I \Ks? MEMORIALS OF THE WEST. o n CD Z >- ID O O LJ r h z o MEMORIALS OF THE WEST, HISTORICAL AND DESCRIPTIVE, COLLECTED ON THE BORDERLAND OF SOMERSET, DORSET, AND DEVON BY W. V H. HAMILTON ROGERS, F.S.A. M DAY UNTO DAY UTTERETH SPEECH. EXETER : JAMES G. COMMIN, 230 HIGH STREET TORQUAY : A. IREDALE. BRISTOL AND PLYMOUTH : W. GEORGE'S SONS. TAUNTON: BARNICOTT it SON. YEOVIL: WHITBY & SON. DORCHESTER: M. it E. CASE. LONDON : JOHN SLARK. 1888. TORQUAY : PRINTED AT THE " DIRECTOEY " OFFICE. THE APOLOGY TO THE READER. With such words authors of old were wont to introduce their tomes, a custom then sufficiently laudahle, and certainly in these days of many books, and eke of book-making, much more necessary to be observed. What may be termed an outline of some of the following subjects was printed a few years since ; these have been revised and amplified, and the others added. Written entirely as a recreation, during such intervals as were found available amid the more prosaic employments of a busy life, the following pages are chiefly offered for the perusal of those who, situate like the writer, are principally engaged in the pressing requirements of the hour, yet possess in their leisure a kindred interest in the local history, and enjoy the natural attractions of the district traversed, some stray points of which it is attempted in homely fashion to describe. The work lays no claim, therefore, to be treated as a text- book, containing an elaborate chronicle of facts and dates, supple- mented by a formidable index ; such a compilation — usually dull and repellant to the ordinary reader — would result in the exact reverse of the object here sought, which endeavours, however imperfectly, to wed the past to the present, and preserve, as much as may be, the delightful continuity of living interest that ever exists between them, and lends also the most attractive form to these investigations. It pretends to no merit either of style or composition, and consequently courts neither enconium nor criticism at the hands of literary analysts, archasological or otherwise. Here grateful thanks are offered to many friends who have afforded genial assistance in conveying information and answering queries. To the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone, for the prompt and courteous transmission of a copy of his fine transcript of Toplady's noble hymn, and to all other authors whose works have been quoted to enrich and elucidate the little narratives. With regard to the illustrations : pre-eminently to Mr. Roscoe Gibbs, whose sympathetic companionship throughout has given special pleasure in these researches, and the responsive ring of whose mind towards antient art is manifestly reflected in his work. Particularly also to Mrs. G. P. R. Pulman, Messrs. Blackie & Son, Messrs. G. Bell & Son, and Messrs. Parker, for the valuable loan of several of the illustrations. Lastly, to the printer, Mr. Winget, whose excellence of typography is apparent on every page. W. H. H. R. TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE BEER AND ITS QUARRY - 1 JOHN PRINCE, THE DEVONSHIRE BIOGRAPHER - - 18 THE FATE OP CLIFTON-MAUBANK (HORSEY) - 33 AUGUSTUS MONTAGUE TOPLADY : HIS HOME IN DEVON 63 A SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY BELLFOUNDER - - 76 TWO GEORGIAN SECRETARIES-AT-WAR (YONGE) - 82 THE SHRINE OF AN OLD FREEMASON - - 101 THE CRADLE OF MARLBOROUGH 124 THE FOUNDER AND FOUNDRESS OF WADHAM - - 147 A TUDOR BARON AND EARL (DAUBENEY) 173 MEMORIES OF THE VALE OF COLY - 221 THE CISTERCIAN AT THE SOURCE OF CULM - 255 THE NEST OF CAREW (OTTERY-MOHUN) - - 269 TRADITIONS OF COLCOMBE (COURTENAY AND POLE) - 331 AXMOUTH AND BINDON - ... - 368 NOTES - - . . - 388 The Sea - The Potter's Thumb - The Prayer on the Bell Peter Quivil Good Night Newenham Abbey In Memoriam The Cardinal's Bell - At Rest - - - - "Vita brevis amicitia longa " Unanswered Dartmoor - The Bellfounder's Tomb The Cobbler's Thrush A Picture - The Cricket - A Captive Lark Away ! - His Temple The Freemason's Message - Curfew A Winter Psalm - The Sunday Nosegay Merefield A Challenge A Shepherd's Grave - Fuimus ..... Why speaks he not, who may? Heart Music .... The Fleeting Hours - Daffodils - > E M S . PAGE PAGE 3 Vive ut Vivas 240 5 A Wild Honeysuckle 243 10 Bury me here 244 13 Invocamur - 245 17 An Old Path 247 23 The Past 252 32 River Coly - 254 51 A Simple Creed 258 54 Falling Leaves - 259 56 Milking Time .... 261 62 Resurgam .... 266 65 The Changeless Stars - 207 81 The Butterfly and the Beetle 268 94 A Wild Rose .... 276 96 Her Gentle Heart 322 100 Mohun 330 103 Quis? 339 105 The Unseen 342 119 "Ages are its Dower" 354 123 The Great Bell of Pilton 365 145 Empty Shells 366 146 The Grasshopper 367 154 " Carpe Diem " 373 172 The Swift 374 215 The Golden Cap - 383 217 His Footstep 385 220 Glamourie 386 223 The Gull - 387 228 "If I forget thee!" - 393 229 W.N.- 394 232 BEER AND ITS QUARRY. XE" -n Edraond Walrond, 1640: Seaton Cburcla " rpHE toun of Seton," saitli Leland, who wrote about the middle of the sixteenth century, "is but a mene thing, inhabited by fischarmen ; " but we trow, if the zealous old antiquary could now once again open his eyes on the present attractions of this healthy, thriving watering-place, he would scarcely credit them ; such has been the influence of improvement here of late years. The short branch railroad runs us down to the mouth of the Axe as its terminus, and lands us on ' ' the myghty barre and rigge of pible stones " that so often stops the ingress to the little harbour, but otherwise forms the magnificent open beach for which Seaton is so famous. Before us rises the great red Haven Cliff, and the giant mass is reflected again in the glassy depths of the transparent Axe, that moves slowly along at its foot, pouring its limpid tribute, a few yards further on, at the "very smaul gut" of harbour — where now as of old "come in smaul fischar boats for socour" — into the great briny hand of Neptune. Of this little harbour, whose construction appears to have taxed the ingenuity and resources of men for many centuries — specially during the rough days of Cromwell, and again in the luxurious era of "the first gentleman of Europe " — only the shattered ruins of its single stone pier now remain. The great pebble ridge is -wider and deeper here than at any other point, being driven forward and heaped up by the billows' shoulders, when urged by the strong west wind's breath, and so, enviously encroaching on the precincts of the little estuary, forms the shifting but continuous bar across its mouth. A leisurely stroll across the expanse of beach, a passing glance up the main street of Seaton, and we halt at the other extreme end, where the stupendous and beautiful White Cliff rears itself before us, with a sort of implied question as to our further progress this way. Singularly handsome in outline, a very beau ideal of the famed English white cliffs, it is composed of dazzling lime stone, rifted into large block-like masses, some fallen portions of which lie in huge 2 BEER AND ITS QUARRY. debris of confusion at its base, where, about and between, the waves hiss and churn themselves impotently into spray whiter than the barrier that challenges their progress. Overhead, a bevy of sooty choughs are darting out and in from numerous " coignes ol vantage" near the apex, chattering noisily, — while at some distance below, in mid-air, a solitary gull sweeps slowly on in grand and noiseless equipoise, his long wings glancing in the sunlight. A friendly winding stair reveals itself a short space off, and up this we carefully clamber, emerging at the top into the narrow lane leading from Seaton to Beer. WHITE CUFF. Here, the road leads straight away up over the hill which forms the adjoining cliff, and is cut. out of the solid rock, at a gradient literally as steep as the roof of a house. But another path invites our attention, threading along the extreme edge of the cliff, and we slowly and cautiously ascend, halting a few moments at the stile half-way up, to notice a quantity of scarlet poppies growing on a ledge in the face of the cliff, and looking like a band of glowing flame traversing the creamy limestone. On the top. What a glorious prospect ! To the left lies Seaton, and beyond it stretches away for many a mile the fertile valley of the Axe. Below, the brown curve of beach extends across to Axmouth, with its white Church tower and the grand hill of Hochsdun rising behind it. In front, the mighty blue expanse, studded here and there BEBB AND ITS QUARRY. O with stray sails, and the long grey mass of Portland reaching out in the distant horizon ; to the right, — " Cape after cape, in endless range," down almost to the Start. Image of Eternity, Thou boundless Sea, That profferest heaven thy clear pellucid brow, Where the golden sunbeams sleep, And the soft winds moan their ceaseless lulling vow, Far o'er thy bosom deep ! Spirit of inquietude, — Prisoned in solitude, — Though slumbering now in seeming listless rest, Still and profound, A mighty whisper trembles o'er thy breast, With murmurous sound. I watch thee stretch afar, 'Till the clouds thy barriers are, Away in the mist-hung distance pale, When the sunset hour Gilds the sea-bird's wing and the far lone sail With glittering power ; When welteringly Thy blue waves rise and die, Along the deep-ribbed sand so crisp and soft, As if in sportive play They wooed the vagrant breeze that bore aloft Their snowy spray. As oft thy will shall seek An aspect wild or meek, Above thee beauty hovers lingeringly, — Spread o'er thy gleaming rest, Or hurled in foaming anger to the sky, Curled in the billow's crest. What a feeling of isolation and unimportance creeps over the soul as we stand solitary and thoughtful on the verge of a high precipice, while around and about, far as the eye can reach, is laid out in stupendous, passionless immutability the vast panorama of Nature. On the glorious prospect is written in indelible characters the eternal prerogative of its Maker — "a thousand years are but as yesterday." But where will be the handful of frail breathing dust that now contemplates its beauty and stability, when such a yesterday shall have passed over its destiny ? How many such yesterdays of myriads length have passed over yonder fair valley lengthening away before us? The " mighty barre and rigge of pible stones " that now restrains the sparkling tide was not always there, and the blue ripple ran many a mile up. The white glimmer in the far distance is Axminster, and beyond that, two miles space or so — spreading out into the vale — is a large gravel bed. The stones that form it must have found their way down from the neighbouring hills, and were there washed together at some distant time altogether beyond the ken of human calculation. Yet man was on the earth then — nay, long before — and skilled man 4 BEER AND ITS QUARRY. too, if but rudely. His descendant of the present hour, in laying the iron road, has invaded the precincts of this antient deposit, and found strange spoil therein. Fathoms below the green turf, the steel-tipped pickaxe of the navvy oftentimes exhumes the stone hatchet of his primeval ancestor,, most carefully made and symmetrically finished in itself and with each other, as if fashioned with all the "mechanical" arts and appliances of modern " civilization." Ages after this period — who shall say how many? — -when the blue sea had retreated to its present boundary,, and the fair valley was gradually fashioning itself to become a safe resting-place for the sole of man's foot, the warlike and vigilant Danmonii, as a defence along their borderland, entrenched themselves in the three grand hill-top fortresses of Hochsdun, Musbury, and Membury — all perfectly visible from this point. But these were comparatively modern times ; and then the conquering Eoman steered his galley into the placid Axe, and (may we say ?) settled in the Moridunum at our feet. In his turn he also disappeared, to be succeeded by the many-dynastied Saxon, until he was constrained to bow himself before the marauding Norman, sailing across hither from the land just beyond the dip of this bright expanse. Very many such yesterdays,. we ween, have passed during all these changes, and many a beating heart with them. And yet, " Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul." And to the vision of these older changes, others equally remarkable,. which followed during the succeeding centuries that witnessed the rule of Plantagenet and Tudor, picture themselves on the sense, and rise in review, as our eyes traverse the retreating perspective of the fair valley. Wolf and wild boar had their lairs in the forest combes that stretched down from the hill sides to the river's rushy marge — refuge of agile- winged widgeon, or stately heron leisurely towering up — a grand presence that is still preserved to us. Then came hart and fox, horse- man and hound, resounding along in sport of venerie, with jerkined archer, long-bow in hand and sheaf of arrows at his back, creeping stealthily across the densely-foliaged glades. To these, the present chequered maze of hedgerows, fertile steeps glowing with golden corn, and broad grassy meadows dotted over with bright wooled sheep or rich red Devon kine — handsomest of their kind. But, concerning the Boman occupation of Seaton, a homely thought here by the way. On the acclivity of a hill a short distance from our left, the interesting discovery of a villa of some size was made a few years ago, at a place known as Honey-ditches. The foundations were all grown over, but below there remained all the usual characteristics pertaining to these structures, including specimens — some nearly perfect — of fine red tile. Visiting the excavation one day, and being desirous of possessing a relic of the old Roman's habitation, we casually picked up one of the shard-like portions strewed in the trench. On examination, a significant mark upon it haunted our thoughts for some time afterward. Upon its upper surface was traced a simple reeded BEER AND ITS QUARRY. O pattern, but on turning it over we observed, imprinted with startling minuteness, a perfect impression of THE POTTER'S THUMB. Who wert thou, Potter of the Past, that here Hath left such record of thine outward frame — A fair sign-manual, remaining clear, As if as many letters spelled thy name ? Impress of thy deft thumb on the bright clay, Unconscious left, each curving line fair shown, As though thy task were finished yesterday, Nor over it near twenty centuries flown ! This outward eye may see thee not, but yet Doth Fancy picture thee before her stand, Pale, thoughtful-faced, dark hair and eyes of jet, Moulding the pliant mass with well-skilled hand. Didst thou with Roman legionary come, His gold-prowed galley moored in yon bright stream ; Led to this knoll to found his new-sought home, So long beneath the turf hid like a dream ? Doubtless — and still of thee bides record fit — True work beyond all time and change survives ; In deeds alone our epitaphs are writ, Where all, as on this fragment, print their lives. " Fine a'aternoon, zur," said some one close behind, in full manly tones ; " but zum-how or 'nother, thee plagey school o' mack'el is gone out to zay again, wuss luck, and I've been watching 'nm this dree hours, I'll war'nt." Lost in our reverie on the scene before us, we were quite unconscious •of the contiguity of the living being who had thus quietly approached and was standing a foot-pace at our rear. "True!" we ejaculated with a half start, "but then, my friend, you know that patience is the fisherman's chief virtue, — better luck to-morrow." " That's it, maister," said our companion, who was a fine specimen •of a representative race — the English sailor — and none finer are to be found on the indented British