Project Gutenberg's Cornish Worthies, Volume 1 (of 2), by Walter H. Tregellas

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Title: Cornish Worthies, Volume 1 (of 2)
       Sketches of Some Eminent Cornish Men and Women

Author: Walter H. Tregellas

Release Date: August 9, 2014 [EBook #46529]

Language: English

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CONTENTS OF VOL. I.

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PRELUDES.

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Æneid, vi.       

Pitt's Translation.        

[ix]

'The Lord Bacon's Judgment of a Work of this Nature.'

*        *        *        *        *

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[xi]

INTRODUCTION.

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The question has often been asked, 'Why is there for Cornwall no companion-book to Prince's "Worthies of Devon"?' Fuller, it is true, in his 'Worthies,' allots a section to Cornwall; but the notices, though pregnant with shrewd humour, are slight and incomplete; and Fuller, of course, is now out of date: indeed, most of the Cornishmen whose names will be found in the following pages lived since his time. The Rev. R. Polwhele, of Polwhele, one of the historians of his native county, has certainly left us some amusing notices in his 'Biographical Sketches;' but out of the sixty names that he enumerates, 'all-eating Time hath left us but a little morsel (for manners) of their memories;' and some half-dozen only seem to be sufficiently distinguished to require any further perpetuation of their fame than has been already conferred upon[xii] them by Polwhele's now scarce little work. Besides which, Polwhele, of course, had not access to the great Libraries and Collections which are now available in London, nor to the Transactions of many metropolitan and local Archæological Societies; he was, moreover, apt to be dazzled by the nearness of the effulgence of some of his characters:—and he, too, is now sixty or seventy years behind the time. Lastly, neither Fuller nor Polwhele had the advantage of the labours of those indefatigable pioneers in Cornish literature—the authors of the 'Bibliotheca Cornubiensis.'[1] Another recent work, invaluable to the would-be biographer of Cornwall's Worthies is the admirable history of Exeter College, Oxford, contained in the Register of the Rectors, Fellows, etc., by my old schoolfellow, the Rev. C. W. Boase, Fellow and Tutor of that College (Oxford, 1879). If it should be said that copious and complete biographies of one or two of my characters have already been written, I would venture to observe in reply, that these are monograph accounts only; in some cases consisting of two or three volumes, and now either out of print, or, from their bulk and cost, not generally accessible.[xiii] May I allege another and a chief reason for writing this work? It is, that I thought those persons were right who considered the celebrities of my native county had not received the notice which they deserved. And yet, 'class for class,' says a writer in the Times, 28th March, 1882, 'they will beat all England.' Indeed (and I confess it with no little shame) some of those whose lives I have endeavoured to describe in the following pages, I did not myself, at one time, know to have been Cornishmen! And this although, as a Cornishman, I ought not to be altogether without the genius loci of our southernmost and westernmost county: yet—

'Semper honos, nomenque horum, laudesque manebunt.'

As regards the principle on which the lives have been selected of those who, amongst others, have been worthiest 'in arms, in arts, in song,' I may say that I have endeavoured to find such names as would be, in the first place, of sufficient importance to warrant their claims to notice being brought before the public; secondly, to make the selection as varied in character as possible; and, thirdly, to choose such as were likely to prove interesting to the general reader: for even biography itself—said by Librarians to be one of the most popular branches of the belles lettres—must prove uninteresting if dull subjects are dully treated. I earnestly trust that I have not fallen into this fatal error.

It might have been interesting to have said something[xiv] of many mighty names of the past; even though numbers of them are scarcely more than legendary. Amongst others, of St. Ursula in the fourth century, 'daughter of the Cornish King Dionutus,' and Directress of the celebrated expedition of the 'eleven thousand virgins' to Cologne; of King Arthur himself; of Walter de Constantiis, Chancellor of England, and Chief Justice, in the twelfth century; of Thomas, and St. George, and Richard, and Godfrey, of Cornwall; of Odo de Tregarrick in Roche; of Simon de Thurway; of John de Trevisa,[2] the fourteenth-century scholar and divine, who was supposed to have translated part of the Bible into English; ('a daring work,' as Fuller says, 'for a private person in that age without particular command from Pope or Public Council'); and of that Syr Roger Wallyoborow, of Buryan, who, in the time of Henry VIII., 'miraculously brought home from the Holy Land a piece of the true Cross.' There are, besides, many others of later date, whose names I should have liked, but for the reasons already given, to include; such as the Bonythons;[3] the Carews; Sir John Eliot, the Patriot; Dean Miller; the Molesworths; the Edgcumbes of Mount Edgcumbe; Noy, Charles [xv]I.'s Attorney-General; Dean Prideaux; the Rashleighs; the Robarteses; the Trelawnys; the Tremaynes; and the Trevanions;—beside those whose loss to Cornwall Dr. Borlase lamented; and many others.

But there were few reliable materials for the first-named group: authentic accounts of the deeds of the legendary ancients have faded away into the 'dark backward and abysm of time;' and mere legends it was hardly worth while to perpetuate. Nor did it seem desirable to include a bare list of names, or repetitions of lives of a generally similar character; in which case the actors' names would often have been the chief variations in what was intended to be a readable, fireside book. In short, I have aimed at making my list representative rather than exhaustive.

With the object of not wearying the general reader, I have refrained from clouding my pages with minute references to authorities,—except when some special reason seemed to occur for doing so. I trust this will not be considered a defect, when I state that, for some of the lives which follow, the lists of authorities consulted would have occupied nearly one fourth of the space allotted to the lives themselves. As an instance, the number of entries given in the 'Bibliotheca Cornubiensis' for the Killigrews is 450; and one of these entries alone comprises nearly fifty items.

[xvi]

A most pleasing task remains to be discharged; namely, to record my heartfelt obligations to my friends, the Rev. F. C. Hingeston-Randolph, M.A., and Mr. H. Michell Whitley, C.E., for their very valuable assistance in seeing the following pages through the press.

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I will only add, in the words of that delightful biographer, Izaak Walton, in his 'Life of George Herbert':

'I have used very great diligence to inform myself, that I might inform my reader of the truth of what follows; and, though I cannot adorn it with eloquence, yet I will do it with sincerity.'

W. H. T.        

Morlah Lodge,
        16, Tregunter Road,
                   London, S. W.

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[1]
[2]

RALPH ALLEN,

THE MAN OF BUSINESS AND PHILANTHROPIST.

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[3]

RALPH ALLEN,

THE MAN OF BUSINESS AND PHILANTHROPIST.

St. Blazey Highway has a clear title to being the birthplace of Ralph Allen; but his parentage is doubtful, owing to his name not appearing in the baptismal register, and to the obscurity caused by the two following entries in the Register of Marriages:

Ralph was born about 1694. His father kept a small inn called 'The Duke William'—sometimes [4]'The Old Duke'—(the site of which is now occupied by three or four dwelling-houses), and he seems to have been a man of good common-sense and sturdy disposition, judging from one or two slight anecdotes of him which have come down to us: doubtless he gave his boy Ralph good advice, if not much literary instruction. But the youngster primarily owed most of his remarkable success in life to the fact of his happening to be staying with his grandmother, who kept the St. Columb Post-office, when the Government Inspector came his rounds. This officer seems to have at once recognised the shrewdness and neat-handedness of the lad; and an appointment in the Post-office at Bath, to which place young Ralph was brought under the care of Sir John Trevelyan, was, before long, offered to him. Here he soon distinguished himself by detecting a plot to introduce into Bath illegally, in connexion with the Jacobite rising of 1715, a quantity of arms. This discovery he forthwith communicated to General Wade, who thereupon became his friend and patron, and whose natural daughter—so Pierce Egan tells us—a Miss Earl, became Allen's first wife. His first wife, but not his first love: her he magnanimously portioned, and yielded up to another man, with whom he thought she might be happier; and hence, probably, the reason why the basso-relievo of Scipio's resignation of his captive was selected as one of the principal decorations of the Hall at Prior Park. Farington thus refers to Allen's discovery of the Jacobite plot: 'When the rebellion burst out, a numerous[5] junto in Bath took most active measures to aid the insurrection in the West of England; and Mr. Carte, the minister of the Abbey Church, when Allen detected the plot, was glad to escape from the constables by leaping from a window in full canonicals.'

On his becoming Deputy Postmaster at Bath, the anomalies and inconveniences attendant upon the postal system, as it was then worked, engaged Allen's serious attention. It will scarcely be believed that in those days a letter from Cheltenham or Bath to Worcester or Birmingham was actually sent first to London! To remedy this state of things Allen by degrees perfected that scheme of cross-posts throughout England and Wales with which his name will always be associated, and for which he was himself the contractor for many years; viz. from 1720 to 1764.[6] Accounts differ as to the profits which accrued to him under this contract, which was from time to time renewed; but there is no reason to doubt the story that ultimately he cleared by it no less a sum than half a million sterling.

In 1644, by a Resolution of the House of Commons, Edmund Prideaux, a Member of the House, was[6] constituted Master of the Post Messengers and Carriers, and in 1649 he established a weekly conveyance to every part of the kingdom, in lieu of the former practice under which letters were sent by special messengers whose duty it was to supply relays of horses at a certain mileage. In 1658 Cromwell made Prideaux one of his Baronets; and he acquired great wealth. It is said that his emoluments in connexion with the Post Office were not less than £15,000 a year. (Maclean's Trigg Minor, vol. ii. pp. 210-11.) Thus, whilst to one West-countryman, who, if not indeed a Cornishman by birth (for the Prideauxes were lords of Prideaux, close to Allen's birth-place), was at least of Cornish extraction—Postmaster-General Edmund Prideaux, Attorney-General—we owe in a great measure the regular efficient establishment of the Post Office and its first becoming a source of revenue—to another Cornishman, the subject of these remarks, we are indebted for the important improvements referred to above.

In the Home Office Papers, 1761 (2nd and 5th December, Post Office Pl. 5, 385—'By-way and Cross-road Posts'), will be found 'a narrative of Mr. Allen's transactions with the Government for the better management of the by-way and cross-road posts from the year 1720 to the year 1762, whereby it will be seen how much he has been the instrument of increasing the revenue and encouraging the commerce of this kingdom during the whole of that long interval. Dated 2nd December, 1761.' The narrative shows that in 1710 the country postmasters[7] collected quantities of 'by or way letters,' and clandestinely conveyed them. Correspondence was perpetually interrupted. 'The by and way letters were thrown promiscuously together into one large bag, which was to be opened at every stage by the deputy, or any inferior servant of the house, to pick out of the whole heap what might belong to his own delivery, and the rest put back again into this large bag with such by-letters as he should have to send to distant places from his own stage.' Traders resorted to clandestine conveyance for speed. Surveyors were, however, appointed to make reports on the Post Office at the beginning of the reign of George I., but their reports did not touch these by-letters. Mr. Allen, having contrived checks which detected considerable frauds, next formed the plan for the conveyance of these letters in 1710. His offer to advance the revenue of the Post Office from £4,000 to £6,000 a year was accepted; but false and malicious representations were made against his proposal. On an inquiry as to the revenue from these letters, it was found that for seven years it had sunk £900 a year. He then made another proposal to farm the postage for seven years at the sum which they then yielded, taking any such surplus as he could make them produce, and an 'explanatory contract' was then agreed to. On an examination into the account of the country letters, it had increased £7,835 2s. 7d., which Mr. Allen would have been entitled to if the 'explanatory contract' had only been executed. The country letters increased to £17,464 4s. 11d. per annum at the end[8] of fourteen years. He now appointed surveyors, and stated his plans for suppressing irregularities. Lord Lovell and Mr. Carteret having expressed their approval of these plans, etc., he agreed to another contract for seven years, and proposed an extension and quickening of the correspondence in 1741 by an 'every-day post' to several places; this contract was renewed in 1748, 1755, and 1760. It details the communications by cross-roads, etc.; and it was found that the revenue, by computation, had increased one and a half millions.

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Some fine quarries on Combe Down, from which most of the best houses in Bath were built, having become his property, Allen invented an ingenious contrivance for conveying the huge blocks of stone from the quarries on the hill down to the canal which runs by the city. In his capacity of quarry-owner he amassed still more wealth, became a large employer of labour, and a man of such influence in Bath, that although he was mayor once only (in 1742), he practically guided the affairs of that city as it pleased him best, a circumstance which gave rise to a caricature, long popular at Bath, entitled 'The One-headed Corporation.' It need hardly be added whose head that was. A bust of him in the Drawing-room or Council Chamber of the Guildhall commemorates the year of his mayoralty, and there is also a portrait of him in the Mayor's Room.

Probably his energies as a man of business were exerted in many other directions, which it would now be difficult to trace. But, be this as it may,[9] he now determined on leaving his old residence in the city, situated between York Street and Liliput Alley, and which, I believe, still stands, though obscured by surrounding buildings. The site he chose for his long-planned new residence is one of the finest in the kingdom. It is three or four miles out of Bath, on the south-east side, and stands near the Combe Down quarries, 400 feet above the sea, commanding fine views over many a mile around. Here at Prior Park, originally the seat of an old monastic establishment, which, Leland says, 'belonged to the prior of Bathe,'[7] Ralph Allen determined on building a large and stately mansion, which should enable him to exercise a princely hospitality towards almost every stranger of rank, learning, or distinction who visited 'The Bath.' Hither came, for instance, Thomson and Swift and Gay, Arbuthnot and Pope, Sterne and Smollett, Garrick and Quin; Graves, the author of the 'Spiritual Quixote'; and Charles Yorke, afterwards Solicitor-General—all probably known to Allen through meeting him in the literary circles of London, which Allen frequented when he went to town. Nor was he unvisited by royalty: the Princess Amelia stayed there in 1752, and the Duke of York, 'on his own motion,' as Allen is careful to say, on 26th December, 1761. Here, too, might often be found reckless, delightful, generous Henry Fielding,[10] who avowedly not only drew one phase of his munificent friend's portrait as the somewhat too feeble Squire Allworthy in 'Tom Jones,' and described the mansion at Prior Park in the same novel, but also dedicated to him that other story which Dr. Johnson read with such avidity—'Amelia.' No doubt, too, it is to Allen that Fielding refers in the well-known passage in 'Joseph Andrews,' comparing him to the 'Man of Ross:' 'One Al—Al—— I forget his name.' And Allen's generosity towards Fielding did not end with cheery welcomes to Prior Park and timely loans—should we not rather say gifts?—to the jolly novelist when he was in need of them, for Lawrence tells us that he sent Fielding a present of 200 guineas, in admiration of his genius, before they were personally acquainted; and on Fielding's death Allen took charge of his family, provided for their education, and left £100 a year between them.

Pope,[8] whose acquaintance with Allen dated from 1736, brought Warburton. Sitting one day at dinner, at Prior Park, the poet had a letter handed to him, which he read apparently with some disappointment on finding that he should probably miss an opportunity of meeting his friend. Allen, however, on hearing the cause of Pope's trouble, with characteristic native politeness begged him to ask Warburton to the house—a[11] pleasant task which Pope, who used to say that his host's friendship was 'one of the chief satisfactions of his life,'performed in the following letter, which I insert as giving us a peep at the sort of life led in those days by Allen and his friends, and also as affording us a glimpse of the house itself:

The long gallery referred to above was a very favourite part of the house with Pope, and here he used to walk up and down in 'a morning dishabille consisting of a dark grey waistcoat, a green dressing-gown, and a blue cap,' as he is represented in the well-known portrait by Hoare.

A pleasant glance at the friendly terms on which the trio used to live at Prior Park is afforded to us in Kilvert's 'Selections from Warburton,' which has for its frontispiece a lithograph from a picture, formerly[13] at Prior Park, of Pope, Allen, and Warburton ('Wit, Worth, and Wisdom'), in a room together. Allen is seated in the centre of the group; on his left is Warburton, bringing into the room a ponderous folio; and, seated at a table at the opposite side of the picture, the little poet is seen writing; in the background, through a window, is disclosed a view of Bath. It is difficult to understand how Pope, after all this friendly intimacy, could quarrel with Allen, and call Warburton 'a sneaking parson.'

