid in this same year 1623, and was there at the very time when the Prince and Buckingham arrived. He is writing home to England, somewhat later in the season. Here is his story. "Mr. Washington, the Prince his page, is lately dead of a calenture : and I was at his burial, under a fig-tree behind my lord of BristolPs house. A little before his death, one Ballard, an English priest, went to tamper with him ; and Sir Edmund Varney, meeting him coming down stairs out of Washington s chamber, they fell from words to blows : but they were parted. The business was like to gather very ill blood, and come to a great height, had not Count Gondomar quasht it ; which I beleeve he could not have done, unlesse the times had bin favourable ; for such is the reverence they bear to the Church here, and so holy a count they have of all ecclesiastics, that the greatest Don in Spain will tremble to offer the meanest of them any outrage or ON THE WASHINGTON OF SULGKAVE. 323 affront. Count Grondomar hath also helped to free some English that were in the Inquisition in Toledo and Seville ; and I could acknowledge many instances how ready and chearful he is to assist any English man whatsoever, notwithstanding the base affronts he hath often received of the London buys, as he calls them." (Section 3. Letter xx.) There can be no reasonable doubt, I think, that this page of Prince Charles was one of the Washing- tons, whose brother had married Buckingham s sister ; perhaps the third brother Richard ; but more probably a younger one, Thomas or Greorge. The circumstances of the burial of this poor youth in unconsecrated ground, and the previous tampering with his faith, caused great indignation in England. The story is alluded to by Tom Telltruth in his famous libel (see Somers s Tracts, vol. ii.), and is men tioned by David Lloyd in his sketch of Sir Edmund Verney *, though the name of Washington is not given. Of Sir William Washington, beyond the fact of his fortunate marriage, and consequent advancement to wealth and honours, nothing seems to be known, f His eldest son, Sir Henry, born (it would appear) * Sir Edmund Verney was M.P, for Wycombe, Bucks, in the Long Parliament (Parl. Hist. vol. ix.), and Knight Marshall of England (" ultimus banneretorum," Lloyd). The king s standard was intrusted to him, when set up at Nottingham ; and he was killed, in charge of it, at Edgehill. f He is described as of Packington, county Leicester. But nothing is known of him there, nor is he mentioned by the county historians, Y 2 324 KOTE in 1615*, distinguished himself highly in the civil wars, leading the successful storming party at Bristol (1643); and defending Worcester, of which city he was governor, to the last extremity (1646); as the biographers of Washington have sufficiently described. According to Lloyd he behaved no less gallantly ~at the siege of Colchester (1648) ; but what became of him then, or afterwards, I cannot learn, though Lloyd s expressions seem to imply that he was alive at the Restoration. But I have been shown the names of two sisters of his, (daughters of Sir William and Ann Villiers) which occur in a MS. pedigree of Sir Eobert Graham of Esk, bart. These are tSusanna, married to Reginald Graham, (of Nunningham, co. York) brother to Sir Richard, first baronet of Netherby ; and Elizabeth, married to George Legge, first Lord Dartmouth. Both these ladies seem to have died without issue : but the earls of Dartmouth preserve a substantial monument of this connection in their Lewisham estate, which had previously be longed to Reginald Graham, and was conveyed by him to his brother-in-law. // Lawrence, the fourth brother, is known to have emigrated to America with John. (Sparks, Irving, &c.) I thought at one time, that, since Lawrence had been an Oxford student, he might prove also to be the ejected rector of Purleigh in Essex, mentioned by Walker in his Sufferings of the Clergy. But this * Baker says of him in his pedigree " set. 8. (1618) ;" but in the Visitation-book (Harl. MSS.) I found the figure to be 3, as Mr. Sparks also did (it seems) at the Heralds College. The corrected date suits all the antecedents better. ON THE WASHINGTON OF SULGRAVE. 325 could not be, if Walker is right in speaking of the rector as reinstated at the Restoration. And on further examination, it appears almost certain that the clergyman in question was one of the Maidstone and Grarsdon branch ; for Morant states that at this time the patronage of Purleigh was in the hands of a Kentish family, and we also know that Sir Lawrence Washington s daughter Martha was the wife of Sir John Tyrrell of Essex. (Baker s Northants, under Stotesbury. ) Of the other brothers nothing has been traced ; the W T ashingtons whom Wood mentions (Ath. Ox.) having belonged to a branch settled at Adwick. To return to John, the founder of the Virginian line. It has been seen that he had three sons who (if surviving) must all have been middle- aged men at the time of the emigration : Mordaunt, (evidently so called after the Earl of Peterborough, his father s friend and near neighbour at Islip,) John, and Philip. It does not of course follow that all or any one of these was still living in 1657 ; but it seems probable that one of them was left in possession of the estate at South Cave : for, though there too the old parish registers have been partially destroyed, so that we cannot trace the line throughout, yet later on occur the entries, 1689. " Octobris 7 mo Henricus Washington et Elianora Har rison matrimonio conjunct." 369f. Susannah filia Henrici Washington Generosi. bapt. Martii 24. [Sepult, April. 30.] 169f. Elizabetha filia Henrici Washington Generosi. bapt. Jan. 13. Y 3 326 NOTE. Was this Henry a grandson of the emigrant ? * I forbear to carry the inquiry across the Atlantic, where others will do much better whatever can be done. But I will conclude with the suggestion that, perhaps, Sir John Washington took his son John with him, as well as his brother Lawrence ; and that it was this younger John, that was employed as General against the Indians, that married Ann Pope, and that did other things which have been hitherto ascribed to the father. It is a well-known fact among genea logists, that two generations are perpetually confused and merged in one, when the same Christian name is repeated. Baker himself complains bitterly of the difficulty of avoiding this mistake ; and it is one of which we have seen a remarkable instance on his part, in a case where sufficient documents existed to cor rect it. How much more likely was it to occur in a country where, as President Washington observes to Sir Isaac Heard, there was " no office of record in which exact genealogical documents were preserved," and in a sketch, which is avowedly derived from oral family tradition. * It has been justty remarked (by the Vicar of S. Cave) that these entries throw some doubt on the tradition that the emigrant had been possessed of the manor. For the Harrison family are known to have possessed it at one time ; and did the Washingtons therefore obtain it by this marriage ? The names Henry, Susanna, and Elizabeth suggest near relationship at all events with the heroic defenders of Worcester. APPENDIX. (A.) THE ALTHORP HOUSEHOLD BOOKS. THE household and account books, found at Althorp some years ago in an iron-bound chest, which had never been opened ap parently since the time of the Civil Wars, consist of (1.) Ac counts, kept by Robert Lord Spencer himself, of his expenses at Muscot from 1593 to 1602; Muscot being a farm which Lord Spencer kept in his own hands to indulge his taste for agriculture. (2.) Inventories of furniture, plate, linen, kitchen utensils, &c. &c., at Althorp, taken in the years 1607, 1610, 1614, 1621, 1624, 1629, and 1635 ; some of which inventories, however, relate only to some one set of household articles ; the fullest and most perfect being those of 1607, 1610, and 1624. (3.) Books of household expenditure at Althorp for the years 1622-26, and again 1632-36, very minute and full. (4,) Lady Penelope s housekeeping book for the years 1622-27, coinciding for the most part with the last-mentioned books, but still more careful and minute, in some particulars. (5.) Accounts of grain delivered from the parsonage and other quarters, together with accounts of its expenditure in the stables, bake-house, brew-house, &c., extending with more or less completeness from the year 1587 to the year 1645. These books have been largely used in the preceding narrative ; but a few specimens of the books themselves will be acceptable to the reader ; be sides more copious extracts, where the subject matter has an intrinsic interest of its own. Y 4 n APPENDIX (A) 1. I. THE INVENTORIES. The furniture of the Great Chamber and the Withdraw ing Chamber has been fully given. Here are specimens of a somewhat different kind (from the Inventory of 1610). THE CHAPPELL. Impr : a Comunion Table a lardge bible a booke of comon prayer a surplesse a chaire of white sattyn im- brodered a little stoole of red fringed sattyn X turkye worke cushions a forme. THE PARLOR. Impr : ij tables a cupbard a folding table ij formes a round oyster table a greene chaire imbrodered a great chaire of turkye worke with the Cattlyn s armes ij little chaires both of turkye worke ij little stooles of sattyn of brudges, embrodered with blacke velvett ij turkye carpetts lardge for the two tables a cupbard carpett of turkye worke xviij stooles of turkye worke ij coving [covering] carpetts with woven cullers two cushions of turkye worke a highe chaire of blacke tuffe taffatye and ij stooles of the same an iron grate a fire shovel! a paire of tongs a paire of bellows a paire of tables a skreene of green buckram ij windowe curtaines of green saye v joyned stooles. THE CHAMBER OVER THE CHAPPELL. [apparently the best spare-roorn\. Impr : iiij peece of arras hangings, containing the His- torye of Boaz & Ruth. In the hangings are the Spencers armes not quartered, sett by themselves. A Sparvar * bed : the tester and vallance of crymson velvett embrodered with * Sparvar : the canopy or tester of a bed. " A happie woman hath as quiet sleeps, and as contented wakings in a bed of cloth, as under a sparver of tissue." Hering. Notes on Orlando. Wright s Diet, of Obsolete English. ALTHORP INVENTORIES. ill the Spencers armes. Five curtaines of crymsou damaske, laced with gold lace one half hed bedsted for a sparvar bed, with the Spencers armes in yt a matt a mattress a fustian downe bed a paire of fustian blanketts a paire of Spanish blanketts j bolster a pair of pillows a wooll quilt of Jeynes fustian a crymson rugg a counter- pointe of crymson damaske, lyned with crymson serge, laced with gold lace an highe cbaire of crymson velvett, with gould and silke fringe ij lowe back chaires to the same ij windowe cushions of crymson velvett, the bottoms thereof of crymson damaske iiij curtaines for the windowes of crymson Spanish taffatye a courte cupbard a turkye carpett for the same a foote carpett of turkye worke a great paire of lattyn andirons a paire of bellows with a brazen pipe fire shovell and tongs of lattyn a paire of lattyn sweeps, with covers of yellow cotten, covers for the chaires and stooles of green bayes the cover of the bed of green buckram a paire of lattyn snuf fers, and a joined stoole. THE INNER CHAMBER, [used evidently for the Visitor s servant to sleep in}. Impr : a couch of wainscott a matt a mattress, a feather bed a bolster, a paire of blanketts a cov r . lid of Tapestrye ij little joined formes THE NURSERYE, [disused before 1610 ; Mistress Margaret, the youngest child, being then 13 years of age"]. Impr : a lowe bedsted a matt a mattress a featherbed a bolster a paire of blanketts a cov r . lid of twisted yarne a halfe canopy e of stripte [striped?] sackin ij cur taines to the same ij windowe curtaines of greene and red save a brushing table ij lowe joy ned stooles ij formes a paire of andirons afire shovell a paire of tongs a paire of bellows. APPENDIX (A) 1. NURSE KEMFTE S CHAMBER. Impr : a bedsted a matt a mattress a featherbed a bolster a paire of blanketts a blewe cov r . lid a canopy e of dorninx with ij curtaines to yt a paire of bellowes j andiorn a paire of tongs, and a fire shovell. THE BUTLER S CHAMBER. Impr : a leverye* bedstead, with a tester of buckram a rnatt a mattress a featherbed a bolster a paire of blanketts a cov r . lid of twisted yarne an olde table stand ing upon two tressells. THE COOKES CHAMBER. Impr: ij boarded bedsteds ij mattresses ij featherbeds iij bolsters ij paire of blanketts ij cov r . lids of twisted yarne. NB. All the servants have featherbeds, both in the house, and at the gate-house ; except the kitchen-boys, the stable- grooms, and the wainmen. The linen, under Mrs. Segrave s charge, consists chiefly of sheets, the material of these being Hollands (the best), fine flaxen, goodwife s cloth, and ordinary flaxen and hempen cloth for servants of table clothes, damask, diaper, flaxen ("some of these last being for the steward s table ; others, ordinary, for the hall), of sideboard and of cupboard clothes of towels, (these being for table use ;) long Holland, flaxen, and ordinary for the parlour (some described as " towels for liveries of calico") and napkins, both table and other napkins (com prising what we now call towels). * Iiivery : & Fr. G. Livree; It. Livrea; Hisp. Librea idem signante ; olim significabat vestes simul et alimentum quae a dominis iu servos erogata et distributa suut. Skinner, Etymologicon. ALTHORP INVENTORIES. V These inventories of linen have notes and memoranda of Mrs. Segrave s pinned in to them, and remaining as she left them 250 years ago ; concerning wear and tear, removals of the family, &c., as for instance " vj of these 37 towels gone to Ox ford, as the note showeth, and 2 of them John White had to break for yr lp s arme " [i.e. for bandages, probably when his LP was blooded]. Here is a short specimen of the Inventory (1607). Sheete of fine Normandy canvas, yard & halfe broade ...... v paire. Large sheete of Huswyfe s cloath, of three breadths . . . . . . iiij paire. whereof two paire finer than the other. Sheete of Lancashire cloath of two breadths & a halfe ...... iij paire. Sheete of Huswives cloath of two breadths, yard broad ...... vij paire. Sheete of huswives cloath of ell broad, two breadths v paire. A holland sheet to turne a sicke body. Fine Holland napkins stryped with blewe . iiij dozen. Of the plate perhaps a sufficient account has been given iu the narrative, Chapter III. Here is the PEWTER IN THE CHARGE GF MRS. SEAGRAVE (1607). Impr : greate chargers .... iiij Greate mutton chargers .... xij Flatte platters vj Deep platters ...... vj Deep dishes . . . . . . ix dozen viij vi APPENDIX (A) 1. Boyled meate dishes vij dozen vij Sallett dishes ...... xv. Saucers ....... ij dozen. Round pye plates x Long pye plates ...... viij. Boll basons (whereof one hath brinkes) . iiij. Flagons xiiij. Pewter salts ...... iiij. . Brasen skimers v. Brasen ladles . . . . . ij. Pewter ladles . . . . . j. Basting ladles of brasse . . . . j. Perfuming pannes . . . . . vj. Chafers ....... iij. (besides pewter in the charge of the kitchen boys including Platters to cover fish . . . . ij) All this vessell stampt with the Spencers first coate. Those who are curious may look into Hugh Cranfield s pantry, and see the apparatus of the Butler. Impr : a new presse to lay the linnen in, a glasse cupbord, and a bread cupbord, 3 hampers for the plate covered with sayle [seal ?] skinnes, and all of them with lockes and keyes, a little new cesterne of lead, a binge to putt the chipings * in. Or, passing into the Buttery, they will find the following articles also " in the chardge of HughCranfield" (1610) Impr. basons and covers of pewter . . v Itm brasen candlesticks whole . . xlj Itm broken candlesticks .... xx Itm flagons of pewter ij Itm boll basons of pewter j Itm cesternes of pewter j * Chippings : broken bread, &c. ALTHORP INVENTORIES. vii Itm wicker basketts . . . iiij Itm basketts to carry candlesticks . . j Itm one thick guilt boale for the buttery e . j Itm two silver beakers wth the first") coates of Spencer and Wil- I loughby, and a B* on the j ^ other side Itm voydersf ij Itm saltes of pewter .... iiij Itm leather bottles ij Itm blackejackes x Itm trenchers for the p.lor . . vj dozen. Itm trenchers for the halle ij dozen. Itm coffers to put lynnen in . . j Itm binges to put bread in . . iij Itm cupbards to sett glasses in . . j Itm great stone juggs v Itm formes . . . . . . ij Itm tunnell dishes iij Itm gymbletts ..... j Itm beare stalles ..... iij Itm long tables .... j Itm plates to sett candles in . . . iiij Itm voyder* knives, whereof one is steele with a case . Itm little keaversj .... * B, for buttery. f The voyder was a butler s tray or basket for clearing away broken victuals, &c. (Nicholls, Progresses of King James I.) The voyder knife (I am told) " was like a large spatula or paper cutter, and used for scraping together the broken victuals into the voyder. The Drapers Company in London exhibit on their gaud} days a voyding knife of silver." It is plain, from the expressions of contemporary writers, that the trenchers of the guests were only changed at the beginning of a new course ; so that the voyder and the voyder knife would often be much wanted, before a lady or a gentleman helped themselves to a new dish. J Kiver : a shallow tub ; as butter kiver, dough-kiver, &c. Baker, Northants Glossary. viii APPENDIX (A) 1. Itm paring iron ..... j Itm cheeping knives j Itin testing forke j Itm snuffer for p.lor j paire. Itm beare cocks . . . . . vj Itm a butlers boxe of silv r with the first coate of Spencer and sup porters ..... j Itm leather jackes brought from Wickeine iiij [of jackes that ordinary ly goe about the house . . . v of jackes for the Brewer to carrie barme in j] 1624. And lastly some may like to penetrate further still, and look over THE BRASSE IN THE CHARDGE OF ROBERT WARNER IN THE K1TCHIN (1610). Impr : brasse potts, whereof one is a furnace ij Itm Rackes . . . . . j paire Itm other brasse potts, whereof one is lesser than the other . . iij Itm great copper kettle .... j Itm great kettles of another sorte . . iij Itm kettles of a lesser sorte . . . vij Itm great broaches* . , . j Itm lesser broaches .... iiij Itm broaches more .... iiij Itm spitts j Itm birde spitts ..... ij Itm iron chaffing dish . . . .iij Itm dripping panns .... iiij * Spits (broches): the word spit being used it would seem for smaller articles. ALTHORP INVENTORIES. Itm collenders ij Itm pott hookes ..... iiij paire. Itm basting ladles ..... iij Itm posnetts vj Itm filling ladles j Itm skymmers ..... ij Itm gridirons ..... iij Itm flesh hooke ..... j Itm myneinge knyves ij Itm chopping knives .... iij Itm iron peeles ..... ij Itm fire forke . . t . . . j Itm fryinge panns ij Itm mustard quarnes j Itm woodden treyes . . . xij Itm woodden ladles .... iij Itm trevetts ij Itm pott hangers vj Itm bread grates ij Itm iron to drawe capons j Itm stone morter with pestell j Itm flesh axe j Itm cleavers ij Itm axe to cleave coales j Itm brasse morters with pestells . . ij Itm brawne tubbe j Itm sowce tubbe ..... j Itm woodden peeles vj Itm tub with long feete to washe pewter in j Itm oatmeale boxe j Itm iron grates for coales ij Itm iron barrs before the grates . . ij Itm salte boxe . j Itm plates for dripping panns . . ij Itm bellowes a paire j paire Itm tonges ...... j paire. Itm newe dripping panns ij Xii APPENDIX (A) 2. Throughout the summer there had been great alterations going on in the house ; a new Withdrawing Chamber built, improvements and enlargement of the Great Chamber, a new stone staircase built, new Park gates, &c. &c. At last we come to the decisive entry. For p.visons bought for the entertaynement of the Kinge and Queene s Ma ties by severall bylls, & John Keyes his charges . . . 