shore than those of Beer, from their being accustomed to the deep-sea fishery in their swift luggers — excellently trained, daring and intrepid, thorough seamen in every sense of the word, and as such eagerly sought after to man " Her Majesty's ships." A bronzed face, garnished round with iron-grey curly hair (over Avhich shadowed the orthodox and comfortable sou'-wester), red neckcloth, and long blue jersey, trousers dappled with tar, and rolled half way up the leg of a large pair of fishing boots. Such was the outward personnel of our companion, and, discoursing briskly on marine matters and fishing prospects, with all things proper thereunto pertaining, we pleasantly wended our way down the circuitous path to Beer. The first view of the romantic village that we catch in our descent from White Cliff shews us a long string of small-roofed houses, ranged along the base of a narrow gorge or valley, bounded on either side with steep, hilly acclivities, and stretching down to the little cove or BEER AND ITS QUARRY. bay. But the track winds rapidly down the face of the cliff, and in a few moments we land on a square platform or promontory, which leads out from the main street of the village, yet at considerable height from the beach below. There we found three or four old salts in quiet conversation with a smart preventive man, who looked, in this antient and redoubtable head-quarters of smuggling, like a marine Othello, with "his occupation gone." Possibly the venerable mariners were regaling his ears with some of the stories of their youthful days, when the contraband traffic was in its full glory and activity — when Jack Eattenbury, the Rob Roy of the West, and his daring companions in this hazardous traffic, performed exploits whose recital now almost savours of romance. It was thought nothing of in those times to take a trip across the Channel in one of their open boats, bargain with Monsieur for a cargo of tubs, and back again to Beer, hoping for the chance of a favourable "run," — a piece of luck which was rarely denied them. Careless of danger, and relying on their own consummate knowledge of seamanship, few accidents befel these adventurous sailors, who seemed in their persons and habits a cross between a seagod and a freebooter. This was the era for " A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast. And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast ; — The white waves heaving high, my lads, The good ship tight and free ; The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we ! " Directly behind this platform is a delicious patch of green sward, where to stretch ourselves at length and quietly enjoy the scene is the work of but an instant. Before us the little bay is circled like an amphi- theatre. To the right the cliffs run out for a considerable distance, forming the headland known as Beer Head ; inside which is accounted one of the few safe anchorages in this terrible bay of south-westerly gales and a lee shore. On our left is the noble cliff from which we have just descended. Ere we arise, however, our notice was attracted to some beautiful flowers of a little vetch, which are spread thickly over the green, and whose intensely rich golden -bossed blooms look as- if they had been shaken from the girdle of some fleeting fairy. We soon find our way down to the beach below, stopping for a moment to admire the little cataract that pours down the rock, some forty or fifty feet from the village above, and vanishes forthwith in the shingle beneath. A number of noted Beer trawlers are hauled up just above high-water mark, with sails, stores, and nets all aboard and in trim for the next day's venture. From one of these, as we pass, the clear tones of a fisherboy, singing a popular refrain, catch our ear. We draw off a yard or two to get a glimpse of the joyous roysterer r and there he lies on his back, stretched at length on a pile of nets, with his sou' -wester hat drawn over his eyes, to keep the sun off, and his legs and feet mounting up and down in the air, beating time to his BEER AND ITS QUARRY. / song, while just below, a pair of ruddy arms, with hands clasped, lean on the gunwale, and on them rests a sweet face, surmounted with an unkempt profusion of bright fair hair, 'neath which a pair of mild blue eyes keep an unconstrained watch on the passers below. Surely, we thought, here is the Laureate's happily-conceived picture, of a verity : — " well for the fisherman's boy That he shouts with his sister at play, well for the sailor lad That he sings in his boat in the bay ; " and as we looked at the merry lad, and then at the smiling sea, the inward prayer flashed across our heart that another scene, described by the same powerful pen, may never be consummated in his fate — " Boy, though thou art young and proud, I see the place where thou wilt lie ; — The sands and yeasty surges mix In caves about the dreary bay, And on thy ribs the limpet sticks, And in thy heart the scrawl shall play," God forbid ! said we, as we passed down to the tidal marge, where tiny wavelets were crisply curling along in unrestful glee. Here a ■true Beer incident was in store for us. A trawler had just made the shore, and a little knot of fishermen were busily unloading her finny treasure. Three or four were half-leg deep in the water by her side, landing the fish, one or two others on the beach sorting them over, and engaged in an animated wordy warfare with a couple of those amphibious-looking bipeds, known as "chouters," chaffing, gesticulating, and bargaining with great energy for the less valuable portion of the catch, the best being carefully placed aside to be forthwith packed and consigned elsewhere by railway. Quietly but interestedly watching the proceedings of the marketers was a tidy, well-grown young woman, evidently the wife of one of the fishermen, which latter surmise was well attested by the vivacity of a chubby little boy, some two summers old, whom she was carrying, and who, guiltless of hat or shoe, was plunging and crowing, and with extended arms endeavouring by every possible means to arrest the attention of a stalwart figure in the boat. Another group a short distance beyond completed the picture — three patient asses, nose to nose, with great panniers on their backs, stood lazily munching a small bundle of provender, and waiting the issue of the little trading venture, their large ears busily flapping away the plague of flies that continually tormented them. On the east side of the short beach, at the base of the limestone cliffs, there rushes out from a large fissure in the rock, with con- siderable volume, one of the most beautifully clear springs of water it has ever been our fortune to witness. Making use of the first drinking cup probably ever invented by man, — the hollow of our hand, — we quaffed with delicious satisfaction a good draught of Nature's bright and generous supply, " Pnre from the mountain urn ! " 8 BEER AND ITS QUARRY. The natural advantages of Beer have, we believe, on several occasions suggested the feasibility of forming a harbour of refuge here, but nothing of late years seems to have been actually proceeded with ; yet Leland speaks of such an attempt having been made before his time: — "At Brereword," he writes, "is an hamlet of fischar-men. There was begon a fair pere for socour of shippelettes of this Brere- worde, but ther cam such a tempest a 3 yeres sins, as never in mynd of men had before bene seene in that shore, and tare the peare in peces." About the beginning of the present century, Telford, the engineer, surveyed the country between Beer and Watchet, for the purpose of forming a canal ; but the project was abandoned, and a railroad now traverses the district instead. The main street, through which we stroll, consists of a long line of true fishermen's cottages on either side, with here and there a house of larger size and somewhat more pretentious character. Beside the pavement runs down a channel filled with the produce of another of those magnificent springs of water that take their rise in the rocks around ; and, after supplying the place with a glorious plenteousness for culinary purposes, and the surplus acting as an invaluable sanitary commissioner, pours itself finally out over the rock at the beach. The " inhabiters " of Beer are a fine, well-built race ; the men exceedingly frank and manly, and the women remarkable to a proverb in this part of the country for comeliness of figure and smartness of attire. A constant association with Nature in her various moods, exhibited to them in the vicissitudes and ventures of the fisherman's life, doubtless lends much of that innate nobleness of form and freedom of maimer that distinguish them so notably in appearance from the pent-up city artizan, however skilful, who has always been inured to the sickly torpor and hot-house monotony of a town life. The morale of the village, too, is very satisfactory, notwithstanding the number of little "publics" dotted up and down the street; and the supreme treasure of religious feeling and experience is largely shared in many a cottage in the place — that true and blest kinship which identifies them in all parts of their calling with their holy predecessors of Galilee. Happy England, methought, whilst thou art guarded by a cordon of such hearts as these Beer fishermen ; they are of more importance to thee than a fleet of the most powerful ironclads. Where, so defended, is the foe that would face thee ? •• They know not, in their hate and pride, What virtues with thy children bide ; How true, how good thy graceful maids, Make bright like flowers the valley shades, What generous men Spring like thine oaks from hill and glen. What cordial welcomes greet the guest, By thy lone rivers of the west ; — How faith is kept, and truth revered, And man is loved, and God is feared, In woodland homes, And where the ocean border foams." BEER AND ITS QUAHHY. 9 We look in at the strange little nondescript-shaped Church, which, with our usual good fortune, we find open ; hut there is nothing worth remembrance, except a shield with the three bulls heads of the Walronds on one of the chancel pillars, and a memorial to John, the fifth Sonne of W. Starr of Bere, Gent, and Dorothy his Wife, which Died in the Plagve, and was here Bvried, 1646. Not to be taken to Seaton. This fearful scourge, no perfect diagnosis of which has survived the period of its dreadful visit, appears to have decimated our western valleys with terrible mortality. In the neigh- bouring parish of Colyton, out of a population which at that time could not have exceeded a thousand souls, there died in the two years 1645-6, of " the sicknesse," as the recording minister notifies in the margin of the grand old register, four hundred and fifty eight persons. But a few words further respecting the old picturesque Church of Beer, in form so quaintly characteristic of its village architecture, and which has, alas ! since the foregoing account was written, disappeared from the face of the earth. Alas, too, for numbers of the little homely thatched cottages of the fishermen, that snugly nestled themselves aforetime in straggling line down the cleft of the rock ; they also have yielded to the fate of all things of human origin, and the old-world look is fast disappearing that gave such charm to the Beer of thirty years since. Now, square monotonous buildings of the usual lodging- house type are usurping the birthright of the cottages, and a large modern Church, with a tall but somewhat heavy spire, supplants the former one — the generous gift of the lord of the manor. High above the west front of the former Church was a large wooden turret, and from within, through its weather- beaten ports, the single venerable bell ___ of St. Michael had for centuries sped forth the prayer that encircles its crown, " Abe iltaria," on the wing of the salt breeze — anon quivering in gusty accents of supplication for the storm -tossed seaman, or wafted slowly onward in gentle tones of benison to greet the home-returning fisherman. Fortunately this memento, that connects the past and present of Beer, has been preserved, and now, translated to its higher stone-built aerie, the old familiar tone still travels seaward, to greet the mariner's ear, bidding those " that go down to the sea in ships" not to forget also the Temple of Him "Who hath measured the waters in the hollow of His hand." At Seaton there is another very old bell, one of the most antient in the county, the largest in the quatrain ; but the voice there comes from the low massive tower of the learned St. Gregory, and its solemn tone invokes the help of that too-humanly confident but faithful apostle 10 BEER AND ITS QUARRY. to whom the power of the keys was given — borne often on the south- west wind far landward across the fertile champagne of the Axe, and echoing the ascription — " j^anrte |ktrc ora pro nobis." THE PRAYER ON THE BELL. High in the belfry, out of sight I hang in my rusty frame, An antient priest that day and night Still chanteth ever the same. Through summer calms my accents steal, Or sweep on wintry blasts far round — A prayer for all the commonweal Fills the wide welkin when I sound : — " Sancte Petre," pealing sure, " Ora pro nobis" evermore. Ever and often, with plaintive tone, I count the hours of day, And mark the midnight watches lone, And ring at curfew gray. The bride hath smiled to hear me ring, And o'er her hopes my blessing say ; The mourner sighed, as slow I swing, Warning that all must pass away : — " Sancte Petre," pealing sure, " Ora pro nobis" evermore. And still I chant, with changeless note, Amid all changing time, And calm and true my accents float, In knell, and ring, and chime ; 'Till youth to antient days hath passed My welcome note knows no decay ; — Type of the joys, and bright foretaste Of those sweet tones that last for aye : — " Sancte Petre" pealing sure, " Ora pro nobis," evermore. There is, however, one noticeable example left, deserving record, amid the congregation of small dwellings that originally formed the main street of the village. This is the house of the Starres — an extinct but once important family resident here, and joint possessors of Beer with the Walronds. Their dwelling, composed of stone taken from the neighbouring rock, displays the picturesque peculiarities of the Tudor era, the front door having an arch of good proportions. Directing our eyes upward to the chinmies, we discern on one the initials of the founder, "J. S.," and on the other his device or rebus, a star radiated of many points. The manor of Beer, from William the Conqueror's time downward, appears to have belonged to that large mediaeval landowner the Church, and at the dissolution of religious houses, "the abbate of Shirburne was lord and patron of it." Henry VIII. gave it to his Queen Katharine Parr, of whom it was purchased by the Hassards, who were wealthy merchants of Lyme-Begis. "The demesnes," says Pole, "were sold by the Hassards to Mr. John Starr, of Beere. The manor was after BEEE AND ITS QUARBY. 11 sold, the on moyty unto my lather, which I sold unto John Walrond, of Bovie, Esquier, and unto John Stan - , eldest sonne of the said John Starr ; and the other moyty e was by Eobert Hassard sold unto the said John Walrond, whose sonne Edmond hath nowe the whole manor ; and William Starr, a younger sonne of the forenamed John Starr the elder, hath the demesnes." The " sonne Edmond " had married Ann Pole, the daughter of the antiquary, and will be referred to again during our little progress. Not only were the Starres important in Beer, but several of their daughters and sons intermarried with the more opulent yeomanry of the district and smaller 'squirearchy, and settled themselves in adjoining parishes, while their name, inscribed as the last record of their former existence, is not infrequent on the pavements of the neighbouring Churches. At Seaton, the family burial-place (as, indeed, until recently, of all others residing in Beer) is the pleasant allusive epitaph, with emblems, to John Starre : — " etiam hie sepultus, 1633, — conjugalis amoris ergo posuit Elizabeth Starve.'' 