Hurd also, successively Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry, and of Worcester, was a frequent visitor to Prior Park, and after his friendly host's decease commemorated his worth by an inscription (now effaced) on a look-out tower in the park:

I do not know whether General Wade was ever entertained here by Allen; but that the latter did not forget his early patron he showed by erecting the General's statue in front of the house. Pitt, who sat for Bath, certainly came here, and each held the other in the highest regard. Allen left him £1,000 by his will, as 'the best of friends as well as the most upright and ablest of Ministers that has adorned our country.' Nor did 'the heaven-born Minister' fail to appreciate the Cornishman's virtues, or to extend to others, for his sake, friendly offices; for to Pitt, Warburton (who had married Allen's favourite niece, Gertrude Tucker, a lady to whom he left Prior Park for life) was indebted for his bishopric. At one[14] time, indeed, there was a slight coolness between Pitt and Allen, owing to the introduction of the word 'adequate' into an address from the men of Bath in a memorial to the King, referring to the Peace of 1763. Pitt thought the Peace extremely 'inadequate,' and so much resented the use of the word that he refused to join his colleague, Sir John Seabright, in presenting the memorial; and whilst he vowed he would never again stand for Bath, Allen from that time avowed his intention of withdrawing from all public affairs. In the correspondence which ensued, Ralph Allen magnanimously took upon himself the entire responsibility for the insertion of the obnoxious word; and he adds in a letter to Pitt, which will be found in the Royal Magazine for 1763, that the communication of Pitt's unalterable decision in the matter to the Corporation of Bath was 'the most painful commission he ever received.' That this event, however, did not affect the high regard in which the two held each other is evinced, on the one hand, by the manner in which (as we have seen) Allen expressed himself regarding Pitt, in his will; and on the other by a letter which Pitt wrote during the unfortunate controversy, in which he says:

And Pitt wrote in a similar strain to Mrs. Allen[9][15] on her husband's death, saying, 'I fear not all the example of his virtues will have power to raise up to the world his like again.'

That Pitt had good reason thus to write of his deceased friend is abundantly clear from the following letter, preserved amongst the Egerton MSS. in the British Museum:

'St. James's Square, Dec. 16, 1760.      

Very different from this noble passage in the lives of these two illustrious men was that which, for a while at least, disturbed the friendly feelings of Allen[16] towards Pope. The equivocal relations which existed between the poet and Martha Blount are well known;—'the fiend, a woman fiend, God help me! with whom I have spent three or four hours a day these fifteen years.' She seems, nevertheless, to have been tolerated at Allen's house at Bathampton hard by; but when she demanded the use of Mr. Allen's chariot to attend a Roman Catholic Chapel at Bath, Allen being a staunch Protestant and Hanoverian,[10] the line was drawn, and a coolness, if not a quarrel, ensued. Pope used to deny the whole story. At any rate the breach was patched up, and intimacy between him and Allen was resumed; but the waspish little man never, in my opinion, either forgot or forgave what happened, and to this the following extract from his will,—a will, as Johnson said, 'polluted with female resentment,'—suave though the passage reads at first, I think bears witness:

When the passage was read to Ralph Allen, he, of course, ordered that the money should be handed over to the hospital (an institution in which it may be observed he always took a deep interest, providing the stone, and giving £1,000 besides: a ward is named after him, where his portrait[11] is preserved, and also a bust by William Hoare of Bath, dated 1757); but he drily added, in allusion to the extent of the obligations which Pope had received from him, 'He forgot to add the other 0 to the £150,'—a quiet, but perhaps as keen a stab as Pope himself had ever dealt with his own malevolent stiletto. And Allen was a man who could afford to say so much, for he used to spend about £1,000 a year in private charities alone.

[18]

Many of the letters of Pope to be found among the Egerton MSS. have endorsements by Allen in his own handwriting. On one of them is written 'The last;' and Pope concludes it—evidently, from the change in the handwriting, in great pain—thus: 'I must just set my hand to my heart.' It is dated 'Chelsea College, 7th May, 1741.' The letters also comprise some correspondence from Gertrude Warburton (née Tucker), Allen's favourite niece; from Warburton himself; and from many other distinguished persons.

Besides Prior Park, Allen had a house in London; and another at Weymouth—a place where he often resided for three months annually, and whose decaying fortunes he took a chief share in reviving, about the year 1763[12]—and I rather think he had another house at Maidenhead, near the west end of the bridge, to which house he added a room with a bow-window, and another room over it.

He certainly had a pleasant little retreat at Bathampton; for in a characteristic letter from Pope to Arbuthnot (the roughly humorous physician, strong Tory, and High Churchman), dated 23rd July, 1793, Pope explains how Allen would not let the two friends stay at his villa at Bathampton, but insisted upon having them both up at Prior Park; because, Pope observes, 'I suspect that he has an apprehension in his head that if he lends that house to us, others[19] hereabouts may try to borrow it, which would be disagreeable to him, he making it a kind of villa to change to, and pass now and then a day at it, in private.'

But Prior Park was Ralph Allen's historic abode; and one object which he had in view in building it was to demonstrate the excellent quality of the stone[13] in his Combe Down Quarries. The whole building, which is in the Corinthian style, with its wings and arcades and fine hexastyle portico has a frontage of 1,250 feet; the house itself being 150 feet. We have seen from Pope's letter to Warburton what spacious corridors it contained, admirably adapted for literary disquisitions on a wet day. The mansion also comprised its chapel, in which was kept the Bible given to Pope by Atterbury when the Bishop went into exile. Everything was built in the most solid style. Even the pigeon-houses were of stone throughout; and, strange as it may seem, roofs were composed of the same material. The house was commenced in 1736 and finished in 1743; nor did Allen forget to add to the charms of the demesne by judiciously arranged plantations.

Building, indeed, seems to have been, naturally enough with such magnificent quarries at his disposal, a favourite occupation of Allen's. He even crowned the hill which looks down upon the city of Bath from the south-east with a large and somewhat picturesque[20] structure,—a mere shell, now known as 'Sham Castle;' but which, especially when lit up by the setting sun, is a not unwelcome addition to the panoramic view of the hills as seen from the east end of Pulteney Street. A short time ago, whilst walking along this street, I asked a man, lounging there, who built the castle on the hill? and (alas! such is fame!) he told me that it was 'a Mr. Nash, a gentleman that had done a power of good to the city.' And here it may conveniently be observed that Beau Nash, to whom Dr. Oliver says Ralph Allen was 'very generous' (as he was, indeed, to everyone who had the slightest claim upon his notice), generally superintended the amusements within the walls of Prior Park. On the occasion of one of these entertainments—a masked ball—the solemn Warburton, who thought it beneath the dignity of his cloth to wear a mask, was nevertheless dressed up in a military uniform by his sprightly wife, and was introduced to the company as 'Brigadier-General Moses!' in allusion, I suppose, to Warburton's authorship of the 'Divine Legation.'

The following local tradition respecting the building of Prior Park was communicated to Mr. Kilvert by the late Mr. H. V. Lansdown, of Bath, the well-known artist, a gentleman who had accumulated a large collection of reminiscences of Bath, and its Worthies of the olden time:

But we must hasten to a close; a close to which the next allusion to the building propensities of the generous subject of this memoir naturally leads us. In 1754, Ralph Allen rebuilt the south aisle of Bathampton Church, and 'beautified the whole structure.' Appropriately enough, in that aisle has been placed an oval mural tablet, of white and Sienna marble, to his memory; and his son Philip, who became Comptroller of the 'Bye-letter' department in the London Post Office, was, I believe, actually buried there.

But the remains of Ralph Allen were interred in the neighbouring quiet and lovely little churchyard at Claverton. He was on his way to London, but feeling ill, probably from asthma, a complaint which[23] often troubled him, halted at Maidenhead, and was induced to return thence to Bath, where he expired at a good old age, which the pyramidal monument erected at Claverton to his memory thus records:

Derrick has thus described Allen's personal appearance shortly before his death: 'He is a very grave, well-looking man, plain in his dress, resembling that of a Quaker, and courteous in his behaviour. I suppose he cannot be much under seventy. His wife is low, with grey hair, and of a very pleasing address.' Kilvert says that he was rather above the middle size, and stoutly built; and that he was not altogether averse to a little state, as he often used to drive into Bath in a coach-and-four. His handwriting was very curious; he evidently wrote quickly and fluently, but it is so overloaded with curls and flourishes as to be sometimes scarcely legible.

The lack of all show about his garb seems to have somewhat annoyed Philip Thicknesse, the well-known author of one of the Bath Guides; for he speaks of Allen's 'plain linen shirt-sleeves, with only a chitterling up the slit.' Ralph Allen's claims to a niche in our Cornish Valhalla do not, however,[24] depend upon costume, but upon his talents and his philanthropy.

Writing to Dr. Doddridge on 14th February, 1742-43, Warburton thus refers to his genial host:

In Bishop Hurd's 'Life of Warburton,' the following passage occurs, and upon this 'the Man of Bath's' fame might securely rest:

It would be easy, if necessary, to multiply passages of this sort, but one more shall suffice, as illustrating the almost universal recognition of what Mr. Leslie Stephen has well termed Allen's 'princely benevolence and sterling worth.' Mrs. Delany (iii. 608), writing from Bath, 2nd November, 1760, mentions that the house on the South Parade where she was then lodging had been bought by Ralph Allen, furniture and all, in order that he might settle it on Mrs. Davis, a poor clergyman's widow. 'How well does that man,' she adds, 'deserve the prosperous fortune he has met with!' And behind all this there doubtless remained, in the case of our modest hero:

A notice of this remarkable man would be incomplete without some reference to two of his connexions, whose names are still honoured and remembered in the West country: Thomas Daniell, who married Ralph Allen's niece, Elizabeth Elliott; and Ralph Allen Daniell, Thomas's son. Of the last-named, it may be shortly stated that he inherited a full share of his grand-uncle's and namesake's good qualities;[26] was a prosperous merchant; and that he became, in 1800, the possessor of Trelissick estate, and the builder of the exquisitely situated mansion of that name, which overlooks the placid waters of Falmouth Haven. Here Davies Gilbert, P.R.S., resided; and it is now the country seat of his son's widow, the Honourable Mrs. Gilbert.

The Thomas Daniell mentioned above appears to have started in life as a clerk to Mr. Lemon, who then lived at the Quay, Truro, in the house now known as the Britannia Inn. Here, too, once lived Dr. Wolcot, better known as 'Peter Pindar;' and, in the middle of the present century, the writer's father, John Tabois Tregellas, well-known throughout the county as a writer on the Cornish dialect. Mr. Daniell succeeded to Mr. Lemon's business as a merchant, and to his residence. He was also associated with the well-known old Cornish family of Michell,[15] in the Calenick Smelting Works, near Truro, which are still in active operation. Thomas Daniell was a great and successful adventurer in mines, and was at one time M.P. for Looe. He left his mark upon the little Cornish metropolis by building, as already mentioned, in Prince's Street, the handsomest mansion which the city contains, the front of which is an excellent specimen of the famous Bath stone.[16]

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[27]
[28]

JOHN ANSTIS,

THE HERALD

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[29]

JOHN ANSTIS,

THE HERALD.

There were three Cornishmen in succession, more or less known, who bore the above name. The grandfather, of whom little more is now ascertainable than that he was Registrar of the Archdeacon of Cornwall's Court (then held at St. Neot's),[17] that his wife's name was Mary Smith, and that he died in 1692; his son, the subject of this notice; and his grandson, who, like the second John Anstis, was also Garter King of Arms, and who died a bachelor at a comparatively early age. In Montagu Burrows' 'Worthies of All Souls,' it is stated that the second[30] Anstis was of founder's kin; yet he failed to secure his election, notwithstanding a lawsuit instituted for that purpose.

Of the first and the third John Anstis little need be added, but the second merits a longer notice; for 'in him,' it is said, 'were joined the learning of Camden and the industry, without the inaccuracy, of Dugdale.' Born at Luna, on 28th September, 1669, in the parish of St. Neot's, near Liskeard, about one mile south-west of its interesting church, he became a member of Exeter College, Oxford, in 1685; and, having entered at the Middle Temple in 1688, and been appointed Deputy-General to the Auditors of the Imprest in 1703, and a Principal Commissioner of Prizes in 1704, was elected, when about thirty years of age, a member of the first Parliament of Queen Anne, for St. Germans, and was one of those who opposed the Occasional Conformity Bill; then, in 1711, member for St. Mawes; and finally member for Launceston in the first Parliament of George I. (1714-22). His first printed work on Heraldry seems to have been his (privately printed) 'Curia Militaris,' or 'Treatise of the Court of Chivalry,' which was published in 1702, and dedicated to Sir Jonathan Trelawny, the well-known non-juring Bishop of Exeter. In 1718 John Anstis was created Garter King of Arms, and six years afterwards he published his 'Annotated Register of the Most Noble Order of the Garter:' the copy which belonged to Dean Milles, who was born at Duloe, of which parish he was rector for forty-two years, is in the London[31] Library.[18] Able and indefatigable both in and out of office, a voluminous correspondence with Sidney Godolphin, Sir Hans Sloane, Thomas Hearne the antiquary, and other distinguished men of the period, as well as similar treatises to the foregoing, followed from his pen, including his 'Aspilogia,' or 'A Discourse on Seals in England,' and fragments of a 'History of Cornwall,' etc., as to which copious information is afforded in the 'Bibliotheca Cornubiensis.'

Many of his MSS. are preserved in the Additional, Lansdowne, Harleian, Sloane, Birch, and Hargrave Collections at the British Museum; his proposals for publishing a history of the Order of the Garter are preserved in the Bodleian, whilst others of his numerous writings are in the libraries of All Souls' and Worcester Colleges, Oxford. He also wrote a MS. 'History of Launceston,' which, as well as others of his works, is now believed to be lost; and it may be added that he was intimately connected with the production of Rymer's 'Fœdera.'

Perhaps the most stirring event of his life was his imprisonment on the suspicion of a design to restore the Stuart dynasty, the story of which is as follows. He was a member of the High Church party, and, as such, opposed what was called the Whig interest, voting, as mentioned above, against the Occasional[32] Conformity Bill; but, on the information of one Colonel Paul, he, as well as five or six other members of Parliament, fell under the suspicion of the Government, and Anstis was actually in prison at the very time that the office of Garter (which had been promised to him by Queen Anne) fell vacant. It was with the utmost difficulty that he cleared himself of these suspicions, and not until three years afterwards did he obtain the appointment, which had meanwhile been held by Sir John Vanbrugh, 'Clarenceux.' One of his fellow-suspects, Edward Harvey, Esq., stabbed himself with his garden pruning-knife, on a certain paper in his own handwriting being shown to him. John Anstis is described in the scarce tract which narrates this affair as being 'Hereditary High Steward of the Tinners of Cornwall,' and it is probable that in this capacity he may have been suspected of being concerned in some supposed insurrection in the county. But imprisonment in those days for like causes was sometimes, if the truth were told, somewhat of the nature of a political manœuvre.

John Anstis, F.S.A., the subject of this notice, died at his seat at Mortlake, Surrey, on 4th March, 1744, at a good old age, and his remains were laid in the family vault at Duloe, near Looe, some three weeks afterwards. His son at once succeeded (by a reversionary patent) to his father's post in the Heralds' College; and his remains followed his father's to their last resting-place in the same quiet churchyard on the 30th December, 1754.[33] There is a portrait of the more celebrated Herald in the picture gallery at Oxford, and another at the College of Arms; and an engraved likeness is prefixed to the Rev. Mark Noble's history of that institution. There is another engraved portrait of him, in his tabard, in Nichols' 'Literary Illustrations,' vol. iv. p. 139. He married Elizabeth, the heiress of Richard Cudlipp, Esq., of Tavistock, and left three sons and three daughters. I believe that, as in the case of many another distinguished Cornishman, there is no monument to the memory of even the most celebrated member of the family. Yet, as a Christian name, the name of Anstis still lingers in the neighbourhood, and is borne by members of the family of Bewes, the present representatives through the female line.

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[34]
[35]

THE ARUNDELLS,

ECCLESIASTICS AND WARRIORS.

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[36]
[37]

THE ARUNDELLS OF LANHERNE, TRERICE AND TOLVERNE,

ECCLESIASTICS AND WARRIORS.

'The princely Arundells of yore.'

H. S. Stokes.        

On the north-west coast of Cornwall, famous for its magnificent cliff scenery and fine stretches of golden sand, are four lovely valleys

'Looking towards the western wave,'

lying close together, and each watered by a little trout-stream; but, as is the case with Cornish landscape generally, with one exception scantily timbered. Each of these is more or less directly connected with the celebrated family of Arundell. I refer, first, to a valley through which a small stream murmurs, which rose on the northern slope of Denzell Downs, and flows near St. Ervan Church, having for its little tributaries two rivulets which water the foot of the sloping ground on which still stands a farm-place, called Trembleath, and entering[38] the sea at Portcothan Bay; secondly, to the Vale of Lanherne, which extends from St. Columb Major to Mawgan Porth, and includes two churches, so named; next, to the valley with a nameless brook, which flows past Rialton—formerly the residence of the haughty Thomas Vivian, one of the latest Priors of Bodmin, and afterwards a seat of the Godolphins—then by the base of a hill crowned by the lofty tower of St. Columb Minor; and lastly, to the vale of the Gannel, near whose embouchure are the remains of the ancient collegiate establishment of Crantock, now represented by the highly interesting church, which, though nearly complete, is in a very unsatisfactory state of repair.