40 07 07 After which all entries relating to the banquet shall be given from the expenses of the several weeks following; and the whole accounts in extenso for the week August 14-21, in which the royal visit took place. July 24. For John Keyes his charges for goeing 3 tymes in to the Fens as appears by the pticulers . . . . . . . 05 15 7 For Hand s charges the ffirst tyme fetching the ffowle 00 16 06 For his charges the 2 cond tyme in to the ffenns for fFowle 00 15 06 For his charges the 3 rd tyme fetching foule . 01 07 01 For his charges the 4 th tyme fetching ffowle . 01 16 06 To Evans 5 dayes makeing the 2 casement windowes to give light to the new staires . 00 05 00 For 60 yards of matt for the best newe chamber, & the closett within it at 5 d . the yarde . . 01 05 00 For 19 yards of matt for the little new chamber. 00 07 01 For 39 yards of matt for my Lords Drawing Chamber 00 16 03 For 66 yards of rnatt for my Lordes chamber . 01 03 04 For 113 yards of matt for the great chamber . 02 07 01 July 27. To Crackstone & his sonnes 10 days a peece layeing the matts 00 10 00 Ruff and Reeve 3 dozen & 4 . . . . 03 02 00 Knotts 6 dozen & 1 06 01 09 Olives 3 dozen & 3 , 02 05 09 BANQUET TO CHARLES I. Xlll Redshankes 3 dozen & 4 00 13 04 Yarwell 1 dozen & 11 . . . .* . 02 14 02 Dotterills 8 00 13 04 Godwitts 3 01 03 00 Curliews 3 00 07 06 Signetts 2 00 12 00 For 5 dozen & 9 pulletts . . . . . 03 01 02 For 5 dozen & 4 capons 05 01 08 For 10 dozen & 5 chickins . . . . 02 09 00 For 4 dozen 10 duckes 00 16 02 For 4 dozen & 7 Turkey chicks . . . 03 15 00 For a Turkey cock and a Turkey henne . . 00 08 04 To 2 men & a woman for bringing home Turkeys. 00 01 04 For a pecke of hempe seede for the quailes . 00 00 02 July the last. To Dunkley 5 days making penns for the fowle, and 1 daye mending the stand- inges in the pke 00 06 00 To Hartopp 4 days making the new staires in the walkes, & 2 days about the tables that came from Wormleighton putting on the irons. 00 04 00 To Williams 4 days making the Tables . . CO 02 08 To Boswell 6 days making the new Ovens. . 00 06 00 [and many other workmen on the like business] For 60 li of sugar at 13 d per li. . . . 03 05 00 For a boxe for it, and to the porter . . . 00 01 08 For 4 dozen of the best cringes. . . . 00 04 00 For 4 dozen cringes of a second sorte . . 00 02 00 For 4 dozen lemons of the best sorte. . . 00 18 00 For 4 dozen lemmons of the second sorte . . 00 12 00 For a boxe for the cringes and lemmons, and a porter to carry them 00 01 06 For Potatoes 00 16 00 For a boxe for the Potatoes, and a porter to carry them . . . . . . . 00 01 02 For 3 drinckeing glasses at 3 s the glasse . . 00 09 00 For 4 woodden platters for the Cramaid . . 00 03 01 APPENDIX (A) 2. For 6 Tables 02 14 00 For Leonard Greenaway, paynes 4 days goeing to Stratford about the Tables . . . 00 04 00 For his charges there 00 02 06 To Hopkins for bringing downe the banquett pewter, and 18 chaires Weight 19 C. 14 li. . 03 18 06 For 53 li. of cherryes bought at Wellingbo- rough at 8 the li. 01 15 04 To Dent for bringing downe boxes by bill. . 00 12 00 To him for his charges bringing downe foule by bill , 01 00 10 To the Smyth by bill 03 06 1 1 For 4 dozen of Godwitts 09 12 00 For 4 dozen of Knotts 04 16 00 For 2 dozen of Ruffes 03 00 00 For a Leverett 00 00 06 August 7. [To masons, carpenters, & labourers, making the new ovens, the tables &c. prepar ing the stables and the park, " lyneing the great chamber staires &c." . . . . 08 14 10] For 2 Qua: 5 str. of wheate at 6 s 6 d the str . 06 16 06 For 9 Qua : 5 str. of salt at 2s. the str. . . 07 14 00 For earnest for the salt . . . . . 00 00 06 For 8 pikes at 10s. the pike . . . . 04 00 00 For 20 breames at 4s. the bream . . . 04 00 00 For 20 tenches 01 11 06 To 2 men to bring the ffish and ffreshen it by the waye . . . . . . . 00 05 04 For Toale at Thrapston Bridge. . . . 00 00 02 For the hire of Ginnings horse , . . 00 03 00 For his paynes for comeing along to order the ffish. 00 05 00 For 6 li. of cherryes bought at Daventree . . 00 02 00 To the paynter for whiteing and paynting the Chambers . . . . . . . 10 10 00 For a letter bringing from John Keyes out of the ffenns 00 00 06 BANQUET TO CHARLES I. XV To Mr. Knightleys man for his reward for bringeing 2 swarms . . . . . 00 05 00 To my Lord of North.tons man for comeing over with the Tents 00 05 00 For 33 livers for the ffowle . . . . 00 08 09 For the Shephards expenses 9 weekes goeing to North.ton and Daventree to p. vide the livers. 00 06 00 For 6 tables 02 08 00 For a horse for Leonard Greenaway goeing to Stratford 00 01 04 For his journey twice thither, and expenses there both tymes 00 01 06 August 14. [To workmen and labourers, cover- ing and heating the ovens, making up the tables, making the kitchen ranges, setting ^ 12 04 02] up pales at the mount walk, wainscotting the chambers &c. To Goodman 4 days chiping bread . . . 00 01 04 To a boye goeing to Mr. ffarren s at North.ton to bespeake cakes 00 00 04 For 2 Qua. 6 str. of wheat at 6 s 6 d the str. . 07 03 00 For 3 Qua. of barley at 3 s 4 d the str. . . 04 00 00 To Peedle for 8 new baggs for the bowles . 00 03 08 To the tinker for making 3 paire of new plates for the dripping pans 00 10 06 For 1 dozen of signetts 02 08 00 For 20 dozen & 5 Ruffs and Reeves . . 19 07 08 For 6 dozen & 1 Redshankes . . . . 01 04 04 For 4 dozen of Godwitts 01 12 00 For 11 bitters 01 00 00 For 2 Olives 00 02 08 For 6 Dotterells 00 10 00 For 29 Knotts 02 08 04 For 2 Yarwells 00 02 06 For 23 couple of rabitts 01 06 10 z 3 XVI APPENDIX (A) 2. To Shortleggs for ffish, by bill . . . . 01 02 00 August 21. To Butlin 6 days covering the raunges, setting up tables and other thinges. . . 00 07 00 To his elder and younger sonne the like . . 00 10 00 To Leeson 7 days and 1 night makeing rackes to roast with, covering the raunges, providing tressells, and setting up tables . . . 00 07 06 [To various workmen at the like . . . 01 15 06] To Leonard Carter 8 days finishing the tables, and setting up wainscott . . . . 00 06 08 To Hartopp 5 days makeing the tables, the parlour doore, and divers other thinges . 00 03 04 [To various workmen at the like . . . 03 06 00] To Walden 4 days and 1 night carrying water into the kitchen in the dogg kennell yard, and 3 days clensing the courtes . . . . 00 05 04 To Hollis 7 days & 1 night at the like . . 00 05 04 To Summers 1 day helping the carpenters, 2 days levelling the grounde in Cowe lane, 1 day watching at the gates, and two days goeing to North.ton for thinges I * sent for . 00 05 00 [To other workmen at the like . . . . 00 13 00] To Clarke 1 day hedging in the dogg kennell yard, 1 day helping the chaundler, a jorney to Windsor for pares, and a journey to my lady Banisters for Apricockes . . . 00 07 02 To Goodman a journey to Huntingdon about oysters, a journey to Mr. Kirton s about the stagg, and a journey to Wormleighton for capons 00 06 02 To Kening 1 day levelling where the tent stood, 1 day hedging in the kennell yard, 1 day carrying the Bowers out of the court, 1 day goeing to Upton Mill for meale, 2 days carry ing boards, and 1 night watching . . . 00 04 01 * Master Wingfield Catelyn, the steward. BANQUET TO CHAELES I. XV11 [To 3 other workmen the like . . . . 00 03 02] To Palmer 1 day fetching plate from Holdenby, 3 nights watching the tent, 1 day carrying formes & tables out of the house, and 1 day haveing home tables that were borrowed . 00 03 06 [To other workmen the like . . . . 00 12 06] To Turlington 6 days in the kitchin . . . 00 03 06 To Bucknell 6 days in the Bowlinggreene . 00 03 06 To Lyne 6 days in the Parke & 4 nights watch ing the parke 00 05 00 [To other workmen in the kitchen & else where 00 19 06] To 3 boyes 8 dayes turning spitts . . . 00 03 00 To Harris 6 nights watching the tent at the end of the walkes 00 03 00 To the Labourers that made the Bowers in the court 00 05 00 To young Palmer 2 days & 2 nights watching the tent, and a journey to my Lady Banister for a letter . . . . . . . 00 04 00 To young Pilgrim 1 daye goeing to Elkington for lambes for the house . . . . 00 00 06 [To other workmen . . . . . . 00 03 00] To Phipp a journey to WatfFord for pigeons, and 3 dayes chipping bread . . . . 00 02 04 To Furley 4 days chipping bread . . . 00 01 04 To Willis 2 days & a night, watching at the gates 00 01 00 To Bollard 7 days helping the Cater to bringe in p.vicon 00 03 06 To Presgrave 7 days helping the keeper . . 00 04 08 To 2 men for watching the fibwle by Mr. Whites appoyntment . . . . . . 00 01 00 To a woman 6 days ffeedeing the ffowle . . 00 01 06 To 7 women 2 days a peece gathering pease . 00 03 06 To 3 women 2 days a peece pulling ifowle . 00 01 00 z 4 XV111 APPENDIX (A) 2. [To various women " helping the maides clensing the house washing lynnen scour ing vessell, plate, & pewter," &c. . . . 00 17 10] To a woman for sweeping the Standinge . . 00 00 03 To the women for gathering Rushes . . 00 02 00 For 5 Qua : 4 str. of Wheat at 6 s 10 d per str , 13 14 08 For 1000 of 8 d nayles, and 500 of 6 d iiayles . 00 11 04 For a li. of pack-thrid 00 00 08 For 2 hogsheads of Canary sack bought at Northampton . . . . . . 24 00 00 For a hogshead of white wine bought there . 06 10 00 To the Coopers for dressing the hogsheads . 00 00 08 For 1 quarter of an ounce of Ambergreese . 01 00 00 For 1 quarter of an ounce of muske . . 02 00 00 For 3 li. of Isinglasse . . . . . 00 07 00 For 2 ounces of Gumdragon . . . . 00 00 06 For 2 ounces of Cutchineale . . . . 00 06 00 For 1 quarter of an ounce of Ambergreese more 01 00 00 For Isinglasse more. 2 li. . . . . 00 05 00 For Genings the first journey for 19 pearches . 00 18 00 For his horse hire, his owne and his horse charges 00 08 00 To Geninges the second journey for 2 great Pikes 02 00 00 For 14 Pearches 00 14 00 For the charges fetching them, and bringing them hither 00 15 08 For 40 knives 01 00 00 To the man that brought them home " . . 00 00 06 For 12 dozen of cakes from M ri * Farren of Northampton . . . . . . 01 04 00 To a man 4 journeys hither with the cakes . 00 02 08 For 12 dozen of cakes out of Shropshire . . 01 13 00 To Palmer 2 journeys to Hodnett, on foote w ch was 11 days work at 18 d the day . . . 00 16 06 BANQUET TO CHARLES I. XIX To him for horsemeat and shooeing a horse \v ch he borrowed of William Bennett . . . 00 05 00 For 5 dozen & 8 apricockes from M ris Curtis at 2 s the dozen 00 1 1 04 For plumbes and pares from hir 00 05 00 To the man that brought them . . . . 00 02 00 For 6 dozen of apricockes from M ris Curtis the second journey . . . . . 00 12 00 For 200 of plumbes from hir . . . .00 01 08 To Wattkins for his paynes bringing them . 00 02 06 To him for his paynes goeing for Mr. Ebotts when he came to agree for the makeing of the new staires 00 01 08 To Gibbs for makeing a picture frame . . 00 07 00 For Ironworke for 18 tables at 5 s the table . 04 10 00 To a man for bringing trenchers from Northa- ton 00 00 06 To my Lady for fflowers 01 00 00 To my Lady for 7 yards of stuffe at 5 s 4 d the yard . 01 17 04 To Mr. Crane for the Kings Ma ties Cookes, Pastrymen Scullerymen and Baker for their rewardes 70 00 00 To the Porters Musicians and Bottlemen for their rewardes . . . . . . 07 10 00 To the Guard for their rewardes . . 12 00 00 To the Trumpetters 02 00 00 To Mr. Cheeke, Mr. Cranes Clerk . . . 10 00 00 To the Lordes Servants and Cookes . . . 38 00 00 For the rewardes given by my Lord to Noble men and Gentlemens servants that brought p r sents 05 00 00 To Mr. Brathwaytes man for his reward bring ing trowtes 01 00 00 To my Lady Andersons man for his reward bringing fruite . . . . 00 05 00 XX APPENDIX (A) 2. To my Lady Spencers man for his reward bring ing apricockes 00 05 00 To my Lady Spencers man for his reward bring ing fruite a 2 nd time 00 06 00 To my Lord Grayes man for his reward bring ing his Lords plate 01 00 00 To my Lord Vaux man for his rewarde setting up the tent. 00 05 00 To M ris Morgans man for his reward bringing plumbes . . . . . . . 00 01 00 To M r Knightley s man for his reward bring ing a ffirkin of Syder 00 02 06 To M ris Morgans man for his reward bringing plumbes and pares a second tyme . . . 00 01 00 To M r Cartewrights man for his reward bring ing 2 ffirkins of Syder . . . . . 00 05 00 To M r Hayles man for his reward bringing a couple of ffatt capons 00 01 00 To Sir Thomas Lees man for his reward bring ing 11 partridges 00 06 00 To Sir Thomas Lees man a second tyme brin ging 15 partridges 00 06 00 To Sir John Drydons man for his reward bring ing 8 pheasants 00 06 00 To Sir John Drydons man a second tyme bring ing a dozen of pheasants , . . . 00 06 00 To M r Norwoods man for his reward bringing 2 lambes 00 05 00 To M r Shirtes 2 men for their rewardes bring ing chickins, ducklins, and Quailes . . 00 12 00 To the man for his reward that brought the fatt Weather Sheepe from Machetts of Beeby . 00 05 00 To M r Symcotts man for his rewarde bringing fruite 00 05 00 To M r Bartons man for his reward bringing and carrying back 18 spitts . . . . 00 05 00 BANQUET TO CHARLES I. XXI To Doctor Claytons man for his reward come- ing alonge with the Pheasants from Oxford . 00 10 00 To my Lord of Northtons man for his rewarde helpeing Gilbert looke up his plate at Ashby. 00 05 00 To Mr. Coldwell for his rewarde making a bond to Mr. Farmer of Daventree . . . 01 00 00 To Mr. Chesters man for his reward bringing down pewther from his Maisters . . . 00 02 06 To John Clarkes man for his reward bringing a dozen of chickens 00 01 00 To Burgis my Lord of Peterburrowes man for his reward and paynestaking at London to p.vide thinges to be sent downe . . . 01 00 00 To my Lord Brookes keeper for his ffee for the Stagg 01 05 00 For Sym Guyes charges and horsemeat goeing for the Stagg 00 02 10 To M r Kirtons man for his fee for the Stagg & Doae 02 00 00 To Thomas Turner for his reward helping in the kitchen 02 00 00 [To 3 other cooks for the like . . . . 06 00 00] To the two Barbors of Daventree for their re warde helpeing in the pantree . . . 01 00 00 [To four others helping 02 00 00] To my Lord Vaux his Wardroabe Keeper for his reward delivering the hangings . . . 00 10 00 To the man that carryed the hangings to and fro 00 05 00 To thelnes* Trumpe 001000 To the Musick of Daventree . . . . 02 00 00 To the Harpers for their rewarde . . .02 00 00 * Inn s trump ? Was this article and functionary a regular part of the establishment of an inn ? XX11 APPENDIX U) 2. To the man that brought the Pewther and Splits from Daventree 00 04 00 To a man for bringing Spitts and Dripping panns from North.ton that Bury borrowed . . 00 01 00 For 12 new Jackes 03 00 00 For dressing 19 old jackes . . . . 00 09 06 For 5 yards of broad cloth for a carpett for my Lord 02 00 00 For 10 yardes of Kersey for my Lady . 01 15 00 [A bill chiefly for calves, chines of beef, neats . tongues, sweatbreads, marrowbones &c, . 12 13 07] To a Butcher for gathering them together . 00 01 00 To a man with a horse for bringing them from Warwick to Wormleighton . . . . 00 02 06 For 5 dozen and 1 sucking* chickinges at 2d. ob. the chick 00 12 03 ob For 6 barrells of oysters 01 00 00 For the hire of two horses to bring them . . 01 00 00 For the mens horsemeat his owne charges and his owne paynes . . . . . . 01 10 00 To Gifford of Wittlesey for 6 bitters . . 00 09 00 To him for his journey in to Essex for 4 halfe barrels of oysters 01 15 06 For 3 bushell of oysters from thence . . 00 12 00 For the barrells to put them in . . . 