1 JOHN STARRE. » * * Starre on Hie ! Where should a Starr be But on Hie? Tho' underneath He now doth lie, Sleeping in Dust, Yet shall He rise More glorious than The Starres in Skies. 1633. But from the stars to the earth once more. There was also (for it T too, has recently shared the fate of other antient buildings in Beer) to be seen, on an eminence near John Starre's old residence, a mediaeval cruciform barn of large proportions. The walls were very massive, with occasional long narrow crenelated openings to admit light, and which also seemed to infer the building may have been intended for a temporary fortress, when " boes and arroes " decided the chances of war. In the front porch was a very high and wide pointed arch, of sufficient size to admit the largest wain-loads of the husbandman, and it had left remaining a tine specimen of an open timber roof, almost entire. It was termed the " Court Barn," and probably in former times was the general repository of the manorial harvest. As we saunter up the street our eyes unconsciously wander into the open cottage doorways, and just inside sits many a fisherman's daughter, with her lace pillow on her lap, busily and dexterously weaving the delicate and fragile fabric, so world-famed when linked with the singular misnomer of " Honiton " lace. The well-recognised rustle and click of the " sticks " catch the sense as we pass on, and it may be that the tasteful "sprig" which the bright eyes and nimble 12 BEER AND ITS QUARRY. lingers of the maiden are slowly elaborating, is destined to deck the robes of Royalty itself — no uncommon occurrence — as the lace made at Beer is of the very finest quality, and is held in great esteem by Her good. Majesty of these realms, who used continually to employ it in the attractions of her attire on festal occasions, previous to these later and sadder days of her widowhood, and it still constantly graces the persons of her Royal daughters. This "glorious raiment of needle- work " is now, as of old, the heritage of Princesses — ■ " The daughter of the King Is glorious to behold ; Within her closet she doth sit All deckt with beaten gold ; — In robes well wrought with needle And many a pleasant thing, With virgins fair on her to wait, She cometh to the King ! " *s The way to the Quarry leads on from the mam street of the village, and huge boulders of rock jut out from the sides of the path, covered with moss and ferns, and hoary and worn with the attrition of ages. We pass the pretty row of comfortable alms-houses, and the school erected (as a memorial on them informs us) by Judith Maria, Baroness Rolle, last representative of the antient family of Walrond, of Bovey, the olden lords of Beer — a lady whose memory is embalmed in the grateful traditions of the place by this and other acts of beneficence. A group of the foundation boys are congregated at the school-room door, and their quaint dress attracts attention — a suit of true navy- blue serge, with round cap, and on the breast of the jacket is embroidered a red pater-noster cross. A short distance further brings us to two or three quarriers' cottages, and on the left, close by, a large cavernous-looking arch in the rock tells us we have arrived at the entrance of the celebrated Beer Quarry. Provided with a pilot in the person of one of the quarry-men, and armed with lantern and candle, we enter its gloomy-looking precincts, and a strange sight awaits us. We are in a veritable mine, extending a considerable distance underground. Galleries or passages, hollowed out of the solid rock, lead in various directions, some quite clear, and others partially blocked up with the debris and refuse of adjoining excavations, and huge pillars support the roof. Few fossils are found, but occasionally some beautiful crystalline formations occur between the interstices of the beds. The quarry we are in now is the new one, as it is called, but must have taken ages to excavate. The old one is to the right, and is said to occupy a large extent. What a sensation of awe and lonesomeness creeps over the mind on finding itself thus so far underground, in the very bowels of the rock as it were — the damp cold feeling of the air, the oppressive silence, and intense Cimmerian darkness, all the more apparent from the imperfect red blink of the candle. Yet here, day after day, the patient quarryman passes the long bright outside day, the best part of his existence, hewing and delving out the ponderous blocks, so that BEER AND ITS QUARRY. 18 to him the quarry becomes a kind of second subterranean home. No stranger, we should presume, ventures into the labyrinthine maze of galleries without a guide, as no earthly aid could find the lost in such a place ; but many of the Beer men are well acquainted with a large portion of the cave's ramifications, and legendary lore speaks of it as having been a great storehouse and fastness for smuggling operations in days gone by. Returning towards the mouth of the quarry, we are struck with the immense number of the pipistrel family, which in all their varieties make these dark galleries their head-quarters during the day, and are seen hung up by their hooked heels to the sides of the cavern, sallying forth in swarms in the evening twilight. Out once more into the daylight — ah ! how beautiful is the sun — even oppressively so just now, until our eyes are schooled afresh to his grateful radiance. The Quarry of Beer we take to be one of the celebrities of the county in its way, and is well worth a visit by the tourist who seeks to explore the remarkable places embraced in this interesting portion of Devon. Traces of the product of its dark recesses may be found in almost all the buildings of any size within a radius of many miles,, and large quantities are annually exported. Geologically, we believe, the bed which furnishes such large supplies at- Beer rises again at \Yidworthy, seven miles off ; and the noted quarries at Bath are but a continuance of the same stratum. The old quarry has been worked from eight hundred to a thousand years probably. Almost all the antient Churches in the neighbourhood are partially constructed of its product. Where are the sturdy hands that through so many ages laboriously delved out its rocky contents, and the cunning fingers that subsequently deftly carved and fashioned the rough blocks into delicately -shaped foliage, fretwork, and finial ? The visitor who views with admiration the many-ribbed, bold, fan-like groining of the roof of Exeter Cathedral — that noble conception of the munificent Quivil — those lengthening arcades, poised so fairy-like aloft, yet withal seemingly imperishable in their beauty, — would scarcely imagine it to be composed of Beer stone. In the centre of the Lady-Chapel of his Cathedral, under a large blue stone, on which is incised a beautiful floriated cross, lies the great Bishop-Architect, Peter Quivil. Quivil, — in lowly grandeur and alone, Amid the mazes of this marble floor, Looms the great presence of thy funeral stone, Carved with the emblem of life evermore. The dust that's coffered 'neath its giant lid This wildering beauty reared around it, planned : Yon strong-arched vista rose as thou did'st bid, With thousand-ribbed roof-glory over-spanned. I think of thee, great Prelate, here to-day, As roves my glance o'er thy creation's grace : I see thee, in the ages past away, By midnight lamp its fair proportions trace With raptured care, — then, with prophetic eye Thou in these aisles to be, pace silently. 14 BEER AND ITS QUARRY. With fancy's eye we can look back with admiration at the glorious perseverance that accomplished it, amid difficulties of such magnitude that nothing but the real influence of religious feeling — that most powerful of all incentives — could have surmounted them. Those were not the days of railroads, let us remember, with their wonderful facilities of celerity and easy transit, — and Beer is distant some five- and-twenty miles from Exeter. Neither was it an age of good roads, nor of wheeled carriages — the early dawn of the fourteenth century. No broad turnpike aided the heavily-laden wain with its ponderous load, nor was its humble coadjutor, the parish highway, threading its tortuous, well-rutted windings over hill and valley, available, but only the narrow, obscure, and miry track-way or halter-path ; and therefore the probability is that much of the stone was carried to Exeter on pack- horses, and we can easily picture the heavily-laden convoy, slowly defiling through the green combes, accompanied by their drover churls, patiently plodding on till they reached the stupendous fane — still the chief ornament of our county — then slowly rising from the ground like a coral rock from the briny depths of the ocean. " From hence came buttress, shaft, and stair, From crypt and vaulting rising fair ; And all that slender steeple too, That, like a fountain, in the blue Rises exulting ; here the branch Of the great windows, dyed with blood Of martyrs that no time can stanch ; The altar and the by-gone rood ; The mullions, drip stones, and the shrine ; The pavement, long since trod away ; And saints that in their long array Wait joatient for the judgment day ; And angels that, still gazing, smile Upon the abbot in the aisle, Who on the flat tomb lies in prayer." Our return is by another route, and we pass Bovey, the ancestral seat of the Walronds, a cadet branch of the main house at Bradfield, which, says the antiquary, "hath been divers times granted to their younger sons, and in the latter end of the reign of King Edward IV., John Walrond, of Bradfield, conveyed this land unto William, his younger son." Bishop Lacy, in 1438, licensed John Walrond to have divine service performed within his residence, " de Bovegh in parochia de Branscombe." The last heiress was the Judith Maria, of charitable memory, Baroness Bolle and founder of the almshouses. She died in 1820, and in the north aisle of Seaton Church, near the Walrond chantry, is a monument to the memory of her father, William Walrond, of Bovey, Esq., who died in 1762, and " Sarah Oke, his second toife, by whom he had issue, Sarah, Courtenay William, and Judith Maria. Of these, the last and only surviving one, wife of John Bolle, Esq., M.P. for Devon, erected this monument, in respect to the best of parents and at the request of her mother, ivho departed this life February 1st, 1787, aged 67." A portion of the screen that once separated the chantry from the Church still remains, with carved shields of Walrond and alliances. r.l'.KK AND ITS QUARRY. 15 Relative to this antient family, the visitor will further find, within the chantry, the remains of an interesting memorial to an olden member thereof, with the effigies of the deceased clad in the half armour and trunk hose of the time of the Commonwealth, kneeling in prayer before a prie-dieu. Below is this quaint inscription, "composed" and "set vp " by his widow, who was a daughter of Sir William Pole, Knight, of Colcombe, the county historian, and who thus seems to have inherited, in some measure, a taste for her father's literary proclivities : — An Epitaph on the Death of Edmond Walrond of Bowe, Who was bvried Sep. 10, Anno Domini 1640, ^Etat svje 48 ; Composed and set vp by Anne Walrond, his Wife : Here lieth the Body of my Hvsband deare Whom next to God I did both love and feare. Ovr loves were single, W t e never had bvt One, And so I'll bee althovgh that Thov art gone, And Yov that shall this sad Inscripti : view, Remember Alwaies that Death's yovr dve. He was a barrister of the Inner Temple, and was admitted in 1611. BOVET HOUSE. Bovey House is a small, plain mansion, of Jacobean origin appar- ently, and a strange gloom of desolation seems to invest it. Polwhele gives a graphic picture of its last residents, on his visit there about a century ago. "On visiting Bovey" (says he) "a few years since, I was pleased with the venerable appearance of the house and every object around it. It was then the residence of Mrs. Walrond. There 16 BEER AND ITS QUARRY. was something unusually striking in the antique mansion, the old rookery behind it, the mossy pavement of the court, the raven in the porch, grey with years, and even the domestics hoary in service — they were all grown old together." As we came out at the end of the short lane, we turned to take a last look at the old deserted manse and the few scattered trees form- ing the remains of the antient avenue. The sculptured forms of the rampant leopards still support the escutcheon of Walrond on the pillars of the gateway ; but where is the living representative of the name ? And where is the name of him who wedded the last green branch of this antient stock, whose wealth and influence in his day and generation had from their vastness become an adage in the county ? Gone too, and a stranger, comparatively, represents them both. Often thus, thought we, does the Supreme Disposer of events arrange it. The peer with broad acres boundless, and wealth untold, sighs in his state that no child of his love may place him in holy earth, or fill his honoured station, and shudders as he dreams of an extinct name and his time Jiallowed heritage apportioned to an alien ; while the cotter, whose only fortune is his brawny arms, and his inheritance the sweat of his brow, sighs too, as he deposits his shining tools at the cottage door, and casts an anxious glance at the merry, careless phalanx bearing his name congregated on the path and step, and who straightway swarm around his knee in the little ingle corner, while the great brown loaf is frugally apportioned among them by his thrifty partner. Curiously chequered, and with seeming impossibility of perpetuity —often amid the fairest prospects — has been the descent of Eolle. The first settler of that name at Stevenstone, North Devon, was George Eolle, a merchant of great opulence in the city of London in the reign of Henry VIII., and he, according to Burke, married thrice, and had no less than twenty children — a sufficiently goodly number on whom to found a descent. "Henry Bolle, Esquier, fourth sonne of George Bolle, of Stevenston, who maryed Margaret Yeo," is sepulchred in Petrockstow church, where he also leaves on record that he "had by her sonnes and daughters nineteen." The main branch, descending from John the eldest son of George, ended with the early death of Denys Eolle, Esq., of Bicton, in 1638, aged 24, described by Prince as "the darling of his country of his time, adorned with all the desirable qualities that make a compleat gentleman." He left one son and five daughters, of whom the second, Florence, married her distant cousin, John Eolle, a grandson of George, second son of George, the first possessor of Stevenstone. At the death of his wife's brother, he succeeded to both estates, and became chief of the family. He was a zealous adherent of Charles II., was made K.B. at that monarch's coronation, and was a leading member of the House, repre- senting Devon in Parliament. He lived to be a very old man, and at his death, in 1706, was said to have been the wealthiest commoner in England. He was succeeded by his grandson, John by name, who is reputed to have been offered an earldom by Queen Anne's last ministry, and refused it. Of his four sons, Henry, the eldest, was BEER AND ITS QUARRY. 