Each of these valleys has its porth (or port), a circumstance to which they were all probably indebted for the churches which they still possess; for in the days of small shipping, these little ports—smaller now than they formerly were—sufficiently accommodated the tiny craft which brought holy men from Ireland, or from South Wales, and, indeed, at that time probably afforded the chief means of communication with the outer world.

It is the second of these four valleys that we have chiefly to consider now, closely identified as it is with the names of the Arundells—'the great Arundells,' as they were called (on account, says Camden, of their vast riches), and as they called themselves, too; for on one of their tombs in the church of St. Columb Major was inscribed, 'Magnorum sepulchra Arundeliorum.' Parts of the vale are beautifully[39] wooded, and the churches of St. Columb and Mawgan, which retain many features of interest, are both identified with the famous family whose story we are about to consider.[19] And here it should be premised that, besides the Arundells of Lanherne, Trerice, Tolverne, and Wardour, there were the Arundells of Menadarva, who afterwards settled at Trengwainton, near Penzance, descended from a Camborne stock, founded by a 'natural' son of an Arundell of Trerice, who intermarried with Pendarves and St. Aubyn. And again, the Arundells of Trevithick, in St. Columb Major, were a younger branch of the Lanherne family. They settled there circa Edward VI., and became extinct in 1740.

Of the first three branches I propose to treat under the heads of Lanherne, Trerice, and Tolverne; and to conclude my observations with a short reference to one or two minor branches of the family.

There can be no doubt, although Hals, with his usual ingenuity (and it might also be said, I fear, with his usual inaccuracy), has endeavoured to find a Cornish etymology for the name, that the name of Arundell is of French origin. At any rate, such was the belief in the early part of the thirteenth century; for they bore swallows in their escutcheon at least as early as the days of Henry II.;[40] and in the 'Philippeis,' a work composed by Philip le Breton in 1230, there are the following verses descriptive of an encounter between an Arundell and one William de Barr:

(See p. 207, Camden's 'Remains,' 1637.)        

But it is perhaps right to add that Davies Gilbert, P.R.S., a Cornish gentleman, who settled in Sussex, thought the name might have been derived from Arun Dale.

According to Mr. G. Freeth (R. I. C. Journal, September, 1876, pp. 285-93), Trembleth (a name still retained), in the adjoining parish of St. Ervan, was the chief seat of the Arundells before their marriage with the heiress of Lanherne. At any rate, Trembleth (situated in the northernmost of the four valleys mentioned above) was a residence of some of the subsequent members of the family. Hals gives the following interesting account of the place:

The assumption of their French origin is further borne out by the fact that the early Arundells—especially one, Roger—obtained from the Conqueror considerable grants of land in Dorsetshire and Staffordshire. I have, however, been unable to obtain any clear traces of their connexion with Cornwall earlier than towards the middle of the thirteenth century, when they presented to the churches of St. Columb Major and of Mawgan. Again, a Sir Ralph Arundell was Sheriff of Cornwall in 1260; and, indeed, Hals observes that the Arundells filled the same office twenty times, of which there was no like instance in England. Some member of the family was generally knighted at the accession of a new sovereign to the throne, and one of the early Arundells was Marshal of England.

Amongst the monuments in the church of St. Columb Major is one to a John Arundell, once 'senescallus Dñi Regis et verus patronus hujus ecclesiæ, qui hanc capellam fieri fecit.' He died in[42] the year 1400, and stained glass in the windows also commemorated at this date the family. There are also Arundell brasses at Antony East, Mawgan, and Stratton, and a monument at Newlyn East.

They held Lanherne of the Bishop of Exeter by military service, as appears from folio 102 of Bishop Stapledon's Register: it is therein called 'La Herne,' but it was also known formerly as Lanhadron.

Amongst other indications of their early settlement in the county, and of their importance from the very first, it may be mentioned that:

'Rad., son of Oliver de Arundell, of Lanherne, had £20 a year or more, in land, in 1297; and so had John Arundell, of Efford.

'Rad. D'Arundle held a "parv. feo." in Trekinnen.

'Johannes D'Arundle held military feus in Treawset and in Trenbeith, in 3rd Hen. IV. (1402). Also a "parv. feod." in Trekinnen.'

From the Records preserved at Exeter, the following further information, which bears upon the early connexion of the Arundells with the far West, has been gathered; and it is scarcely to be doubted that still earlier traces of their settlement in Cornwall might at one time have been forthcoming:

(Exeter Cathedral Martyrologium.)    

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But most of their monumental remains which still exist, are of later date, and are met with at various places in Cornwall, chiefly in the eastern parishes.

A Roger Arundell lived opposite the portico of St. Stephen's Church, in the High Street, Exeter, about the middle of the thirteenth century, and a Ralph Arundell, who was rector of St. Columb Major, resigned his benefice in 1353, whereupon the bishop (Grandison) granted him a pension of £20 a year, in consideration of his near relationship to Sir James Arundell, patron of the benefice.

Amongst the documents preserved in Bishop Lacy's Register is the will of Sir John Arundell, dated 18th April, 1433; he was probably that Sir John who is said to have had (temp. Ric. II.) no less than fifty-two complete suits of cloth of gold. This will refers to so much that is of interest, that I have been tempted to set down a few passages from it:—

Sir John leaves his soul to Almighty God, the Blessed Virgin Mary, and all the saints; and his body to be buried in the new chapel near the chancel of the church of St. Columb Major. He gives £20 towards the bells of that church, 60 shillings towards the restoration of St. Erme Church, and 20 shillings to the rector of the same. A like sum for the restoration of the church of Maugan de Lanherne, and 20 shillings for the maintenance of divers lights therein, and £10 for the bell-tower, provided the requisite work is done within the following six years.

[44]

The rectors of St. Ewe, St. Mawgan juxta Carminow, and St. Wynwole (Gunwalloe) also receive bequests. He gives 13s. 4d. to the light of St. Michael's in the Mount,[20] and the same sum towards the construction of the chancel there. St. Perran Zabuloe also comes in for his bounty, and £13 are to be spent in 3,000 masses, to be celebrated for the benefit of his soul as quickly as possible after his death. To his blood-relation, Isabelle Bevylle, he leaves 4 marks; to John Tresithny, 10; to John Michell, 5;[21] and to others named, similar sums. But perhaps the most singular bequest of all is the following, viz., 'Item, lego ad usum parochie S' ci Pyerani in Zabulo ad claudendum capud S. Pierani honorificè et meliori modo quo sciunt xls.'[22] One is curious to know why the testator took such special interest in this singular relic. Certainly the Arundells were interested in the parish, and, as we shall presently see, one of them married the heiress of its chief manor. He finally leaves sundry vessels of precious metal to his son, 'Renfrido,' etc., and names as his executors, Bishop Lacy, his sons, Thomas (miles) and Renfr—, Otho Tregoney, and others.

It would be a fruitless task to endeavour to give details of the genealogy of the earlier Arundells, for [45]it is enveloped in considerable uncertainty; and even so patient and skilled an investigator as Colonel J. L. Vivian, in his 'Annotated Heralds' Visitations of Cornwall,' has discovered such serious discrepancies in the various statements concerning it, that he gives up some portions of it in despair. We have seen that Roger was the Christian name of the Arundell at the time of the Conquest; in 1216, his grandson, William, forfeited his lands by rebellion (a tendency to which offence was, as we shall see, rather characteristic of the family), but the estates were restored to the rebellious William's nephew, Humphry. By the latter's marriage with Joan de Umfraville, he had a son, Sir Renfry de Arundell of Treffry, and by Renfry's marriage with Alice de Lanherne, in the time of Henry III., the name of Arundell became for many a long year associated with that of Lanherne. One of their sons, Sir Ralph, was, as we have seen, Sheriff of Cornwall in the same reign (1260), and from his marriage with a lady who bore the euphonious name of Eva de Rupe, or de la Roche, of Tremodret,[23] in Duloe parish, the[46] main stem of the family seems to have shot forth its boughs and branches. Their younger son, Ralph, was that rector of St. Columb Major, who, as we have seen, resigned his living in 1353, or, according to some other authorities, in 1309. But their eldest son, Sir John of Trembleth, in the time of Edward I., married Joan le Soor, of Tolverne, and thus appears to have originated the connection which so long subsisted between the two branches of the family. Their children, Margaret and Sir John, married, the former with a Beville, and the latter with a Carminow; and now, for the first time, the name of Trerice also appears in the family tree, for this Sir John is said to have had a cousin, Ralph Arundell of that place. I cannot trace his descent, and can only suggest that he may have been a brother instead of a cousin. If I have correctly interpreted the pedigree, the last-named Sir John was a man of mark, and of him we have the following accounts:—

[47]

But the swashbuckler was doomed not to escape as he had hoped, though finally he was to receive the sort of burial which he so evidently desired. His ship was driven on the rocks, and her ship-master and Sir John Arundell of Treleigh were drowned, together with his esquires and other men of high birth. Many were rescued by the Irish, but twenty-five ships in all were lost, and large numbers of their crews. Three days afterwards many of the bodies were recovered, amongst them those of Arundell, and were buried in a certain abbey in Ireland.[25]

As Froissart's account differs from the foregoing in some particulars, I have appended a translation of it for the convenience of those who may desire to compare the two: it will be noticed that Froissart entirely omits the story of the desecration of the convent.

The unlucky knight's grandson was that Sir John Arundell of Lanherne, who was made a Knight of the Bath at the coronation of King Henry IV. in[50] 1399, and who married a lady, who, if she were as lovely as her lovely name—Annora or Eleanora Lambourne, of Perranzabuloe—must indeed have been 'beautiful exceedingly.' But, indeed, the Arundells seem to have been fond of sweet-sounding Christian names for their womankind. Such names as Sibilla and Emmota occur very early in the family-tree. This Sir John must have been a personage of some valour and consideration; for we find that he was retained by an indenture of King Henry V. to serve at sea with 3 knights, 364 men-at-arms, and 776 archers, in certain vessels which were specified. He was four times Sheriff of Cornwall, and was member for the county in 1422-23, together with another John Arundell, apparently.

The next Arundells who claim our attention will require a little more space to be devoted to the consideration of their exploits. They were grandsons of the last-named Sir John; and one of them, also a Sir John, became Admiral and Sheriff of Cornwall, and a General for King Henry VI., in France; the other, his cousin, also named John, became Bishop of Exeter. To the former of these two, as the senior, let us first turn.

He was born, or at least baptized, in 1421; and, his father dying some two years afterwards, he became a ward of the King, and at length (in the 29th year of the reign of Henry VI.) was the largest free tenant in Cornwall, his estates being of the value of £2,000 per annum.

John, the Bishop, was the son of Sir Rainfred (or[51] Reinfry) Arundell, knight (by Joan Coleshull, his wife, sister and heir of Sir John Coleshull of Tremodret, knight), who was the third son of Sir John Arundel of Lanherne (and not, observes Tonkin, 'Talvern, as Anthony Wood saith'). He is said to have been educated in the neighbouring College of Augustine Monks at St. Columb, to which one of his ancestors is alleged to have been a munificent benefactor,[27] as he also was to the church at that place, building a chapel thereto for himself and family, at the east end of the south aisle; and here he was buried in the year 1400.[28] Educated at Exeter College, Oxford, he became successively a Canon of Windsor, Prebendary of York and Salisbury, Dean of Exeter, and Chancellor of Hereford, and having been consecrated Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry, Nov. 6, 1496, was for his piety and learning translated, by Henry VII., to Exeter, June 29, 1502. He died, March 15, 1503, at the house belonging to the Bishop of Exeter (Exeter House), in the parish of St. Clement's Danes, London, in which church he was buried on the south side of the high altar. His will is preserved at Somerset House. Weever gives a copy of a 'maimed' inscription on his tomb. To his Register is prefixed a 'Prologus,' written by his secretary. It recites his noble descent, his sound doctrine, and his great virtues, his constant [52]attendance at divine service, and his bountiful hospitality. By his will he left £20 towards the finishing of St. Mary's Church, Oxford. His portrait is at Wardour Castle.

Hals, in his account of St. Columb Major, writes thus of the Bishop (but see note, p. 51):

If we are to accept the authority of Dallaway in his 'History of the See of Chichester,' of the Rev. Prebendary W. R. Stephens in his 'Memorials' of that See, and of M. A. Lower in his 'Sussex Worthies,' there was another member of this branch of the family, also named John Arundell, who attained to the dignity of the episcopal throne; but his place in the pedigree is not easily to be identified, and as the Rev. C. W. Boase truly remarks, it is very difficult to distinguish between the John Arundells of this time. He was one of the Physicians, as well as Confessor and Domestic Chaplain, to Henry VI. He was also Fellow of Exeter College, Oxon, Proctor of University, and held many preferments without cure of souls; and he was sometime Canon of Windsor, Prebendary of Sarum, York and St. Paul's, and Dean of Exeter. The King asked Pope Calixtus III. to make him Bishop of Durham, but he was, instead, made Bishop of Chichester, May, 1458. He died in 1478, and bequeathed lands for the celebration of his anniversary and of a nightly mass throughout the year. Near the entrance into the choir of Chichester Cathedral he erected a large altar tomb of Petworth marble, ornamented with brasses (probably since stolen), and at one time concealed by pews. But a tablet was affixed to a pier near the tomb, which gave some account of him, recording that he left 'Benefield's lands' to found a chantry. Lower also credits him with the erection[54] of the oratory between the nave and choir, and with the 'Arundell' screen in 1477, which was removed during the restorations in 1860.

The warrant for the appointment of himself and colleagues to be the King's Physicians is in the Cotton. MSS. (Vespasian G xiv. p. 415). In it the medicines and other means of cure which the professors of the healing art were (with the concurrence of the Council) to employ are duly specified: they included 'potiones, syrupi, confectiones, clysteria, suppositoria, caputpurgea, gargarismata, balnea, capitis rasura,' etc., etc., and the document affords a curious glimpse of the state of the medical skill and knowledge of the time. It is referred to by Johnson in his 'Life of Linacre.' Unfortunately this Bishop's Register is lost, but his career would seem to have been uneventful.

To resume the story of the descent of the family. The records which I have been able to consult throw little or no light of importance upon most of the immediate descendants of Richard II.'s Admiral; his daughters married men of rank and title, such as the Lords Marney and Daubeny, Sir Henry Strangways, Sir William Capell, and Sir William Courtenay; and one of them, Ellen, secured the affections of Ralph, 'The great Copplestone.' One son only, Thomas, he had (or he may perchance have been a grandson); he, like so many others of his race, was knighted at a coronation, on this occasion the coronation of King Richard III. John, his son, won his knighthood too; but in a different fashion, for he was made knight-banneret[55] for his valour in the field, at the sieges of 'Toronne' (Therouenne, 7 miles south of St. Omer) and Tournay, wherein so many ostentatious deeds of valour were performed on both sides. He died in 1545, and was buried in the church of St. Columb Major, where there is a brass to his memory.

By his second wife, Katharine, daughter of Sir Thomas Grenville, of Stow, Sir John had an erudite daughter, Mary, whose fame is enshrined in the pages of Ballard's 'Celebrated British Ladies.' She is chiefly known by her translations, especially of the 'Sayings and Doings of the Emperor Severus,' which she dedicated to her father, 'pater honoratissimus;' and some of her manuscripts are, I believe, preserved in the Royal Library. She married, first, Robert Radcliff, Earl of Sussex; and secondly, Henry, 17th Earl of Arundell. One of the successors of the learned lady, named Margaret, who died in 1691, was buried in the Trerice Arundell vault in Newlyn Church, at the east end of the south aisle; and according to Davies Gilbert, it was through her that the Trerice estates passed into the hands of their present proprietor, Sir Thomas Dyke Acland, Bart.

Sir John's grandson, of the same name, next claims a short notice. Dodd, in his 'Church History,' says of him:

This was that Father Cornelius who, so Foley informs us, was born at Bodmin, of Irish parents, and early attracted Sir John's attention by his studious disposition. Sir John took him by the hand, and always stood his friend. But Cornelius became a Jesuit and a recusant, and was hung, drawn, and quartered at Dorchester, in 1594. He was chaplain to Lady Arundell after her husband's decease, and she having recovered the body, gave it honourable interment.

The favour in which Cornelius and other priests about this time were held by our Sir John Arundell, cost him his liberty. He was summoned to London in 1581, and for nine years was kept a prisoner in Ely Palace, Holborn, only leaving it to go down to Isleworth and die. His body was conveyed to St. Columb with great pomp, and there is a monument there to his memory.

His daughters, Dorothy and Gertrude, entered the Convent of Benedictine nuns at Brussels, in the year 1600, and the former wrote an account of the last days of Father Cornelius, which part of his life she appears to have spent with him.