00 03 04 For 1 dozen of pheasants from Sir Lewis Tres- ham s man 04 16 00 For meat for those pheasants by the waye come- ing hither 00 01 00 For 3 dozen pheasant poults from Oxford at 3 s 6 d . the pheasant 08 11 06 For an old Cock Pheasant 00 01 00 For the hire of a horse extraordinary for three dayes to bring the pheasants . . . . 00 04 06 * Sic. The ob. is of course a halfpenny (obolus). BAXQUET TO CHARLES I. XX111 For the mans paynes coming with them 3 dayes . 00 07 06 For his horsemeat by the waye . . . 00 02 00 For 4 dozen and 1 pheasant poults from Oxford at 3 s 6 d the poult 08 11 06 For a cock Pheasant from thence . . . . 00 11 00 For 8 Parthriges from thence . . . . 00 10 00 [To the man, horse &c coming with them . . 00 18 00] To a man that came to guide him the waye in the night 00 01 00 To Mr. Prestwood for 1 Peacock and a Pea henn 00 13 00 To him for 3 Turkey Cockes . . . 00 10 00 To him for a dozen of fatt capons . . 01 10 00 To him for 3 dozen of Turkey chickes . 02 14 00 To him for 3 Peachickes . . . . 00 07 06 To him for 13 quailes . . . . 00 19 06 For his horse hire to seek the flfowle . . 00 12 00 For fetching it to Coventrey and bringing it hither 00 12 00 For a mans wages 6 days helping hime . 00 06 00 For his owne expences in seeking the fowle and bringing it hither . . . . 00 06 00 To Hands for 9 dozen di.* of Stints at 4 s the dozen 01 18 00 To him for a sea plover 00 01 00 To him for charges horse hire and his paynes . 00 10 00 To M r Powell for 12 Parthredges and 12 Quailes 02 00 00 For 4 dozen & 2 Ruffes & Reeves brought by a man that my Lady Sandis sent . . . 03 06 08 [To my Lady Sandis man for mallards, teales, pew- etts, herneshaws &c 04 08 08] Presented by my Lady Sandis Herneshawes 6 Mallards 12 Teales 7 Peckards 3 Broad- bills 5 Whewers 2 * i. e. 9 dozen and a half. XXIV APPENDIX (.A) 2. To James Mitchell for 6 dozen of gulls at 3 s 10 d the gull* 13 16 00 To him for 21 dozen di. of tame pigeons at 8 d the pigeon 08 12 00 To him for 12 dozen of Ruffes at 3 s the Ruffe . 21 12 00 To him for 8 dozen of Godwitts at 4 s the Godvvitt 19 04 00 To him for 2 dozen of quailes at 16 d the quaile. 01 12 00 To him for 4 Storkes at 20 s the Storke . . 04 00 00 To him for 6 Knotts at 2 s 6 d the Knott . . 00 15 00 To Mr. II alley for knotts, ruffes, and reeves . 07 12 00 For 50 dozen of Trenchers bought at London at 8 d the dozen 01 13 04 For 3 dozen of Court dishes . . . . 00 09 00 For 3 Plate basketts . . . . . . 00 09 06 For Panchions and a baskett to bring them downe in . . . . . . . 00 07 06 For 14 dozen of Hartichoakes . . . . 02 16 00 For litle small Hartichoakes . . . . 00 02 00 For 20 Collyflowres 00 13 00 For 70 Ibs of lard at ll d per Ib. 03 04 04 For 10 Beete rootes . . . . . . 00 02 00 For 4 doz of Cowcumbers . . . . 00 16 00 For 6 dozen and 2 Oxe palletts. . . . 00 12 06 For 8 dozen of Marrow bones . . . . 02 08 00 For 10 great juggs to carry beare in . .00 12 06 [For sweetbreads, sheeps tongues &c. . . 04 08 10] To Dent for the hire of a horse up & downe to & from London. . . . . . 01 00 00 To him for the hire of 5 horses more. . . 02 05 00 To him for the hire of men to goe with the horses. 00 15 00 * Compare the regulation in the Percy Household Book, 1512. "It is thought goocle that sea gullis be hadde for my lorde s owne meas and noone outlier. So they be goodeand in season And at jd a pece or jdob. at the moiste." The contrast of prices is curious, as in other things too. BANQUET TO CHARLES I. XXV To Dent for his owne and his horse charges in London 02 01 09 To him for charges by the waye goeing up and coming downe divers tymes . . .. 01 00 00 To Dent for his owne 12 horses goeing up and comeing down several journeys . . . 06 00 00 For Pipkins, and a baskett for the juggs . . 00 12 08 For the hire of Paniers to bring downe the ffowle 00 08 00 For portage and other charges divers tymes . 00 06 00 [For a veale, lambes tongues &c. bought of Wattsonne of Daventree . . . . 01 04 04] For barme for the Baker 00 1 2 09 To old Symmons for helping the Baker . . 00 05 00 For 2 yards of fine boltering for him. . . 00 02 04 For other boltering & thinne canves for him . 00 07 06 For 4 Cases of knives 05 00 00 To Sergeant Walter for the Banquett [official fees?] 145 09 00 For 36 great Chargers paid for by Mr. Robert Hickes and for the carriage of them . . 22 07 04 For a dozen and halfe of beere glasses bought at North.ton 00 09 00 For a dozen and halfe of wine glasses . . 00 06 00 [For dishes, pots &c bought there . . . 01 12 03] For John Keyes his charges goeing into the ffens forffish. . 01 10 00 To him for his horse shoeing divers tymes. . 00 02 00 For muske millions * and fruite by bill, bought Mr. Leeson 33 16 00 To Mr. Leeson for his paynes for sending downe the fruite 02 00 00 To John Wright for fruite fflowers and basketts 09 02 04 * This fruit seems to have been introduced into England since Coryatt s days. He says of it (1611) : " At Venice they had another special com modity when I was there, which is one of the most delectable dishes for a sommer fruit of all Christendom, namely muske melons," Then follow warnings as to its effects, &c. Crudities, p. 257. XXVI APPENDIX (A) 2. To Edward Wright for fruite by bill. . . 01 01 02 To Robert Graye for Glazeing by bill . . 26 02 03 To him for paynting in oyle culler by bill. . 20 14 00 To Mr. George Symcotts for grocery by bill . 06 19 04 To Robert Graye for 4 bookes of party gold (?; by bill 00 03 00 To Bury the Brazier by bill . . . . 08 08 04 To Turlington the Smyth by bill . . .050011 To Thomas Wakefield for his charges for 3 several journeys 04 13 10 To Thomas Webb for his charges goeing to Boston by bill 00 07 00 To Richard Garrett for his charges goeing to London for muske millions . . . . 00 14 06 To the Smyth by bill 00 07 00 For the Bayliffe s expences . . . . 00 00 06 To Shortleggs for ffish by bill . . . . 35 13 01 [For 560 Ibs of butter at 5 d per li. . . .111300 For 3350 eggs, and "gathering them" . . 05 11 10 For 125 quarts of cream 02 12 01 For 80 dozen and 2 pullets and chickens . . 15 06 00 For 33 couples of capons 04 10 06 For 47 dozen of pigeons 04 07 00 For 39 dozen of larks 01 16 04 For 13 dozen and 5 of rabbits . . . . 04 10 11 For 33 turkeys 03 08 09 For 13 veals 11 17 08 For 26 pigs 03 07 06 For 5 chines of beef 021606 For parsenipps and carrootes . . . . 00 08 00 For cabidges ,. 00 06 00 For hearbes 00 00 06 For 16 cockerills . . . . 00 10 08 BANQUET TO CHARLES I. XXVU [For sundry other provisions . . . . 15 02 00] For the Cater s expences for 2 weekes . . 00 03 00 Summe totall for the whole weeke . . 867 14 05 ob Killed. Beefes 5. Muttons 58. Lambes 18. Baked of Rye for the Cookes. j quarter. of Wheat . . . xij qua. vj str. Whereof to the Cookes vj qua. iij str. And for a Cake . . ij str. Spent of Manchett . . xx hundred Ix cast Whereof the Cookes . cc cast. Spent hogsheads [of beer] . xl Spent of March beere hogsheads v Aug. 28. For Muske Millions and fruits by bill, bought by Mr. Leeson 1 1 00 00 Oct. 23. To Mr. Bickerton s man for his revvarde for bringing 2 sugar loaves when the Court was here 00 02 06 [An important entry, as showing that the visit icas really paid. ] Dec. 4. To Mr. Vaughan the goldsmith for plate given by y r . Lo pp . to Mr. White and Mr. Crane by bill 82 16 10 To Mr. Buckett for guilt leather hanginges and guilt Stooles and Chaires for the Parlour by bill 68 10 03 To Mr. Alsopp for wine by bill. . . . 76 09 00 May 21, 1635. For the discharge of the chests and voyders retourned backe to Sergeant Walthey 02 02 06 [The whole sum of the expenses so far as they are here set down amounts to considerably more than 1300. exclusive of the value of home produce.] A A xxvm APPENDIX (A) 3. III. LADY PEXELOPE S HOUSEKEEPING BOOK. Two weeks have been selected from this book, as specimens ; one from the winter months, the other from the summer ; one from near the beginning of the ledger, the other from near the end ; and both as containing some curious or interesting entries. The expenses of the first week here given much exceed the average rate of housekeeping ; there having been probably a more than ordinary amount of festivity that week, and the Earl of Southampton and other visitors having apparently brought a number of servants with them.\ The entry about Mr. Robert Washington is the only notice to be found of him throughout these books, except two or three private memoranda of Lord Spencer s. He died in the following March. The names both of Sir William Washington and of Mr. John Washington occur among the strangers whose horses are provided for, in the preceding week Jan. 5 12, 162f. HOUSHOLD EXPENCES FOR ONE WHOLE WEEKE BEGININGE THE 12 th DATE OP JANUARIE 1622 & ENDED THE 18TH DAIE or THE SAME. Provision. Number. Rate. Made Pceces. Spent. Remaine. Beest killed - 1 06 00 00 33 50 20 Muttons killed 19 09 10 00 190 190 joints Hoges killed - 2 03 00 00 4 flitches 10 joints 4 6 Porkett killed 1 00 10 00 10 joints 15 8 Geese kilk d - 5 00 00 00 - 5 11 Turkies killed 2 00 12 00 - 2 6 Henns killed - 4 00 06 00 - 4 Tithe piges - 3 00 02 06 . 3 Capons * - - - 5 00 10 00 - 5 98 Bought bv the Caterer Veales - - 3 & half 02 02 00 35 joints 35 Tounges - 10 00 06 08 _ 8 10 Udderns - 7 00 05 00 - 6 1 The " rates " thus far represent of course only the estimated value of the articles. LADY PENELOPE S BOOK. xxix Provision. Number. Rate. Made Peeces. Spent. Remaine. Lambes - 2 00 14 08 8 qtrs. 8 Piges - - 6 00 07 06 - 6 Neates feete paires - 4 00 02 01 - 3 paire 2 Calves feete paires - 3 00 00 06 _ 3 paire Cockes - 2 00 00 ii Henns cupp : Chickines, doz : 43 2&2 03 07 10 00 10 00 - 33 cupp 2 doz. & 6 23 cupp : 14 chi : I Rabets cupp : 47 02 14 10 _ 47 ( Rosemary and tyme _ 00 03 01 i Parsnebes and carrotts - 00 00 08 ; Hartichoakes - half a strik _ 00 01 04 . half a str. ; Sintes doz - 1&8 00 03 04 _ 1 doz : & 8 . Gray plouers doz - 4&4 01 17 08 _ 4 doz & 4 i Bastard plouers, doz : 1&4 00 05 04 . 1 doz & 4 j Blackbirds doz : 17 00 01 07 _ 1 doz & 7 i Quale - 1 00 00 08 _ 1 ! Partrige - 1 00 01 04 - 1 | Woodcockes - 18 00 17 00 - 11 7 j Larkes doz - 18 & half 00 12 08 - 18 doz half : Phesants given by S r ffrancis ffane 3 00 15 00 - 1 2 Given to my Ladie phe sants - 2 00 10 00 , 2 1 Brawne peeces 3 - - 3 19 36 02 02 Given by Mr. Robert Washington.* Chickines - 5 00 02 00 . 5 Casual 1 chickine 1 Chickine to the falkenor 1 Given alsoe by Mr. Washington. Henns, cupp : Flitch of bacon - 2 1 00 04 00 00 00 00 - 2 cupp : 1 Flitch 23 Fishe. Oisters Barrells 4 01 04 00 - 4 Whiteings doz - 1 & half 00 13 06 ~ " 1 doz. di. Lege Fresh codd 3 00 04 06 3 Haddockes 2 00 03 02 _ 2 ffloundders - 6 00 03 02 _ 6 Gurnett - 1 00 01 08 _ 1 Thorneback 1 00 00 10 _ 1 Smeltes - 300 00 09 00 . 300 Haberdine f warps Old organ lyngef warpe Middle lynge warpe - 10 half 1 00 11 08 00 04 06 00 05 06 - 10 warp half 7 warpe 441 warp 7 warpe 5 XX 7 W arpe & a half Salt str. 4 00 10 00 - 4 7 quarter & 7 str. * Evidently as New Year s gifts to his landlord. f Haberdine and lyng were different varieties of barrelled cod : the former kind leriving its name from Aberdeen, where great quantities of this fish were pickled for ;he market. A warp is a couple of these barrelled fishes. (See note to Section 4, md of year 1C 23.) A A 2 XXX APPENDIX (A) 3. Provision. Number. Rate. Made Peeces. Spent. Remaine. Butter bought 153 ir at 4 d the pound and 73" at 3 d the pound, made of butter 9" at 4 d the pound and 245" 03 18 07 fob - 240" 62" Received from Worm- L leighton 10" of butter, at 4 d the pound Eges bought att 2 3 6 d the hundreth - 700 half 00 18 09 .. 800 & a half Cheese made - 3 Cheese spent - 20 00 06 08 - 20 57 That is to say in the Greate Chamber - 4 In the Kitchin - 13 And in the Dairie 3 Wheate baked for Man- chiott and cheat str 10 03 06 08 caste 200 200 caste 30 caste Houshold baked quarters 4 05 17 00 caste 280 280 caste 40 cast Wheate into the kitchin str - --- 10 03 06 08 . 10 Malt brewed quarters 8 & half 11 18 00 hog. 24 & 21 & j of 75 & 1 aile 1 aile aile Lightes into the buttry - 120" 02 00 00 - 125" 15" Watch lightes into the buttry - 6" 00 02 00 Lightes into the Pantr} 80" 01 06 08 - 97" 15" 37 18 06b Remayninge of Halle 42 U Remayninge of smal. 148" Remayninge of watche i in Remayninge of housinge 1 1 on Made of Greate lightes* 270" _ _ _ uu 460" Grosserie Delivered into the Kitchin Lumpe Sugar 34" 01 11 02 .. 34" 345" Currants - 27" 00 11 03 _ _ 167" Resons of the Sune 9" 00 04 06 _ 9" 46" Prunes - - - - 6" 00 01 06 - 6" 69" The oM Small mace half A pound 00 03 04 mace all Nuttmeges ounces 2 00 00 08 _ - 2" 5 ounce spent. & A half Hard Sugar for Jelly 3" & half 00 03 06 _ 3 u di Hard Sugar for biskett - 4" 00 04 00 - 4 Hard Sugar for the greate Chamber - 2" 00 02 00 - 2" A chandler, with suitable offices, &c., formed part of the Althorp establishment. LADY PENELOPE S BOOK. xxxi Provision. Number. Rate. Made Peeces. Spent. Remaine. Hard Sugar sent into the greate chamber w* h fruite - 2 U 00 02 00 - 2" Hard Sugar for drinkinge in the morninges half a pound. CO 00 06 . half a p d And nuttmeges ounce 2 00 00 08 - 2 ounce Hard Sugar for my Lord - l u 00 01 00 - I 11 Lump Sugar for Johan Crow - 3 U 00 02 09 - 3 11 Currants for puddings 3* 00 01 03 - 3 U Currants delivered for a cake - 15 U di 00 06 05 _ 15" [Ob Xuttmeges half ane ounce - 02 . half ane ounce Sugar a qrt r of A. - Into the Kitchin. pound 00 00 03 - Iqrt Cloves ounces 2 00 00 08 _ 2 ounce l u 6 ounce Large mace ounces 2 > 00 01 00 Sope - 22 i 00 06 05 _ 22 U Starch 4" j 00 01 02 _ 411 2 U Delivered to the Baker. Milne corne str. - 3 - _ 3 Wheate for grist corne str. 9 - - 9 3 quarters 04 06 02 ob & 2 strike Barley quarters - 3 half _ . 3 & half Wheate quarters - 2 - - 2 2 quarters 6 str. To the Brewar. Malt quarters 8 & half - - 8 & half 71 qrtrs & a half Hopps ... 14H 00 14 00 _ 14 11 251" To the Cram maide Early str. - 4 00 04 00 _ 4 str To the faukenor Early str. - 1 00 03 06 _ Istr Delivered into the stable Pease str - 1 00 02 00 _ Istr Oates str - 4 00 06 00 _ 4 str To S r William Spencers horses Pease str - 4 00 08 00 _ 4 str Oates str - 11 00 16 06 _ 11 str To the coach horses Pease str - 3 00 06 00 _ 3 Oates str - 3 00 04 06 3 To M r Symcote oates str - 1 00 01 06 _ 1 str To the Caterer Pease str - 1 00 02 00 _ Istr Oates str - 2 00 03 00 _ 2 str To the Keep, peas str - 1 00 02 00 _, 1 To M r . Pill, oates str 1 00 01 06 _ 1 To the Pullen at the pson- age, barly str 1 00 03 06 _ 4 qrtrs 13 quarters 2 strike -- 1 A A 3 xxxu APPENDIX (A) 3. Provision. Number. Rate. Made Peeces. Spent. Remaine. Strangers To my Lord of South ampton his horses pease str: - 5 00 10 00 . o str. 3 quarter & 7 strike Gates quarters - 3 3 str. 02 00 OG - 3 q r 3 str To S r Thomas Denton Gates str. - 5 00 07 06 .. 5 To S r Thomas Terringham Gates quarters - To S r Edward Rawley* 1 00 12 00 1 qtr Gates str - 2 00 03 00 - 2 str To M r . Wright, oates str. 2 00 03 00 - 2 str To M r Kerton f and M r Daversf oates str 2 00 03 00 - 8 qrters. & a half 38 quarter 08 07 00 The whole some of this weeke expences is 86 09 ii (Signed) PENELOPE SPENCER. HOUSHOTJLD EXPENCES FOR ONE WHOLE WEEKE BEGININGE T e 20 DAIE or MAY 1627 & ENDED 26 OF THE SAME. Provision. Number. Rate. * Made Peeces. Spent. Remaine. Beest killed - Veale killed - 1 1 04 00 00 00 06 00 peeces 33 joints iO peece 34 joints iO peece 44 Muttons killed 14 07 00 00 joints 140 joints 140 Rec: from Wormleighton Veale - 1 00 12 00 joints iO ioints 10 Capons - 5 00 08 06 - 5 16 Hearns - 9 00 18 00 - 9 9 Geese - 5 _ _ 5 14 Greene fishe i warpe di 00 04 00 - 1 warpe di 1 warpe di Haberdine warpes 3 warpe di 00 04 08 - 3 warpe di 57 warpe di Middle lynge i warpe 00 04 06 - 1 warpe 20 warpe Salt - - - - 2 str 00 03 08 2 str Bought by the Cater. Veale - 3 qrtrs 00 09 00 joints 8 joints 8 Piges ... 4 00 06 04 _ 2 2 Geese - 6 00 05 00 Chickines - 23 00 05 10 - 7 doz 5 2 doz. Duckes - 22 00 06 00 - 2doz7 2 doz : 8 Smale fishes 40 00 00 03 - 40 * Probably one of the Raleighs of Farnborough near Banbury, who were hereditary friends of the Spencers, and had intermarried with the Washingtons also. These Raleighs were among the most constant visitors at Althorp, more even than the Wash ingtons. Indeed a Mr. George Raleigh seems to have belonged to the household. f Kirton of Thorp Mandeville, and Danvers of Culworth ; both important North amptonshire families at the time, in the immediate neighbourhood of Sulgrave. LADY PENELOPE S BOOK. XXX111 Provision. Number. Rate. Made Peeces. Spent. Remaine. Rabette - 24 01 04 00 . 24 Rabette - i cupp. 00 00 04 - 1 Butter at 3 d i the pound 128" made of butter 22" at Si the p d - 150" 02 03 09 - 167" 69" 00 15 00 700 Cheeses made 25 Cheeses spent 18 00 06 00 . 18 85 Salmon - 1 00 14 6 - 1 Washb urne bsterS BilL Crabes - 22 5 01 02 00 00 06 08 - 22 5 Troutes 6 00 06 00 . 6 Mullett - 1 00 02 00 _ 1 Mackerells - 3 dozen 00 10 06 _ 3 doz Crayfish - 100 di 00 03 00 _ 100 di Soules 8 00 08 06 . 8 Plaice 10 00 04 00 _ 10 Thornbackes 2 00 03 00 - 2 24 03 00 Wheat baked for Man- chett 7 str 01 02 04 caste 140 caste 130 caste 30 Wheat baked for Cheat - 1 str 00 03 08 caste 20 caste 18 caste 2 Household baked 3 qtr 02 11 00 caste 210 caste 210 caste 70 Wheat into the Kitchin 2 str 00 03 06 2 str Rem d w th Baker of Wheat - - - _ Rem d w th him of o qutr Housould . _ _ _ 2 art. Bread into the Kitchin 9 cast M Malt brewed Rem d : with the Brewar 4 qtr. 04 01 00 hogs 12 & i of ale hog 15 & i of ale hog 72, 1 of ale &iO Malt March beare Smale lightes into the buttry ... 20" 00 08 04 _ 20" 10" Watch lights thither 2" 00 00 10 - 3" Great lights into Pantry 20" 00 08 04 _ 23" 16" Grosserie into the kitchin Lumpe sugar 10" 00 11 05 _ 10" Currants - 1" 00 00 05 - 1" Resons solis 1" 00 00 06 . 1" Smale mace 2 ounce 00 01 08 _ 2 oz Cloves - 1 ounce 00 00 04 . 