17 created Baron of Stevenstone in 1747-8, and dying two years after- wards, unmarried, the dignity expired. Denys, the youngest, only survived to perpetuate the family. He was the father of .John, the last Lord Rolle, in whom the barony was revived in 179G ; but he, too, died childless, and at his death, not only the title, but the name also, in the direct line, expired and became extinct. The red rim of the rising moon is just up-wheeling behind the "brown shoulder" of the distant hill, and a single star is tremulously struggling for existence in the long line of saffron sky. A great white owl has just floated stealthily round the corner, noiseless as a cloud, and, scared by our unlooked-for presence, darted over the hedge with the celerity of magic. The grasshopper is busily carolling at our feet :— " Singing himself to sleep Beneath some pleasant weed ; " and all flowers and forms are fast merging into one soft neutral hue. "Homeward the soul's strong wings are bent!" Good night ! Good night ! — from a form in shadow That meets me in the lane — From a blythesome farmer's lad, now On his homeward road again — Singing the song of his sweetheart At service far away ; — Just two kind words as we meet — part — The strain of his roundelay. Good night ! from a light step speeding Along the pathway lone, It's terrors all unheeding, A low and trustful tone — Speaks, 'mid some soft caresses, By anxious lips addressed To a tiny form she presses Close to a mother's breast. Good night ! and a hale voice greets me Where sturdy footfalls come, And a weary labourer meets me, Seeking his village home ; To his household wee returning Laden with hard-earned spoil, Store for his ingle burning, Tithe of his long day's toil. Good night, — from stars that glimmer Their endless farewells bright ; Good night, — from earth that, dimmer, Speaks the adieu of night ; Good night, — from a heart that prayeth Secret to heaven's throne ; Good night ! from One who sayeth Thou never art alone ! JOHN PRINCE: THE DEVONSHIRE BIOGRAPHER. lustrous warm atmosphere, and a changeful sky, emblematic of sweet April, though her glowing elder sister, sunny May, is now verging towards mid-age. Masses of dark humid cloud are slowly passing over the intensely blue void of heaven, and anon scattering their watery arrows with transitory vehemence, between the bright bursts of sunshine. Far down the valley a larger wrack than common curtains out from an adjoin- ing hill crest, and, facing the dark mass, the glowing opalescent half- circle of the rainbow attests the fall of its glittering burden. The trees have just put on their new year's suit of leaves, and are quietly waving their branches in the gentle morning breeze, over the polished depths of the river, like a fresh-clothed gallant at his glass. " O thou breeze of Spring ! Streams have felt the sighing Of thy fragrant wing." Fragrant, aye — for the flowers are everywhere. What would be the aspect of these meadows without them '? By covert banks, over the river, the great golden ranunculus exhibited his exuberant clusters ; along the oozy ditches, ranks of bleached lady-smocks trembled on their long stems, while at intervals a few lingering primroses — "Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire!" shewed their pale starry clusters, and bare sweet company in the .10HN PUIXCK. 19 hedgerows. The wee daisy was broad awake everywhere, having long since dotted his ruby nightcap and donned his silver frill ; his lofty neighbour, the butter-cup, was leisurely unfolding bis golden chalice ; " The bees hummed o'er the level mead, Where knots of trembling cowslips bowed ; " and the swallows, a gay company, were bounding and careering around, showing their snowy breasts and jetty backs to the sun-glint. This was a faint picture of things around as we sat down on the banks of the Axe, a field plus Bow Bridge, just as the Axminster clock had finished striking the hour of three-fold trine (the chimes in the old tower tinkling away merrily), and were putting together and overhauling our slender fishing " harness " for action. What fly this morning? A small tidy palmer, of course, as a stretcher — what beside ? We cast a look into the quiet water at our feet — a kind of little bay among some reeds, at the foot of a stickle, where a gentle current flows in and around. Ah ! of course, there thou art, thou tiny, delicate sailor, with thy fragile, sail-like wings of transparent steel gauze — the iron blue. A thousand glittering eyes and fleet fins are waiting the advent of thy short life this morning, to make it even shorter, as the continuous quick flips and plunges in the adjoining stickle amply testify. But stay, we shall endeavour to make reprisals on thy natural enemies this morning. Now a hunt over our book, and we select an excellent representa- tive, tied by some lissom fingers in the adjoining town. A plague on't ! there, at last ! after three several tyings and slippings ; those "rises" in the river are making us nervous and impatient. One more furred and feathered ambassador, of sallow jaundiced hue and bloated dimensions, with name unmentionable to ears polite, but of special importance in our speckled friend's bill of fare, and our collar is complete. Don't hurry — the whole day is before us— what sound was that ? " Oh, cuckoo, shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?" There he comes, with hawk-like flight, and has mounted the topmost branch of yonder elm, and is pouring out his glorious fluty diapasons down the vale. What an indescribable charm do these tAvo soft continuous notes convey to the mind amid the unfolding beauties of sunny spring — the sweet oracle of its hopeful and blissful anticipations and associations. " O fairest April ! rainbow of the year, The glory of sweet hope is in thine eyes ; Thy breath perfumes the hapjny atmosphere, As fragrance borne from distant Paradise : For very joy of life, thou need'st must weep To wake the roses on thy breast that sleep." And now a cast or two into the sparkling river. Gone ! — gone again ! with a vigorous momentary tug at the slender deception, but with a sharper reminder this time, and a narrow escape to boot, for 20 JOHN PRINCE, our collar has come back festooned in elegant convolutions, which-, enables us to exhibit five minutes' patience in the unravelling. Once more in order and our extended flight pitches like a snow-flake. There, again ! ah ! hooked this time, as we surmised from the business character of the rise. Steady ! — you're a plucky rascal, and in good condition, too, from your strength and resistance, we find — but gently is the word, or the small hook will tear out ; there, safely landed, full six ounces avoirdupois, with a coat of lustrous pearl, dappled over with rubies, and now securely stowed in our wattled creel, with a handful of sweet clover and buttercups for a bier. Thus, with varying success, sometimes landing a fish and sometimes losing one, we saunter quietly down the river half a mile, until the outer signal-post of the railway almost vexatiously warns us we are approaching our journey's end. It has been a pleasantly-spent hour, though our temper has been somewhat ruffled at intervals, by one of those now numerous fishing novices, or rather nuisances, who, in defiance of all piscatory courtesy, has crossed our fishing ground repeatedly, and from his appearance and cart-load of gear, looked like Behemoth come to swallow up our sweet stream. Even as we reeled up we watched him, two fields in advance, striding along, his. arm and rod going like the sail of a windmill — His luggage half a ton, His fish an ounce ! Now across a couple of fields, to look at old Newenham Abbey, or rather where it stood ; permission being asked, and courteously granted by the worthy occupant of the farmhouse, which is built on part of the site. We were shown into an orchard at the back of the premises. "And is this all that remains of Newenham Abbey?" asked we,, looking at a few massive foundations peeping up amid the green sward, and the ruinous fragment of a thick wall, with indications of arches on one side, which originally formed a portion of the antient cloister. " This is all that is left," said he, " except the old chapel yonder," pointing to the decaying walls of a small building, at the end of which was the stonework of a window with beautiful triple lancet openings ; while, up over, the cherishing ivy had clambered, and hung down in dark lustrous masses. Here stood a noble Abbey, of Cistercian rule, founded early in the thirteenth century by two pious brothers, Sir William and Sir Reginald de Mohun. A curious little story hangs on the circumstance that made Lady Alice de Mohun (the mother of these two knights) the wife of their father, Sir Reginald de Mohun the elder, and is, perhaps, worth the recounting. There lived in that age a powerful baron having large possessions in Devonshire, Lord Briwere by name, and this nobleman had a pious and dutiful daughter called Alice. It would seem that Reginald de Mohun, her subsequent spouse, was left an orphan while but a child, and as he had a great property bequeathed to him, the wardship of the parentless boy was eagerly sought after — as, according to a monstrous TIIK DEVONSHIRE BIOGRAPHER. 21 law ot that age, the territorial property, personal liberty, and matri- monial prospects of a ward were almost absolutely at the disposal of his trustee. This privilege of thus taking care of the young Reginald was accorded by the King (Henry III.) to Lord Briwere, who, with proper regard to family interests, in due time married the youth to his fair daughter Alice; and, as both the young people were of distinguished birth, and had large inheritances, we may conclude that the matri- monial arrangements terminated happily. The whimpled and robed effigy, presumably of this lady (who died about 1228), and which represents her clasping the blessed Virgin and Child to her breast, is found in the chancel at Axminster ; and, opposite to her, the chasubled figure of her Confessor and Chaplain to her father, Gervase de Prestaller, Vicar of the parish, who died about 1215. One of the seats of the noble family of Mohun was at Ottery- Mohun, a few miles east of Newenham ; and the reader will doubtless recollect the description of our visit to the old place. To-day we are NEWENHAM ABBEY. about to explore a munificent foundation, the offspring of their pious beneficence — a splendid example of real, tangible, religious faith, how- ever imperfectly set forth, contrasted with the starved sentimentality •of the present day. We must now invite the reader to carry his thoughts backward some three centuries, and imagine to himself a magnificent Church and conventual buildings standing on the site indicated by the faint traces of foundation now visible along the green turf. The Abbey-Church itself was a splendid building, about three hundred feet long by one hundred and fifty wide, with a lofty tower, built in the Early English or lancet style, contemporary with Salisbury Cathedral, and designed probably by the same architect, as the names 22 JOHN PRINCE,, of both are very similar ; and Lady Alice de Mohun, the mother of the founders of this structure, is said also to have given a large portion of the stone used for the erection of that Cathedral. The ceremony and scene at the laying the corner stone of this noble structure (as recorded in the chartulary) may be worth a passing comment. All ecclesiastical and legal preliminaries had been settled, the site chosen, and the foundation laid in, a short time previously — chiefly under the direction of Abbot Geoffry de Blanche ville. an energetic and industrious man ; and, everything being now ready for rearing the superstructure, on the 13th of September, 1254, the Aobot and monks, with the community, walked in solemn procession, clothed in appropriate vestments, from their then temporary chapel close by to the site of the new Church, chanting the Quam dilecta and similar appropriate psalms. Arrived there, they met the founder, Sir Reginald, who laid the corner-stone and two other stones, each signed with the cross ; the choir singing the Te Deum and other thanksgivings the while. Then the fourth stone was placed by Sir William de Mohun r and the fifth by Sir Wymond de Ralegh — a representative of that antient family resident at Smalhidge. The ceremony over, the Abbot, Deacon, sub-deacon, and the whole fraternity, on their bended knees, besought the founder to choose his grave, and to adopt the new Church as the place of his burial. To this request Sir Reginald replied that such had been his intention. So ended this striking and reverend function. Three years after- wards (in 1257) death ratified the compact thus solemnly made ; the unwearied and diligent Abbot Geoffry — doubtless with a heavy heart — chanted a requiem over the body of the founder, Sir Reginald, brought to Newenham for burial, and piously interred before the high altar. In 1205 his brother and co-founder, Sir William, was laid by his side. The Abbey-Church, dedicated to the blessed Virgin, 6 July, 1250 r was altogether about thirty years in building, being finished in 1280. The good Abbot Geoffry pushed on the works with such zeal " that before the close of his government the first mass was sung therein by brother Walter de Boreham, the architect and overseer of the buildings."' This was performed in the sacristy in 1257. The stone was a free gift from the quarries of Sir John de Staunton. Bishop Bronescombe, whose stately effigies — perhaps the very finest in the county — repose on the south side of the Lady-Chapel of his Cathedral, was a munificent benefactor, giving the large sum of six hundred marks, and which formed the endowment of six altars, three in each transept. Rich sculpture to adorn the high altar, and a figure of the Virgin, were presented by the Abbots and fraternity of Beaulieu, as an offering from the Mother- Church, from whence issued the original colony of monks- that founded Newenham. A peal of bells hung in the tower, and one of them, as at Exeter, was named the Grandisson, in honour of that renowned Prelate, who gave ten marks towards its purchase. The high altar was consecrated 16 Oct., 1277, and the relics used for the dedication " were some thorns that bore the character of having once belonged to our Lord's crown." A chapter house, cloisters, &c, were afterwards added. THE DEVONSHIRE BIOGRAPHER. 