From the knight-banneret of Tournay and Therouenne descended the Arundells of Wardour; who, on obtaining that estate and castle (whose gallant defence by Lady Blanche Arundell, during the Civil War, is familiar to the reader of romance as well as to the historical student) by intermarriage[57] with the heiress of John, Lord Dinham and ceasing to reside in Cornwall, the story of whose Worthies I am endeavouring to tell, are not strictly speaking included in my scheme; but they evidently remembered with affection their Cornish origin, for on the east front of old Wardour Castle is a Latin inscription, of which the following is an uncouth translation, believed to be by Henry, the eighth Lord Arundell:—

The above Matthew had a brother Charles, who left England in 1583, on account of his attachment to the Roman Catholic creed, visited Rome and Spain, and finally died in Paris 9th December, 1587.

And here it may be well to add, that by the marriage of Mary Arundell in 1739 to Henry, seventh Baron Arundell of Wardour, the Lanherne and Wardour branches of the family were, after a separation of more than two centuries, re-united. At Wardour are preserved numerous MSS. relating to the Arundell family; a most interesting as well as extensive series. It includes the Tywardreath Charter with the Laocoön seal, various inventories of furniture, household books, travelling expenses, tailor's bills, etc., etc., to say nothing of court rolls, rentals, surveys, etc., from the reign of Richard II. to that of Henry VIII.

[58]

Sir Thomas, a grandson of the friend of Father Cornelius, 'when but a young man, signalized himself so much by his valour against the Turks, in Hungary, that the Emperor Rodolph II. raised him to the dignity of a Count of the Empire in 1595: granting that his children, of both sexes, and their descendants, should for ever enjoy that rank; have a vote in all the diets of the Empire, purchase lands within the dominion of the Empire, raise volunteers, and not be put to any trial, except in the Imperial Chamber. In forcing the water-tower, near Gran (a formerly rich town of Hungary), he took from the Turks their banner, with his own hand; which banner, taken by Sir Thomas, of Wardour, was preserved, as a trophy, in the Vatican at Rome; where it remained till the French revolution. This brave young knight was recommended to the Emperor by Queen Elizabeth, in a Latin letter, written by her own hand, which is still kept at Wardour Castle.' King James I. made him first Baron Arundell of Wardour in 1605. He died at Wardour in 1639, æt. 79.

Another Sir John married his relative, an Arundell of Trerice, namely Anna, the widow of John Trevanyon. It is noteworthy that on this Sir John's tomb in St. Columb churchyard he is styled baronet, but there is no reason to believe that he reached a higher dignity than that of knighthood.

The name was at length assumed by Richard Beling, who married into a family more illustrious than his own. But I believe this branch of the family[59] has now, too, become extinct; and it is said that the last of the Lanherne Arundells died in Cornwall in 1766—a collector of the customs at Falmouth.

We now come to a very interesting phase of the family history: I mean the results which followed upon the attachment of this branch of the Arundells to 'the old religion,' as the Roman Catholic faith was called. It was exemplified by two episodes which deserve attention: one was the tragic story of Cuthbert Mayne, a recusant priest who was harboured at Golden near Probus, in the residence of the old Cornish family of Tregian, one of whom married Catherine, daughter of a Sir John Arundell and his wife, Elizabeth Dannet, and whose son Francis was imprisoned for recusancy in the time of Elizabeth. The story of Cuthbert Mayne is fully given in Morris's 'Troubles of our Catholic Forefathers,' Dr. Oliver's 'History of the Catholic Religion in the West of England,'and by Challoner in his 'Memoirs of Missionary Priests,' etc.

The second episode to which I have alluded is the story of Humphry Arundell, the 'leader of the Cornish rebellion'—a rising which was undertaken for a like cause—the defence of 'the old religion.' We are indebted to Mr. Froude for much valuable information on this subject, given in the fifth vol. of his 'History of England, from the fall of Wolsey to the Death of Queen Elizabeth.'

In the summer of 1548 one of Henry VIII.'s Commissioners, a Mr. Body, was murdered by a priest at Helston in Cornwall, whilst the Commissioner was[60] carrying out the King's command in removing certain superstitious objects from the church. Some executions followed, but the Cornishmen were neither conciliated nor terrified thereby, and a rebellion was concocted, Sir Humphry Arundell, of the Mount, and Henry Boyer, Mayor of Bodmin, being the leaders.

The rebellion was inaugurated at Sampford Courtney, on Dartmoor, when the people compelled the priests to say mass, notwithstanding that the English liturgy was commanded to be used, for the first time, on Whitsunday, 1549.

Lord Russell thereupon sends down Sir Peter and Sir Gawen Carew to quell the insurrection, but in June, 1549, 10,000 Cornishmen were in full march on Exeter. England was, in fact, rising in all directions, and the Commons of Devon and Cornwall insisted on the restoration of the mass, and that images should be set up again; the English Bibles were also to be called in, 'for we be informed that otherwise the clergy shall not of long time confound the heretics,' etc., etc.; and they added a petition that Humphrey Arundell and Henry Boyer should have safe access to the King to represent their grievances. Froude sets out the document in full. The Protector insisted upon Bonner's (Bishop of London) preaching a sermon condemning the rebellion, especially so far as Cornwall and Devon were concerned, and recanting his views as to the mass, etc.; and Bonner's imprisonment was the well-known result. Order was at length partially restored; but Exeter,[61] where there was a strong 'Catholic' party, was, in July, actually besieged by the rebels, and they even talked of going on to London with their army, now 20,000 strong; but Exeter held out for six weeks. Whilst Humphry Arundell was advancing upon it, Carew brought the welcome tidings to Lord Russell (at Honiton, the rallying-point) of the advance of Lord Grey. Meanwhile a body of Cornishmen had arrived at Fennington Bridge, three miles from Exeter, where Sir Peter Carew attacked them; and here Sir Gawen, who was with him, was shot through the arm. The Cornishmen were scattered after a severe struggle, leaving 300 dead on the field, and their assailants at least as many; and Grey now came to the rescue of Exeter. At the battle of St Mary's Clyst the King's troops, though at first defeated, ultimately succeeded, and killed 1,000 rebels, besides taking many prisoners, who were afterwards put to the sword. The fight was renewed on the following day, and Grey, who had seen service, exclaimed that 'such was the valour and the stoutness of the men, that he never, in all the wars he had been in, did know the like.' But, as we have said, the rebels were massacred; the siege of Exeter was raised; and on the 6th of August the banner of the red dragon was flying from the city walls.

Yet the Cornish rallied on Dartmoor, at Sampford Courtney, under Humphry Arundell, Pomeroy, Underhill, and others; and here at length, where the fire was first kindled it was at last extinguished on Sunday, 17th August, 1549. The town had been[62] fortified, and when the insurgents were driven back to it, to use Lord Russell's own words: 'While I was yet behind with the residue of the army conducting the carriage, Humphry Arundel with his whole power came on the back of our forewards,' and 'against Arundel was nothing for one hour but shooting of ordnance to and fro.' At length 'the rebels' stomachs so fell from them as without any blow they fled,' and multitudes of the unfortunate wretches were slain. Humphrey Arundel fled to Launceston, when he 'immediately began to practise with the townsmen and the keepers of Greenfield and other gentlemen for the murder of them that night. The keepers so much abhorred this cruelty as they immediately set the gentlemen at large, and gave them their aid, with the help of the town for the apprehension of Arundel, whom, with four or five ringleaders, they have imprisoned.'

The insurgents lost over 4,000 men during this fatal month. Martial law was proclaimed throughout Devon and Cornwall; and Arundell, with three others (Holmes, Winslow, and Berry), was hung at Tyburn. Holmes says that Boyer, the Mayor of Bodmin, was hung at his own door, after the Provost Marshal had dined with him.

Hals's account of the rising is so full and interesting, that it seems worth giving, even at the risk of incurring some little repetition. He says:

A contemporary account of Humphrey Arundell's execution in Mr. Richard Howlett's 'Monumenta Franciscana,' vol. ii., 27th January, 1550, states: 'Was drawne from the Tower of London vnto Tyborne iiii persons (Humfre Avrnedelle, Bere Vynch, Chyffe, Homes), and there hangyd and qwarterd, and their qwarteres sette abowte London on euery gatte; thes was of them that dyd ryse in the West cuntre.'

It has already been observed that an attachment to the Roman Catholic faith led many of the Arundells into trouble: as exemplifying this, I have culled a few other instances from the pages of a writer belonging to that Communion.

And the continued attachment of the Arundells to their ancient faith is exemplified in an interesting manner, as we shall see further on, by the conventual establishment still existing at Lanherne.

A few words will perhaps be expected as to the church, and the adjacent former residence of the Arundells of Lanherne. The sylvan beauty of the[74] situation and its surroundings has already been adverted to, and the church and churchyard, at least, are still worthy of their site; but little remains of the once noble old mansion, of which Carew wrote: 'This said house of Lanherne is apportioned with a large scope of land, which, while the owners there lived, was employed to frank hospitality.'

At Mawgan Church the fragments of the screen which separates the nave and south aisle are carved with the arms of Arundell quartering Carminow, and on the south side of the chancel are brass shields on which the same arms are quartered with Archdekne, Arches, Carminow, Denham, Durnford, Grenville, etc. At the east end of the aisle on the screen are seven brass plates, 'chiefly inscribed with English and Latin verses, admonitory to the reader and eulogistic of the Arundells,' e.g.:

The transept, or Arundell chapel, was once used as a burial-place for the nuns of the adjoining nunnery; it has a hagioscopic communication with the chancel.

The following inscription on a brass, the chief portion of which is now missing, has also been preserved:

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Nearly the whole of the older Arundell brasses, which bore the names, dates of death, and ages of the members of that family are not now to be found in the church; one, a sort of palimpsest brass, bore on one side an acrostic to the memory of Jane Arundell, and on the other a representation of the Deity, and two other figures, probably symbolical. This brass is said to have been removed to the nunnery at the beginning of the present century.

LANHERNE HOUSE, formerly the manor-house of the Arundells, a picturesque but gloomy structure, is now a Roman Catholic Carmelite nunnery, 'by time unstricken, yet with ages hoar.' The south part of the house is the most ancient part; it has stone-mullioned windows, and a good doorway of Catacleuse stone.[30] The vane which still surmounts the dome represents a wolf—the crest of the Trembleath Arundells. About eighty years ago the building was assigned to sixteen nuns who fled from the siege of[76] Antwerp by the French during the revolutionary wars; and their successors, now over twenty in number, continue to occupy the buildings.

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THE ARUNDELLS OF TRERICE.[31]

As the crow flies, Trerice, anciently Treres, as Carew informs us, is about five miles south of Lanherne and about the same distance from the mouth of the Gannel, one of whose tributary streamlets runs round the slope on whose southern side still stands great part of the handsome and extensive mansion of this branch of the family. It is not the original building, dating as it does only from the year 1573; but its charming and sheltered situation, 'its costly and commodious dwellings,' the rich colours of the time-stained masonry, its huge mullioned windows, and the magnificent proportions of its large and lofty hall, stamp it as one of the few remaining mansions of the Cornish gentry that speak of the wealth and power and hospitality of the 'good old times.'

The county histories are almost silent as to the early seat of this branch of the family; but there is no reason to doubt that its site remains the same; and that Trerice was inhabited by an Arundell at[77] least so far back as the reign of Edward III.—one Ralph being here, whilst his cousin (or perhaps his brother), Sir John, who married Elizabeth Carminow, held sway at Lanherne.[32] Apropos of this marriage into the powerful and wealthy family of Carminow, it is interesting to note that in the Register of Walter de Stapeldon, Bishop of Exeter, and founder of Exeter College, Oxon, we find that, in the year 1316, 'on the Monday before Michaelmas, our lord' (the Bishop) 'offered his niece, Joan Kaignes, as wife to John de Arundell, son and heir of John de Arundell defunct, who refused for the present; William Walle was present.' Were John's affections already pledged to the fair Elizabeth? The incident shows at least that the Bishop was desirous of forming an alliance between one of his own relatives and a house so important as that of Arundell.

Hals says that the Arundells of Trerice bore, at one time, the arms of Lansladron, viz., sable, three chevrons argent; but that at length they adopted the well-known coat of the family: sable, six swallows argent—three, two, and one.

Leland, writing of the Arundells of Trerice, observes: 'This Arundale giveth no part of the arms of the great Arundale of Lanheron, by St. Columbe. But he told me that he thought he cam of the Arundales in base Normandy, that were lordes[78] of Culy Castelle;[33] that now is descended to one Monseir de la Fontaine, a Frenchman, by heir generale. This Arundale is caulid Arundale of Trerise, by a difference from Arundale of Lanheron. Trerise is a lordship of his, a three or four miles from Alein chirch.'

Carew, who married into the family of the Tolverne Arundells, and who may therefore be assumed to be of some authority in the matter, does not go so far back as this for the rise of the Arundells of Trerice. He says, 'In Edward III.'s reign, Ralph Arundel matched with the heir of this land and name; since which time his issue hath there continued, and increased their livelihood by sundry like inheritors as St. John, Jew, Durant, Thurlebear,' etc. He adds, 'Precisely to rip up the whole pedigree were more tedious than behooveful; and therefore I will only (as by the way) touch some few points which may serve, in part, to show what place and regard they have borne in the commonwealth.'

I venture to think that, so far as modern readers are concerned, it will be well to adopt Carew's view; and that the more especially on account of the many difficulties which beset the case, as already mentioned at the commencement of this chapter. I[80] do not therefore propose to advert to the Sir Oliver de Arundell of Carhayes of the time of Henry III., who married a lady of the same patronymic as himself, and who indeed was probably the true founder of the Trerice branch; but will at once mention, as the first historical representative of this part of the family, a Sir John Arundell of Trerice, Sheriff of Cornwall, who, early in the fifteenth century, viz. in the seventh year of Henry V., accompanied the Earl of Devon on a sea voyage 'in defence of the realm;' no doubt the same knight who was in the following reign addressed by the Earl of Huntingdon—Lieutenant-General to John, Duke of Bedford, Constable and Admiral of England—as 'Vice-Admiral of Cornwall.' I do not, however, feel certain whether it was he or his son (but more probably the latter) whose curious story has been thus narrated by Hals and by Carew.

The connexion of this family with Stratton and Bude is further indicated by the churchwardens' accounts of Stratton Church, where knells were rung in 1526 for the Arundells; they are also recorded as having presented vestments to this church.

That the Arundells of Trerice long continued in Royal favour is evident from the fact that one of the family—a Sir John, a name to which all branches of the Arundells seem to have been extremely partial—received an autograph letter from the Queen of Henry VII., dated 12th October, 1488, wherein her Majesty informs the knight that she has been safely delivered of a prince.

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We now arrive at some Arundells who make a greater figure in history than any of those who preceded them; and who, like their forefathers, seem to have stood well at Court. For in 1520, we find King Henry VIII. writing to Sir John Arundell of Trerice, his Esquire of the body—'Jack of Tilbury'—that he should give his attendance at Canterbury about the entertainment of the Emperor, whose landing on the English coast was then shortly expected.

Three years afterwards the same knight took prisoner Duncan Campbell, a notorious Scottish pirate, in a fight at sea, 'as our chronicle mentioneth;'[34][83] concerning which, 'I thought it not amiss,' says Carew, 'to insert a letter sent him from Thomas, Duke of Norfolk (to whom he then belonged), that you may see the style of those days.

It is singular that (so far as I am aware) there is so little recorded in history of an action to which so much importance was evidently attributed at the time of its performance.

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But here we are anticipating a little, and must return to the hero of the engagement with the Scotch pirate. The victor was at length himself vanquished by the all-conquering one; and Sir John's monument is still to be seen in Stratton Church, in which place he was buried, probably either from his connexion with the Grenvilles[35]—great patrons of that church as well as of all the other churches in the neighbourhood—or else, perhaps on account of his family having resided at Ebbingford (Efford) near Bude Haven, hard by. Indeed, one Raynulfe Arundell was lord of Albaminster and Stratton so early as the days of Henry III.

On Sir John Arundell's tomb in Stratton Church he is represented in brass, lying between his two wives—Mary Beville, of Talland, and Juliana Erisey, of Erisey. Below the feet of his first wife stand the sons, Richard, John, and Roger; under the second are ranged the daughters, 'Margereta, Marie, Jane, Phelipe, Grace, Margeri, and Annes.' The inscription is:

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'Here lyeth buryed Sir John Arundell, Treryse, Knyght, who, praysed be God, dyed in the Lorde the xxv daye of November in the yeare of oure Lorde God a MCCCCCLXI., and in the III^xx and VII yeare of his age, whose soule now resteth with the faythfull Chrystians in our Lorde.'