1 oz Pepper ... half 1" 00 01 00 . Hard sugar for sillie bubes - 2" 00 02 05 - 2" Lumpe sugar for Xurse Macharnes 1" 00 01 02 - 1" Lumpe sugar spent in [i the house upon those who weare sick 1" 00 01 02 1" [i Sope to the maides 19" 00 06 04 - 19" A A 4 XXXIV APPENDIX. (A) 3. Provision. Number. Rate. Made Peeces. Spent. Remaine. Starch - 1" 00 00 04 lii Delivered to the Baker Rie - 6 str To him of barley 2 qtr 2 str To him of wheat 1 qtr To the Brewar of malt - 4 qtr di. To him of Hopps To the stables of Peas - 7" 1 str 00 03 06 00 01 06 - 1 str To them of oates 3 str 00 03 03 _ 3 str To S r William Spencers horses Of pease - 2 str 00 03 00 _ 2 str To them of oate - 3 str 00 03 03 _ 3 str To the coach horses . Of Pease - 1 str 00 01 06 _ 1 str To them of oate - 3 str 00 03 03 _ 3 str To my Lord Southamp- tons horses Of pease - 3 str 00 04 06 _ 3 str To them of oates 9 str 00 09 09 - 9 str 11 19 06 To my Lo: Bisshopp of Coventree and Litchfeild* his horses Of oates - 7 str 00 07 07 _ 7 str To S r Henry Robinsonsf horses Of oates 2 str 00 02 02 _ 2 str To S r Edward Griffins horses Of oates - To the Crame Maide 4 str 00 04 04 - 4 str Ofbarly - To her of malt - 2 str 1 str 00 04 00 00 02 03 - 2 str 1 str To the huntsman Of Pease - 2 str 00 03 00 _ 2 str To him of oates - 3 str 00 03 03 - 3 str 01 06 7 The whole Some is _ 37 09 Oi (Signed) PENELOPE SPENCER. I * Dr. Thomas Morton, one of the best of the Bishops of those days, though not free from the charge of persecuting the Puritans, having silenced, for instance, the ex cellent Samuel Clarke, when lecturer at Coventry. He became eventually Bishop of Durham ; and is mentioned by Clarendon as one who shared with good Bishop Hall the friendship of the Earl of Essex. He was one of the protesting bishops who fell under the especial displeasure of the Long Parliament (Parl. Hist. vol. ix.). After the abolition of the episcopate he retired to the house of the Yelvertons at Easton Maudit, in Northants, where he died in 1659. f Robinsons of Cranford, ancestors of the present baronet; and Griffins of Dingley, afterwards Lords Griffin, and ancestors of Lord Braybrooke, especial friends of the Spencer family. XXXV IV. MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS. MUSCOT FARM ACCOUNTS. 1593. June the xxx th . Delivered in ernest for my rayles and postes xij d . Delivered to Denfune and his fello for set ting up pales and rayle, and making a penne ....... vj s . Delivered Simon Marson for my rayles and Postes. Rayles forty. Postes twenty . xxxvj 8 . Delivered Denton in ernest for casting of the Duf house mote* . . . . v s . Delivered toLampre for mending the barne locke xij d . Delivered to Simon Marson for rayles twenty ....... xij s . Delivered him for four lodes of stone . . xx d . Ite payde for mending the gates and setting them up and for lockes and hingels and other thinges ...... iij s . iij d . Ite for making of the hingels . . . viij s . iiij d . Ite for two thousand settes .... ij s . viij d . 1594. Ite to Hew Lamprey [the shepherd] for his halfe yeares wages dew at our Lady Daye fare vj s . viij d . Ite payde West [the bailiff] for his dinner and horse at our Lady Daye fare [at Northampton] ...... x ij d - * L e. clearing out and banking the dovehouse moat. XXXVI APPENDIX (A) 4. Ite for quicksetting and hedging and dialling of xv perche after vj d the perch e . . vij 8 . vj d . 11 day of Aprill. Ite for loping of threescore trees and od after a halpeny the tree . ij s . Ite payde for casting the causey . . iij s . Ite payde for shering of xj xx and xviij shepe vj 3 . Ite for pennes at Layton and their charges in driving my shepe . . . . vj s . Ite for the charges of driving my shepe to Barnett with the mens that went with them xiij 3 . vj d . Ite for Colfes charges at Banbury and Co ventry when he bought bestes there . iij s . v d . Ite for a yeard to put the beastes in, and driving them home ..... xx d . Ite for an old man that picked woll . . iij s . Ite for a pot a beare j d . Ite for the mason for working foure dayes at the ponde behind the house ... v 3 . Ite to a daye labourer for xij dayes working about the grounds ..... vj 8 . Ite for grasse for the beastes that did come from Bromygame ..... xx d . Ite for driving the beastes from Bromygame xviij d . Ite for halfe a vele for the Carters . . ij s . viij d . Ite for towe cheeses for the Carters . . xij d . Ite for on man diging gravell and stones five dayes ...... ij s . vj d . 1595. Ite for grasse for xvj beastes bought in Stafordshire being coming towe nights after three halpence a beaste . . . ij 8 . It will be seen from the preceding extracts that in those days, as subsequently, cattle were purchased from the West country ; and, when fit for market, both beasts and sheep were either sold at Northampton or driven up for the purpose to wards London. In the summer of 1597 Sir Robert Spencer MISCELLANEOUS EXTKACTS. XXXV11 himself, being an enthusiast in agriculture, accompanied his bailiff on a visit to the markets of the West country, going as far as "West Chester,"* and returning through Shrewsbury, Wolverhampton, Birmingham, Coventry. The charge for his dinner at the inns was x d . The expenses " at Shrewsbury as I did come back," including the bailiff s and the drivers , night s lodging and all, v 8 . viiij d . "Item for haye for xix beastes three miles a this side Shrewsbury, iiij*. ix d ." And so each night. Also " For toll for my beastes by the waye, iiij d ." " Item. Given to the Welshman vij 8 ." Let us now pass on to a haymaking account. 1597. Ite for making of all my haye at Muscot iij 1 . xiiij d . Ite for inoing of all my haye . . . xxxj". Ite for beefe cheeses butter for the car ters that carried the haye . . . viij 8 . v d . Ite for a strike of rie to make them bred vij 8 . vj d . Ite for 3 peck of barley .... iiij 8 . viij d . Ite for a strike & a halfe of mault to make them drinke with ... x s . Also a ploughing account : the ploughmen like other labourers having 6 d . a day. 1596. Ite for meate for the Ploughemen . . . xiij*. Ite for a shepe which was killed for the . vij s . Ite to the minstrel ..... xviij d . Ite for two cheses xvj d . Ite for towe strikes of mault for the ploughe- men x*. Ite for three strikes of bred corne . . xiiij". Ite for foure shepe that were killed for the ploughemen xx s . Ite for befe for them ..... iij 8 . Ite for a minstrell ...... vj d . * So Chester was called at that time. See Fynes Morison, Speed, &c. XXXV111 APPEKDIX (A) 4. So too in harvest time. It is observable that the price of rye per bushel seems to have risen within a few months from 4*. 4d* to 7*, 6d. After harvest 1599 it was as low as 2s. Wages remains the same in spite of this variation. The only corn grown on Muscot Farm was rye and barley ; though a few bushels of " sede whefce " are mentioned in 1600, for sowing maslen (mixed wheat and rye). Hops, which Lord Spencer cultivated there largely in after years, do not yet make their appearance. Mowing barley was paid at 12d. a day. Threshing at 6d. a quarter. " And those that threshe at the wekes end have 4 pence a pece for winoinge." Women s labour is generally 3d. a day ; but in harvest time " raking after the waynes, &c.,"4d. No receipts are given : so that the profits of farming and grazing cannot be estimated. It would be tedious to go more minutely into these accounts, as the same items for the most part recur again and again. A few characteristic or amusing entries are subjoined. 1597. To Lammey for poynting out the rayles at All- thropp . ..... ij d Ite for a hoke & fimble for Great Norrells gate, the other being stolne . . . viij d 1598 Ite to on man for digginge the rottes* in the causey and mending of it . . . . vj d Ite paid for ale for the London Buchers . x d * The "bred corn" (1596) is probably mixed rye and barley; but, even if barley were much cheaper than rye that year, the variation of the market must have been great. Of these two grains sometimes one is the cheaper, sometimes the other. They formed the principal food of the midland peasantry at the time. In Northamptonshire barley seems to have been eaten the most. In the Appendix to vol. vi. of Parl. Hist. we read, " In 1597 rye fell from 9s. to 6s. per bushel, and then to 3s. 2d., and afterwards rose again to the greatest price." t Every entry that can be found concerning repair of roads in these books has been extracted. It is seldom that even Gd. was laid out on this account. MISCELLANEOUS EXTEACTS. XXxix 1599. Ite for a sadle and furniture x s Ite for dressing Rogers horse of the vives* and on shoe ...... ix d Ite to Brigges for giving of the sick shepe a drinke ....... xij d Ite for paving of the gutter in the round viij days ........ vj s viij d 1600. Ite for mending of the rickes after the great winde on daye ...... vj d Ite for a chayne to mesure ground withe vj s Ite to the Glasiar for xxviij paynes of glasse for the house . . . . . . ij s iiij d 1601. Ite for a bolt for the Halle dore . . . iiij d Ite to Henry Kining of Brinton for 4 stri : of sede barly at ij s 9 d xj 9 Ite to Dunkley of the same towne for 2 stri : of the same at 2 s 9 d v 9 vj d Ite to the Ratcatcher for dressing of Muscot howse ....... ij s Ite for drenching an oxe and letting hi blod xij d The interval between this year and the date when the house hold books begin (1622) is unfortunately the very period during which the Washingtons were resident at Brington. Several of the Inventories belong to this period ; but there is nothing else except the Grain book, from which hardly any information can be derived. In 1604 Simon Marson first appears as a tenantf, paying rent in kind ; probably for part of the glebe, the management of which Lord Spencer took into his own hands. * The vives (I am told) is a word still used among farriers to denote a disease in the cervical glands of horses, something like the mumps, f In this year too he first appears as churchwarden. Pa. Reg. xl APPENDIX (A) 4. Feb. 11. From Marson of rent wheate . . . ix qu. March 17. From Marson of rent barly . . . xx qu. April 14. From Marson of masland . . . iij qu. July 21. From Marson of rent masland . . . vij qu. This grain book, kept by the bailiff, was " accompted " and certified by my lord once a year ; a memorandum of which was duly entered thereupon, with his signature. On one occasion (October 1605), we find the annual certifi cate and signature as usual, apparently in Lord Spencer s neatest and clearest Italian handwriting ; but the entry is erased, and below it is written : " This Chamberlain did write, & is not my owne hand." Master Chamberlayne was the chaplain at Althorp, and curate of the parish at the time. He seems to have found the book lying open, or perhaps had been requested to cast it up, and amused himself with imitating his patron s writing. A question able practical joke, and singular liberty to take, on the part of the clergyman ! 1610. Oct. 6. (Memorandum in Lord Spencer s handwriting). " After this week Robert Washington did take the Windmill of me." 1615. Feb. 3. Rec d . of Wickhamon rent mault which Sandon p d to M ris Washington [i. e. left with her in charge] . . . v coter In January 162|- the Steward s household books begin. The following extracts are taken principally from that source. They have been given for the first year on a more extended scale, together with a summary each month of the occupations in which the Park labourers, &c. were engaged ; as they supply a very curious illustration of the habits of the times. After that they are given more sparingly ; and a repetition of the same items has been as much as possible avoided, except where the repetition constitutes the importance of the entry. Remarks would run to too great length, were not the incli nation to make them continually repressed. MISCELLANEOUS EXTEACTS (l62|). xli Jan. 11. To Butlin 3 daies hewing posts and railes for Muscott, and 2 daies mending the coach . 00 04 02 To his boy for the like 00 01 08 To the Hoggheard for a Coter s wages, keeping 22 hoggs at ob the hogg . . . . 00 00 1 1 To Vale and Gamadg for threshing 8 coter of barlie 00 04 00 To the tinker for mending 2 kettles and 3 posnetts. . . . , . . . 00 03 06 To Gibson for making a new locke for the presse where the plate lieth 00 03 04 To Mr. Walmisly which he gave away for new y care s giftes, as appeares by bill . . . 02 07 06 Bulls killed (3) 10 00 00 Swann killed (1) 00 06 00 Bore killed (1) 01 10 00 (NB. Sir William Washington & Mr. JOHN Y^ASH- INGTON among the guests). 18. To Turlington and Rogers one dale fishing ye stew 00 01 00 To Palmer for a journey to Wormleighton for a rugg 00 00 08 To Crowley 3 daies mending sackes . . . 00 01 00 To him for thred to mend them with. . . 00 00 04 To Reginolds 3 daies killing moles . . . 00 01 00 For three score and foure thousand 600 of quick sets at 2 s . the m. [thousand] . . . . 06 09 02 For 2 cockes for jellie 000011 For 43 couples of hennes 03 07 10 For 4 dozen and 4 graie plovers . . . 01 17 08 For one partridg 00 01 04 Jan. 25. To Butlin 6 daies paling in the pke., and cutting the greate tree in the heronrow . . 00 05 00 For a new household booke of expences . . 00 05 00 To M ls Segrave for aqua vitae . . . . 00 01 08 To the chaundelor for his charges at Thrapston 2 daies and one night 00 02 00 xlii APPENDIX (A) 4. To him for his own paines for goinge into the ffennes by yo r . lo p s. appointment . . . 00 05 00 To Gibson for a newlocke for the Clockhouse dore 00 05 00 For a new warming panne for Alexander . . 00 06 00 For a phesant cocke 00 04 06 [Workmen in January engaged in stocking trees, cleaving wood, making faggots, carrying in chips, riddling coals, threshing, winnowing, digging garden, pruning vines, and theshing (thatching).] [NB. Labourers, men6 d a day Women 3 d . Wheat from 6/6 to 6/10 the bushel. Oats from 14/ to 18/ the quarter.] Feb. 1. To Butlin 6 dales paling, and making springtrees for the coach . . . . 00 05 00 To Clarke s wife 6 days scouring andirons and making cleane the chambers . . . . 00 01 00 To Eagles for the carriage of 2 hogsheds of Clarett wine weighing 10 C. [hundred weight] at 4 s . the c 02 00 00 Hernes, 20 couple (estimated at) . . . 01 10 06 Hard sugar for preservinge of lemmons 1 li. . 00 01 00 Feb. 8. To Butlin one daie sawing timber for beds. 00 00 10 To Hudson for sweeping 9 lower and 5 upper chimneys 00 03 10 To the Churchwardens of Brington for alevie att 4 d . the yard land for the repaire of the church. 00 01 08 To Legg for the carriage of 2 barrells of neates tongues weight 100 & a coterne [quarter]. 00 05 10 For 6 strike of apples at 2 s . the str. . . . 00 12 00 Feb. 15. Jerusalem hartichoakes. di : a strike . 00 05 00 Trouts 6 00 06 00 Ordinary figes 3 li . . . . . . 00 01 00 Blew figes 3 li 00 02 00 To Mr. Knightley s hounds & huntsman, barley 1 str. oates 3 str. MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS (l62|). xliii Feb. 22. To Legg for the carriage of a barrell of figges one C. . . . . . . . 00 04 08 Carriage of the Lent provision. Weight 24 C. & one coterne 04 17 04 For 2 fresh salmons of Chatton . . . 01 04 00 For one fresh salmon and a scate bought of Legg 01 07 00 [Workmen engaged nearly as in January ; but also cleansing the long ditch, digging about the vines, lopping trees and heading thorns.] March 1, For one chubb and 9 small fishes . . 00 00 06 8. To 4 women one daie raking up ortes in the park 00 01 00 For 66 foote of stone for the chimneys in Mr. Symcott s [the Chaplain s] and Patrick s chambers at 4 d 01 02 00 To Gallic for 4 daies work at capping the chim neys 00 04 00 To Eagles for the carriage of one hogeshead of Sack weight 500 01 00 00 15. To Warren, Clarke, Line, and Kenning, for ditching and quicksetting, and hedging 74 double pearch at Muscoit, at 16 d . the pearch. 04 18 08 To Legg for the carriage of olives, capers &c. one C 00 04 08 For di. a li of thred for M ris Segrave . . 00 01 00 For di. a quier of paper . . . . . 00 00 02 For cockles, one peck . . . . . 00 01 08 22. To JButlin 3 daies hewing stories, and 3 daies framing timber for the troughes for the steer poole 00 05 00 To the cobler for mending the coach and the harness 00 01 00 For fulling and dressing 40 yards of blanquetting at 6 d . the yard 01 00 00 NB. SIR JOHN WASHINGTON among the guests, B B xllV APPENDIX (A) 4. 29. To M ris Segrave for spinning 18 li. of hempe at 4 d . the li 00 06 00 To her for spinning 14 li of hemp at 3 d . the li. . 00 03 06 To the shepard of Elkington for his di. yeare s wages 00 10 00 To Burbag, the clerk for di. yeare s wages. . 00 01 10 To Gibson for a coters wages, keepinge the armorie. . . . . . . . 01 05 00 To him for a yeare s wages keeping the house clocke 00 10 00 For 2 chubbes, 2 pikes, and 9 XX and 13 small fishes 00 04 06 [Labourers employed chiefly in "having in pease," hedg ing, cutting willows, serving the masons, and working in the hopyard and at the stue-pool.] April 5. To the plumer for 1 li of soder, and sett ing a spar upon one of the tombes in the Chappell at Brington 00 01 00 To 2 women 6 daies a peece setting hearbes, & weeding the garden . . . . . 00 03 00 For a bottle of cinnamon water . . . 00 08 06 To the Tinker for mending a pipe to rack the wine with 00 00 04 April 12. To Butlin 5 daies mending the waines, and cutting axtrees at Newbottle wood . . 00 05 00 To Yorke the smith for cureing Isham of a fistula 02 00 00 To the Ratcatcher for a coter s wages for bating the house 00 04 00 Hearnes received from Newbottle27. from Wick- en 9. 19. To Creaton for clyming 9 heron s nestes . . 00 03 00 To Alexander for weaving 8 coverletts at 5s. the coverlett . . 02 00 00 26. To 37 women 2 daies a piece, clotting the med- dowes . " 00 18 06 To 6 boyes & wenches at the same worke 1 daie at 2 d a peece 00 01 00 MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS (1623). xlv For 3 pintes wanting di. a coterne of aquavitae . 