23 The whole of this fine Church, thus begun and carefully completed, has passed away, conventual buildings and all, where, for more than three hundred years, twenty-six successive Abbots and their reverend brotherhood lived in peaceful contemplation and retirement. Abbey of Newenham ! and is tliis all That now remains to speak thy olden fame? These mouldering relics of a broken wall, Marking the spot still hallowed by thy name. How altered now, from when thy structure rose, Amid the trees, in quiet stately grace, When all around thee breathed a calm repose, And thou in this fair valley kept thy place. When knight and noble at thy shrines oft vowed, And rich oblations proved a wealthy store When belted barons at thy altars bowed, And ever faithful to thy interest swore ! Now gone is altar, arch, and tower, and aisle, And lost the saint in fretted niche enshrined, Buttress and battlement, and all that style And art and beauty once had here combined. Gone is the solemn choir, where, eve and morn, The grave procession slowly wound along, While, rising to the vaulted roof, was borne The holy strain of chant and sacred song. And cloister dim, where oft the sandalled feet Of white-cowled monk pass'd on with measured tread, When meditation made the dull hours sweet, And pious thoughts had worldly visions sped. And all that would have told that these had been, Save here and there an o'ergrown ridge of stone ; For e'en the deep foundation scarce is seen, So sure hath Ruin reared her crumbling throne. But Solitude hath wove her charm around, And Legend cherishes the hallowed spot, While Fancy revels freely o'er the ground, And pictures to herself these scenes forgot. We must not forget to notice a remarkable incident as having occurred in the otherwise unruffled annals of Newenham, and the consequent nutter of surprise and preparation that filled the breast of a certain good Abbot John and his fraternity, on a murky November morning in the year of grace 1497. On that occasion the parsimonious and learned Henry VII. visited the Abbey, on his return from Exeter, after the suppression of Perkin Warbeck's rebellion, journeying hither from Ottery St. Mary. The King appears to have remained several days, and "it is difficult," says Mr. Davidson, "to imagine for what reason the King remained so long a time at Newenham, unless he was engaged making enquiries for such men of consideration in the comities of Devon and Somerset as had taken part with the rebels, and in appointing the 24 JOHN PRINCE, commissioners for detecting them. Among those commissioners the name of Sir Amias Paulet appears, whose residence in Somersetshire was at no great distance from this place. It may be conjectured also that the King was entertained by the Lord Marquis of Dorset, at his manor and mansion of Slmte, which is nearly adjoining the Abbey demesnes." This was Thomas Grey — half-brother to his Queen Elizabeth — and the wife of the Marquis was Cicely Bonville — the girl-heiress of Slmte, and last direct representative of that great and unfortunate Devonian name, many of whose ancestors were buried in the Abbey. Perhaps the King went over to enjoy, with his relative, the sport of archery in the splendid glades of the park ; but his Majesty does not appear to have been always a match as a bowman with the Marquis, for early in the following year an entry occurs in the privy purse expenses, as to the King having " loste at the buttes, to my Lord Marques," a ring of gold. Hush ! we are on holy ground. Beneath this green turf reposes the dust of hundreds. Within those dimly-descried foundations lies many a noble scion of the families of Mohun and Bonville — the first founders of the Abbey, and their descendants, together with all the succession of reverend Abbots there from time to time deposited "in His faith and fear." " 'lne whole breadth of the choir," continues Mr. Davidson, "was occupied by a series of interments disposed in regular order. Of these, the first on the south side of the altar, against the wall, and near the seats of the Ministers, was the body of Sir Giles de Cancellis, the donor of Plenynt to the Abbey ; next him lay Sir William de Mohun, one of the founders, and then his brother, Sir Reginald, whose remains occupied a spot near the officiating Deacons' station. Close to his father, under a small stone, was deposited the heart of Sir John de Mohun, whose body was buried at Bruton ; and next to it the remains of Sir William de Mohun, of Ottery-Mohun, his half-brother : lastly, against the north wall of the choir lay Sir Nicholas Bonville, a benefactor to the Abbey, who died in 1266. The bodies of several other individuals of the Bonville family were buried in the nave, and in the centre of the choir, between them and the high altar, immediately before the great cross, lay the remains of the wealthy and munificent Sir William Bonville, of Shute, who died in 1407, and those of Alice, his second wife." No trace of the sepulchres of these noble benefactors to the Abbey, nor indeed of the Abbots or any one connected with the Monastery, has survived. The choir of the Church, at its surrender, doubtless presented a striking array of tombs, effigies, and brasses ; but not a fragment either of gravestone or monument remains, or has been found, to tell the story of those once commemorated here. The desecration is as complete as at Ford, a few miles distant ; and the memorials of Mohun and Bonville have perished as surely as those of Courtenay. Without the Church a host of sleepers are sepulchred — the cowled brethren of the cloister, together with all those who dwelt within the THE DEVONSHIRE BIOGRAPHER. 25 Abbey precincts, and for three hundred years were gathered, one by one, into the silent fold of death under the shadow of her walls. The Abbots often reposed near the buildings they had reared. Litigation- loving Abbot Richard de Pedirton, in 1314, was interred "before the Church door, in that part of the cloister he had built ; " after long affliction, John de Cokiswille, in 13'24, was buried "in front of the chapter house ; " and blind John de Getyngton, in 1338, " beneath the first arch of the cloister he bad erected." What a spectacle of wondrous awe would be presented, we contem- platively and reverently picture to ourselves, if that Voice of the Omnipotent, that originally called them into being, were now to summon the inanimate dust back once more to His presence ! The earth under our feet would spring to life, and the enclosure itself scarcely yield sufficient room for the awakened sleepers to appear on. And yet the time will surely come when this dread scene will be called into being — when that multitude which no man may number shall awake at the sound of the last trump, and the earth and the sea give up their dead, summoned by that Voice which alone can " Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ! " Thus, with sobered musings, we stealthily and slowly pace round and explore the enclosure. The apple trees that take root in the hallowed soil seem like mute and loving mourners, keeping continuous watch and ward over the entombed host below. At present their branches are all a-blush with sweet blossoms, through which the bees are keeping a continuous hum, and the ground beneath is streAvn with the fallen, pale, odorous petals. But gracious Heaven ! what see Ave there ! starting back, as our eyes unconsciously wandered among the branches of a short apple tree at the further extremity of the enclosure. A grinning, chapless, human skull, perched on a large limb, but evidently placed there from motives of safety and care, was staring vacantly at us through a kind of screen of lesser boughs, loaded with pink bloom. Peace ! thou bounding heart — the unexpected sight of that cavernous arch and those eyeless sockets has sadly disturbed the regularity of thy "healthful music," as the misgiving crosses thee that to this complexion we also must some day come. Who was this ? thought we, taking the mouldering relic down from the branch ; not an old man, evidently, from the regularity of the teeth, and one of good power of mind, judging phrenologically by the ample development of the frontal portion of the skull ; one of the monks, probably. The place of his sepulture was soon found. A little brook — that originally ran outside the Abbey precinct, and doubtless supplied the fraternity with its ample supply — swollen with some late rains, bad fretted through the corner of the hedge into what was apparently the common graveyard of the Monastery, and was the unconscious exhumer, for a portion of the bank had fallen, and there the extended skeleton of a monk, stretched in his last long sleep, was easily traceable, about four feet below the surface. '26 JOHN PEINCE, The skull was placed in the branch for security, and was afterwards re-buried, with the skeleton, and the stream turned back to its original channel. " Who sleeps below! who sleeps below? It is a question idle all ; Ask of the breezes as they blow, Say, do they heed or hear thy call ? They murmur in the trees around, And mock thy voice, an empty sound. Then what is life, when thus we see No trace remain of life's career? Mortal ! whoe'er thou art, for thee A moral lesson liveth here ; Place not on aught of earth thy trust — 'Tis doomed that dust shall mix with dust. What doth it matter, then, if thus, Without a stone, without a name, To impotently herald us, We float not on the breath of fame ; But, like the dewdrop from the flower, Pass, after glittering for an hour ; Or, a ripe apple falling down, Unshaken, 'mid the orchard brown ! " An old and oft-told tale. Perhaps he was one of the victims of the ghastly plague that ravaged the Abbey during the sway of Abbot de la Houe, about the middle of the fourteenth century, when every soul living here was swept away, except that reverend dignitary and two of the monks ! One hundred and eleven people then died belonging to the Monastery — "twenty monks, three lay brethren, and eighty-six secular persons of both sexes who lived within its walls, were carried off by the violence of the malady, which is described as the most fatal pestilence recorded in the history of mankind. It raged over Europe with great severity, and arrived at the coast of England in 1849, and was termed 'the great plague,' or ' the black death.' In Germany, the cattle, and even vegetation, are said to have perished under the awful visitation. It lasted about five months in each country, and in some places nearly half the population is said to have been cut off." What a fearful season of trial must that have been ! Or did the sleeper waste silently and almost imperceptibly away in his little cell — like a beauteous flower, carefully tended and nourished, but slowly and surely perishing in tint and odour, till death put his irrevocable but hallowed seal upon his brow, and the mournful requiem chanted its sadly exultant strain over his bier, as an earth-freed spirit now translated with the blest '? But who may penetrate the mystery of thy secret, grave '? To the singularly appropriate association connected with these ruins we must now recur. Here was born, in 1G43, the celebrated biographical chronicler of our Shire, John Prince, the learned, chatty, painstaking author of The Worthies of Devon, among whose long list of notabilities he himself now occupies a distinguished place. THE DEVONSHIRE BIOGRAPHER. 2 1 A word or two as to his lineage. John Prince, grandfather of the biographer, was of Nower, in Kilmington, an attorney-at-law, and "had the honour" to execute the office of under-sheriff when Sir William Pole, the antiquary, filled the office of Sheriff of Devon in 1608. Bernard Prince, a son of John, was settled at Newenham, where he held a lifehold estate, which was a part of the Abbey demesne, and which he farmed himself, and there resided. His eldest son, Bernard, succeeded him ; and John Prince, the biographer, was his eldest son. His mother was Maria, daughter of John Crocker, Esq., of Lyneham, in South Devon — an antient Devonian stock — and, subsequently, his father married Jane, daughter of Philip Drake, of Dunscombe, Salcombe Regis, a branch of the Drake family of Trill, near Newen- ham, the head of which house then living, Sir John Drake (Prince informs us), was his "honourable god-father." The following filial memorial is to be seen in Axminster Church : — In Memoriam, dllectissimi patris Bernardi Prince Gen'si Nuper de Abby & Mari.^; Crocker uxoris ejus im/e de lyneham oriund/e et Jan.« Drake uxoris ejcs 2D.-E ex Longo Stemmate nat^e. Hoc monumentum Pie- tatis ergo joh'es prince, a.m. olim vlcarius de totnes nunc de Berry-Pomroy, d'ti Bernardi ET MaRI.E: FILICS, Mffi- RENS POSUIT 1709. John Prince, having finished the usual course at Brasenose College, Oxford, took holy orders, and after serving, in his vocation as Curate, successively at Bideford, and St. Martin's, Exeter, in 1673, was preferred to the living of Totnes in 1670 ; and finally, in 1681, through the friendship of the Seymours, to the Vicarage of Berry Pomeroy, where he ministered forty-two years, dying in 1723, aged eighty, and was there buried, and a small tablet erected in that Church to his memory bears this brief inscription : — In memory of the Rev. John Prince, A.M., Vicar of this Parish, and author of the Worthies of Devon. He was instituted in the year i68i, and died gTH September, 1723. He married a daughter of John Ackland, merchant of Exeter, and niece of Baldwin Ackland, Treasurer of the Cathedral. In addition to his Worthies, Prince was also the author of several tracts and sermons. His fame, however, rests 011 his great biographical tome, now a recognised and most valuable county work, full of interesting details, anecdotes, and pedigrees ; in this latter particular "28 JOHN PRINCE, it is especially trustworthy, being derived in great measure from the writer's access to the invaluable storehouse of information collected by Sir William Pole. The first edition of his great tome was published in 1701 ; its quaint title-page thus describes it : — Danmonii orientates illustres : or, The Worthies of Devon. A work wherein the lives and fortunes of the most famous Divines, States- men, Swordsmen, Physicians, Writers, and other eminent Persons, Natives of that most noble Province, from before the Norman Conquest down to the present age arc memorized, in an alphabetical order, out of the most approved Authors, both in print and manuscript. In which an account is given, not only of divers very deserving persons (many of which were never hitherto made publick), but of several anticnt and noble families ; their scats and habitations ; the distance they bear to the next great toions; their coats of arms fairly cut; with other things, no less profitable than pleasant and delightful. A second and improved edition was issued in 1810. Nearly two centuries have now elapsed since the original advent of the work, and another biographer is now needed to continue the list of eminent men, natives of this county, who have distinguished themselves in the various walks of art, science, discovery, theology, and warlike operations ; for their name is Legion. And here it may be noted that our biographer left a second Volume of Worthies, all ready for the press ; but it was never published. The MSS. formerly belonged to Mr. J. Fraunceis Gwyn, of Ford Abbey, and, at the sale after his decease, was purchased by Sir Thomas Phillipps, Bart., of Middle -Hill, and is now in his collection. It is greatly to be wished that both volumes could be reprinted, and so made accessible at a reasonable price. It has been somewhat the fashion of late years, since the study of archaeology has formed a pet — or rather, we should say, fashionable — subject of research by local historians, to throw the shaft of ridicule, or launch a sneer, at Prince's homely gossiping pages, because, we presume, they contain the average quantity of inaccuracies inseparable from a work of this kind, and the incorporation of a few traditional stories, the which some eager pens, guided by the facilities of later research, have been able to dissipate. Modern authors should not forget that it is upon the information found within old tomes, such as this compilation, that they have first to set their feet in the endeavour to reach at something more exact and " exhaustive " (save the mark !), as the cant phrase of the day delights to express it. To us a feeling of gratitude is ever present as we turn over the pages of these olden pioneers into the study Ave enjoy ; and, while we carefully eschew such mistakes as may appear — or, if of necessity they have to be referred to, then in a well-considered and careful spirit — never seek to proclaim a superior intelligence by ostentatiously gibbetting the slips or mis- information of these venerable Worthies, or, indeed, of their followers of to-day. THE DEVONSHIRE BIOGRAPHER. 