Carew has told us something of 'Jack of Tilbury's' son John, but only makes a short reference to a Sir Thomas Arundell, who I cannot help thinking must have been one of the Trerice family, although some authorities refer him to the Lanherne branch. He was, together with Sir John Tregonwell and others, appointed, in 1535, to be a Commissioner for the suppression of all religious houses 'of the sume of ccc marks and under;' and the rough reception which they met with at the Priory of St. Nicholas, Exeter, may be read in Dr. Oliver's 'Monasticon Diocesis Exoniensis,' p. 116.

He had been one of Wolsey's Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber, was made Knight of the Bath at Anne Boleyn's coronation, and was appointed Receiver-General of the Duchy of Cornwall, 1549.

He and his elder brother, John, were committed to the Tower (1549-50) for implication in the Humphry Arundell rebellion in January, but were released October, 1551. He was, however, re-committed to the Tower in the same month, accused of being concerned in the Duke of Somerset's conspiracy, wherein, Bishop Pouet says, 'Arundell conspired with that ambitious and subtil Alcibiades, the Earl of Warwick, after Duke of Northumberland, to pull down the good Duke of Somerset, King Edward's uncle and protector.'[89] But, as Mr. Doyne Bell points out, in his 'History of the Church of St. Peter ad Vincula, in the Tower,' if this be correct, it is singular that he should have been afterwards re-arrested for conspiring with Somerset against Northumberland.

He was brought to trial with Sir Ralf Vane, and tried on the following day, viz., 29th January, 1551-52, when Machyn records that 'the quest qwytt ym of tresun, and cast hym of felonye, to be hanged.' Mr. Perne (probably the Prior of the Black Friars) 'was allowed to resort to Sir Thomas to instruct hym to dye well.'

We read in Mr. Richard Howlett's 'Monumenta Franciscana,' that, in the 'Chronicon ab anno 1189 ad 1556, ex registro Fratrum Minorum Londoniæ,' under date 26th February, 1552, is recorded that on that day, 'the wyche was Fryday, was hongyd at Towre-hylle sir Myllys Partryge, knyghte, the wyche playd with Kynge Henry the viii^te at dysse for the grett belfery that stode in Powlles churche-yerde; the wyche was callyd the gret belfery; and Sir Raffe Vane, theys too ware hongyd. Also sir Myhylle Stonnappe and sir Thomas Arndelle, theys too ware be-heddyd at that same tyme. And theis iiii. Knyghtes confessyd that the war neuer gylte for soche thynges as was layd vn-to their charge, and dyde in that same oppinioun.' He was buried in the chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula, in the Tower.

The Commission for seizing on the possessions in Cornwall and Devon of Sir Thomas Arundell, 'rebel[90] and traitor,' is preserved amongst the Harleian MSS. in the British Museum (433, art. 1557); and an interesting catalogue of his plate, together with a list of that portion which was returned to his wife, Margaret, on 11th June, 1557, will be found in the Add. MSS. 5751.

I think, but am by no means clear on the point, that this is the Arundell to whom Henry VIII. granted, on 6th June, 1545, Scilly, and the monastery of Tavistock, and to whom, in the same year, the King wrote a remarkable letter concerning the Papists in Cornwall, which is preserved amongst the MSS. at Westminster.

Carew thus refers to his fate: 'Sir Thomas Arundel, a younger brother of Lanhearn House, married the sister to Queen Katharine Howard, and in Edward VI.'s time was made a Privy Counsellor; but cleaving to the Duke of Somerset, he lost his head with him.' But Carew does not mention, to the credit of his elder brother John, how (as we read in T. Wright's 'Queen Elizabeth and Her Times,' i. 507-8) the Earl of Bedford, writing to Lord Burghley from Truro, on 3rd August, 1574, reports that, the Spanish navy being now ready for sea, Sir John Arundell and others met him eight miles from Plymouth, and accompanied him throughout his visit to Cornwall; the object of which seems to have been an inspection of the defences. The Earl reports that he found Sir John 'ready and serviceable in all things.'

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Perhaps the most interesting member of the family is the man who now appears upon the scene, the grandson of 'Jack of Tilbury,' and son of the foregoing Sir John. I mean 'John for the King,' the valiant hero who held Pendennis Castle so stoutly for Charles I. He was the son of John Arundell of Trerice, by his second wife, Gertrude Dennys, of Holcombe; and Richard Carew, the historian of Cornwall, married his half-sister, Julian.

Unless I am much mistaken, he was present—or if not he, it must have been his son Richard, who was also at Edgehill and at Lansdowne—with most of the Cornish gentry, including Sir Bevil Grenville, Trevanion, and others, at the victory obtained by the King's forces over the army of the Parliament, in 1623, on Braddock Downs—a fight which I have endeavoured to describe in the chapter on the Grenvilles.

At any rate, twenty years later, Colonel John Arundell, of Trerice, in Newlyn,[36] was appointed Governor of Pendennis Castle, in succession to Sir Nicholas Slanning, who fell at the siege of[92] Bristol. According to some accounts he was then sixty-seven years of age, according to others eighty-seven; but the former is no doubt correct. Here, in the following year, he harboured for a night or two the unfortunate Queen Henrietta Maria, on her flight into France from Exeter (where she had just been confined of a prince) before the army of the Earl of Essex. The then Sheriff of Cornwall thus writes to his wife, Lady Francis Basset,[37] on the occasion:

And here John Arundell also received the Prince, afterwards Charles II., in February, 1646. A room in the castle still retains the name of the King's Room.

The story of the siege has been admirably detailed by Captain Oliver, R.A., in his 'Pendennis and St. Mawes: an Historical Sketch of Two Cornish Castles.' On the 17th March, 1646, Fairfax took up his quarters at Arwenack House, the ancient seat of the Killigrews, as we shall see in the account of that family; the Killigrews themselves were within the castle walls. To Fairfax's summons to deliver up Pendennis,[93] the gallant old Arundell gave, as might have been expected, 'a peremptory denyall,' saying (according to a contemporary, and not a friendly, account) that 'hee was 70 yeares old, and could not have many days to live, and therefore would not in his old yeares blemish his honour in surrendering thereof, and would rather be found buried in the ruines thereof, than commit so vilde a treason.' And so, with his brave garrison, 'all desperate persons and good soldiers ... many very considerable men ... and the violentest enemies that the Parliament hathe in this kingdom,' Arundell prepared to withstand the siege. Fairfax's haughty summons demanded a reply within two hours, and this was the answer he got—(it is preserved among the Clarendon State Papers):—

      'Colonel John Arundell to Sir Thomas Fairfax.

The story of the five months' siege, and how Pendennis was the last fortress but one (Raglan) to surrender to the Parliament, are matters of history; the besieged felt that the eyes of England were upon them, and did not flinch from the terrible privations which they were about to suffer. Two other summonses to surrender were made in the following month, with the same result as before. But at length, after many of the horses had been killed 'for beefe,' the garrison was reduced to the last extremity, and honourable articles of surrender were at length agreed to on the 16th August, 1646. Then the brave little band marched out 'with their Horses, compleat Arms, and other Equipages, according to their present or past Commands or Qualities, with flying Colours, Trumpets sounding, Drums beating, Matches lighted at both ends, Bullets in their Mouths,' and so on;—every man of them, starved and ragged as they all were, like their veteran leader, 'game to the toes.'[38]

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Clarendon too (book x., par. 73) tells how they 'refused all summons, nor admitted any treaty till all their provisions were so near consumed that they had not victual left for four and twenty hours; and then they treated, and carried themselves in the treaty with that resolution and unconcernedness that the enemy concluded they were in no straits, and so gave them the conditions they proposed, which were as good as any garrison in England had accepted. This castle,' the historian goes on to say, 'was defended by the Governor thereof, John Arundel, of Trerice, in Cornwall, an old gentleman of near four score years of age, and one of the best estates and interest in that country, who, with the assistance of his son Richard Arundel (who was then a colonel in the army, and a stout and diligent officer, and was by the King, after his return, made a baron,[39] Lord Arundel of Trerice, in memory of his father's services, and his own eminent behaviour throughout the war), maintained and defended the same to the last extremity.' The estates of Richard Arundell, which had been confiscated, were restored to him on his being created a baron.

A letter from the King, in the possession of Mr. Rashleigh, of Menabilly (quoted by Captain Oliver), still further illustrates the high place which the Arundells held in the esteem of the first Charles. Writing to Sir William Killigrew, who had solicited the King that the reversion of the Government of[96] Pendennis Castle should be promised to the above-mentioned Richard Arundell, Charles says:

And accordingly in 1662 Richard Arundell, who was present at the siege of Pendennis, and whom, by the way, Clarendon used to address as his 'dear Dick,' succeeded Sir Peter Killigrew in the governorship of the Castle, doubtless discharging the office with ability; but I do not find anything noteworthy during his tenure of the office, except, perhaps, that when the oath of supremacy was administered in 1666[97] (after the great fire of London) to Pendennis, as well as to many other garrisons, one man alone in that castle, and he, one of Lord Arundell's own servants, and a Roman Catholic, refused to take it.

Some authorities have stated that Richard Lord Arundell was succeeded in the governorship by his son, Lord John; but this is, to say the least, doubtful.

Pity, as it now seems to us, that gallant old John Arundell did not live long enough to see the King 'enjoy his own again,' and to receive the honours which, however, as we have seen, were ultimately conferred upon his son and successor. The capture of Pendennis and the final loss of the King's cause nearly ruined old John Arundell also; and it is said that he was even reduced to crave assistance from Cromwell himself, urging that the Trerice Arundells 'had once the honour to stand in some friendship, or even kinship, with your noble family.' The old hero was buried at Duloe, where, until lately, his monument might have been seen. Well would he have deserved a promised barony or any honours that might have been bestowed upon him, for he and his family served their King to the utmost of their means, four of his sons took up arms in the royal cause, and the two elder were King's men in the House of Commons. The eldest was killed at the head of his troop, whilst charging and driving back a sally at Plymouth in 1643; and Richard, the second son, the first Baron Arundell of Trerice, probably was at Edgehill and at Lansdowne, as well as at Pendennis.

The Arundells of Trerice became an extinct family[98] by the death of the fourth baron, John, who died in 1768, when the estates passed to William Wentworth, his wife's nephew, who re-settled them, and they eventually became the property of their present possessor, Sir Thomas Dyke Acland, Bart., M.P.

A writer in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1829 (xcix. pt. 2, p. 215) observed that at that time the legal representatives of the Lords Arundell of Trerice were Mr. I. T. P. Bettesworth Trevanion, of Carhayes in Cornwall, and the Honble. Ada Byron, daughter of the poet—'Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart'—they being the descendants of the body of Anne, or Agnes, the only sister of Richard, the first Baron Arundell, that left issue. Yet it should perhaps also be recorded how another Arundell, descended from the Trerice stock, served his country in a useful, if not in so distinguished a capacity as did some of his ancestors; for the Honble. Richard Arundell, an uncle of the last baron, was M.P. for Knaresborough, was Clerk of the Pipe, Surveyor of Works, and Master and Warden of the Mint, and a Commissioner of the Treasury. He married the Lady Frances Manners, a daughter of the Duke of Rutland, and died, sine prole, in 1759. Walpole tells how Lady Arundell, during the earthquake panic of 1750, was one of those ladies who fled out of town (to avoid it) some ten miles off, where they were to play brag till five in the morning, and then came back to town, 'I suppose' (says Walpole) 'to look for the bones of their husbands and families under the rubbish.' 'Earthquake-gowns' were worn[99] by ladies during this panic—i.e., gowns made of some warm materials in which they could sit up all night out of doors.

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THE ARUNDELLS OF TOLVERNE.

Whilst I write the following lines, there lies before me an extremely rare, if not unique, MS. chart of Falmouth Haven and its tributary waters. It was made by one Baptista Boazio in 1597, and on it is marked, 'Tolverne Place, Mr. John Arondell.' The chart is of peculiar interest, inasmuch as, in addition to the ordinary information contained in documents of this nature, it gives the names of the occupants of the principal houses at the time. Thus we find a 'Buscowen' at Tregothnan (then called Buscowen House), a 'Carminow' at Vintangollan, a 'Bonithon' at Cariklew (Carclew), a 'Trefusis' at Trefusis, and so on. King Harry's (or rather Henry's) Passage (so named on the chart) and the Tolverne Ferry are also shown on this map; far more important passages of course in those days, when one of the main thoroughfares from the eastern to the western parts of Cornwall, through Tregony, Ruan-lani-horne and Philleigh, crossed the Fal at this point.

Tolverne is shown on the map as a place of some importance, as it doubtless was in those days; for here (if anywhere in Cornwall) Henry VIII. had, more than fifty years before the date of the map,[100] probably stayed on his visit of inspection to the two castles of Pendennis and St. Mawes at the mouth of the haven, hard by, which that monarch (as Leland's inscriptions on the masonry record) was deeply interested in making secure against a foreign enemy.

Tolverne is now merely a substantial farmhouse. We are indebted to Carew for the following picture of the place, contemporary with the map, as it stood in his time nearly three hundred years ago: 'Amongst all of the houses upon that side the river, Talverne, for pleasant prospect, large scope, and other housekeeping commodities, challengeth the pre-eminence. It was given to a younger brother of Lanhearne, for some six or seven descents past, and hath bred gentlemen of good worth and calling; amongst whom I may not forget the late kind and valiant Sir John Arundell, who matched with Godolphin, nor John, his vertuous and hopeful succeeding son, who married with Carew.' It will be remembered also that Richard Carew himself married an Arundell.

Philleigh was their church, as Mawgan was that of the Lanherne Arundells, and Newlyn East that of the Arundells of Trerice; and the transept of Philleigh is still called the Tolverne or Falmouth Aisle; but no traces of Arundell monuments are now to be found there;—although C. S. Gilbert, in his history of Cornwall, states that in one of the windows there was a shield bearing the arms of the family. Yet, so early as 1383, the connexion[101] of the family with Church affairs in the parish is shown by the fact that, in that year, Ralph Soor, or Le Sore, obtained a license from the Bishop of Exeter for saying mass in his chapel in his manor-house of Tolferne; and that a Sir John Arundell of Trembleth[41] married Joane le Soore of Tolverne, in the reign of Edward I., two or three generations before this.[42]

The Arundells do not, however, seem to have regularly established themselves at Tolverne until a son of Sir John of Lanherne and his wife Annora Lambourne—Sir Thomas Arundell of Tolverne—settled here with his wife, Margery Lerchdekne. They had no children, and, on the lady's death, Sir Thomas took unto himself a second wife, Elizabeth Paulton, from whom the Tolverne Arundells may be said to have descended. Sir Thomas himself died in 1443; but I do not know where he was buried; probably at Philleigh.

Of the lives of the Tolverne Arundells, whose current seems to have been as tranquil as that of the sylvan Fal, which ebbed and flowed round their domain, I find little to record, except that they intermarried with many of the old Cornish families—with the Courtneys of Boconnoc, with Reskymer, Trelawny, Carminow, St. Aubyn, their neighbour [102]Trefusis, Chamond, Godolphin, and, as we have seen, Carew. We have traces of the will of Thomas Arundell, Esq., of Talverne, dated 22nd May, 1552, which shows that he possessed tenements in Truro borough and elsewhere, also the passage and passage-boat of Talverne. The inventory of his property was sworn at £224 5s. 9d. There is also extant the will of John Arundell, 7th February, 1598, but it contains little of interest, except that he bequeaths to his mother his 'little guilt sack-cup with a cover,' and that his executors were Richard Carew of Antony, and Richard Trevanion of St. Gerrans.

One of the sons of the latter Arundell, namely Thomas, who was knighted by James I., sold Tolverne; having seriously impaired his fortune, it is said, by endeavouring to discover an imaginary island in America, called 'Old Brazil;' he afterwards lived at Truthall in the parish of Sithney. One of the Truthall Arundells, John, was Colonel of Horse for Charles II., and a Deputy-Governor of Pendennis Castle under his relative Richard, Lord Arundell of Trerice. He was buried at Sithney on 25th May, 1671; but I have hitherto been unable to trace anything further of interest of his history, or of that of his descendants. One of the latest members of this branch married William Jago, of Wendron, whose children took the name and arms of Arundell in 1815; and it may be added that Hals the historian descended from the Arundells by the female line.

[103]

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THE MINOR ARUNDELLS.

The story of the Arundells of Cornwall is nearly told. There were, as I intimated at the commencement of this chapter, some minor branches, who perhaps deserve a passing notice: the most noteworthy of whom appears to be the branch that settled at the manor[43] and barton of Menadarva (== the hill by the water), in the parish of Illogan, near the sea-coast, and about three miles north-west of Camborne. This branch seems to have been founded by Robert, a natural son of that Sir John Arundell of Trerice, Vice-Admiral of Cornwall, 'Jack of Tilbury,' who died in the third year of Elizabeth's reign. Robert took to wife Elizabeth Clapton, and they had numerous descendants.