00 01 04 Hearnes sent to Wormleighton. 14. [Labourers this month engaged chiefly in trenching the mea dows, ramming the pool-head, carrying in brakes, making birchen besoms, pruning oake and other trees, cutting & setting hop poles. The pay has now been raised to 7 d a day.] May 3. To Ball 3 daies hedging, & a journey to Wormleighton with herons . . . . 00 02 05 To27 women 5 daiesapeece weeding the quicksetts 01 13 09 To 6 boyes and wenches the like. 5 daies a piece 00 05 00 To 12 women the like 3 daies a peece. & 2 daies washing dag-loakes [locks] . . . . 00 15 00 Herons killed 9. Remain 19. Lumpe sugar for sirrope of cowslops and sal- letts 3 li 00 02 09 Grosserie sent to Wormleighton [including two sugar loaves, one barrel of piece sugar, 1 li of white sugar candy, 1 of brown, & 1 of " longe cumfits."] 10. To the women that gathered violetts for M ri3 Segrave 00 05 06 For 43 C. di. of Bedworth coles at 10 d the C. (the first coles anno 1623.) . . . . 01 16 03 NB. Loads flow in plentifully after this mostly at 9 d the cwt. Brewed of ale for vinegar. 1 hogshead. 17, To the two townsmen of Brington for a levie for the Herardes [herald] wages, & other towne charges 00 01 08 For mending the eater s basket . . . 00 00 03 24. To the plumer for 3 daies mending the ces- ternes 00 04 06 To him for 29 li of soder for the cesternes at 9 d the li. 01 01 09 B B 2 xlvi APPENDIX (A) 4. To a woman for heming of new cloth for M ris Segrave 00 02 00 For a paire of gloves for Clever . . . 00 02 06 For footing a paire of stockinges for him . . 00 00 06 31. To Gibson for a new locke & 2 keies for the children s chamber 00 04 00 For 40 sackes of charcoal at 13 d the sacke . 02 03 04 [Labourers engaged still in hedging and trenching : also getting in coles, piling faggots, mowing nettles in the park, climbing heron s nests ; in making journies to Wormleighton ; and, in the absence of the family, cleans ing sewers, and serving the masons for repairs about the premises. Women gathering up sticks in the park.] June 7. To 7 women 6 daies a peece weeding the garden 00 10 06 14. For a paire of new milstones . . . . 08 06 08 21. For a S r loin*, a rumpe, a buttocke, 2 necks, and arondofbeef 001210 Muttons killed 10. whereof 3 of them rams, (es timated at) 05 00 00 For a barrel of samphire . . . . 00 02 00 [Sir John Washington & Sir William Washington both staying in the house.] Lobsters given to Mr. Curtis 4. [carried on by Sir J. Washington ?] 00 06 00 Delivered to my Lady sugar loaves double re fined 2 00 16 00 Lump sugar into the Nursery 3 li . . . 00 02 09 28. To Waren (& 7 others) one dale a peece moy- ing grasse in the course, (The first moying for this year 1623) 00 06 08 To 43 women 4 daies a peece weeding the quick- setts 02 03 00 * Therefore not knighted by Charles II., as the common story runs. MISCELLANEOUS EXTEACTS (1623). xlvii BOUGHTON FAIRE BILL [for milk-pails, tubs, bowls, wooden dishes, rakes, wain wheels, wain cloths, pots &c] 06 18 04 For the bayliffe s expenses . . . . 00 00 03 Rabbetts which was spent att two severall times, when my lord & M r Richard Spencer came to Althropp, the household beinge at Worm- leighton. 6 cupple 00 06 00 Lumpe sugar for sirropp of roses . 7 li. .00 06 05 Lumpe sugar for M ris Vining* 1 li. . . 00 00 11 To Duckett the Coachman which brought M ris Vining from London, oates 2 str. . . . 00 03 04 To Mr. Dr. Claiton oates 1 str. . . . 00 01 08 To Legg for the carriage of a buck to London . 00 06 08 To Collis the High Constable for the Provision for Althropp & Muscott as appears by his ac quittance 03 10 00 [Labourers employment in June the same as before, till the return of the family, and the commencement of hay- harvest.] July 5. To Butler 6 dales paring the alley es in the garden 00 03 06 Muttons killed (whereof 10 of them rams) t 19. 09 10 00 Hard sugar for conserve of roses 4 li. . . 00 04 00 Lumpe sugar for tarte stuffe. 6 li. . .00 05 00 12. To Sherman for the carriage of greenfish, stur geon, a barrel of sope, a terce of wine, & 2 trunks, weight 1100 di. at 4 s the C. . . 02 06 00 19-ToHartopp 3 daies making the new shove bord table 00 02 06 Lumpe sugar to make tart stuffe of rasberries, of currants, and of gooseberries. 7 li. . 00 05 10 * The presence of this lady suggests a reference to the Parish Register : " M ris Joan Spencer the daughter of Sir William Spencer & y e Lady Penelope was baptized August 22. 1623." f Some for haymakers ? BB 3 Xlviii APPENDIX (A) 4. For 64 li. of cherries 001008 26. For a new locke for the Park gate in to Chin- quell Lane, and a locke for the park gate at the saw pitt 00 02 00 [Labourers almost wholly occupied this month with sheep washing & sheep shearing, and haymaking, besides women & children.] Aug. 2. Given by Sir Edward Hamden* 2 younge signetts. For 3 coters of rye bought at Harleston at 4. 1 0. the str 05 16 00 For 3 coter of barlie bought at do. at 4. 8. the str. 05 12 00 For 3 quier of paper & hike for Patrick . . 00 01 08 9. To Buckley one day cutting down elder in the heron houses 00 00 07 To Dunkley & 3 men one daie a peece fishing at Muscott . 00 01 06 To the Shepard at Elkington for moying mak ing and ining all the hay at Elkington for this yeare 1623 as peares by his bill . . .170308 16. Hearnes killed 2. (None remaining this year) estimated at 00 02 00 Fish taken out of the mote. Tenches 5. Carpe 1. Breames 5. Roaches 8. (estimated) . . 00 05 02 NB. Both Sir John Washington & Mr. Curtis among the guests. [Labourers theshing ricks, digging gravel, mowing barley, cleaving wood, & serving masons for repairs.] Sept. 6. To Bullin 6 daies sawing dresser boards, paling the course in the park . . . 00 06 00 To Hartopp 3 daies at the new table & a cradle for the child 00 02 06 To the cooper for 6 hoopes for the bathing tubb 00 08 00 * Uncle of John Hampden. Married to the widow of Mr. Bernard of Abingdon, and residing there. MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS (1623). xlix For 40 ells of pickline clothe, & 8 ells of cloth to make walletts 01 09 04 13. To William Hartopp 6 daies making new benches in the Hall 00 03 00 To 69 women one daie a peece pulling hoppes at Althropp 00 17 03 To 86 women one daie pulling hoppes at Muscott 01 01 06 To 19 boyes & wenches the like, one daie a peece 00 03 02 (NB. These are the largest numbers for any one day.) For 9 partridges 00 04 06 NB. These continue till November : 15 being the largest number supplied in any one week. 20. To Bucknell 3 daies ricking pease, one daie poling crabs, & one daie helping the chaundelor 00 02 08 27. To 27 women one daie a peece gathering crabbes 00 06 09 To Legg for the carriage of 4 pies which were sent to M rs Tubb 00 12 10 * Delivered to the Nurse at Newbottle, sope, starch, lumpe sugar. NB. Sir John Washington among the guests, and M r Lawrence Washington. [Labourers in September chiefly employed in mowing oats, drying and hovelling pease, paling ricks, thatching par sonage barns, pulling hops, and breaking stones.] Oct. 4. To Browne and Gardner 4 daies moying & one daie hovelling brakes . . . . 00 05 08 To Gardner one night watching the brakes f . 00 00 06 To Grubb & his sonne 5 daies a peece pulling apples 00 03 04 For Cinnamond water to M rs Segrave . . 00 08 00 11. To Phipp 5 daies theshing the brake hovell at the psonage 00 02 11 * Similar entries continue till December. The child apparently was put out to nurse ; probably (if so) to Cicely Hoare. f Setting fire to the heaths was a crime very prevalent in the Mid land counties at this period, calling for the intervention of Parliament. (See Journals H. of Lords.) B B 4 1 APPENDIX (A) 4. To 14 women five dales a peece pounding crabbes 00 17 06 To 5 women 2 dales a peece gathering crabbes in the parke 00 02 06 For waulnutts 2000. (all consumed this week.) 00 06 08 18. Larkes 56 dozen 00 18 10 Wardens 100. 4/6. Quinches 29. 1/10 . . 00 06 04 Hard sugar for tart stuffe of hipps. 3 li. for bis- kett bread 1 li. 00 04 Ol ob To two women 5 daies gathering hipps . . 00 02 06 To 14 women 3 dales puning [pounding?] cvabbes 00 10 06 For 6 coter di strike of salt at 2. 4. the strike . 05 13 02 For 4 coters of crabbes at 3 d the strike . . 00 08 00 [Labourers in October threshing rye & barley ; mowing brakes on Buckby heath and hovelling them ; digging gravel, & clay for the pool-head.] Nov. 1. To Phipp 2 daies theshing heron houses . 00 01 02 8. For Coventrie blew thred for M ris Segrave . . 00 02 00 15. To Hugh Cranfield for crying and praising a stray mare, and for hay for 3 daies for her . 00 02 04 22. To Dunkley for one dale gathering sticks, & one daie blouding trees . . . , 00 01 00 To Burbage one daie at waine, & one daie fetch ing a brawne from Northampton . . . 00 01 00 For a boare bought at Northampton . . . 01 04 04 29. To Martin 3 daies at the stue poole, and a jour ney to Wormleighton with a letter . . . 00 02 02 To Dunkley & Halliwell for their charges for crving and praising & a fortnight s haie for a stray calf 00 02 00 For 3 yards of cotton for jelliebages . . 000306 Bore killed 03 06 08 [Labourers in November threshing, digging hopyard, ma nuring the garden, ramming pool head, scouring trenches, stocking trees. Wages returned to 6 d .] Dec. 6. To Cleaver one daie loping trees by the bowling alley 00 00 06 MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS (1623). 11 To Legg for the carriage of a doe to my Lord Archbishopp 00 05 00 Collar of brawne sent to Mr. Washington. 13. To Gray the glazier ofWarw. for mending the armes as appeares by his bill . . . 01 10 00 For one ounce of saffron 00 00 04 For Inkle* for the cookes . . . . 00 00 08 20. For 24 dozen of trenchers bought by Legg . 00 14 00 To make ginger-bread. Lumpe sugar 9 li. Li- corise 8 li. Ginger 8 li. Anniseeds 8 li. . 01 19 6 27. To Hartopp 3 daies cleaving & sawing up pare-tree & plumb tree . . . . 00 01 06 To Buller 3 daies scraping mosse of the trees in the orchard 00 01 06 For hollie to sett up in house . . . 00 01 00 Six cocks for jellie. Beefs killed 1. Bulls killed 5. . (estimated at) . 16 06 08 To Legg for the carriage of 2 pies -which came from South.ton house, weight 28 li. . . 00 01 02 [Labourers in December working at the stue pool & in the garden, cutting hay, cutting browse for the deer, carrying in brakes and chips, and helping the baker chandler &c indoors-] NB. Regularly every week there is a fish bill from both Legg & Shortlegs. Every Saturday these accounts were submitted to his Lordship by the steward and certified in the following form. " This booke sumed, reckoned, and made even the of . Remayning in Pattrick s hands Delivered him more the same daye & Robert : Spencer." * A coarse kind of tape. "Inkle and Yarico" would suggest the thought of a young shopman to the first readers of the Spectator. lii APPENDIX (A) 4. EXTRACTS FROM SUMMARY or YEAR 1623. Spent to the Baker of grist corne . 169 qua: Spent to him of wheate for my lo : table 50 qua : 6 str. Spent to the brewer of mault . . 267 qua : Spent of beare hogesheades . . 750 Spent of ale hogesheades . . 30 Spent of ale for vinegar hogesheades, 03 Spent of Mather (?) ale Hogesheads. 01 Spent of beefes besides beefe bought . 41 Spent bulles . . . .05 Spent veales besides veale bought . 36 Spent muttons . . . 547 Spent bacon hogges . . .12 Spent porketts . . .11 Spent brawnes . . .03 Spent warpes of linge . . .48 di. Spent warpes of haberdine . . 291 di. Spent warpes of greenfish . . 43 di. M dm That at the rate of one coter of mault to three hoges heades, 267 coter of mault will make 801 hogesheades of beare. M dm That all the hundredes of what kind soever are reckoned but at 5 score to the hundred. M dm That every two fishes of linge, haberdine, & greenfish is one warpe. I62| Jan. 4. Bread for gingerbread 6 cast 17. To the coachman for Iron worke about the coach at North m ton . . . . . 00 03 02 For three almanackes 00 00 03 24. To Legg for the carriage of liverie cloth. Weight one C. 00 04 08 For henns to the Faulkenor 2. . . . 00 03 00 To M rs Segrave for hott waters as appeares by bill 00 14 11 For a beastes bellie . , 00 00 04 MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS (l62|). llii For 6 dozen of inckle 00 01 00 For a dogg for the pigeons at Harleston . 00 00 06 Feb. 7. To Burbage & Gardener one daie for mak ing the vvaie for the coach to Northampton . 00 01 00 To him 4 dales blooding trees, & one daie shovel ling snow out of the waie . . . . 00 02 06 For four bunches of cord to cord the trunkes that went to London 00 03 04 14. To John Traceloe for theire expences coming down from London with the horses as appeares by his bill 01 06 04 Feb. 21. To Phipp one daie theshing the dove house at Harleston 00 00 07 28. To Butlin 5 daies making a new stile at the Coach house, and setting up postes and railes for a new vineyard in my Lordes Spinney . 00 04 02 To Legg for the carriage of featherbedd tickes, and a chaire, weight di. a C. . . . . 00 02 04 March 5. For 300 of lOpennienailesfor the keper for standinges 00 02 06 13. To Bucknell one daie diging turfe for the bowling alley 00 03 00 To the Tinker for mending the huntsman s kettle 00 03 00 To the Gardener for seedes as appeares by bill . 00 09 02 20. For currants 6 li. resons solis 20 li. ffiges 20 li. almonds 10 li. for the Communicants * . . 01 10 04 For two mattes for the pues att Wormleighton . 00 04 00 For four str. of barlie for the fox hounds of M r . Troughton 00 08 08 For 6 str. of oates to the hackney coach horses and the hackney horses 00 07 06 NB. Family absent after this till June. * I can find nothing illustrative of the custom here implied. Easter, however, fell that year on March 28 ; so that the 21st would be Palm- Sunday, called in Northants JYjj-Sunday, and kept accordingly. See Baker, Gloss. liv APPENDIX (A) 4. April 3. To Hartopp 3 dales sawing the theales [deals] which are to goe to Penley . . 00 01 06 10. For 14 couple of rabetts (the first rabetts for this yeare 1624) . . . . .000600 17. To Browne 6 daies raming the stue poole heade & the poole banke above the raoate . 00 03 00 To Gilbert 5 daies holing slatt [slate] and slatt ing over S r Will 1 " Spencers chamber . . 00 02 06 To 5 women 5 daies a peece setting hearbes in the litle garden, & weeding the greate garden 00 06 03 For 3 dozen of pidgeons which were baked and sent to London 00 04 08 24. To Sherman for the carriage of 5 hogesheades of clarett one of Canarie, and a tierce of sherrie sacke weight 33 C. di. at 4 s . the C. . 06 14 00 May 1. To Gilbert 5 daies tyling over the nursery & brushing chamber 00 02 06 To 5 women 5 daies a peece weeding garden & getting cowslips 00 06 03 For 105 yardes of new matt for the greate cham ber at 5 d . the yarde 02 03 09 May 1. To Crackston for 11 daies worke taking up & laying downe the mattes . . . 00 05 06 To Dodie for 2 daies coming & going between Althrop & Wickdine to appoint stone for the chimneyes . . . . . . . 00 01 08 8. To Allibone 4 daies mending the sheep-penns, & the heron house 00 04 00 To James 4 daies spreading gravell in the garden alleyes 00 02 04 15. To the tinker for new rozening & mending 13 black jackes and 2 botles . . . . 00 06 01 To Wakefield for the charges of pyning* & crying * i. e. Impounding. To pin, pen, pound, are of the same root. The English surname " Pindar " has no more classical an origin. MISCELLANEOUS EXTKACTS (1624). Iv M r Edward Spencer s nagg, which strayed away and taken up at Tocester . . . . 00 01 04 22. To 3 women 4 daies a peece gathering broome budds and coltfoote* 00 03 00 To Legg for the carriage of 2 frying pannes, 4 peales, and a bread grater. Weight di. . 00 02 04 To the High Constable for the Provision money for Muscott & Althropp as appeares by his acquittance 03 10 00 For one calves head & pluckes . . . . 00 01 00 29. For 5 greene geese. . . . . . 00 02 06 For 4 mouse trappes 00 01 02 June 5. To Weight & James 6 daies a peece raming the garden allies 00 07 00 To Sherman for the carriage of the stuffe from London weight 44 C. and a coterne at 4 s the C. 08 17 00 To him which he paid to porters & carmen . 00 10 00 To him for the carriage of M ris Eliza Ander son s trunke & other thinges from Dunstable. Weight 200 00 05 00 To M ris Segrave for makinge & marking 9 paire of sheetes 12 paire of pillowbeares, & 12 dozen of napkins . . . . , . 00 12 00 .NB. The family are back. My Lord of Coventry, & Sir R. Anderson on a visit ; the latter having come in his coach, send ing M rs Eliza s luggage by carrier. To Bosworth the High Constable for the Provi sion for Elkinton 02 16 00 19. To Legg for the carriage of a firkin of sturgeon and a suite of clothes for M r George Rawleigh weight a score pound . . . . . 00 04 02 For roses, 800 00 01 00 For Lumpe sugar for surrope of roses, 3 li. . 00 02 04 ob For hard sugar for conserve of redd roses, 3 li. . 00 02 09 * To make salletts of. Eaten mostly in autumn. Gervaise Markham. Ivi APPENDIX (A) 4. For hard sugar for milke and strowkerrup (?) 2 li. 00 01 10 26. To the weaver for weaving 12 ells of hempen cloth at 2 d ob the ell ..... 00 02 06 To the Churchwardens for a levie for the repaire of the Church bells 00 03 04 July 3. Sent to my Ladle Washington. Puetts 6. Quailes 3. Hearne 1. Sturgeon. 1 rand. Sent to Wormleighton Grossery as followeth. Powther sugar 2 barrells, currants, resons, spices &c. &c. . . . cumfitts of all sorts a small quantity. Metridate. Dies Cordin.* and Permacetty of every one of them a little. 10. To the Constables of Brington for a levie to paie the fifteenf at 4 d the yard lande . . 00 01 08 To Line and Palmer for a jorney to Wormleigh ton with bread and preserved meates . . 00 01 04 To Blisse one daie making a new stone to gett on horsebacke without the gate . . . . 