29 Of our author himself, and his "no less profitable than pleasant and delightful" labours, we cannot do better than conclude with a stanza addressed to him by a contemporary, William Pearse, Vicar of Dean Prior : — "You've done the work, sir; but you can't be pay'd Until among those Worthies you are laid ; Then future ages will unjustly do, To write of Worthies, and to leave out you." No known portrait of Prince has been reported as existing, but we are able to supply his autograph from the Book of Subscriptions on his appointment to the Vicarage of Berry Pomeroy, in 1681 : — %tj y?rincL There is yet another name- inseparably connected with these ruins — that of a most careful, erudite, and correct antiquary, the historian of the Abbey and neighbourhood, the late James Davidson, of Seck'tor, Axminster. From his retiring disposition, few were acquainted with the immense store of most valuable information descriptive of our county which he had accumulated after years of the most laborious research, wherein he spared neither time, trouble, nor expense, and every word of which ought to be published ; and his almost unequalled library of books relative to the county, the result of a life-time's discriminating and zealous collection, it is fervently hoped may some day be placed among the most valuable public treasures of our Shire. His first published topographical work was " The British and Boman Bemains in the Vicinity of Axminster" (1833), being "an attempt to rescue from undeserved oblivion some few vestiges of antient times in its neighbourhood which are gradually disappearing from observation, or are sinking beneath the reach of memory." Much painstaking and patient research is exhibited in this volume, which in 1835 was followed by " The History of Axminster Church, in the County of Devon," equally careful and complete ; and in 1843 appeared " The History of Newenham Abbey, in the County of Devon, 17 a model of conciseness and correctness, and of conscientious, unsparing labour, in gathering together and chronicling everything of interest relating to the past of these old crumbling walls and mouldering foundations before us. In 1851 he issued a tract, entitled "Axminster during the Civil War," full of interesting particulars concerning the doings and changes that occurred in the neighbourhood during this boisterous upheaval of national life. All the preceding works have now 7 become very scarce, and are greatly treasured by those who fortunately possess copies. The writer of these desultory lines feels the keenest pleasure in recording his obligations of access to Mr. Davidson's resources, and personal friendship and encouragement afforded in the pursuit of little 30 JOHN PRINCE, antiquarian inquiries in the neighbourhood. In the early spring of 1864 he was laid at rest in the cemetery about a mile from hence, and the following simple inscription is over his grave : — In Memory of James Davidson, of Secktok, in this Parish, Who died 29th February, 1864, aged 70 years. The gift of God- is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. Romans vi. 23. Words that embody the true ring of that greater faith, and whose belief as the guiding principle of his life lent earnestness and fidelity to all his investigations. Peace to his ashes ! The flower- sprent sod of this beautiful valley now forms his perennial winding-sheet, as it does those of the good Abbots beneath our feet, the even tenour of whose lives he delighted to chronicle. Both are now resting in the same hope, and awaiting the same blest awakening Voice. A cup of the cheering brown infusion, a great crisp, home-baked loaf, with a basin of cream — such cream !— to be eaten thereon, ad I Hi it urn, and half-an -hour's chat with our host. As we enjoyed the dainty rural spread, we queried to ourselves, as we looked at the massive wall of the house, which was a portion of the old Abbey whether this was a part of the refectory, and, if so, whether the genial old Abbots on their feast days were ever initiated into the mystery of the glorious delicacy Ave were now enjoying. Not the tea, assuredly — (though not the least so to us, now) — but the cream, with the thirst-inspiring addendum probably of mulled wine or spiced ale. If so, they had a right noble and " dainty dish," fit in every sense to " set before a King," even such as the miserable seventh Henry himself, who once came here, and was comforted by hospitable entertainment, let us hope. What a picture would be revealed could we draw the veil of time aside, and for an instant get a glimpse of the assembled banqueters — the good Abbot and his fraternity, the King and his retinue, together with all the great nobles of the district, gathered round the table and enjoying themselves with staid decorum and decorous jollity, as befitted the reverend host and his Eoyal guest. But both King and Abbot are turned to dust, and of the place of their rejoicing scarce one stone remains upon another. "Even such is Time, that takes on trust Our youth, our joys, and all we have, And pays us but with age and dust, Who, in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days." With these words on our lips — said to have been written, the night before his execution, by the illustrious but unfortunate descendant of the Sir Wymond de Ralegh who laid one of the corner-stones of the Abbey — ere we leave, we go out and take a final saunter among its ruins. THE DEVONSHIRE BIOGRAPHER. 31 Yes, we can, in imagination, portray the beautiful Church and ex- tensive buildings, that once had their station, above these now scarcely discernible foundations, which Abbot Richard Gyll surrendered " to the king's hi// hues commission the VIII. day of Marche in the XXX. yere of the reigne of o'r most dradde sov'einge lord king Henri/ the Vlllth," and afterward the greedy alacrity with which despoiling hands stripped the fine fabric, and pulled down its walls, carrying away the materials piecemeal to build their own petty habitations, until scarcely a trace remained to tell of its former existence. The rustic of to-day that herds his swine, or tethers his cattle to the fragments of the cloister wall, sees not the white-habited Cistercian that once paced its precincts in pious contemplation, and is now sepulchred beneath his feet — hears not the swell of voices that in solemn service of praise and thanks- giving, for three centuries night and day, arose ceaseless from within the ruins around him — dreams not of the attractive influence of the profession of those who aforetime dwelled within the old foundations, which brought Kings to seek hospitality at their doorstep, and the most powerful in the land to ask consolation for the vicissitudes of life at their hands, not elsewhere to be found, or finally in death to crave the privilege of laying their bones beside them. But not to the wealthy and the great alone was the blessing of their vocation exercised, — to the poor and needy, the unfortunate or distressed, the wanderer or homeless — the well-accustomed, and ever welcome Convent door was always open alike to all, an unfailing sanctuary of refuge, and treasury of help ; and, therefore, no desolation or desecration can efface or extinguish the sanctity, that permeates and clings to every fragment scattered around, thus redolent of the history of human aspiration for all that is holy and good — and record of the attempt, however imperfect, of its exercise ; for it is written " I have hallowed this house which thou hast built, to put My name there for ever, and Mine eyes and Mine heart shall be there perpetually." Another day is nearly gone, for the shadows are lengthening fast, and the sun, matchless monarch of the day, is retreating, with a dignity of glorious splendour, behind the heights of Hampton opposite, defining with marvellous distinctness the dark fringe-like edge of trees down the hill-slope. Oh, glorious sunset, Iioav often has similar splendour gladdened the eyes of the sleepers below, such as is now pouring its flickering gold over the green pall that shrouds their inanimate forms ! Our kind host showed us some capitals of Early English style, found at a considerable depth underground, and informed us that the stone-work of the pillars which supported them lay, when discovered, "like a pile of cheese turned over," for regularity; also some frag- ments of encaustic tiles and bits of painted glass, of which Ave craved sundry pieces by Avay of memento. And then Ave bade adieu to the venerable precincts of Newenham ; for the "busy, busy bee," Avith droning call, darted past our ear, and the quick-winged bat Avas threading his agile flight just overhead. Off across the meadoAvs once more for half an hour's quiet evening fishing on our road home. We readjust our collar, and, having placed 32 JOHN PRINCE, THE DEVONSHIRE BIOGRAPHER. the captivating white moth among our trio of seeming fly dainties, are soon rewarded by a brace or so of spankers, whose appearance in our basket makes the size and weight of our " dish " respectable. A field or two down, the gloaming is curtaining in closely around us, and we reel up, for the fishing hours of the evening are over. We take our rod to pieces and pack up, and as, from habit, the mechanical operation proceeds almost unconsciously, chastened thoughts are crowding on us, as we gaze at the last gleam of daylight slowly lessening over the Hampton heights, and listen to the indistinct murmuring of the river, fast fading into the common obscurity around. Not far off, probably, is the period when Time shall in like manner wind up the skein of our life and pack up its slender gear for aye ; and the presentiment of this common fate, reserved for us all, creeps solemnly over the sense. But a short while since, beside the banks of this stream — and for very many a time before — elate and in the full enjoyment of all its piscatorial attractions, historical associations, and natural beauties — traversed the footsteps of its historian. Those footsteps are now stayed for ever — haunt no more its mirrored pools or bounding stickles — and rest in their long sleep, literally side by side those of the historian of the Abbey. Aye, even so, verily they are passed from their labours, but their works do follow them. %n jKcmoriant G. P. R. P.— 7 Feb., 1880. O rnuch-loved Axe, that through the pleasant meads, With many a bend and reach, doth lingering flow, To-day sad sighs are murmuring through thy reeds, And every ripple lispeth words of woe. The silvery gossamers are slumbering deep, 'Mid sheen of chaliced gold upon thy marge, Waiting sweet Spring to wake their tranced sleep ; But will she set his prisoned soul at large, Unchain those fast-set feet, again to roam Along thy banks, to lure, 'mid changeful skies, The pearl-mailed trout, high springing through the foam, Black-flashing to the sun empyrean dyes? Not May's bright smile, nor April's tearful rain, And strong- voiced March shall call to him in vain ! PANEL AND ENTRANCE ARCH FROM CLIFTON-MAUBANK At Montacute House. THE FATE OF CLIFTON -MAUB AN K ,^c &!$ n '0 the wayfarer in search of old - world reminiscences, the appearance of things as he steps from a railway carriage at Yeovil — or, as Leland hath it, " Ivelle ' '— Junction, does not offer to his eye much encourage- ment. The modern artificial plateau on which the station hath its being, covered with intensely ephemeral nine- teenth-century erections — the maze of iron lines, lead- ing straight into the infinity of shadows around ; the labouring of two or more engines, collecting and arranging the creaking trucks scattered about; the occasional rushing glide of a long train up to the platforms ; the sharp tones of the porters and clang of the passengers, busy to the full with the little common-place selfishnesses of every-day life — seem to afford the least possible hope of finding anything near at hand beyond the clamorous necessities of the present hour. But the Junction is only a momentary halting-place amid the current of excited life that is hurrying up and down ; for the stream of existent being, here as elsewhere on these iron-shored rivers of hurry, hath two tides. Holiday-time, so-called, is it just now, with the larger number of pilgrims passing west in the 34 CLIFTON-MAUBANK. steam-horsed caravans — voyagers whose thoughts are alternately buried deep in the sensational trash of the latest penny daily, or revelling in the anticipated happiness of wasting a few days on the shores of southern Devon, or far Cornwall, where their chief pleasure will consist of oscillating between the stuffy precincts of pretentious lodging-houses, whose appearance external and internal will remind them so delightfully of dear Holloway or Camberwell, and a listless gaze on the stupendous, monotonous sea. But a truce to this vein of cynicism ! The glorious sunshine is- overhead, our thoughts are afar, and Time, grim Time, not with a scythe, but a railway whistle in his hand, is waiting doggedly on our steps, and will, by-and-by, if we are not careful, stealthily out-march us. We have said that all appears artificial and of yesterday here ; but a glance at the quarried rampart above us, and under whose delicious shadow we are sauntering, tells a very old story indeed of this invasion of yesterday into the buried shores of the antient world. Long lines of straight stony strata succeed each other, with the regularity almost of Cyclopean masonry, from the base to the summit of the excavation, revealing an outpost of the great lias formation that enters our shores at Lyme Eegis, and runs by Axminster r Ilminster, and Langport, onward through the heart of the kingdom. ■ These are the petrified beds of muddy deposit that gravitated from the still depths of primeval seas, formed at a period beyond the ken of investigation, and existent in the depths of time alike unfathomable. One after another succeeding layers of mud thus found their habitation/ until the sea got its mandate to retreat, and let the dry land appear. Even then, until now, the while these soft ocean-beds were drying and being infiltrated to hardness, what a period of time must have passed ! Yet was this not an era of darkness and death, while the great factor Nature was gradually preparing this beautiful earth — companion of mine, shall I say, for thee and me ? — as we fondly dream sometimes, and in our littleness often call ourselves lords thereof. No ! Embalmed imperishably in its gracious keeping, and appearing to us now, as we rend their rocky sepulchres, fair, fragile, and doubtless beautifully- adorned beings, of the form and structure of the nautilus of the present hour, lived, moved, and had their being in the sunny shallows and translucent depths of these waters of old. And not only has Nature embalmed them so imperishably, but, with that sweet cunning which knows no rival, she has in death, with trans- forming beauty, petrified, as it were, their living charms, and preserved and filled the delicately-partitioned chambers of their elegantly-con- voluted shells with crystallization of great brilliancy, forming, when carefully exhumed and polished, choice objects for the cabinet of the collector. From the amenities of a modern railway station back to the period of the life of the beautiful ammonite is far enough indeed, as rumi- nating thus we have been wandering down the trackway through the pleasant meadow that leads from its rocky bourne, and the extremes of things have once again duly met. CLI1TON-M.U I'.ANK. 35 A sharp turn in our path, an open gateway, and something which pictures irresistibly another but in neb later old-world look, is before us. The tall handsome gable of a house, studded with windows below, a grand oriel in its gable flanked by high well-placed chimneys, glows between the trees with that grateful warmth of sunny brown which distinguishes at once, by its rich tint, the oolite of Hanidon Hill, as the factor of its presence, from all other building stones. This is Clifton- Maubank, the antient domicile of the Horseys, a race of 'squires great and wealthy among the greater and wealthier 'squires of Dorset, when the vigorous star of Tudor was in the ascendant ; but, under change of relationship, waning at last by extravagance and folly to disastrous poverty and extinction in the