I must once more be indebted to Hals, for the following bit of gossip about the Arundells of Menadarva: 'The last gentleman of this family dying without issue male, his sisters married to Tresahar and others, became for a time, possessed of this lordship; but it happened that a brother of theirs also, who was a merchant-factor in Spain, who married an innkeeper's widow there, in Malaga or Seville, of English extraction, was said to be dead without issue; but it seems, before his death, had issue by her an infant son, who was bred up in Spain till he came of age, without knowledge of his relations[104] aforesaid; who being brought into England with his mother, temp. William III., delivered ejectments upon the barton and manor of Menadarva and the occupants thereof, as heir-at-law to Arundell, and brought down a trial upon the same at Lanceston, in this county, where, upon the issue, it appeared, upon the oaths of Mr. Delliff, and other Spanish merchants of London, that the said heir was the legitimate son of Mr. Arundell, aforesaid, of Spain, and born under coverture or marriage. He obtained a verdict and judgment thereon for the same, and is now in possession thereof. He married Tremanheer of Penzance, and hath issue. The arms of this family are the same as those of the Arundells of Trerice, with due distinction.'

An offshoot, as I take him to be, of the Menadarva Arundells, one Francis, who was born about the year 1620, is said to have settled at Trengwainton, near Penzance, where they lived for some generations; and one of them, Francis Arundell, served with some distinction on the side of the Parliament during the Civil War, ranking as captain. I fancy it must be his son who mourned in Latin verse, after the fashion of the time, the deaths of two Queens of England, while, as a Commoner of Trinity College, Cambridge, he was under the tuition of Isaac Barrow.

Yet another minor branch of the Arundells remains to be noticed, viz. a younger branch of the Arundells of Lanherne, descended from that Sir John Arundell who married Elizabeth Danet, of Danet's Hall.[105] They had their seat at Trevithick, some two miles west of the town of St. Columb Major, and not much farther from Lanherne itself. The representative of the family who was alive at the time of the Herald's Visitation in 1620, was named Thomas, who married Rachel, the daughter of Sir Giles Montpesson, Knight, and who, Hals tell us, died 'without issue, but not without wasting a great part of his estate.'

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Now, to adopt a metaphor of Sir Humphry Davy's, at length the great stream of the Arundells of Cornwall, like some mighty river losing itself among the sands as it approaches the ocean shore, becomes so divided that we can no longer easily trace its course. After the names and dates to which we have been referring, no Arundell of distinction seems to have arisen in Cornwall; and their places soon 'knew them no more.' They became scattered throughout the county,[44] and by the help of the Bishop of Exeter's transcripts, and the Parish Registers of Camborne, St. Erme, St. Ewe, Falmouth, Fowey, Gulval, Mawnan, Menheniot, Mevagissey, Sheviock, and Sithney, we find that down to the year 1725 there were still indeed Arundells in Cornwall being christened, dying, marrying,—but no longer 'great Arundells' as of yore: in fact, the entry in the year 1725, in the St. Erme Register, merely[106] records the baptism of Charles, the son of Richard Arundell, 'a day labourer.'

Yet, by a strange freak of fortune, not only did the female line continue, but one of the Arundells—William by name—married nearly two and a quarter centuries ago, Dorothy, a daughter of that Theodore Palæologus[45] who was buried in Landulph Church in 1636. She is described in the Parish Register as being 'ex stirpe Imperatorum.' So that there probably flows in the veins of many a rustic of the neighbourhood of Callington and Saltash the mingled blood of those Arundells who came over to England with the Conqueror, and that of the Byzantine Emperors of the East.

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[107]

THE BASSETS OF TEHIDY.

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[108]
[109]

THE BASSETS OF TEHIDY.

'Pro Rege et Populo.'

(The Family Motto.)            

Anyone who examines the one-inch ordnance map of that part of Cornwall which lies between Redruth and Camborne, cannot fail to be struck with the strange lines and markings that appear upon it. Long-dotted lines, and straight markings, showing the directions of the metallic lodes, of the 'faults,' and the 'cross-courses;' and arrow-heads, indicating the ever-varying dip of the strata, intermingled with those cabalistic symbols which are usually employed to denote the planets, (but in this case to explain the metals for which the innumerable mines are worked), crowd the surface of the map to such an extent as to make it almost illegible. These markings indicate the existence, in abundance, in this part of the county of that mineral wealth for which Cornwall has so long been famous, and which, until lately, has contributed no less to the general welfare of her inhabitants than to the enrichment of some of her more illustrious[110] families—in a remarkable degree to that whose story we are about to consider. Nor should we omit to notice here that the lords of the soil—notably the houses of Basset and Pendarves—have in their turn striven to ameliorate the condition of the miner by their endeavouring, by the use of machinery and by many other means to lessen his arduous and perilous labour, and to promote his social, domestic, and moral welfare. We shall also see that the Bassets have been no less distinguished in old times for their attachment to the Crown—an attachment which at one period cost them the loss of nearly all their estates—and that they have therefore fully justified the adoption of their family motto, which I have used as the motto for this chapter.

The actual surface of the ground between Camborne and Redruth, in the district referred to above, is even more disfigured than the appearance of the map suggests. The earth seems to have been turned inside out: grass is scarcely anywhere to be seen, but instead of it vast heaps of 'attle,' or refuse, from the subterranean excavations; the streams are discoloured by the red mine-rubbish, and look like rivers of blood; whilst the air is filled with discordant shrieks of the ill-greased, out-of-door machinery, and the booming thuds of steam pumping-engines. But, close to the northern confines of this scene of haggard ugliness, and between it and the Bristol Channel, there lies a fair large park of a thousand acres, beautifully timbered, and evidencing the care and attention which have been bestowed[111] upon it for centuries by the ancient family[46] who have so long been its owners—the Bassets of Tehidy.

That they were not originally of Cornish extraction their name sufficiently proclaims. Like the Grenvilles and the St. Aubyns, they 'came over with the Conqueror;' as likewise did the De Dunstanvilles, who were also seated here at a very early date.[47]

According to Lysons (who during the present century enjoyed peculiar advantages for learning the story of the family, from being the personal friend of Sir Francis Basset, Lord de Dunstanville), the Bassets of Cornwall and Devon—for the members of this family seem to have very early settled not only in the two westernmost counties, but also in other parts of England—are descended from Osmund Basset, a younger son of Sir Ralph Basset, the Justiciary of King Henry I.

I am aware that Hals says that one of the family held a military post in this part of Cornwall, under Robert, Earl of Morton; and that another writer (in Lake's 'Parochial History of Cornwall') states that they are descended from one Thurstan Basset, who held six hides of land in Drayton, Staffordshire, and who was probably a son of that Osmund Basset [112]who came over from his native France with William I.:—we shall, however, probably be safer in following Lysons.[48]

The earliest mention of the name that I have been able to discover is that of Osmund Basset—probably the before named Norman Knight—who was a witness in 1050 to an agreement respecting the Abbey of St. Ebrulf, at Utica.

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But, to come to the connection of the Bassets with Tehidy, or rather in the first place to its possession by the De Dunstanvilles: it seems that Alan, of the latter patronymic, was lord of the manor of Tehidy in the year 1100; and here seems to be a fitting place to mention the nature of the connexion between the two names which appears in the titles of the Sir Francis Basset mentioned above. It arose thus: Thomas Basset, a descendant—probably[113] a great grandson—of King Henry I.'s Justiciary, and himself holding a like post in the days of Henry III., married one Alice de Dunstanville,[49] and most of their descendants seem to have settled mainly in Oxfordshire and the midland counties.

There was, however, according to Lysons, another Basset named William, of Ipsden, also an Oxfordshire man, who, in the days of Richard I.—probably about the close of his reign—married Cecilia, the daughter of Alan de Dunstanville, and had with her 'Menalida' in Cornwall, which property, Playfair says, 'her father acquired by marriage with a daughter of Reginald Fitz-Henry;' Menalida—so our author thinks—being an ancient name of Tehidy.[50]

The marriage of this William Basset with Cecilia de Dunstanville probably began, or at least confirmed, the connexion which still subsists between the Bassets and Tehidy. Here they settled; and, as the centuries rolled on, their blood has intermingled with the old Cornish stocks by marriages with the [114]families of Rashleigh, Carveth, Godolphin, Prideaux, Courtenay, Grenville, Trenouth, Trengove, Trelawny of Trelawny, Marrys of Marrys (near Bude), and Enys of Enys. And their bones lie in Cornish soil; for the most part in the adjacent parish church of Illogan.

Amongst other early fragmentary notices of them that I have found, are the following:

In the list of knights summoned from Cornwall, a.d. 1277, to attend King Edward I. at Worcester, on service against Llewellyn ap Griffith, the name of Ralph Basset occurs.

In 1324, William Basset's name occurs amongst the 'nomina hominum ad Arma in com. Cornubiæ.' In the reign of Edward III., he obtained a patent from that King for two markets weekly, and two fairs every year for Redruth. There was another William Basset who held a military feu at Tehidy and Trevalga, in 3rd Henry IV.

They were Sheriffs of the County during the reigns of three Henries—the 6th, the 7th, and the 8th; and also in some subsequent reigns: and one of the family[51] occupied, in the reign of Edward IV., that Castle of Carnbrea which stands on the granite hill of that name, within the manor of Tehidy, commanding a view of both the English and St.[115] George's Channels, and down whose slopes groves of old oaks in those days flourished all the way from the summit of the hill to Portreath, or Basset's Cove. Most of these were cut down in the time of the Civil Wars—probably in order to raise money for the King—the remainder (if Hals is to be trusted) by the old Lady Basset, 'who had the estate in jointure.' Well might Leland say that theirs was 'a right goodly lordship,' extending as it did over large portions of the three parishes of Illogan, Redruth, and Camborne, the advowsons of which belong to the manor of Tehidy. In illustration of the latter statement, and further, as showing the early connexion of the Bassets with this neighbourhood, a writer in Lake's 'Parochial History of Cornwall' says, that '11 March, 1277, Sir Lawrence Basset, Knight, presented one Michael to the Church of St. Euinus, Redruth; and William Basset, Knight, presented Thomas Cotteford to Illogan in 1382; Alexander Trembras by J. Basset, of Tehidy, 1435,'—and so on. Sometimes a member of the Basset family held one or other of the three livings.

Of the early members of the family I know of little further that seems worthy of record; but perhaps we should not pass altogether unnoticed, the fact that the William Basset who obtained the patent for the Redruth markets, obtained a license to embattle his manor-house of Tehidy, in the year 1330-31 (Rot. Pat. 4th Edward III., Memb. 10); and that at this time the Bassets also had seats at Umberleigh, White Chappel, and Heanton Court, in[116] Devon. This William appears to be he who was Knight of the Shire for Cornwall, 6th Edward II., and again in 6th and 8th Edward III.; a position which probably assisted in procuring for him the above-mentioned permission to fortify his house.

No representation of the original house at Tehidy, so far as I know, exists. We may be quite sure that it was a very different structure from that which now occupies its place, and which was built for John Pendarves Basset[52] by Thomas Edwards, about the year 1734. Dr. Borlase figures it in his 'Natural History.' Edwards was a London architect, and, as I was informed by the late Mr. Thomas Ferris of Rosewyn, Truro, was employed in the erection of some of the best modern Cornish mansions—as Nanswhydden, destroyed by fire early in this century; and the handsome house of Mr. William Lemon, in Prince's Street, Truro. Mr. Edwards was also the architect of the steeple and west front of St. Mary's Church, Truro, recently removed to give place to the new cathedral. The present mansion of Tehidy has been much enlarged, and contains some excellent pictures by Vandyck, Lely, Kneller, Rubens, and Reynolds; and the Print-Room of the British Museum contains interesting engravings of portraits of some members of the family.

Not even any remains exist of the ancient structure;[117] yet portions at least must have been standing in comparatively modern times; for Leland speaks of a castelet or pile (of Basset's), and a park wall, both of which Tonkin says were to be seen in his time: and he died about the year 1750.

For more than a century after the date of the Basset who fortified Tehidy, the family appears to have made little mark in history, unless we may mention one John Basset (then Sheriff, as so many of his race were before and after him) whose posse comitatus was so weak that he dared not encounter the Cornish insurgents at the Flammock (or Flamank) rebellion; and thus allowed the rebels, whose object was to depose King Henry VII., on account of his exactions for the expenses of the Scotch war, to march on to Bodmin and Launceston; and so into Devon. But, despite their daring, the bills and bows of the Cornish, though their arrows were (says Lord Bacon) 'the length of a tailor's yard—so strong and mighty a bow were they said to draw'—were no match for the King's artillery, which completed their defeat at Blackheath, in 1496.

About the middle of the sixteenth century, the family appears to have divided into two branches. The Devonshire branch, descended from John, the elder son of John Basset of Umberleigh and his wife Honora Grenville, became extinct in 1796, by the death of Francis Basset; the Cornish branch was continued by George, the younger son of the above Sir John and the Lady Honora. Of this George there is little further to say, except that his wife bore[118] the odd name of Jaquet Coffin, and that he himself was member of Parliament for Launceston, in which neighbourhood the Bassets formerly held a considerable amount of land, which they disposed of a few years ago. The children of George and Jaquet do not seem to have distinguished themselves: the two girls married, respectively, a Cary and a Newman; the son and heir, who has a brass at Illogan recording that he died in 1603, aged 43, married Jane, a daughter of Sir Francis Godolphin.

Possibly the intermixture of the blood of the more warlike Godolphins may have contributed to the result, but this at least is certain—that their eldest son Francis, whom we shall have to notice more fully, was one of the most distinguished members of the family.

The Bassets, like most of the Cornish gentry, as we shall see, were, with perhaps one exception, of whom more hereafter, stout Royalists; and at the outbreak of the Civil War, Francis, then head of the family, was Sheriff and Vice-Admiral of Cornwall (a command subsequently divided into two—north and south)—and Governor of St. Michael's Mount,[53] which was his own inheritance. He was 'a staunch friend to Church and King; and—a devoted lover of game-cocks,' says a writer who was not much disposed to magnify Francis Basset's good points. I hardly know whether or not it is worth recording, as[119] showing the Vice-Admiral's love of sport; but Hals tells the story how he 'let fly his goshawk or tassel to a heath-polt, or heath-cock,' and both were lost to sight; but were both sent back to Tehidy the next day by the Mayor of Camelford, the heath-cock killed by the hawk, but the latter alive and well. By a comparison of time it was shown that in half an hour the birds had flown thirty-two miles. Sir Francis was, moreover, Recorder of St. Ives, represented that borough in Parliament, procured its first Charter, and presented the burgesses with a loving-cup, bearing this genial, though uncouth, inscription:

Francis Basset, A^o. 1640.                    

In 1640 he also contested the Cornish borough of Michael, or Michell, for which, however, he did not sit, owing to a double return.

Francis Basset took to wife Ann, daughter of Sir Jonathan Trelawny. They were married at Pelynt in 1620; and, that time had not dulled their affection, the two following letters, written nearly a quarter of a century after the wedding-day, will show.

But it should be premised, that whilst Sir Bevil Grenville, aided by Major-General Thomas Basset, was defeating the forces of the Parliament at Stamford Hill, near Stratton in North Cornwall, Francis[120] Basset in the West was busily engaged in raising money for the King, and in bringing together and drilling what forces he could in his own part of the county. It was also his function, in co-operation with Lord Goring, to intercept the supplies furnished from West Cornwall to the Earl of Essex, and thus to precipitate the engagements which ended so disastrously for the cause of the Parliamentary troops in the West of England.

The good news from Stamford Hill seems to have reached the Sheriff at Truro, whereupon he writes, with an overflowing heart, this letter:

Francis Basset to his Wife, after the News of the Victory of Stratton.

The foregoing letter appears to me to be interesting, not only as showing the loving terms on which the wife and husband were, but also as indicating the tension of feeling which existed in Cornwall at this critical period in Charles's affairs. We may be sure that Francis Basset and his men pushed forward rapidly on the receipt of this good news, and that he determined not to lose the chance of being present at the next engagement when the banners of King and Parliament were again to float in defiance against each other. Accordingly we find him on the field of Braddock soon after,[55] and again, after the fight, chronicling another victory in the following impassioned terms to his wife. Notice that he was now knighted, and the change of style in which he addresses 'my lady' at 'her Tehidy:'

But Sir Francis, though he did not live to see the days of the Commonwealth (for he died 19th September, 1645), lived long enough to see the reverse of such joyful pictures as the foregoing.