00 01 06 17. To the Bishop s Collector for the first Clergie subsidie f as appears by his acquittance. . 07 04 00 To him for portage & acquittance . . . 00 05 00 24. To Blisses man 2 daies pointing the walles in the moate 00 01 10 To Dunkley 2 daies weeding the moate, and 2 daies moynge netles 00 02 04 31. To younge Goodman for a jorney to Worrn- leighton with herons & capons. . . . 00 00 06 To Blisse one daie scablingj stone for the kitchen range att the stone pitts at Harleston . . 00 01 06 * Mithridatium and Diascordium. Electuaries in great repute, both of them, at that time, containing scores of ingredients. A medical friend points them out to me in close juxtaposition, in the Pharmacopoeia of the College of Physicians, 1 683, and also in Sy denham. f The fifteenths. Three fifteenths (with subsidies, &c. besides) were granted to the king this year, to be paid conditionally on the utter disso lution of the two treaties with Spain ; viz. concerning the marriage and the Palatinate. Parl Hist. J Rough-dressing. Baker, Gloss. MISCELLANEOUS EXTEACTS (1624). Ivii To his man the like 3 daies . . . . 00 02 09 For 44 foote of stone for the kitchen raunge & the brushing chamber chimney at 3 d the foote . 00 1 1 00 Aug. 7. To Butlin 3 daies sawing theales, & 2 daies making a dore for M ris Segrave s house . . 00 05 00 14. To Waren & Line one daie raming up the trench betweene the pooles . . . . 00 01 02 To Burbage for a jorney to Wormleighton with a box for M r Edward 00 00 08 Sept. 4. To old Faith for 3 weekes & 2 daies loking to the sicke maide . . . . . . 00 05 04 To Legg for the carriage of a bucke to London, & another to Cambridge to Sir Will" 1 Spencer. 00 13 04 11. To Kening 3 daies going to Wickdine & to Wormleighton with the waines, & for a jorney to Wormleighton with venison . . . 00 03 05 To 4 wainmen for 2 meales a peece in their jorney to Wickdine & from thence to Wormleighton with timber 00 05 00 To 6 wainmen the second jorney for 2 ineales a peece and for drinke betwixt meales . . 00 07 06 18. To Pilgrim & James 6 daies a peece drying fish 00 04 00 25. To Gardner (& 10 others) 4 daies moying & one daie cocking brakes. . . . . 01 15 03 To 24 women one daie raking up brakes at Buckby Heath 00 06 00 For a new tire for a waine. Weight 248 li. at 2 d.ob.qu. ; e 2 | d ] the li 03 02 04 For a new hatchett 00 00 10 For spininge 2 todd of wooll for blanquetts at 2 d - ob the t 00 11 08 To a woman 2 daies helping to wash . . . 00 00 04 Oct. 2. To Butlin 5 daies, cutting out coach poles, and pitch forke stailes,* and mending the wind beames in the cheese chamber . . . 00 05 00 * The straight handle of various implements. The stalk of a flower. Baker, Gloss. Iviii APPENDIX (A) 4. To 46 women 3 daies a piece raking up brakes . 01 14 06 To Dunkley 3 daies cocking brakes, 2 daies pol ling crabbes, and 4 nights watching brakes . 00 04 11 To Pedle for mending the coach & for cloth to mend it with 00 02 00 To Gibson for 2 pullies for the bell in my ladies chamber 00 02 00 To him for a new britch for a musket . . 00 01 00 To him for a new tumbler for a musket locke . 00 00 06 9. To Martin 2 daies in the ditch and a jorney to Lutterworth 00 01 06 For one cabidg 00 00 04 For powther sugar used in ploms for tart stuffe, 6 li 00 05 06 For hard sugar for preserving of barbaries and conserve of barbaries 4 li . . . . 00 04 00 17. For lumpe sugar to M ris Vyninge* 1 li . . 00 01 01 To the Coachman s horses which brought M rs Vyning to Althrope, pease 1 str. oates 2 str. . 00 04 02 To M r Doctor Ashworth s horses, oates 1 str. . 00 01 04 For crabbes bought to make verges 35 str. 3 peckes at 4 d a strike 00 1 1 1 1 Crabbes gathered in my Lo s grounde 2 quarters [estimated at] 00 05 04 (Making of verges hodg. 2.) To 18 women for pullinge and straininge of them 3 daies 00 13 06 23. For 6 galley potts and 12 marmalett boxes for M rs Segrave 00 03 03 30. For 12 li of currants for a great cake . . 00 04 00 For butter for a cake, 6 li . . . . 00 02 03 (NB. Evidently the christening cake. Sir John Washing ton and Mr. Curtis both among the guests ; the latter staying some weeks.) * Refer, as usual, to the Parish Register : " Mistress Katherine Spencer ye daughter of Sir William Spencer and ye Lady Penelope was baptised Nov. 14." MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS (1624). llX To Burbadg one dale breaking stones in the high waie in the pke 00 00 06 Nov. 6. To Rogers and Bucknell 4 daies at the ditch about the bowling alley . . . 00 04 00 13. To 3 women 3 daies a peece setting straw berries in the garden . . . . . 00 04 06 For wax lights and torches as appeares by bill . 01 07 10 20. To Wadie 6 daies making a new coach [begin- ing it] for M r Henry Spencer . . . 00 04 00 27. To Line 4 daies making conniborrows [coney- burrows] 00 02 00 For hard sugar for paste of quinches, 3 li . . 00 03 09 Nov. 27. To Legg for the horsemeate which M r Edward Spencer s man Bill rod up on . . 00 02 00 Dec. 11. To Martin for his horsemeate & for shoeing him, going to Penley for quicksetts . 00 01 06 1 8. For 3 whippes and bells 00 00 1 1 25. To Sherman for the carriage of a hogsheade of white wine, and one of clarett, and a runlet of muscadine, weight 10 C. at 4 s the C. . . 02 04 00 To him for the portage of it to his wagon , . 00 01 00 To Legg for the carriage of 3 trunkes . . 00 12 10 To him for the portage of them from Wesend (West-end?) to his Inn . . . .000106 Geese baked 2 pies. Turkic baked 1 pie. Neates tongues baked 1 pie. Bulls killed [this fortnight] 5 . . . . 21 10 00 Beer spent [Christmas week] hogsheads 29. (Among the guests Sir W m Washington and my lord Abergavenny.) 162f. Jan. 1. To Gibson for 6 curtin rods, and for hookes to them for the picktures . , . . 00 04 00 To Friend for mending the drag nett & for 2 new keatching netts 00 03 00 CC APPENDIX (A) 4. NB. Among the guests this month Sir W m Washington, Sir John Washington, M r Curtis, M r Pargiter, Sir Lewis Pemberton, Lord Gray, Earl of Huntingdon. f Jan. 29. To Butlin 5 daies paling about the new Spinney 00 04 02 [Others quicksetting and ditching it.] Feb. 5. To Butlin 4 daies hewing postes & one daie setting up stiles in the Spynney 00 04 02 12. To Martin 4 daies going to Penley & one daie in the Spynney .... 00 03 06 To him for his horse charges 00 01 00 c For 9000 of beech setts wh. came from Penley 00 18 00 19. [To eleven labourers quicksetting in the Spinney 01 11 06] March 12. To Turlington (and 3 others) 6 daies a peece setting acorns . . . 00 12 00 25. To Evans 5 daies about graving the stone for the Spinney and going to and from Wormleighton 00 05 00 [Various other similar entries, till at last,] June 4. To Evans one daie going home to Woodstocke 00 01 00 Feb. 19. To Gibson for 2 paire of lines for the parlour clocke 00 03 00 For 2 yardes di. of frize to make Whitinge a jerkin * . . 00 06 08 For making of it 00 01 00 For 3 dozen of haire buttons . . . . 00 00 04 For 2 paire of stockings mending . . . 00 00 10 For a new paire of shoes for him . . .00 02 00 For mending his old shoes . . . . 00 00 06 March 5. For a locke for the almes tubb . . 00 01 00 19. To Panter the farrier for 3 drenches for my lords nagg & one for M r Edward Spencers nagg 00 05 00 MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS (1625). Ixi To Sir Thomas Denton s houndes. 4 str. barley. 00 08 00 For Butter to Jo. Clarke for to butter 2 cakes 1 li 00 00 04 For lumpe sugar used for those which weare . sicke. 2 li 00 02 03 For wheate into the kitchen for frummety. 1 str. 00 05 00 1625. April 17. For hard sugar forsurup of violets (5 li) & for fresh cheese and milke (I li) . . 00 07 09 May 14. To Butlin 6 daies railing in the course & mending the heave gate . . . . 00 06 00 21. For one dozen of greene geese . . . 00 09 04 June 4. To Brigges for letting blood 57 oxen & drenching them at 3 d the ox . . . . 00 14 03 12. For Resons solis used in broth for ye sicke. 1 li 00 00 04^ 26. To the Hackney coach horses wh. brought my Lo : of Southampton dovvne. oates 2 str . 00 03 2 [N.B. Sir R. Vernon also, and Sir H. Robin son among the guests. Sir W. & Sir J. Washington the week before.] July 2. To Jockie for the carriage of 4 buckes to London, & one to Penley by y r Lop s appoint ment . . . . . . . . 01 13 04 To him for the carriage of 2 dozen of dried tongues & 2 hamms of Westphalia bacon. Weight di. C. 12 li 00 02 10 To Gibson one daie waiting on my Lo. of Southampton in the pke. with the saith yo r Lo p bid him call for. [Scythe? Gibson was armourer, house-smith, &c.] . . . . 00 01 00 Aug. 6. To 5 women 6 daies weeding the garden and gathering popies 00 07 06 Sept. 3. For 3 dozen of cobwebb brushes . . 00 02 09 17. To 274 women one daie a peece pulling hopps 03 08 06 To 32 boyes & wenches one daie the like . . 00 05 04 cc 2 APPENDIX (A) 4. Oct. 1. Received of raault bought of Sir John Washington* . . . xxij coter 8. Mault bought of Sir J. Washington . xij coter 9. For lumpe sugar for conserve of barbaries & surrop of elderberries 7 li. . . .00 07 10 Nov. 26. To Blisse by yo r Lop s appointment in lieu of his hard bargaine for building the new lodg 02 00 00 Dec. 3. To Whiting for bringing a live phesant from Wickdine ...... 00 00 10 17. For a paire of slinges to carrie in beare with . 00 01 06 31. To Allibone 3 daies making frames for the picture drawer ...... 00 02 06 1626. Nov. 5. For lumpe sugar for tart stuffe of hipps & conserve of slowes. 5 li. . . . . 00 05 07 12. To the oister man his horse of oates Istr. . 00 01 00 For oisters. 6 barrels ..... 01 18 00 [Similar entries henceforth.] Dec. 3. For lycorise for wormewood water 3 qu. 1 li. 00 01 03 For anniseedes for the same. 3 qrters. 1 li. . 00 01 03 For synamond to make water 3 qrt. 1 li. . . 00 01 03 10. Spent by the Lords, Lo. Mordant and Lo. Compton in theire chambers of hard sugar 3 li. 00 04 01 J 1627. Jan. 14. To Brocketts horses of Bedfordshire. oates 1 str ........ 00 01 00 Feb. 4. For currants for puddings for one month. 15 li ......... 00 05 07 For currants for a cake, 11 li. . . . . 00 04 1|- June 10. For Redishes & Lettisses . . . 00 01 00 * Probably rent paid to Sir John Washington in this shape by some tenant in Northants : a practice of which there are many instances in these account books. To take this off his hands would be a great accommoda tion to him. MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS. Ixiii 163| * Jan. 9. To Butlin s son 1 day mending the Race horse Standing 00 00 08 To the Musick at Christmas . . . . 01 00 00 For 12 balls of whiteing to scowre the plate . 00 01 06 16. Brewed of Lemmon Ale. Hogsheads, j. 30. Spent of Wormewood Beere. hogsheads j. Feb. 6. For 2 sheares for 2 Plowes. weight 24 li. at 3 d the pound 00 06 00 To the Musicke at Candlemas . . . 00 05 00 13. To Tomlinson 1 day carrying the fferretts to Overson 00 00 06 To Harrison 3 days lookeing to Allibone in the tyme of his sicknesse 00 01 06 For a barrill of Gunpowder for the ffaulkners . 01 03 00 For bringing downe of the Gunnepowder . 00 01 00 20. To John Meakins for his halfe years wages at his goeing awaye . . . . . . 01 13 04 To Hopkins the waggin man for bringing downe 4 barrills of White herrings, halfe a barrill of greenfish and a Runlet of Wine vinegar, weight 15 hundred and 14 li 03 00 06 27. To Dent for bringing downe plumbe trees . 00 01 00 March 6. To 1 woman winnowing barley & pease, and 1 daye dryeing Wheat pease and oates for the March beere 00 01 00 13. To the Tinker for mending the keeching ladle in the Kitching 00 00 04 To Dent for carrying up a pye and 2 cheeses . 00 01 06 * We now find Mistress Lucy Washington settled at Althorp in Lord Spencer s establishment. Her name heads the list of female servants, as the Chaplain s does that of the men. Her salary was 6/. per annum, cc 3 APPENDIX (A) 4. To him for bringing downe a kegg of Sturgeon . 00 02 00 20. To Tomlinson 1 day helpeing to shooe the oxen 00 00 06 For 3 dozen of oxe bows for the yoakes . .001500 For a Seblet* to sowe corne . . . . 00 01 00 For a firesh Samon bought at Huntingdon . 00 16 00 To S r Edward Raleigh s man that brought the Pikes Carpes Breames and Tenches . . 00 06 00 1634. April 3. To Evans 2 days mending the Terrytts [terrace] in the litle garden . . .00 02 00 To the Plumer 1 day laying lead betweene the Wall & the Territts . . . . . 00 01 06 To the Tynker for mending the 2 sconses uppon thestayres. ...... 00 00 06 10. To M r Bickertons man for his rewarde for bringinge six great lemmons . . . 00 02 06 17. To Leeson 2 dayes takeing downe the Seates in the Walke above the Bowling Greene and setting them up againe ..... 00 02 00 To M r Bosworth high constable for his Ma ties p.vicon for Elkington pastures appeares by his acquittances ...... 03 18 00 To Edward Whiteing high constable for his Ma ties p.vicon for Althrop and Muscott . 03 10 00 To William Tast for 6 Qua : of oates at 20 A p. str. to sowe Gawburrow hill . . . 04 00 00 24. To Turlington 1 day ffishing the long ditch &c and for clymbing 13 Hearnes neast s . . 00 05 06 To Pagett 2 journeys to Wormleighton with car- ryages at the households removing. 1 night watching the Goods, and 2 days at waine . 00 03 08 Spent of wheat to the Cooke forbagg puddinges &c 1 str. * Seed basket Baker, Gloss. MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS (1634). IxV May 1. To Leeson 1 day goeing to Ruggby to find out tymber to make the newe staire case . 00 01 00 To Eldershaw 1 daye breakeing up plaister floare in the great Chamber 00 00 06 To Goodman 2 journeys to Wormeleighton with butter and silke for the ymbroydery . . 00 02 00 For 4 quire of Cappe paper to pack up ye plate 00 01 04 [Large alterations going on in the House for the King s visit.] 15. To Palmer for a journey to Weldon to hasten the stone for the harth in the Great Chamber, and a journey to S r Edward Griffins to give him notice of the comeing of y e ffish . . 00 02 00 For the carryage of the store Carpes to S r Ed ward Griffins 00 10 00 To M r Hoyden for passing the bill of ympost* . 00 04 06 Brewed of ale for stronge waters 1 hogshead. 22. To Moberley 6 dayes layeing compost to the Vines in the pke 00 03 06 To 5 women 6 dayes apeece in the Cherry yard. 00 07 06 29. To M r Adam Allsopp for wine by bill . . 63 00 00 For 4 barrills of white soape by bill . . .140900 For halfe a quarter of strawlett cullered cloth to widen the coach bedd . . . . 00 01 06 For my ownef charges [Catelin the Steward s] and horsemeat goeing to London . . . 01 04 06 * On distillation? f Wingfield Catelin the steward, and his brother Ralph, who was also one of the servants in the household, were brothers of the Rector, the Rev. William Catelin, and gentlemen of unexceptionable birth. We find in the Herald s Visitation (1618), that their father was head of a family which had been established at Raunds in Northants for six generations, and of which Lord Chief Justice Catelin had been a younger son. Their mother was a daughter of Sir Henry Coningsby of Hertfordshire [Here fordshire?]. It was no uncommon thing in those days to find gentlemen serving in noblemen s families. CC 4 Ixvi APPENDIX (A) 4. June 12. For a sursingle to gird the milch kine . 00 00 06 To Dent for bringing downe green buttons and loopes from M r Chowneing . . . . 00 00 06 18. To Garner 2 days at wain, and a journey to the coale pitt 00 02 06 [25 herons nests climbed within the week.] 26. For glasses for Gooddy Webb . . . 00 06 06 July 3. To Dunkley for mending the standings in the pke and the course pales . . . 00 06 00 To Traceloe for provideing the Shearers . . 00 03 06 1 0. For di. strike of baye salt to lay e in the Chimneys 00 04 00 To Hopkins the Waggin man for bringing downe 6 hogsheads of wine . . . 06 00 00 17. To Hartopp 3 days about the rayles for the Bowling greene stayres . . , . 00 02 00 For 20 potts for the Bowling greene and the walkes at 2 r 6 d the pott . . . . 02 10 00 For 5 panns to bake venison in . . . 00 07 06 [Here begin the special preparations for the royal visit in August. See sup. Appendix (A) 2. After this the family go back to Wormleighton.] August 21. For the milke of 3 Cowes . . 00 00 03 Sept. 18. To Butlin and Leeson 1 day mending bridge [over the Moat] . . . . 00 00 02 To Palmer [and two others] 2 days cleansing the Moat 00 03 06 To Tomlinson a journey to Wormleighton w th thinges from Holdenby . . . . 00 01 00 For Sturbridge p.visons for Althrop by bill . 60 07 00 [D for Wormleighton 15 05 02] To the Waggin man for bringing the Sturbridge p.visions home weight 65 hundred 3 qu ters and 3 U 06 11 00 To the Waggin mans man for his paynes . . 00 01 00 To Campion the porter for his paynes at Stur bridge faire . 00 08 06 To Chipman for shooeing 30 oxen . . . 01 01 00 To the Cookes of course wheat for puddings, j strike. MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS (1634). Ixvii 25. To Butlin 5 days mending posts and rayles about the deer house & the long cubb* . . 00 05 00 For Garden seedes, crabb tree stockes and pare tree stockes by bill 01 04 00 Oct. 2. To Lyne 1 day goeing to Northampton to give evidence against Goode and his charges there 00 01 04 9. To Clarke a journey to Princethorpe for Berry to come and bloud the cattell . . . 00 10 00 For 43 earthen pipes to carry the water out of the walke above the Bowling greene into the ditch 00 10 06 16. To Leonard Greenewaye 3 days hanging the bell 00 01 06 To 5 women 6 days apeece in the new Orchard setting fflowers 00 07 06 To Pilgrim 1 day marking the shovles scuttles & other thinges 00 00 06 23. To Gennings for a nett for the longe ditch . 01 13 04 To the man for bringing the nett out of the ffenns 00 06 00 To 2 men carrying the wine lees to the Apothe- caryes 00 00 06 For turneupps and parsenipps . . . . 