last days of the equally ill-fated Stuarts. But of the history of these notables, and of this their house, some more gossip anent will we have by-and-by, when we retrace our steps this way, for at present we are bound for the Church of Bradford- Abbas, the summit of whose fine pinnacle-crowned tower is peering at us through the arch of the railway bridge that spans the river at the far end of the meadow we are traversing. Here we are on the border land between the two counties — Somerset, with its low-lying rich alluvial plains, on one side, and Dorset, with its breezy downs and undulating chalk hills, on the other. And the distinguishing characteristics of landscape and soil of the two counties seem to have permeated and, by natural sequence, influenced the minds and purposes of the dwellers within their respective limits. Singularly observable is this in the character of the religious edifices in the two districts, and specially so of their towers contrasted relatively to each other, and also in considerable degree the palatial elevation of the halls and houses of their 'squirearchy, as at Barrington, Montacute, and elsewhere, and the wreck of another we propose to examine by-and-by. The forest of rich towers that rises from the Somersetshire lowlands looks as if architecture itself had taken root in the fertile soil, and blossomed freely into those beautiful buildings that add such glory to its landscape, and vie in height and stateliness with the giant elms they are associated with. In the sister county of Dorset, all is changed, and there, with few exceptions, strong, short, plain embattled towers peep up amid the more sheltered combes of the long grassy downs, or stand firm and snug on the shoulders of the heather-carpeted wind-swept hills. It may be, perhaps, that in Somerset the possession of the rich quarry of Hamdon in its midst had much influence on this development, but Dorset had also its Portland and its Purbeck. The tower of Bradford-Abbas is built of the beautiful Hamdon oolite, and for handsomeness will compare favourably with most of its compeers in the adjoining county ; and as we look at it the thought suggests itself that the genius of the glorious Perpendicular that had so long held high festival within the limits of its chosen locality had for once suddenly placed its foot over the border, and, having flung down a rich trophy of its creation, again retired. " The tower," says Hutchins, "is esteemed one of the best in the county;" but beyond telling us that the edifice is dedicated to St. Mary, and quoting a 36 CLIFTON-MAUBANK. solitary inscription, this usually painstaking historian gives no further particulars of this interesting Church. It is of considerable altitude, flanked at the corners with octangular graduated buttresses, crested at the top with fine pinnacles. In the west front are eleven niches, with BRADFORD-ABBAS CHURCH. rich canopies. The three largest are in the centre of the tower, immediately over the west window. In two of them the figures still remain. The statue in the centre is seated with a book in its lap, and apparently a Doctor's cap on its head ; the other figure is headless and mutilated. A beautiful crocketted canopy surmounts the doorway below. The outline and architectural composition of this fine tower may be regarded as one of the most satisfactory examples now remaining. CLIFTON -MAUB AN K. 37 Its substantial lower stories, not needlessly broken by windows, except the single necessary one in the west front, yet relieved from monotony and heaviness by the series of niches and the handsome doorway, carries the eye to the bell-chamber, where the double windows occur, necessary at once to let out the sound of the bells, and to give light- ness of construction at its proper place. The graduated buttresses, set angularly at the corners, and turret also diminishing, and termi- nating in pinnacles, give that pleasing pyramidal form so satisfying to the eye, and exhibits as beautiful and consistent an arrangement as can be devised in stone. Within the Church all is comparatively untouched, the edifice fortunately not having been as yet handed over to the tender mercies of modern restorers, or rather destroyers ; and mute voices, pictured on emblems around, speak to us of the earlier days of the Tudor Kings and their predecessor, Edward of York. Large red and white roses, alternate, look down from the panels of the open-timbered roof, and on one the faded insignia of a noble escutcheon, bearing the red cross of St. George quartering Mortimer, and impaling the fleurs-de-lys of France and the lions of England, is still faintly discernible. In the windows the regal crown, the sun in its splendour, and the white rose golden attired, bring back to us the memory of the handsomest man in lwope, and husband of his widowed subject, Elizabeth Grey ; while on the carved bench-ends below, the double rose of his penurious son- in-law peeps out amid wealth of vine leaf and passion flower. Of these bench-ends, the ornaments displayed on those provided for the ministering Priest deserve special notice. The richest cunningly-inter- woven vine -tracery aptly symbols Him who is the True Vine ; and above, at the corners, on one sit the carved resemblances of the owl and the ape, on the other two dogs — significant reminders of the wis- dom, skill, and fidelity necessary to him who presumes to set forth the way of salvation. Two curious chantries, opening into each other, form a south aisle, and a very fine panelled Perpendicular arch leads from the most eastern to the chancel. Like its name, the Church of Bradford-Abbas has an intensely ecclesiastical appearance, the more readily reconciled when we find that from the time of Alfred both the landed property of the parish and the control of its sanctuary formed an appanage of the adjoining great Abbey of Sherborne. Four altars existed within its walls, which gave daily employment to as many of its religious ministrants, and although the altars are gone, the four piscinas still remain. Hagio- scopes appear at almost every corner, and a doorless aumbry for the sacred elements has its appropriate place by the side of the high altar in the chancel. The Kin"- holds the nave, but the Priest rules the chantry. Such is the emblematic manifesto still existent in the Church of Bradford - Abbas, and so, in the chantries, we find, amid the remains of painted glass and carved boss, ecclesiastical symbols predominant. In the windows the chalice and host is repeatedly pictured, an emblem of the Trinity occurs very perfect, and, amid a confusion of the wings and robes of angels, the letter S. On a shield in the roof of the western 38 CLIFTON-MAUBANK. chantry the monogram I.S. appears. This was doubtless for John Saunders, Abbot of Sherborne from 1459 to 1475, being the larger portion of the reign of Edward IV., whose devices are also in the windows. On another shield is the merchants' mark of the woollen trade in the west of England — the only secular symbol appearing — and even this is strongly emphasized ecclesiastically. But concerning this merchants' mark, tradition hands it down that the wool-merchants of the district contributed liberally towards the rebuilding of this handsome Church — the monks probably loosening the purse-strings. The most noticeable object, however, is the font, and again the Church asserts herself, literally at every corner of it. Of large size and square form, the central boAvl, which is ornamented around with foliage, tracery, and shields, is flanked by four buttresses, panelled and groined beneath. At three of the corners stand figures of Abbots or Bishops, mitred, with crozier in one hand and the other raised in benediction. The fourth is apparently St. John Baptist with the Holy Lamb. As may be expected from such a purely ecclesiastical foundation, no monument or inscription earlier than the seventeenth century exists within it. Once more in the open air and sunshine, and, notwithstanding the attractiveness of the examination of the labours of these old monks, how delightful and invigorating is the beautiful ministry and minstrelsy of Nature ! The flowers by myriads, as gaily-attired priests swinging their odorous censers ; the hymn of the home-bound bee ; the " feathered quire " in full chant in every hedge-row ; the mute service of thanks for contented happiness from the herds at rest around ; and the ascriptive amen echoed from the heart that surveys it all. Yet how faint must this diffusive splendour be, compared with that clime whereof it has been said, " The regions of eternal day But shadows of His glory are." And to-day only the shadow of that shadow. The quest of a revered disciple crosses the thoughts — " Eternal Light ! Eternal Light ! How pure that soul must be, When, placed within Thy searching sight, It shrinks not, but, with calm delight, Can live, and look at Thee ! " But recall thyself, friend of mine ; the cowled brethren have not finished their mission with you as yet, even though your feet have crossed outwardly the threshold of the sanctuary. There in the grave- yard, just above the tower, stands a silent monitor to the wayfarer, passing, business-bent, on the highway outside, or more devoutly- inclined visitant, seeking refuge in spiritual communion within the adjoining walls — the Churchyard cross, a hoary presbyter among the tombs, still existent, and preaching for aye the eternal lesson, — the present only is yours ; the morrow may find you at rest beneath my CLIFTON- AIA I 'IJANK. 39 shadow. And as we picture to ourselves its original comely pro- portions when the cunning hand of the sculptor left its tall shaft crusted over with forms of religious imagery, but now battered and worn by "the edge of days" to an indistinguishable mass, the old cross reads to us another and equally important lesson, that in the second commandment may be found more completely writ at large. Even so, thought we, doth the letter moulder while the spirit faileth not. Down through the western skirt of the village, across a wooden bridge, and our returning way runs along the meadow by the banks of the antient Ivelle and modern Yeo, some few furlongs length. Just a word by the way, as we loiter on the bridge a moment, and con over the Anglo-Latin compound that gives name to the village. Being interpreted into homely English, does it not sound like "The broad ford of the Abbot?" Slow, turgid, and somewhat deep, is the river's progress through the rampart of rich loam — so slow, indeed, that we were wondering which way its current really flowed, and also divining to ourselves what kinds of the finny tribes had their abode in its uninviting depths, when suddenly and unexpectedly we came upon a fisherman, armed cap-a-pie, snugly ensconced behind a large alder. Two rods had he, one stuck in the bank at his feet, a second in one hand, a capacious landing-net in the other, and a portly meerschaum in his mouth. Thus completely equipped, this patient — and, as it turned out, en- thusiastic — Zebedee was engaged closely watching the two little coloured globes that rested motionless on the water beneath, amid a maze of disc-shaped water-lily leaves that floated lazily around, huge as the fat weed on Lethes wharf. Angler and visitor were equally surprised ; and, having much of the spirit of the glorious old Izaak within us, we ventured somewhat timidly to enquire of our well- caparisoned friend what kind of fish frequented these waters, and that he was then presently in search of. Here was a question we had no sooner put than our conscience instantly suggested that it was one we had better left unasked. "What hind of fish, do you ask, are to be found in this stream?" repeated he, opening his eyes in undisguised amazement, and with a shade of compassion blended in his voice, as he replied to our ignorance and lack of piscatorial intuition, "Every kind of fish you can mention — pike, jack, perch, roach, dace, gudgeon, trout, eels — " and he stopped short, scrutinizing us closely to see if we comprehended the full value of the finny wealth he had set before us. "Enough, friend," said we, with a gasp; "you have indeed a glorious choice, and I wish you good sport;" and as we turned to depart, our informant added, sententiously and somewhat confiden- tially, as he cautiously raised the rod in his hand in response to a tremble of the little red globe below, " But to-day I am only trying to catch an eel or two, for 1 consider it the best fish of the lot." All fishermen enjoy their pleasures alike, it seems, and every man in his order, thought we, as rose before us the vision of numberless pleasant hours spent ranging beside the crystal shallows and flashing- stickles of Devon, with pliant rod and dainty fly luring as our prize 40 CLIFTON-MAUBANK. the speckled trout, pluckiest of its kind ; and our friend here, with quiet equanimity and equal satisfaction, patiently watching his eel- floats on the still depths of quiescent turgidity. But adieu to matters and cogitations piscatorial, for a turn in the road gives another cue to our thoughts, as it reveals to us again the airy gables and beautiful south front of the olden home of Horsey, rising above the foliage, and richly glowing with the departing fire of evening. Before we proceed further, let us halt a moment in the meadow through which our path leads us, for a mysterious shadow seems to cross it. On our left, as the slanting sunshine strikes along the sward, depressions therein of regularly square form catch the eye, and assure the beholder at once that a building of great strength and of some (but not large) size had once a location above them. We saunter around the old foundation, and a short distance off we stumble over a very small stone, hidden among the grass, only a few inches high, but shaped with the orthodox semi-circular apex so common to the numerous memorials, of ever-varying size, which haunt our village churchyards; and this humble memorial — still holding its place — solved at once the secret of the old foundations. They mark the site of the antient Church of Clifton-Maubank, termed originally, in ecclesiastical parlance, a dependent chapelry of Yetminster ; and, small as the traces of its precincts betoken it to have been, nevertheless the service of God was of yore frequent within it, for it had three altars, dedicated respectively to the honour of St. Mary, St. Nicholas, and All Saints. But the Church and its services have disappeared, and the very foundations of the building have been lifted and removed. Around it doubtless " The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep," but the tiny stone with a brace of initials and a simple date is the only remembrance left of any of them. Though the sanctuary be gone, still the dust of the peasant rests in peace beneath the shadow of his master's — the 'squire's — hall. Strangely enough, too, the peasant's memory is nearly as well identified as his lord's. But where do the 'squires of Clifton-Maubank sleep ? Ah ! history is almost silent, but two or more of the most powerful of their race — the only ones, indeed, of whom any monumental record (at present'" visible) exists — eschewing the little sanctuary of their home, chose the grand Abbey of Sherborne for their sepulchre. There, side by side, their carved semblances lie, stiffened in their martial habiliments, on a tomb of estate. Displayed around, the armorial device of their house emblematically attests their race ; but as for name and epitaph, a brace of initials and a simple date — in the Abbey for them, as over the peasant's grave in the meadow — is all that remains. Impartial thus, as the stroke of Death, is memory's record for all sorts and conditions of men : " When in the dust we're equal laid, With the poor crooked scythe and spade." * 1886. OLIFTON-MAUJUNK. 