Upon his son and heir, John, fell the full vengeance of Cromwell's government. He was imprisoned for his father's 'delinquency'—though he had never himself been in arms—was compelled to compound for his estates, and, saddest blow of all, in 1660 to sell St. Michael's Mount, which from that date has been held continuously by the family of St. Aubyn. Other hardships too he suffered, which, the county historians tell us, reduced his estate and the family very low. Up to this date the Bassets had undoubtedly vindicated their claim to the first half of the family motto—'Pro Rege.'

But three good matches brought more money into the impoverished Tehidy coffers; and great profits[123] from tin again restored the Bassets to wealth and prosperity.

The Vice-Admiral had a second son—Francis—also a Colonel in the army. But in later life he became a Baptist, and resided at Taunton; one of that class who, imbued with stern and self-denying views of religion, caused Erasmus to ejaculate, 'O, sit anima mea cum Puritanis Anglicanis.'

The Colonel was accused in 1661 of a conspiracy against Charles II., and there is a Star Chamber complaint to this effect; but ultimately the letter pretending to have been written by Francis Basset was demonstrated to be a forgery. Indeed the whole family seems to have been so thoroughly attached to the Stuarts, that, on the accession of the house of Hanover in 1714, one is not very much surprised to find that Mr. Basset of Tehidy would have been arrested by Mr. Boscawen (then Sheriff of Cornwall) as a Jacobite, had not Mr. Basset made a timely flight from his house. Unless I am mistaken, this was the same Francis Basset who was himself Sheriff of Cornwall in 1708.

The connexion between the families of Basset and Pendarves is amusingly illustrated by the record of a marriage which took place at St. Stephen's in Branwell, on 12th April, 1737, the scribe who entered the event in the Parish Register describing the bridegroom as 'a Squar,' that being the nearest approach which the parish clerk's acquaintance with orthography enabled him to make towards writing the happy man down an Esquire.

[124]

We now come to what I cannot help considering a very interesting period in the family history—interesting not so much from the importance of the incidents chronicled (though they give us a curious peep into the interior of a Cornish gentleman's household early in the last century), as from their having been recorded by the pen of the beautiful and accomplished Mary Grenville, a descendant of the old Cornish family of Stow, better known to us nowadays as the Mrs. Delany to whom Ballard dedicated his 'Celebrated British Ladies,' and whose autobiography, edited by one of her descendants, Lady Llanover, is, notwithstanding its portentous length, one of the most entertaining books of modern times.

When only sixteen or seventeen years of age, Mary Grenville married her first husband, Alexander Pendarves, of Roscrow near Penryn, he being then sixty years old. She describes with much vivacity her first acquaintance with her Cornish home, and her grumpy old husband whom she styles in her diary 'Gromio.' The old man had quarrelled with Francis Basset for marrying, as his second wife, Gromio's niece, Mary, daughter and heiress of his younger brother, the Rev. John Pendarves of Drewsteignton, and for refusing his offer to settle upon Francis Basset his whole estate if he would take the name of Pendarves after his, Alexander's, death. This, Basset, justly proud of his own family name, declined to do; and hence no doubt the reason of Alexander's marriage with the young Mary Grenville. Their marriage life lasted only[125] about seven years, and was not a particularly happy one. Soon after her husband's death Mrs. Pendarves married Dr. Delany, Dean of Down, to whom she seems to have been fondly attached; though he too was much her senior.

To this charming and talented lady we are indebted for the following glance at the interior of Tehidy nearly 150 years ago, and for a portrait of the Basset of the period—Francis, grandfather of the first Lord de Dunstanville:

And so it seems the party did not break up for a week or ten days; Gromio grumbling; Bassanio vainly trying to make himself extremely agreeable during their walks and drives in that 'very romantic part of the country,' as Mrs. Delany well calls it; Fulvia as dull as ever; and Aspasia untouched by the flattery and gallantries of her would-be lover. At length she had to write 'that Bassanio was too quick-sighted not to perceive Gromio's suspicions and my great dislike of his behaviour; and, as it was his interest to keep in favour with his uncle, he was upon his guard, and never gave either of us reason to be offended with him any more. Soon after (in 1721) he was seized with terrible fits, that ended his life a year and half after I married.'[56]

[128]

There is yet another entry in Mrs. Delany's diary which refers to the Tehidy family. In June, 1756, she writes: 'I am going into mourning for my great-great-nephew Basset, who died last week. I pity his unhappy mother extremely. She has gone through much care and anxiety on his account.'

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John Basset, the son of the Rev. John Basset, rector of Illogan and Camborne, now claims a passing notice before we come to the last and perhaps most illustrious member of this family. He was born on 17th November, 1791, and was elected member of Parliament for Helston in 1840, failing, however, to retain his seat at the election in the following year; but he chiefly distinguished himself by the zealous interest which he took in the welfare of Cornish mining and the Cornish miner. In 1836 he published some treatises on the 'Mining Courts of the Duchy of Cornwall,' and, in the same year, 'Thoughts on the' (then) 'New Stannary Bill.' Three years afterwards appeared the 'Origin and History of the Bounding Act;' and, after another similar interval, in 1842—the year before his death at Boppart, on the Rhine—his 'Observations on Cornish Mining.'

But perhaps his most valuable contribution to Cornish literature was a treatise published in 1840, having for its humane object the amelioration of the physical condition of the miner—viz., 'Observations on the Machinery used for Raising Miners in the Hartz.' There can be little doubt that this work[129] tended in no small degree to direct public attention to the great and avoidable exhaustion caused to the miner by his having to ascend many fathoms of ladders after long and laborious work in the heated and vitiated atmosphere of many of our deep mines. The result was the invention of an ingenious machine known as the steam man-engine, by means of which two huge vertical poles, with foot-rests at intervals, are set in motion side by side the whole depth of the mine-shaft. As one pole ascends, the other descends, and thus, by changing from one to the other by help of the foot-rests, the miner is enabled to ascend from his work, or descend to it, with the minimum expenditure of his own strength. If he who makes an oak grow where none grew before is to be considered a benefactor to his race, surely anyone who contributes in greater or less degree to so benevolent and beneficial an object as this steam man-engine has proved to be, has a good claim to be ranked among the philanthropic benefactors of his race. There is, of course, some little risk in performing this feat in the dark, damp and slippery mine-shafts, lit, perhaps, by a solitary candle stuck into a lump of clay and attached to the front of the miner's hat; and it is scarcely necessary to add that the use of the man-engine is most strictly forbidden to all except those by whom it is really required. Is it necessary to say that the man-engine, therefore, became a great attraction to all schoolboys who chanced to be within easy distance of one?—at any rate the writer, then a schoolboy, used to spend parts of many a half-holiday in practically[130] investigating the merits of the machine, by descending by its means into the depths of the earth, until the utter darkness made the descent too dangerous even for a schoolboy.

John Basset's eldest son, John Francis Basset, of Stratton, brother of the present owner of the estates (Gustavus Lambert Basset, who served in the Crimea as lieutenant in the 72nd Highlanders), was a barrister, and was Sheriff of Cornwall in 1861. He succeeded to the Tehidy property on the death of his aunt, Frances, Baroness Basset, in 1855, and died at the family mansion in 1869. His chief mining interests (which were immense) were in the Bassets, South Frances, and Dolcoath mines. His landed property lay chiefly in Illogan, Camborne, Redruth, and St. Agnes, besides other estates which he owned in Meneage, Gluvias, Falmouth, Tywardreath, etc.

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But we must now speak of one whom Davies Gilbert, P.R.S., described as, in every sense, the first man in the county—I mean that Francis Basset, D.C.L., Baron de Dunstanville of Tehidy, and Baron Basset of Stratton,[57] whose monument forms so conspicuous an object on the summit of the historic hill of Carn Brea, and which was erected to his memory by the county of Cornwall in 1836.[58] He was the grandson of Mrs. Delany's Francis [131]Basset, and son of the Francis Basset who represented Penryn in Parliament from 1766 to 1769. His mother was Margaret St. Aubyn.[59] Born at Walcot, in Oxfordshire, on 9th August, 1757, he was educated at Harrow, Eton, and lastly at King's College, Cambridge, where he took his degree of M.A. when twenty-nine years of age. When Lord de Dunstanville's father died, the boy wrote to Dr. Bathurst—afterwards Bishop of Norwich—this characteristic little note:

A tour on the Continent in company with the Rev. William Sandys, the son of a former steward of the family, a gentleman who had been specially trained to perform the pleasant but arduous duties of cicerone, completed his education, and thus he started in life with every advantage that a youth of talents and position could desire; nor did he fail to employ them.

On his return home he at once threw himself into the arena of public life; and from time to time published sundry political and agricultural treatises. Amongst the former may be mentioned, 'Thoughts on Equal Representation' (1783), 'Observations on a Treaty of Commerce between England and France'[132] (1787), 'The Theory and Practice of the French Constitution' (1794), 'The Crimes of Democracy' (1798), and a speech which he delivered at a county meeting at Bodmin in 1809.

That he considered the foregoing productions not unworthy of his genius may be judged from the fact that he had them handsomely bound together, and presented them to his 'dearest friend, Miss (Harriet) Lemon,' the daughter of Sir William Lemon, of Carclew, Bart., M.P., a lady who ultimately became his second wife: the volume is preserved in the Royal Institution of Cornwall. His agricultural tracts—'Experiments in Agriculture' (1794), 'A Fat Ox' (1799), 'Crops and Prices' (1800), 'Crops in Cornwall' (1801), 'Mildew' (1805)—mostly appeared in Young's 'Annals of Agriculture;' and, like his political treatises, evince much acumen and practical common sense.

He was chosen Recorder for Penryn, and represented that borough in Parliament in 1780. On his entrance into political life he joined Lord North's party, and was hurried into the fatal coalition; though the outbreak of the French Revolution considerably modified his political views, which ultimately became what we should now call Conservative.[60] As illustrative of his electioneering activity, the following will be interesting, at least to my Cornish readers:

[133]

Extracts from Letters from the Hon. Mrs. Boscawen to Mrs. Delany.

Possibly personal pique had something to do with Sir Francis's desertion of his original political allies; for I find amongst the Additional MSS. in the British Museum, a letter in his hand to the Duke of Portland, on the 20th November, 1783, relinquishing all connexion with that nobleman's Government, on account of their having superseded Sir Francis's nephew, Mr. Morice, as Warden of the[134] Stannaries. 'Ill-usage to myself' (wrote he) 'I could better have brooked than to my friends.'

In the year 1779, it will be remembered, Plymouth was threatened by the combined French and Spanish fleet, and Francis Basset distinguished himself on the occasion by marching to that town a large body of the miners' militia, who, under his directions, rapidly threw up such additional earthworks as were deemed necessary for the security of that port. This prompt action on his part gained for him his first title—his baronetcy. Indeed, he seems to have had quite a talent for fortification, for to him also are due the works of defence of which traces are still to be seen at Basset's Cove, now better known as Portreath, and which formerly consisted of one battery of four 12-pounders, and another of two 6-pounders.

Sir Francis evidently took great interest in the affairs of Rodney, and on 7th June, 1783, moved an address to the King that a 'lasting provision' might be made for the gallant Admiral; but, on the Government's undertaking to see after it, he withdrew his motion.

He opposed the Peace, and argued 'with energy' against it; but, as the report from which I quote merely 'preserves the substance of the argument without the declamation,' we are unfortunately deprived of this specimen of the Baronet's eloquence. In November of the same year he seconded the Address in reply to the King's speech, declaring his confidence in the Administration, his desire to alleviate the burdens of the people, his abhorrence of smuggling, as to which he said he spoke with some authority, living as he did in a maritime[135] county; and, having spoken with tenderness of the natives of India, whose grievances the Government had promised to redress, he concluded with a warm eulogy of the unparalleled successes of Lord Rodney.

Nor did he neglect the arts of peace; deriving as he did an almost princely income from the mines which lay within sight of his mansion, he was ever on the watch for opportunities for developing mining prosperity, and promoting the moral and social welfare of the miner. He was deeply interested, too, in improving the means of locomotion in the county, and in 1809 laid the first rail of the iron tramway designed to connect Portreath on the northern shore of Cornwall with the Gwennap mines.

Moreover, he was a liberal patron of the fine arts,[61] and his edition of Carew's 'Survey of Cornwall,' enriched with Tonkin's notes, and published in 1811, is one amongst many instances of his public spirit, and his interest in the affairs of his county.

He lived to the good old age of seventy-seven, but the end came at last; and on his way to London, to attend in his place in the House of Peers, he was seized with paralysis at Exeter. He managed to reach town, but died at his residence, Stratheden House, South Place, Knightsbridge, nearly opposite the Hyde Park Cavalry Barracks, on the 5th February, 1835.

[136]

These were the days before railways, and the tale is still told in the west country of the magnificent procession, with its 'outriders and ten pages on horseback,' which wended its way at a walking-pace from London to Tehidy, a distance of 300 odd miles, accomplished in twelve days.

His monument, adorned with a portrait by Westmacott, stands in Illogan Church; and an epitaph that does not flatter records that 'his open heart, his generosity, and universal benevolence, won him the esteem of all classes, and the affection of those who intimately knew him. A sincere Christian, an elegant scholar, the patron of merit, and a munificent contributor to charitable institutions throughout the Empire, he proved himself the friend of his country and of mankind. But, with a laudable partiality, he especially devoted the chief energies of his mind, and directed the influence of rank and talents to advance the moral welfare and to promote the prosperity of Cornwall, his native county.'

The entailed estates devolved, upon his death, on his nephew, the before-named John Francis Basset, from whom they have passed to their present owner, Gustavus Lambert Basset, Esq., of Tehidy.

The first Baron de Dunstanville left only one daughter, Frances, who, on her father's decease became Baroness Basset of Stratton. Noted for her diligence in charity and all good works, she died at Tehidy, on 22nd January, 1855, in her seventy-fourth year, last of her race in the direct line; and in her the revived, but short-lived, peerage became extinct.

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[137]

ADMIRAL WILLIAM BLIGH, F.R.S.

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[138]
[139]

ADMIRAL WILLIAM BLIGH, F.R.S.

The name of Admiral Bligh will always be associated with that painful episode in the history of the British Navy—the Mutiny of the Bounty—and the settlement of the mutineers on Pitcairn and other of the South Sea Islands; whence we still occasionally obtain news of their happy and flourishing descendants—happier far than their progenitors.[62] He is another example of a Cornish circumnavigator of the globe; the first being a Michell of Truro, who went round the world with Sir Francis Drake. Captain Samuel Wallis, R.N., of Lanteglos juxta Camelford, also sailed round the world in the Dolphin in 1766-68.

The Admiral was born, in all probability (though there has been some uncertainty on the subject) on[140] the Duchy Manor of Tinten,[63] in the parish of St. Tudy, about half a mile south of the 'Church Town,' about the year 1753,—the son of Charles and Margaret Bligh; although I am aware that, according to another account, he is said to have been the son of John Bligh, of Tretawne, in the adjoining parish of St. Kew. The earliest connexion which I have been able to trace between this family and the parish of St. Tudy is, that they acquired some property here of the Westlakes, in 1680-81; but there was a John Bligh, or Blygh, at Bodmin, who acted as an assistant to the Commissioners for the Suppression of Monasteries, temp. Henry VIII. To this ancient town a branch of the Bligh family contributed four mayors between the years 1505 and 1588—indeed, the Cornish Blighs may be traced back as early as the reign of Henry IV. I am not sure whether or not Admiral Sir Richard Rodney Bligh, G.C.B, (who died in 1821), was a member of this family; but he was a Cornishman, as were some other naval officers of the same name.

Young Bligh—often called 'Bread-fruit Bligh,' from his having accompanied Captain Cook,[64] as sailing-master in the Resolution, on his second voyage round the world, in 1772-74, (in the course of which the fruit associated with his name was first discovered at Otaheite)—became a lieutenant in the Royal Navy; and, having obtained a high reputation as a skilful [141]navigator, was appointed by George III. to command the Bounty, of 250 tons, on a voyage to Otaheite, in December 1787. After one or two ineffectual attempts to round Cape Horn, she arrived at her destination ten months after leaving England, and remained there for five or six months, the crew revelling in the natural beauty of the place, and enjoying an intercourse (which appears unfortunately to have been totally unrestricted) with the soft savages, its interesting inhabitants. On the homeward voyage, however, laden with plants and specimens of the bread-fruit, which it had been the object of the voyage to secure, with a view to its acclimatization in the British West India Islands, Bligh—who had made himself, by his irascible and overbearing disposition, obnoxious to many of those who sailed with him—was secured and bound by the majority of his crew; and, together with eighteen luckless sailors, was cast adrift on the 28th April, 1789, in an open boat only twenty-three feet long, and deeply laden within 'eight inches of the water's edge,' in which small, frail craft they sailed 3,618 miles. They had on board 32 lbs. of pork, 150 lbs. of bread, some wine, some spirits, and some water—but NO CHART:—

Not until nearly twelve months afterwards, did they reach England; after having touched at one or two islands, where they got a few shell-fish and some fruit, and at the Dutch settlement of Timor, to the east of Java, which they reached on 14th June, 1789, and[142] where they obtained a schooner. Bligh arrived home on the 14th March, 1790, with twelve of his companions; the remainder having died on their weary, miserable passage.[65] To Bligh's skill, resource, and courage, were due the lives of all who were saved.