00 01 02 30. For a Table of Weldon stone [<5] and a stone Roale for the walkes 06 00 00 Nov. 6. To Leeson 4 days p.videing poasts and rayles for the shorte Walke by the Bowling greene 00 03 04 To Hartopp 1 day cutting the shutt windowes in the Dary Gallery to make them folde day setting up the shelves in the Studdy at the long Gallery ende 1 day mending the covers of the shovleaborde Table and 2 days makeing the long Tent to ymbroyder . . . . 00 03 04 * An open shed for cattle. The word is cognate to crib, " sheep-cwi, &c. So too cubbed = cribbed, crowded up. Baker, Gloss. Ixviii APPENDIX (A) 4. To Burbidge 3 serving the Thatcher and 1 day seekeing the Hoggs that were lost . . . 00 02 00 For crying the hoggs that were lost . . . 00 00 04 For a pound shott* for the hoggs at Norton pounde . . 00 00 08 To the ffiddlers for their rewarde at Allhollantide 00 10 00 13. To Whiteing 1 daylayinge stones in the high way 00 00 06 Dec. 4. To young Palmer a journey to Sandye for M r Symcotts and his wife to come over to Al- throp 00 02 06 For cloth and bayes for a Cloake for William Allybone 02 02 06 To the Draper for liveryes by bill . . . 88 05 00 For 4 li. of Damaske powder for Gooddy Webb 00 14 00 11. For a mopp for the maides . . . . 00 00 06 To the musicke of Northaton at the tyme of the Weddingf 01 00 00 1 8. To KeHing 1 day digging gravill for the high- waye at doggpoole 00 00 06 To a woman 2 dayes disstilling Cinamon water . 00 00 06 For 2 gallons 3 quarters of sack to make Cina mon water at 4 s 8 d p. gallon . . . . 00 12 10 For small cordes to bynde the rubbers for the parlour . . 00 00 06 163$. Jan. 1. For 122 li. of Bristow Soape at 5 d p. li. . 02 10 10 For the 2 Caskes for the soape . . . . 00 00 1 1 For 2 li. of carroway seede comfitts . . . 00 03 04 For 4 li. of sweete ffennell comfitts . . . 00 06 08 To Dent for carrying up a brace of doaes to my Lord of Canterburye 00 10 00 * Fee or forfeit for impounding. " Shot " for payment of reckoning, &c. is used by Shakspeare and B. Jonson. (From Fr. cot ? Compare scoJ-free.) f " John Craven. Esquier, and M" 3 Elizabeth Spencer, the eldest daughter of the right Honorable William Lord Spencer, were maried the fourth day of December, Anno Domini 1634." Pa. Regr. MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS (l63f;. Ixix 8. For 3 yard f of Padua scarlett serge for Allibones suite in sommer . . . . . . 00 15 00 For lace silk and buttons for the same suite by bill 01 08 00 For lace silk and buttons for the Coachman footeman and postilians suites and cloakes by bill 05 00 00 To Peidle for makeing the footemans Cloake and suite and the coachman s cloake and the posti lians coate by bill 01 10 06 15. To the Tyncker for mendinge a posnett with 6 score nayles and the huntsmans Copper that he boyles the doggs meat in . . . .00 03 08 For Pomecitrons for my Lady . . . . 01 11 00 For 3 yards of Cloth for a Cloake for Tho : Elliott 01 10 00 For 2 lambes 00 16 00 For Ashen Keyes and Eringo rootes* . . 00 01 00 29. To Palmer 2 dales casting snowe out of the gutters, and shoveling the waye into the great meadowe for the maides 00 01 00 [Much of this. A snowy winter.] To Collins the waggin man for bringinge downe 2 tierces of Clarett wine 01 08 00 Feb. 5. To the ffiddlers for their wages at Candle mas 00 10 00 19. For 4 salt Salmons, 5 salt Eales 3 li. of Janua [Genoa] Anchoves 02 03 06 To the race horses of wheat di. str. 26. To the Cookes of beaten barly to butter j. str. March 5. To the Third bearers of Brington for cryeing and prayseing a baye straye nagg taken up within the libertyes of Brington * Eringo root [sea-holly] is a constant article of consumption after this ; probably for medical reasons. Bacon recommends it on this score. Candied eringo root figures in Sydenham s prescriptions more than once. APPENDIX (A) 4. and brought, downe to Althrop the 4 th of March 1634 00 01 02 To them for the naggs meat soe long as they kept him 00 01 04 12. To Evans 12 days makeing ready stone for the Window in the new withdrawing [room], and setting it up Balconia fashion. . . . 00 12 00 To the ffish Carry er of Daventree for bringing the ffish out of the ffenns . . . . 00 02 06 For thrid for Gooddy Webb . . . . 00 03 00 19. For a li. of Spanish white to whiten the window in y r Lo pp s Withdrawing Chamber. . . 00 00 04 26. To Leeson 4 days cutting poasts and rayles for Pheasant yard in the Orchard . . . 00 04 00 (1635) To Leeson 3 days setting up the pheasant house in the Garden 00 03 00 To Hartopp 4 dayes preparing tymber for the Balconia doores 00 02 08 April 16. To Clarke 1 daye digging the Pheasant Yard and 1 daye cutting the Popplers in the Walke 00 01 02 To Garner 4 dayes at wayne, and a journey to Ruggby for coales. . . . . . 00 03 04 For 49 hundred of Pitt Coals (the ffirst coales brought in by the waynes) at 9 d ob> p. Cent. 01 18 09 ob To Collins for his charges 2 dayes stayeinge in London for the wine that my Lord Craven sent 01 10 00 To the Shephard of Muscott for makeing fFurzes kidds [bundles or faggots] by bill . . . 00 08 08 23. To Leeson 1 daye makinge a devise for the Churme* 00 06 00 30. To Leeson 1 day cutting bragettsf for the drawinge room . . . . . . 00 01 00 * Device for the churn ? f Brackets ? MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS (1635). Ixxi To Hartopp 1 daye cutting mouldes for the plaster 00 00 08 For 1 Pike 30 ynches and better . . . 00 12 00 [For 29 other large pikes 08 02 00] To Geninges & his brother for comeing along with the ffish to freshen it with water . . 00 05 00 To Haye for the Carters 7 horses at Luddinge in the brooke* 00 03 02 For their owne dyett there . . . . 00 02 00 For 3 strike of Provender for there horses at Fossott 00 06 06 For haye for ther horses ther . . . . 00 03 06 For their dyett ther three meales . . . 00 04 00 For ther dynners at Thrapstone . . . 00 06 06 For their horsemeat ther 00 01 04 To the Carters for drinke by the waye . . 00 01 10 To 2 men wateringe the ffish at Thrapstone whilst the rest were at dynner . . . 00 00 06 For my brothers [R. Catelin s] charges horse- meate and stuffing his saddle . . . . 00 10 06 To Turlington for makeing of a great Casement and yron worke belonging thereto . . . 02 07 00 To the man that led the houndes to M r Samwells and for ther charges by bill . . . . 00 07 04 May 7. To Turlington 1 day mending the hedge in the Course 00 00 07 To Butler & his boye 6 dayes a peece plastering the frett in the drawinge Chamber. . . 00 18 00 14. To Leeson 1 days [work at] the new Chamber about Chinkwell gate [a Park Lodge] . 00 01 00 21. To the Plummer 2 days leading the Balconia halfe pace and 2 days mending the waterpipes and the water cockes 00 06 00 * A village near Oundle. Ixxii APPENDIX (A) 4. For 5 li. of sweete powder for Goody Webb to sweeten the linen w th all . . . . 00 17 06 To the Drap. for Cloth for the Coachman and footemansj suites and the postilians Coate by bill 05 18 00 For Lace Silke Buttons Ribbon and Garters for the Coachman and footemans suites and the postilian s Coate by bill . . . . 02 13 00 For a Hatt and band for the footeman . . 00 08 00 For a paire of Stockings for him . . . 00 04 06 28. To Perry for bringing downe a litle wicker Bottle for yr Lo pp 00 00 06 June 4. For 22 Breames out of the ffenns . . 03 06 06 For 21 Tenches brought from thence . . 02 00 00 For the whole charge of bringing the same . 01 18 00 11. To Warren 1 day paleinge by the mount walke 00 00 07 For 1 dozen and 10 of Yarwhelps at 24 s the dozen 02 04 00 [and other fowl from the fens] To the man s horse that brought letters from Oxford j pecke. 18. To 11 women 2 days a peece weeding the oates in the cowpenns 00 05 06 [a part of the park where the cattle was fod dered : now (it would seem) ploughed up] For a burthen of strawe to cary venison in and for the fowl 00 00 04 To the Tyncker for mending hoales in the Brewing Copper 00 08 00 25. For ffish for the pikes for a fortnight . . 00 05 06 For the Bayliffes and the Dairymaides ex penses at Boughton faire . . . . 00 01 08 July 2. For 164 sheepe bought at Shipson Ban- bury and Tamworth 105 05 02 For William Tasts chardges toall and driveing . 00 10 00 MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS (1635). Ixxiii 9. For 28 butteris of pitt coales brought by the waynes at 6 s 4 d the butteresse . . . 08 17 04 23. To Leeson 3 days sawing Tymber for to arch the roofe of the new house by the walk end, and one day sawing Boardes to make the ffish Trunckes 00 04 00 To Turlington 1 day scouring the water course that goes from the long ditch . . . 00 00 07 To Hopkins the Waggin man for bringing downe a boxe directed to my Lady . . . . 00 00 04 30. To Graye 1 day mending the Creepes (?) in the Course 00 01 00 To Edward Ladkins man for his rewarde bring ing gooseberryes . . . . . . 00 01 00 For a quire of paper for the children . . 00 00 05 August 6. To the ffarryer for a Drench for the Sorrill nagg and for his journey comeing over 00 03 00 For the Waynemens Bedds at Sisam when they went for Tyle 00 00 04 For Clove Gilly flowers 00 02 00 13. To M r Mewce for 3 barrills of pickled oysters 00 05 00 For 1 peck of Gooseberryes . . . . 00 01 08 20. To Leeson 2 days getting the Temple in the Hall ready * 00 02 00 To the man that brought the Stagg from Sir Thomas Lee 02 00 00 27. To Leeson 1 day takeing downe the Temple in the Hall 00 01 00 To M r Leeson for 2 muske millions . . . 00 12 00 To a man of Spratton for plumbes . . . 00 02 00 Sept. 3. For 10 Steeres for the house . . . 39 00 00 For 2 dozen of fflower potts . . . . 00 06 00 * I cannot tell for what. A child of Lord Spencer s (John) was bap tized July 16. But there is neither marriage nor anything else this week. IXXIV APPENDIX (A) 4. For a lyne for my Ladyes Bell . . . . 00 00 08 To John Chapman for his Chardges at the Swan- namott held wi th in the fforrest of Whitlewood* by bill 00 17 00 10. To 7 woemen 1 daye turninge hempe and settinge it up 00 01 09 To John Jockey for his rewarde helping the Cooke in the Kitchinge 01 00 00 17. For our own chardges and horsemeat at Stur- bridge, and goeing and comeing . . . 02 05 00 To Dent for bringing downe the currants & Muscovado sugar . . . . . . 00 02 00 24. To Harris 8 nights watching in ye pke [NB. Drying fish going on] 00 04 00 To Sir Myles Fleetwoods man for his rewarde for bringing the Polonia Ducke and Drake . 00 05 00 For 200 of Crafishes 00 04 00 Oct. 1. For the man that brought the Stagg out of Hampshire 02 00 00 To M r Thorntons man for his rewarde for bring ing a baskett of fruite 00 02 00 To M r Leeson for Collyflower and Cabidge seede 00 01 02 For 2 cabidges 00 00 08 To Jacob Trepetit for his wages by my Lords appoyntment 05 00 00 [NB. Godfrey De Lo has just left] 8. For the overplus of a Kegg of Sturgeon ex changed with the Mayor of North a ton . . 00 06 00 To M r Mewce his man for his rewarde for bring ing halfe a wild calfef 00 05 00 * Charles I. s attempt to revise the forest laws will be remembered. It fell with peculiar weight on Northamptonshire. See Hallam. Const. Hist. f There was a herd of wild cattle in the royal park at Holdenby. See Baker (particulars of sale in 1650.) MISCELLANEOUS EXTEACTS (1635). 22. To Butlin 3 days makeing a Trough for to stampe Crabbs in 00 02 06 To 4 women 6 days a peece makeing Syder . 00 03 00 To Keyes 7 days mending the boates . . 00 14 00 29. To Clarke [& 4 others] 1 day ffishing the moat 00 02 00 To Turlington 1 night watching the moat . 00 00 06 For 6 brace of pheasants 03 12 00 To the man for his chardges bringing the phea sants 00 12 00 To M r Leeson for 108 quinces and 400 of medlers 02 04 00 To him for the hamper corde paper & strawe to putt them in 00 01 10 Nov. 5. To Hartopp 2 days making shutts for my Lords Chamber 00 01 04 Dec. 3. To the women for picking of 42 stone & 12 li. of Hempe at 7 d per stone . . . 01 05 00 24. For mending the Corrall . . . . 00 03 00 For 30 li. of Tobacco stalkes for the Shephard . 00 07 06 For a frayle to putt them in . . . . 00 00 04 For my owne charges and horse goeing up at London and comeing downe by bill . . 02 10 07 For Westfalio Bacon Dryed neats tongues An- choves &c by bill 03 15 11 To John Bason for his charges goeing to Wel- lingburrow for the Tanner . . . . 00 01 02 To Dent for bringing downe Potato Rootes and Beete Eootes 00 01 00 I63f. Jan. 7. For 3 Alminackes * . . . . 00 00 04 ob 21. For 6 li. of potatoes 00 03 00 To Clarke for his journey to Oxford by bill . 00 07 00 * A halfpenny a piece dearer than in 1624. D D APPENDIX (A) 4. 28. To John Clarke for his wages for 4 months at his goeing awaye . . . . . . 01 01 00 [Probably Mr. Henry Spencer s servant, who accompanies his young master to the University, and then leaves Althorp, being no longer wanted]. Feb. 4. To Baseleyes man for his rewarde bring ing a cake . . . . . . . 00 01 00 11. To Palmer a journey to Bradfield to my Lady Andersonns ....... 00 07 06 For 1 hogshead of Canary . . . . 12 00 00 For 1 hogshead of white wine . . . . 05 10 00 To the porters and carrmen . . . . 00 02 00 For 21 gallons and a pottle of Muskedine . 04 06 00 For a Rundlett for the same and portage . . 00 03 08 For 2 bottles of Redd wine . . . . 00 05 01 To the Drap. for Cloth for Livery es by bill . 86 16 06 For a pounde of Castle [Castille] Soape for the swyne at parsonage ..... 00 00 08 25. For 72 ells of fflaxen cloth yard broade at 3 s p. ell . ...... 10 16 00 For 120 ells of hampen cloth yard broad at 18 d p. ell ........ 09 00 00 For jugge of Oyle and bottle for the Race horse 00 03 05 March 3. To 2 women 6 days a peece weedeing & settinge Strawberryes in the cherry yarde . 00 03 00 10. To Butlin 2 days mending gates and the win- nowinge fanne ...... 00 01 08 To Dent for the charge of conveighinge a letter to M r Raphe Boteler ..... 00 01 06 1636. April 12. For making 2 new Tallow Tubbs for the Chaundler ...... 00 01 08 21. To Sir John Drey dons man for his reward bringinge Hartechooke roots . . . . 00 02 06 MISCELLANEOUS EXTEACTS (1636). 23. To Palmer a journey to my Lord of Dunse- moores ........ 00 02 00 May 5. To Bucknell a journey to Hinton with the childes clothes ..... 00 01 00 To Clarke 4 days at wayne and a journey to Wormeleighton with household stuffe . . 00 03 04 For 6 bunch of corde to corde trunckes . . 00 04 00 [The family now remove to Worrnleighton, where they remain for the rest of the summer till October. Amongst other preparations for a long absence we find the follow ing purchase, for the sake of the children]. To Gooddy Webb for carroway comfitts . . 00 02 07 [In the absence of the family, Gooddy Webb makes herself useful at home, as the following entries will show in the first place]. 1 9. For a quarter of a pounde of ffrankensence for Goody Webb ..... 00 02 00 For 4 ounces of Oyle of Spike for hir . . 00 00 04 For 8 li. of butter for hir for Oyntemeiits . 00 03 00 For a Sheepskinne for Goody Webb . . 00 00 05 [Now, for the first time, the servants are put on board wages ; the allowance being 4s. per week to Wingfield Catelyn ; 3s. 4d. to the others, men and women alike. If any servant comes over from Wormleighton or else where, or any one comes to the house who would in ordinary cases be entertained there, the rule is that 6d. is to be allowed for each meal. Accordingly we find, among many others], June 2. For Goodman Berry that blouded the oxen 3 meales ...... 00 01 06 June 9. For Wine Vinegar & Sugar, and for ffigges and Reasons for Lent ..... 02 12 07 For 2 feather bed ticks for Alexander . . 02 17 06 For 1 dozen of Red skinns for him . . . 00 07 06 For 2 li. of crosse bowe thrid for the Keep r . 00 04 04 For an arrow case and a shoulder knife for him 00 07 00 Ixxviii APPENDIX (A) 4. For 3 dozen of arrows for him . . . . 00 1 5 00 For mending a bowe for him . . . . 00 01 06 For 3 gallons of Whitewine Vinegar for Gooddy Webb 00 07 00 For Red Cowes Milke to disstill . . . 00 00 10 To John Wright of barly to make paste for the Lymbeck [Alembic] di. str. 16 To Hartop 1 daye taking downe the wainscott in the Red bed Chamber [the best one seem ingly, over the Chapel], mending a bed in the Gallery end, and tryeing Tymber for ye shutts for the Glasse doore in the best w th drawing Chamber 00 00 08 For a paire of dogg cupple leathers for the Keeper 00 00 04 To M r Lee when he came to stopp the crackes in the new house. 5 meales . . . . 00 02 06 To George Webb and Marston [Will ?] when they brought the fcitt oxen 1 meale . . 00 01 00 June last. To Bucknell 3 days in the Bowling greene 1 day helping the keep r hunt and a journey to Wormleighton with a Bucke and a Tegg . 00 03 04 To Hudson for sweepeing 8 lower and 28 upper chimneys 00 07 04 July 7. [Labourers railing the gravel pit in the park, casting earth out of the moat, gravelling the horse ridings in Windmill field &c.] To Marson 1 night watching the wool . . 00 00 06 To William Tracelow for p.videing ye Shearers. 00 03 00 To 2 Ruggby men for 32 hund. di. of pitt coale at ll d p r Cent 01 09 10 To the Charcoal Colliers uppon my Lordes guift towardes the buying of their sackes . . 00 03 06 For the Ratt catcher 3 meales . . . . 00 01 06 14. To Pooler 3 days plaistering a litle closett in the Nursery, & mending the plaister flower [floor] in ye Red Bedchamber . . . 00 03 06 MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS (1636). For Richard Catesby when he carried the brace of buckes to Oxford 1 meale . . . . 00 00 06 28. [Carpenters & labourers mending the bridge, fresh timbering and gravelling it.] August 4. To a woman 1 day gathering rushes for the Standeing in the Course . . . . 00 00 03 11. To Hartop 3 daies setting up the wainscott in M ris Cravens Chamber 00 02 00 25. To the Lord Ambassadour s (?) horse of oates. j. str. Sept. 1. To Graye 2 days mending the Spanells kennell and 1 day setting the pales upright in the Bowling greene 00 03 00 To the Plumrner for casting 21 sheetes of lead. Weight 63 hundred 19 li. at 18 4 p r Cent . 