41 " There is but a step between me and death," said the Psalmist, and the words evoked a kindred echo in our thoughts as but a foot-pace, almost, landed us from the old and forgotten graveyard to the precincts- of a pretty garden, all aglow with flowers, fronting the remaining portion of the olden home of Horsey, now cheery and comfortable with the present inhabiter, but equally dead as to the memories of its antient possessors — a second and significant interpretation of the Psalmist's words. CLIFTON-MAUBANK The south front of the existing building, with its octangular trussed buttresses (suggestive, in era, of Bradford-Abbas tower) and frieze of pierced cusp work, speaks of the earliest part of the sixteenth century, or late in the fifteenth, also attested by the characteristics of the west front, with its fine oriel window in the gable, with row of panels at the base, on which is carved the allusive badge of the house, the golden horse's head, flanked by the Tudor double rose. But this is a fragment only ot the fair proportions of the antient dwelling. Conjecturally, it was originally fully three times its present size. Tradition speaks of its extending all across the court at the rear, but with equal probability it had its location where the modern garden now is, facing the old plesaunce. The portion now remaining was evidently one of two wings, with a connecting part between them. Round the whole of the inner front ran an ornamental screen, and 42 CLIFTON-MAUBANK. the central portion, much richer than the sides, is now incorporated with the west front of Montacute House. When intact, Clifton formed a beautiful object. The pierced parapet, broken by octangular buttresses, panelled at the top, with spiral terminals, on whose richly-carved capitals stood or crouched boldly-carved figures of men — one specially fine, in armour, with crest of dragon or salamander on his casquetel — and animals supporting shields charged with the Koyal arms — the initials and armorial descent of the master of the house alternating with his crest — the array again repeated, and looking down from the row of gables above — must have been very striking. With wonderful strength these figures are sculptured, particularly the allusive crest of the horse's head, in itself a fine subject, and here grandly treated — snorting, glaring, champing, bitted, bossed, armoured, and plumed ; it is almost impossible to exaggerate their fire and vigour, which the incessant warfare of storm and tempest, leagued with the edge of Time's scythe, for three centuries, has very little softened or abated — ■ so does genius inherit a comparatively charmed life. These finials and figures, thirteen in number, and which probably include all that surmounted the buttresses and gables in the front quadrangle, are now at Montacute, together with the entrance arch and the finely-sculptured panel with frieze and finials over it. On these lower finials also stand figures supporting the arms of Horsey and Maubank ; below are the single and double rose and fleur-de-lys, and a row of shields a bouche. The central grand escutcheon doubtless originally displayed the arms of Horsey quartering Maubank and Turges, surmounted by his crest :|: ; and amid the mazes of the cunningly-interlaced spandrel corners, the J. H. and E. H. of its original possessors still survive. On the capitals •of the doorway below are the horse's head and shield of Maubank. Thus far for our imperfect description of the existing remains of this once beautiful house, vagrant, tattered, despoiled, degraded, and otherwise. Our next task must be the speculation as to which of the final trio of knightly Johns, or their predecessor the Tudor 'squire, we may presumably assign the honour and taste of being its builder. The initials of the then lady of the house, nestling in the panel, point either to the first 'squire John and his spouse the distaff heiress, Elizabeth Turges, or the knight of the same name, his grandson, who took to wife Edith Phelips. The style of architecture and ornament are unquestionably Transition, but very early, and not sufficiently leavened with the classic to date its construction to the days of the Virgin Queen or her immediate predecessor. The figure on one of the finials that supports the Royal shield is a dog, probably intended for a greyhound, while the appearance below of the rose, .single and double, shields a bouche, and other characteristics, seem to assure the quering eye that the first quarter of the sixteenth century must have witnessed its erection by 'squire John and his wife, the "mean manne's " daughter, although its final completion and orna- mentation may have devolved on his successor. : The shield is now occupied by the arms of Phelips, with their attendant •crest and motto, probably placed on it by Mr. Phelips when he purchased the stone work. CLIFTON-MAI BANK. 43 All ! our pleasant divination is over; the old carvers of man, hart, dog, and horse, arinorie and rinial. have long ago laid aside their chisels, and are at rest in the shadow of the past; hut their glorious work is before us, shipwrecked, disjointed, and shattered it may be, but still alive in the eternity of its beauty. All honour to their memories, albeit both founder and craftsman he nameless; but know ye, friend of mine, "Enshrined in liis own works the man shall live;" aye, and be honoured also, notwithstanding their legacies of delightful creation be but too often made a bone of contention for the crooked thoughts of self-sufficient error (!) -hunting critics to cavil over. \ r <(ii!tax vanipatem — the armour of beauty is invulnerable. Another and very uncongenial task is now before us, as our down- cast thoughts grope in the gloom of the departed years, to convict the desecrating hands of those who first began the work of its destruction, •and their successors, with axes and hammers, that finally wreaked the last vengeance of effacement. After the death of the unfortunate Sir George Horsey in 1611, the noble old house appears to have been held intermediately by Hele, whose heiress, according to Hutchins, "brought it to Hungerford, who sold it to the Harveys of Comb in Surrey," and they were its possessors in 1661. Notwithstanding this fifty years' vicissitude of ownership and passing from hand to hand, it had probably suffered little change structurally up to the date of its purchase by the Harveys, hut we now get an ominous glimpse of its preparatory declension. Writing in 1773, Hutchins continues, " the mansion house is a large and stately pile of buildings, repaired, sashed, and otherwise modernized bv the Harvevs." Then, doubtless, all the rich oak Tudor carved work and stone-mullioned windows, radiant with sparkling armories, were ousted to make way for the bald monotony of deal-panelled parallelo- grams, lit by the dingy bottle-green sashed transparencies of good Queen Anne — a "style" so devoutly worshiped by budding architects of the present day. If the demon of destruction had stayed his fingers here, we had been well content, but a darker fate hovered over it, although, when the last representative of the equally unfortunate dynasty of Clifton's second series of possessors, the Harveys, was "seized" on and deposed of its ownership by Peter Walker, the lawyer, in 1748, even then, it is probable its interesting exterior had not been greatly changed. In addition to the mansion, there had also been erected "a very beautiful antient gateway leading into the court, and ascribed to Inigo Jones," of which Hutchins gives an engraving. Purely classic in style, it was doubtless built by the second race of the Horseys. This was also remaining in 1773. Last scene of all — when was it humiliated to its present felon-like appearance ? who were its then possessors that sanctioned, if not devised, its demolition? For sweet Charity's sake, companion of mine, concern thyself not to know. By the kind permission of Mrs. Phelips, 44 CLIFTON-MAUBANK. of Montacute House, the following extract from the manuscript ''Anecdotes of My Life," compiled by her ancestor, Edward Phelips, Esq., supplies the exact date. " 178G. On the 2nd of May, my wife and self attended the sale of materials of Clifton House, then pulling down. We bought 600 feet of plain ashlar stone for Cattistock, — the porch, arms, pillars, and all the ornamental stone of the front, — to be transferred to the intended West Front of Montacute ; besides which we purchased the chimneypiece in the withdrawing room, some windows, some wainscot, lead, marble, &c." " 1787. Proceeded briskly with my building the West Front, and on 16 June I was enabled to pull down the scaffolding, and began the inside. This year was remarkable for building the West Front of Montacute." So perished ingloriously, as its quondam owners, stately palatial Clifton, and doubtless at the same time, Inigo Jones — his gateway. Yes, it is difficult to conceive the callous vandalism that could permit the destruction of this fine house, which, in its pristine com- pleteness, must have taken rank with the finest edifices of its era in the county. And it is a subject for thankfulness that good Mr. Phelips had the taste to rescue from the wreck one of its richest features, and preserve it. Perhaps he may have been influenced by the fact that the second great 'squire of the house of Horsey wedded an ancestress of his, and so he desired to possess it in remembrance of her. To resume. Behind the present fragment of the house are the remains of a very interesting building, of date apparently anterior to the main dwelling ; but what its purpose could originally have been scarcely appears. It consists of two large rooms, one over the other. The massive oak door by which the lower chamber is entered is a fine specimen of old work in a series of deep-cut quatrefoils, and deserves better preservation. A large turret at the angle outside, with winding stone stairway within, leads to the upper apartment, or rather hall — probably a guest-chamber, for it has a large chimney -place, and the roof is an open one, finely trussed and ribbed. The whole is fast hastening to decay, but should certainly be kept dry and preserved. Lying before the west front is the antient plesaunce garden and bowling-alley. The turfed terrace around it is still very perfect, and at one corner is the customary music-room, tolerably intact. Hither, in the olden times of reality, when each well-bred gentleman and lady was able to take part in madrigal and glee, the company resorted for a little musical pastime between the turmoil of bowls, or the softer dalliances of beau and coquette. Traces of carved grotesques still linger on its doors, and tattered panelling hangs from its decaying walls. Put where are gallant and sweetheart — the lover and his lute — the sweet strains of the singers — the honied accents once whispered into the ear of love '? Gone, all gone, and hushed for ever ; and — tell it not, publish it not, O genii of arbour and parterre, whose ghosts here still haunt the glimpses of the moon — its precincts are now occupied by a heap of old rusty iron and the debris of worn-out farm lumber. Base uses, quotha, for a shrine once sacred to tender heart and tuneful voice ! CLIFTON -M A US A. \K. 45 A " neat " dwarf brick wall now surrounds the enclosure, and two slender pillars of the same ruddy material — the very embodiment of common -place — occupy presumably the site of the once famous gateway of the renowned Inigo. Outside, a tine stretch of undulating meadow, dotted over with handsome elms, with here and there a disjointed pair or two, attests the locality of the antient park and lengthening avenue. Enough, say you, of this discourse on all now left appearing of the outward and visible possession of the olden owners of Clifton-Maubank. Let us say something of their chequered career, when they lived here and possessed it in the flesh. Willingly we make another raid on the coffer of Time, and from its vasty deeps summon once more these old and now well-nigh forgotten actors on the stage of life back to the proscenium of our thoughts. Graphic and quaint old Leland shall be our pioneer. " Clifton," saith he, " standeth on the right rype of the Ivel, and this lordship longyd to the Mawbanks, whos heires generall were maried onto Horsey and Ware, and they parted the lands. Ormond, Earl of Wiltshire, about Kynge Edward the 4 time invadid Clifton, and possessyd it by violence, with a pretencyd tytle, and began a greate foundation there, for stable and howys of office, and entendyd to have buyldyd a castle there : but shortly after Clifton was restoryd to Horsey. The auncient name and manor place of the Horeseys was at the ende of the greate hylle that goith from Glassenbyry almoste to Bridgewater. It is about a myle from Bridgewater, and Sir John Horsey possessith yet the land. The Broke of Sherburne, and Myllebrokewater, metithe together a qwarter of a myle, or more, bynethe Clifton. From Clifton unto Ivelle a myle or more." Coker, the almost contemporary Dorsetshire historian, adds : — " They (the Maubanks) were a family of great note in the county," and this is sufficiently proved by their coat-armour — a gold saltire displayed on a field waved alternately with bars of Vermillion and silver, and which vouched for their gentle birth and descent. Early in Henry VI. 's reign the race and name of Maubank ended in two "distaffs," or, in more readily recognised parlance, daughters — eventually sole heiresses. Alianora Maubank, daughter of Philip, sister and ultimately heiress of Philip Maubank, of Clifton-Maubank, married John de Horsey. He was the son of John, and grandson of Balph de Horsey, of Horsey, Somerset, who died 28 Edward III. — 1355. Her husband died 49 Edward III. — 1376, and after his death she lived in widowhood over forty years, made her will (which is still extant) 20 October, 1417, and bequeathed her body to be buried in the church of " Zatcmymter," to which fabric, and to the chapel at Clifton, she left some pecuniary legacies, to be laid out for the good of her soul. John, her eldest son, who is said to have fought at Agincourt, died 1 Henry VI. — 1422. He was succeeded by his sons — Henry, who died in 1455, and Thomas, who married Ellen, daughter of John Fitzjames of Eedlinch, Somerset, and deceased 8 Edward IV. — 1469. Thomas left three sons, — John, Thomas, and William — and one daughter, Agnes. 46 CLIFTON-MAUBANK. John Horsey, his son and heir, hetook nnto himself another distaff, from a neighbouring 'squire's house, for a wife — Elizabeth, only daughter and subsequently heir of Richard Turges, of Melcombe, thenceforward known, after this alliance, as Melcombe-Horsey. But the bridegroom brought his heiress-bride back to his own home at Clifton-Maubank, and there lived and settled. It was said previously that the tomb and stately effigies found in Sherborne Abbey- Church was the only monument extant (or visible) to this influential family, and at the date when these desultory notes were put together this statement was believed to be correct. But since that time, through the kind offices of a " chiel takin' notes " in the same pleasant field of investigation, we were rejoiced to find that the fine brass effigies of the last-named John Horsey and Elizabeth Turges, his wife, are still in existence, and were then in the custody of the Vicar of Yetminster. John Horsey is bare-headed, but otherwise in plate armour, which is finely chased or engraved, skirt of mail, sword and misericorde, broad-toed sabbatons, and rowelled spurs. His wife, Elizabeth, is clad in pyramidal head-dress, gown with plaited cuffs, rich girdle, chain, and dependant pomander ball ; over it a robe or mantle fastened across the breast with cordon and tassels. The date of the death of Elizabeth Horsey was never engraved —