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 POPULAR ASTRONOMY. 
 
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 " rpHE work itself, in its English form, i 
 
 A to be recommended, and strongly ri- 
 commended, to the popular reader. . . The 
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 mass of amusins: matter, provided only that he 
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 ject is left out of it." ATHENJEUM. 
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GIFT OF 
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^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. 
 
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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. 
 
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 \ 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 
 
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 from the lowest to the highest, through all their 
 MIS constituting the science of" Com 
 parative Anatomy " Under the title of " Pnysio- 
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 .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 
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 t, distinguished 
 U ficieacc in the present 
 
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 tivity in the cultivation of the 
 
 sioal sciences, &e anaoanccment of th.-oom- 
 ion of eo important a work as the Cyclopaedia. 
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 in:eres". of the tit-rary aud scientific worfd. 
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 id to have involved fat- larger imoint of re- 
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 d nc CA.trv ; . isaore eKten.-ive publication, 
 i u-;:s in th" firs tilatod. 
 
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 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 
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 >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.