04 14 06 For a great cock for the Brewhouse . . . 01 04 00 8. To M r Henry Spencers horses of oates iij. str. di. 15. To Graye 3 days makeing ladders for the stand- inges in the pke 00 03 00 Oct. 6. For 4 hundred of Haberdine at 3 Li 10 s p r Cent, and 300 at 4 Li 10 s .... 26 15 00 For 12 chaldron of sea coale at 14 s the chaldron 08 08 00 [Bought it would seem at Stourbridge Fair.] [Carriage of the coal to Althrop in all . . 09 04 00] 13. For 2 ounces of Coventree blew for Gooddy . 00 00 08 20. To Butlin 3 daies setting up a frame of Tymber to laye the Cabidges on* . . . .00 02 06 To Clarke 4 days at wayne and a journey to Wormleighton to fetch the carriages . . 00 03 00 [NB. The family have returned to Al thorp. * Cabbages, it has been seen, are very expensive, costing 4J. and often 6d. the cabidg. The cunning market gardeners have probably represented them to be a very tender plant. But Lord Spencer s gardener has got some cabbage seed ; and might he not succeed in raising some by help of a frame? He will at any rate try. Good luck to the attempt ! The same enterprising gardener has during this last year procured " potatoe roots hartichoke roots, and colly flower seed." DD 3 1XXX APPENDIX (A) 4. Lord Spencer once more inspects & signs the book on the 19* h .] 27. To Rich. Steevens for the great Brewing Cop per. Weight 7 Cwt. a quarter and 7 li. at 17 d the pound (at 5 XI 12 li. to the hundred) . 58 00 00 Nov. 3. For a bill for the sicknesse . . . 00 00 04 [Under what law ? The plague is raging this year; and there have been proclamations is sued accordingly. (Rushworffi). The bill is repeated weekly. William Lord Spencer is himself ill. It is his last sickness.] 17. To the Constables of Brington for a leavie of 5 yard land towards the payment of the money for the Robbery that was committed in New- bottle Hundred 00 10 00 To them for a leavie out of Althrop for the same 01 00 00 Dec. 1. To the household servants and retayners in lieu of their liveryes for this yeare . . 76 04 00 8. To Turlington 6 days cleaveing wood and breakeing the ice of the pooles . . . 00 03 00 [William Lord Spencer s last signature. Dec. 9 th .] 22. To the blind Harper 01 00 00 To Palmer a journey to Oxford with horses, and horse bayte by the waye . . . . 00 05 06 [To fetch Henry Spencer.] [Carpenters makeing the Coffin, mending the hearse and removing the seats in the Church.] 29. [Carpenters &c making the Church ready for the Funeral.] NB. " The Right honorable William Lord Spencer died the eighteenth of December and was buried the seaven and twentieth of the saide moneth of December. 1636. * Pa. Eeg\ MISCELLANEOUS EXTEACTS (l637). There is nothing now left but the books of " Receipts & De liverances of all kind of graine & mault at Althrop"; but even from these something of the history of the family may be traced. 1637. June 1. To my lords saddle horses of oates . . vj. str. To the s.cond horses of oates . . . . ij. str. To the coach horses of oates . . . . iiij. str. To the Race horse of oates . . . . ij. str. di. [And thus weekly for some time, with hunting horses, &c.] July 20. To the Carters horses that came for the Countess of Southamptons trunkes of oates . j. str. Nov. 16. To the two horses that went to Oxford of oates di. str. 1639. April 4. To the 5 s.cond horses & the blacke hunt ing horse of oates . . . . . . ij. qua. di. To the deere of pease vij. qua. [After this the Race horse and the Hunting horses disappear. Instead of them], 11. To my lord s great horses of oates. . . vj. str. May 2. To M r Craven s great horse of oates . j. str. 30. To the Rushia horse of oates. . . j. str. Sir John Washington is a guest at this time for three weeks together, and again in the winter,* when a Capt. Wallop is staying at Althorp for some months, probably to practise the great horse exercise with Lord Spencer, and his brother-in-law Mr. Craven. 1640. Feb. 13. M r Mordaunt Washingtons horse of oates j. str. [In early summer the principal visitors are Mr. Craven, Earl of Southampton, the Lord Moore, Sir John Mills, Sir Robert Vernon.] * Between these dates (in July 1639) Lord Spencer was married at Penshurst to the Lady Dorothy Sydney. D D 4 Ixxxii APPENDIX (A) 4. Dec. 24. To Raphe Sir John Washingtons mans horse of oates j. str. 1641. Jan. 7. To M r Mordaimt Washington s horses of oates j. str. March 11. [Sir John Washington s last visit.] In April 1641 the establishment at Althorp was evidently broken up, for the departure of the family. The grain delivery book has many entries of wheat, rye, malt, &c. sent to Holdenby throughout the summer and the following winter, showing some connection between Lord S. and that place : but he was probably himself in London ; where, indeed, he took his seat in the House of Lords in the course of the Session, as soon as he came of age. In May 1642 he is again at Althorp, but soon leaves it again. 1642. May 19. To my lords sadle horses of oats . . vj. str. To M r Craven s sadle horses & coach horses, and M r Moore s sadle horses of oats . . ij. qua. May 26. To M r Cravens horses that went towards London with my lord of oats . . . di. str. In the following September, war having broken out and Lord Spencer being in the King s camp, the Parliamentary soldiers from Northampton seem to have occupied Althorp. Sept. 8. To the Baker of wheat for the Souldiers . iiij. str. To him of barley for them .... ij. str. [and so for the two following weeks. Sept. 15. To Valentine Sherley s horse of oates . di. str. To Liefetennant Scotts horse of oates . . j. pecke. [The battle of Edgehill was fought Oct. 22.] Again Nov. 3. To the Baker of wheat for the sol diers j. str. To him of barly for them . . . . j. str. Dec. 15. To M r Raphe Catelins horse of oats . j. str. MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS (164). Ixxxiii Jan. 5. To the horse that went to Oxford of oates. j. str. 19. To M r Lawrence s [the chaplain s] horse of oates ........ j. pecke. In 1643 the house seems to have been occupied again by a small party, probably sent over from Northampton, but paying for what they took in an orderly way. As early as Feb. 9 occurs the entry Feb. 9. 8 s 6 d Sold. To the house of maslen . iij. str. and the next week, (what amounts to the same thing,) " /3 s 4 d Sold. To the house of wheat . j. str. 16 ; 1 5 s 8 d Sold. To the house of rye . ij. str. and so on till Sept. 1644. The effect of the Civil War was evidently to suspend agri cultural operations to a great extent in these parts; for the receipts of grain from the farm, and from the task- ers, &c. almost entirely cease in 1643 ; though a good deal is sown by the household themselves. The following entries are suggestive of movements and vicissitudes in the fortunes of the family. 1643. May 1 1 . To M r Pargiters horses of oates . . di. str. 25. To the horse that went to Oxford of oats . j. str. 1644. Dec. 19. To the soldiers horses of mault . . j. str. To them of pease .... di. str. To the Brewer of inault ... v. qu. Feb. 20. To the Brewer of mault ... v. qu. Mar. 6. Sould to M r Thornton of mault . xx. qu. [This malt had not been received since February, and there fore must have been spared by the soldiers.] At this date both the books break suddenly off. The iron- bound chest was locked up, and apparently never opened till it was examined by Earl Spencer s steward a few years ago. APPENDIX (B) 1. I. FLY-LEAVES IN BRINGTON PARISH REGISTER. [Inventory] of the books and other ornaments of the Church ofBrington, delivered the first day of October 1613 to Mat- thewe Burbidg in charge to be kept and looked unto in the be- halfe of Thomas Burbidg sonn of the said Matthew, elected and appointed to be Clark of the p.ish Church of Brington by the Right Honorable L. Spencer Patrone and William Proctor Clark Rector of the said Church which Church [ornaments were] delivered the day and year above specified to the said Matthewe by the appointment of M r Proctor by William Phil- lipps p.son of Whilton Thomas Cooper and William Kinning Churchwardens of Brington then being. THE BOOKES. Imprimis. One fair great Bible. Ite. The paraphrases of Erasmus. Ite. The defense of the apologie of the Church of Eng land. Ite. The three communion bookes, and on booke of the reading Psalmes. Ite. One Homely against disobedience and wilful rebel lion. Ite. Four song bookes. Ite. On booke of prayer and thanksgiving for his Ma ties delivery at the pouder treason. It. On Statute booke for the continuance of the said prayer. It. A roule for the placing every one in their seates. Ite. A Regester booke of parchment for weddings, christenings and burials. PAEISH REGISTER. IxXXV Ite. One surplice. Ite. Two linnen table clothes. Ite. On fair Carpet. Ite. Two pulpit cushins. It. One houre glass. [Line erased.] It, Three pad locks with their keys. It. One short forme. It. One new Communion table and an olde. It. The church dore key, the chancil dore key, and the chappel dor key. It. Three cushins of my Lorde. By me William Phillipps. Ite. I7 een mattes remaining for the use of the chauncell to kneel at the Comunion. Ite. A pen and inke home for the Church. II. FLY-LEAF AT THE BEGINNING OF A NEW EEGISTER-BOOK (the 2d). William Tracelow of Brinton in the County of North.ton was according to the Act of Parliament in that wise made elected and chosen by the maior pte of the pishioners of Brin ton to be pish Register there who according to the said Act tooke his corporall Oath for the true p.forming the said Office this 22 th ffebruary. 1653. Before me Edward ffarmar.* * Doubtless one of the Easfon Neston family. They had property at Harleston. Ixxxvi APPENDIX (C) 1. (C). I. EPITAPHS IN BRINGTOIST CHURCH, NORTHANTS. 1. HERE L1ETH THE BODI OF LAVRENCE WASHINGTON SONNE AND HEIRE OF ROBERT WASHINGTON OF SOVLGRAVE IN THE COUNTIE OF NORTHAMTON ESQUIER WHO MARRIED MARGARET THE ELDEST DAUGHTER OF WILLIAM BUTLER OF TEES IN THE COUNTIE OF SUSSEXE ESQUIER, WHO HAD ISSU BY HER 8 SONNS AND 9 DAUGHTERS WHICH LAVRENCE DECESSED THE 13 OF DECEMBER A. DNI 1616 THOSE THAT BY CHANCE OR CHOYCE OF THIS HAST SIGHT KNOW LIFE TO DEATH RESIGNES AS DAYE TO NIGHT ; BUT AS THE SUNNS RETORNE REVIVES THE DAY SO CHRIST SHALL US THOUGH TURNDE TO DUST & CLAY. 2. HERE LIES INTERRED Y E BODIES OF ELIZAB. WASHINGTON WIDDOWE WHO CHANGED THIS LIFE FOR IMORTALITIE Y E 19 H OF MARCH 1622. AS ALSO Y E BODY OF ROBERT WASHINGTON GENT. HER LATE HUSBAND SECOND SONNE OF tOBERT WASHINGTON OF SOLGRAVE IN Y E COUNTY OF NORTH. ESQ R . WHO DEFfED THIS LIFE Y E 10 TH OF MARCH 1622. AFTER THEY LIVED LOVINGLY TOGETHER MANY YE ARES IN THIS PARISH. EPITAPHS. HIC JACET THOMAS CAMPIAN CLERIC US VIR VITJE LAUDABILIS QUI OBIIT XT DIE AUGUSTI A. DAI 1613 JETATIS SUJE 67 CORPORJS H.iEC DOMUS EST ANIM^E DOM US ALTERA RESTAT HANG RETINENT CtELI PULVIS ET JLLUD HABET. 4. HERE : LIETH THE : BODY OF MARGARET : SPENCER I ONE OF : THE : DAUGHTERS OF SIR ^ROBERT : SPENCER : KNIGHT BARON : SPENCER : OF WORMELEGHTON : WHICH : MARGARET : DEPARTED : THIS : LIFE : THE : 6 DAY I OF DECEMBER 1613 SOLA : VIRTUS : INVICTA SUBJECTS : NULLI : MENTIS FLOREM : DECORIS : SIN GULI : CARPUNT : DIES 5. HERE LYE Y E BODIES OF S R ROBERT SPENCER KNIGH T BARON SPENCER OF WORMELEGHT & MARGARET HIS WIFE ONE OF Y E DAUGHTERS & COHEIRES OF S R FRANCIS WILLOWGHBY OF WOLLATO IN 1 E CO : OF NOTTING : KNIGHT WHO HAD ISSUE 4 SONNES & 3 DAUGHTERS VIZ. 1 JOHN SPENCER ESQ R . WHO DIED AT BLOIS IN FRANCE WITHOUT ISSUE. 2 WILLIAM LORD SPENCER WHO MARRIED Y E LADY PENELOPE ELDEST DAUGHT R OF HENRY EARLE OF SOUTHAMPT. 3 RICHARD SPENC R ESQ R . 4 S R EDWARD SPENCER OF BOSTON IN Y E CO . OF MIDD. KNIGHT (WHO MARRIED DAME MARY WIDDOW OF S B WILLA : READE OF AUSTERLY IN Y E SAME CO : KNIGHT) 1 MARY Ixxxviii APPENDIX (c) i. MARRIED TO S R RICHARD ANDERSON OF PENLT IN TL E CO : OF HARTFORD KNIGHT. 2. ELIZABETH (MARRIED TO S E GEORGE FANE OF BUSTON IN T E CO : OF KENT KNl :) WHO DIED WITH OUT ISSUE. 3. MARGARET WHO DIED UNMARRIED. WHICH ROBERT LORD SPENCER DEPTED THIS LIFE Y E 25 OF OCTOB R ANO DNI 1627. AND MARGARET HIS WIFE Y E 17 OF AUGUST 1597. ROBERT LORD SPENCER BUILT THIS MNUMlT IN HIS LIFE AN 1599. 6. POSTERITATI SACRUM CLARISSIMO ET NOBLISSIMO HEROI GULIEMO SPENCER PR^NOBILIS ORDINIS BALNEI MILITI BARONI DE WORMLEIGHTON FIL10 ET HJEREDI ROBERTI SPENCER MILITIS BARONIS DE WORMLEIGHTON VIRO VIRTUT1BUS ORNATISSIMO SINCERISSIMO DEI CULTORI MARITO CHARISSIMO r \ REGIS SUBDITO PATRI AMANTISSIMO DEVOTISSIMO AMICO FIDELISSIMO QUI SEX FILIOS ET SEPTEM FILIAS &C. &C. I PATRL3EQ, SERVO 7. EDOARDUS SPENCER JEQUES AURAT ROBTI BARONIS SPENCER DE WORMLEITON NATU MINIMUS HIC JACET. OBIIT SINE PROLE DIE XI FEBR ANO DNJ 1655 2ETAT 61. MARIA UXOR CIIARISSIMA MOMETU HOC IPSE UT DESCRIPSIT VIV* HONORIS ET AMORIS ERGO MORTUO EREXIT. EPITAPHS. II. EPITAPHS IN ISLIP CHURCH, NORTHANTS. 1. HERE LIETH THE BODY OF DAME MARY : WIFE UNTO SR JOHN WASH INGTO KNIGHT, DAUGHTER Or PHIL- LIPE CURTIS GENT : WHO HAD IS SUE BY HUR SAYD HUSBANDE 3 SONNS MORDAUNT JOHN AND PH1LLIPE DECEASEi) THE 1 OF JANU: 1624. 2. HERE LIETH THE BODIE OF KATHERINE THE WIFE OF PHILLIPE CURTIS GENT : WHO HAD ISSUE ONE SONNJE PHILUPE AND FOWER DAUGHTERS, DEPARTED IN THE FAYTH OF CHRIST APPRILL 24. ANNO DOMINI 1626. THE END. LONDON : PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. NEW-STREET SQUARE. LIBRARY USE RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED LOAN DEPT. THIS BOOK IS DUE BEFORE CLOSING TIME ON LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW LIBRARY USt 1 3 1366 SEP 13 66 -EM LOAN DEPT. n i !O H 1QPf AUG1 3 JBRARY LD 62A-50m-7, 65 (F5756slO)9412A General Library University of California Berkeley COMPLETION OF DR. TODD S CYCLOP/ED1 ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY. ow complete, in 6 vols. medium 8vo. (VoL. IV. being in two parts) pp. 5,350, with 2,853 Woodcuts, price SIX GUINEAS per set, bound in cloth, THE CYCLOPEDIA OP .NATOMT AND PHYSIOLOGY Edited by BOBEET B. TODD, M.D. F.B.S. &c. Fellow of the Koyal College of Physicians ; Physician to King s College Hospital. tl^r Separate parts will still be gold at 5s. each ; but Subscriber* are nested to perfect their sets without delay, m the Publishers cannot be werable, beyond a certain time, for the supplying of separate parts. has been that through the medium thus afforded for publication, a series f monographs by contributors . of the highest eminence is presented to the public. R is not too much to claim for this publication tfae formation of an epoch in the hist ry of phjsio- lopical science by having brought to aa exact point the latest advances of piiysiolosy, it has founded archives in whiehare deposited documents jture inquirer*. may be glided. \ brief statement of the general scheme of tht wark will suffice to tow its comprehensive cha racter. It includes descriptive anatomy of man a sketch of every individual member ani>. organ of li* htman bady ; the topographical or surgical anatomy of mm, denoting the parts. . iiid rViatuans of those regions of the huesa n 1 Iwscome. through aec wieat or dkease, the seat of surgical : the department of anatomy termed "g-eneral" or " pUysiologii al," ia which are exa mined tl>e particular ti ndwridwal naeaabers and organs are built p. It if in this department of anatomy tlisttne greatest clianges have been made through tlie coparatiweljr modern use of the m;cr(/scope, and throagfl tlie investigaUsns of chei*ts. > ot restricted, how ever, to tlie Httatoruy of man, this work e aleo descriptions of the, structure of the various classes of the aaimal kingdom; of the several systems of organs traced thronfibfflttt these classes, from the lowest to the highest, through all their MIS constituting the science of" Com parative Anatomy " Under the title of " Pnysio- lo^y " this work offers ;s series of elaborate essay, .actions whiefi distinguish pr^anisatkMM Uutr in the animal and v. - -hU- kjn :doms IBL which, rti by which Laetty, tiw pro- :- rt fll a i that the includes t, distinguished U ficieacc in the present $ an age of unprecedented ac tivity in the cultivation of the sioal sciences, &e anaoanccment of th.-oom- ion of eo important a work as the Cyclopaedia. ,na omv ad Pby-iolg.v caRiiot fais to engage in:eres". of the tit-rary aud scientific worfd. Tmcn.cd twenty-four years ngo, it has been id to have involved fat- larger imoint of re- ch and rigid scrutiny, and hence to have ra- d nc CA.trv ; . isaore eKten.-ive publication, i u-;:s in th" firs tilatod. he Sciet.oes of AnaLoflny ami I tysiology corn- lend li .Lci-f, v.-ide a rang* tha* all ttie tnown s and laws or all oriMmsrd structures aninu.1 vegi Ifc ole ; i ntm trisse of tA-e primary simple t > tln.-s.ef the hiahest and itast complex of iss, Maw ; iK..t less extended is the scope f work. Sj vast a dit*r:ct of the ix-alai oi nee i.i is, be dScienUy cutii- d by a >r Btrer s o great, lly tile cooperation f iv tabier,,each 1 expioringtus own favourite OB, much thai n^nown wught to light, nrach to beea wre is m*de clew , iresh additions are eonti- ily ncci*ing to our stock of kaowledg^, fh>h oWies nonstantty elucidating or modit ing tieorit"< of scwnoe l- av/.-u-n-d bv such a diva- of labour, ttie -editor has been en* Hied bo " swcoesslUily to a termination his lon^ and ; ^lt un s e secution tiie editor t.i-c i :iire se-.iis.iL4e that ttwy > .chietvd a wM-k v.hich ooucerns not ondy pro ssi<8n f but which must affect the |ir>uit- H studeats of oreiniatsn aad which shall >-i rvic;e to all r.wes of n.iUare. tiaoe this : vegetable its " esublwiied " facts haxe itemaj ded re- igtioa by o{-igiaali:perim!it. Tke result j <tge. London : LONGMAN, GREEN, and CO., Paternoster Row.