So astounding a voyage was, of course, the theme of conversation throughout the country; Bligh was immediately promoted to the rank of Commander, and soon afterwards to that of Post-Captain; shortly after which he got appointed, in 1791, to the command of another ship, the Providence, which was sent on a similar expedition to the Society Islands. On this occasion fortune was more favourable to the brave; he did not linger so long amongst the luxurious islets of the Pacific; and having entirely succeeded in the object which he had in view, on his safe return to England received the gold medal of the Society of Arts in 1794. The practical result of this voyage was, however, a failure; the quick-growing plantain being preferred by the West Indians to the somewhat insipid bread-fruit. As regards the mutineers, the Pandora was sent out to punish the ringleaders, some of whom her captain brought back to Portsmouth (notwithstanding having lost his ship on the return voyage near the north point of Australia); and at Portsmouth three of them were executed. Many of the mutineers, however, hid in the islands,[143] whose charms, in the beauty of its scenery, climate, and 'gushing fruits,' and in the hospitable offers of its chiefs, and still more in the winning ways of the fairer sex, 'Nature and Nature's goddess—woman,' had proved too attractive to insure their allegiance to their duty. Byron's poem of 'The Island' is based partly upon the sailors' adventures, and partly on 'Mariner's Account of the Tonga Islands.'

Bligh also displayed great courage at the mutiny at the Nore, in 1797; on which occasion he was deputed to negotiate with the rebellious seamen, and is said to have performed that dangerous duty with singular intrepidity and address.

He was present at the memorable battle off the Dogger Bank, 5th August, 1781; fought under Lord Howe at Gibraltar in 1782; commanded off Ushant in 1794, the Warrior, of 74 guns; at Camperdown, 1797, when he was captain of the 64-gun ship Director; and also at Copenhagen, on 21st May, 1801, when he commanded the Glatton, of 54 guns (a ship's name still perpetuated in the British navy)—

At the close of this fight Nelson sent for our Cornish hero, and personally thanked him for the gallant part which he had taken in that glorious engagement. In the same year, in consideration of his distinguished services in navigation, botany, etc., he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society.

In 1805 he was appointed Captain-General and Governor of New South Wales, and took up[144] office in the following year; but his very arbitrary disposition and harsh notions of discipline, imbibed on the quarter-deck, and which, indeed, distinguished his character throughout life, were strongly resented by many of his subordinate officials, both civil and military; and, notwithstanding that his efforts (which were approved by Lord Castlereagh) seem to have been mainly directed towards preventing the unlimited importation of ardent spirits into the colony, on the 26th January, 1808, Bligh was deposed from his authority by Major George Johnston, of the 102nd Regiment, and those who served under him, and was imprisoned by them until March, 1810.[66] In that year he returned to England in H.M.S. Porpoise, as to the command of which he had a painful squabble with her captain—Kent. He obtained on 31st July, 1811, his flag as Rear-Admiral of the Blue; proceeding by the usual steps of promotion until he became Vice-Admiral of the Blue, in June, 1814. This dignity, however, he did not long enjoy at his quiet rural retreat at Farningham, in Kent, as he died in Bond Street, London, on the 7th December, 1817, and was buried (by the side of his wife—a Miss Elizabeth Betham, of the Isle of Man) at Lambeth, in the east part of the ground enclosing the church, and abutting on the Tradescant tomb. Mrs. Bligh was a woman of superior attainments; and her father is described as being the son of the Principal of some (unnamed) university, and himself a literary man,[145] the friend of Hume, Black, Adam Smith, and Robertson. Bligh left six daughters and three sons, William, Henry, and Richard (the latter a barrister-at-law and author of several legal works) who sold the Tinten property, and thus terminated the connexion of this family with the county of Cornwall.

Admiral Bligh's epitaph records that 'he was that celebrated navigator who first transplanted the bread-fruit tree from Otaheite to the West Indies; bravely fought the battles of his country; and died beloved, respected, and lamented.'

He seems to have been a lenient and benevolent despot in his dealings towards the poor, of which many instances are recorded by J. D. Lang, Jas. Bonwick, R. Therry, and other colonial writers; and—a good sign—he was very fond of little children.

Dr. Alfred Gatty, tells us how, when he went as a boy to Farningham, Admiral Bligh used to take him on his knee, and let him play with a bullet that hung on a blue ribbon round his neck—the same bullet which he used as a weight for doling out the daily portion of bread to his crew and to himself during their long boat-voyage of nearly 4,000 miles.

The Admiral's hasty temper, his room full of books, and his sea curiosities, of course attracted the boy's attention, and more especially a scar on his cheek, about which the old gentleman told him the following story. When George III. at a levée asked him in what action he had been wounded, Bligh was obliged to acknowledge, with some confusion, that it was not a battle-wound; but that his father,[146] in throwing a hatchet to turn a horse which they were both trying to catch in an orchard, accidentally struck him on the cheek.

As regards his family, the following additional remarks may prove not unacceptable:

Lady O'Connell, one of Bligh's daughters, seems to have inherited some of her father's spirit, for she is said to have defended him on one occasion with a pistol 'against rebels,' in Van Diemen's Land. Frances and Jane were twins. Ann was a beauty, but mentally afflicted. On one occasion the young ladies were followed home from Farningham Church by a stranger, who was the subject of a little hoax played upon him by the Misses Bligh. He had advertised for a wife, and they replied to the advertisement by requesting him to appear, blowing his nose demonstratively, in the aisle of the church; by which process he was to be recognised. But so were also Frances and Jane Bligh; for they found it impossible to conceal their laughter at the would-be Benedict's performance, and their dupe accordingly followed them home after the service. Here, however, he was received by the Admiral himself with such emphatic broadsides that the wooer very quickly 'hauled off.'

Bligh's House at Farningham was, and is still known as the Manor House; and having heard that it still contained a picture of one of the Admiral's sea-fights, I asked my obliging correspondent, Mr. H. G. Hewlett (then living at Mount Pleasant, Farningham), to ascertain the facts for me, with the following result:

[147]

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[148]
[149]

THOMASINE BONAVENTURA.

(DAME THOMASINE PERCIVAL, LADY MAYORESS OF LONDON.)

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[150]
[151]

THOMASINE BONAVENTURA.

(DAME THOMASINE PERCIVAL, LADY MAYORESS OF LONDON.)

In the Churchwardens' Accounts for the parish of St. Mary Woolnoth, in the City of London, are the following entries, the first of which (and one of the earliest in the book) makes mention of a Sir John Percyvall, who had a chantry in that church. He was Sheriff in 1486, and Lord Mayor in 1498; received the honour of knighthood from Henry VII., and died circa 1504.

The second, dated 1539, runs as follows: 'It'm receyved of the Maister and Wardens of the Merchynt Taillors for the beme light of this Churche according to the devise of Dame Thomasyn Percyvall, widow, late wyf of Sir John Percyvall, knight, decessed, xxvj^s viii^d.'

A third runs: 'It'm receyved more of the Maister and Wardens of the Merchant-taillours for ij tapers, th'oon of xv lb. and the other of v lb. to burne about[152] the sepulchure in this Chirch at Ester Sunday, and for the Churchwardens labor of this Churche to gyve attendance at the obit of S^r John Percyvall and of his wyfe according to the devyse of the said Dame Thomasyn Percyvall his wyf iiij^l, vi^s iiij^d.'

And the last: 'It'm receyved of the said Maister and Wardenns of Merchant-taillours for the reparacions of the ornaments of this Chirche according to the will of the said S^r John Percyvall vj^s.'

Herbert, in his 'History of the Livery Companies of London,' gives the following particulars of the estates out of the proceeds of which the above funds were paid, viz.: 'So far as S^r John was concerned, the annual sum of 16s. 4d. and £13 6s. 8d., issuing from certain messuages of the Company; and (as regards Dame Thomazine) the sums of 53s. 4d., 21s. 4d., and 13s. 10d., and 20s. yearly, all of the premises being situate in the parishes of St. Mary Wolnoth, St. Michael Cornhill, St. Martin Vintry, and St. Dionysius (or Denis) Back-Church, in Fenchurch Street.' He also gives an account of the manner in which the said funds were disposed of: as, good round sums to priests 'for singing for Sir John;' to priests and clerks for ringing of bells at the obits; for wax to burn on those occasions; sundry sums for the poor, etc.; for the 'conduct for keeping the anthem;' and, amongst other disbursements, ten shillings 'for a potation to the neighbours at the said obit.'

The charities left by this benevolent couple are also set out at p. 502 of the same work.

[153]

And lastly, the Stratton Churchwardens' Accounts for 1513, show that on the day on which 'my lady parcyvale's meneday' came round (i.e. the day on which her death was to be had in mind), prayer was to be made for the repose of her soul, and two shillings and twopence paid to two priests, and for bread and ale.

This, I believe, is nearly all that exists in the shape of documentary evidence to bear record of the existence of the Cornish girl who forms the subject of this notice. There are, however, still to be seen in the remote and quiet little village of Week St. Mary, some five or six miles south of Bude, in the northern corner of Cornwall, the substantial remains of the good Thomasine's College and Chantry, which she founded for the instruction of the youth of her native place.

The buildings lie about a hundred yards east of the church (from the summit of whose grotesquely ornamented tower six-and-twenty parish churches may be discerned); and, built into the modern wall of a cottage which stands inside the battlemented enclosure, is a large, carved granite stone (evidently one of two which once formed the tympanum of a doorway) on which the letter T stands out in bold relief. Probably it is the initial of the Christian name of our Thomasine; at any rate it is pleasant to think it may be such.

The traditions, however, concerning her are not only still numerous in the neighbourhood, but are as implicitly believed as if they were recorded by the[154] most unimpeachable of chroniclers. They have been embodied, not without considerable imaginative embellishment, by the late Rev. R. S. Hawker of Morwenstow, in a pleasant chapter in his charming 'Footprints of Men of Former Times in Cornwall,' and they are somewhat as follows:

Thomasine Bonaventura was a poor shepherd maiden, and tended her sheep—'the long-forgotten Cornish knott'[67]—on the wild moorlands of North Cornwall, in days when more attention was paid than in later times to the produce of the flocks, and less was devoted, at least in this part of the county, to the mineral resources which lie hid in its bosom. Even the wealthy merchants of London came down so far into the west country to buy wool; and it was probably about the middle of the fifteenth century when one 'Richard Bunsby,' a citizen of the metropolis, made his appearance on the scene, which opens on the banks of one of the many little moorland streams that run down from Greena Moor in Week St. Mary, sweeping round Marham Church[155] Hill, and so into Bude Haven. Struck with the shepherdess's bright looks and intelligent remarks, he proposed that she should return to London with him, and become a domestic servant in his house; and Thomasine's parents having given their consent to so brilliant a proposal, as it seemed to them, to London she went, and received on her arrival a hearty welcome from her new mistress. In course of time she became a great favourite with all in the house, the manager of its concerns, and, on the death of Dame Bunsby, the old merchant married his Cornish housekeeper, in compliance with the express wish of his late wife. Three years afterwards, Richard Bunsby, too, died, leaving all his property to Thomasine; and thus she became a wealthy widow. Yet did she not forget her husband's memory, to which she caused to be erected (so it is said) a substantial bridge; a structure (or perhaps I should say its modern representative), which may still be seen, as it was by myself in the autumn of 1880, at Week Ford.

One so 'sweet and serviceable,' and withal so rich, was not long, we may be sure, without suitors; and so, after a while, we find Thomasine again married; this time to 'that worshipful merchant adventurer, Master John Gall, of St. Lawrence, Milk Street.' He, too, was wealthy and uxorious; and enabled his wife to confer many benefits on the poor of her native place, for which she seems to have always entertained a lingering fondness—a trait as characteristic of the Cornish as of the Swiss themselves.[156] After the lapse, however, of five years, Thomasine found herself once more alone in the world; and again her husband had left her all his property.

She had not to wait long before many fresh lovers were at the feet of the 'Golden Widow;' and on this occasion, in the year 1497, she bestowed her hand upon Sir John Percyvall, who was, the year after their marriage, elected to the honourable post of Lord Mayor of London. In memory of this event, she is reported to have constructed a good new road down to the coast, which I am bound to say I have not succeeded in identifying,—though it may be that which runs from Week St. Mary, over Week Ford and through Poundstock, to either Wansum or Melhuc Mouth.

She long survived even her third husband; and retiring, as it is believed, to Week St. Mary, by her will, made in 1510, left goodly sums of money to the home of her childhood. She directed that the 'chauntry with cloisters' (to which reference has already been made) should be built there; and that a school should be founded for the children of the poor.[68]

If Mr. Hawker's testimony is to be accepted, she also left, by a codicil to her will, and in memory of an early love affair, to the priest of the church,[157] where she knew her cousin John Dineham would serve and sing, 'the silver chalice gilt, which good Master Maskelyne had devised for her behoof, with a little blue flower which they do call a "forget-me-not," wrought in Turkess at the bottom of the bowl.' But Mr. Hawker's mind was always full of graceful fancies; and he has in this case undoubtedly drawn upon his imagination for his facts.

Carew is a more reliable if less poetic authority. He says: 'And to show that virtue as well bare a part in the desert, as fortune in the means of her preferment, she employed the whole residue of her life and last widowhood to works no less bountiful than charitable; namely, repairing of highways, building of bridges, endowing of maidens, relieving of prisoners, feeding and apparelling the poor, etc. Among the rest, at this St. Mary Wike she founded a chantry and free-school, together with fair lodgings for the schoolmasters, scholars, and officers, and added £20 of yearly revenue for supporting the incident charges: wherein, as the bent of her desire was holy, so God blessed the same with all wished success; for divers of the best gentlemen's sons of Devon and Cornwall were there virtuously trained up, in both kinds of divine and human learning, under one Cholwel, an honest and religious teacher, which caused the neighbours so much the rather, and the more to rue, that a petty smack only of popery opened the gap to the oppression of the whole, by the statute made in Edward VI.'s reign, touching the suppression of chanteries.'

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[158]
[159]

HENRY BONE, R.A.,

THE ENAMELIST.

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[160]
[161]

HENRY BONE, R.A.,

THE ENAMELIST.

Amongst the worthies of Truro who have left 'footprints on the sands of time,' there are few more deserving of remembrance than Henry Bone, the only Royal Academician that his native place ever produced. He was born on February the 6th, 1755, and was the son of a cabinet-maker and carver, who is said to have been a clever workman, and to have carved the old pulpit of St. Mary's Church, Truro. One of the same name, and perhaps of the same family, a Walter Bone, was Mayor of Truro in 1708. In 1767 the family removed to Plymouth, and in 1771 Bone, showing artistic tastes, was apprenticed to the ingenious William Cookworthy, a druggist there, who discovered the secret of making hard-paste porcelain, in England, out of Cornish granite and clay, and who thereupon established the Plymouth China Works. In 1772 Bone's master removed to Bristol, where, in conjunction with the Champions,[162] to whom he had become related by marriage, Cookworthy established the equally celebrated Bristol Porcelain Works. Bone accompanied him; and here he remained until 1778, working from six in the morning to six in the evening in the factory, and after that improving himself in the art of drawing. It is considered that the best painting executed at the Bristol Works was by Bone, and he is believed to have used the figure 1 in addition to the factory-mark +. Bristol pieces so marked are now very rare.

On the failure in business of his new master, Champion, in 1778, Bone, in the following year, came to London, with one guinea of his own in his pocket, and £5 lent to him by his friend, Morris, a cooper. At first he found employment in enameling watches, etc.; but this work failing him, owing to a change of the fashion, he commenced miniature-painting in water-colours on ivory, and also in enamel. Here it may be noted that he was employed first on enamel-painting, etc., by Randle and Co., Paternoster Row; and also on painting fans for Crowder and Co., Foster Lane. His distinguishing excellence is said to have been that he used enamel paints just as other colours, instead of, according to the feeble practice of the day, first mixing on the palette every colour to be used. His predecessor in this art was Horace Hone; but the latter's work was, in many respects, very inferior to that of the Cornish artist.

Dr. Wolcot (Peter Pindar) early recognised his merit, as he also did that of Opie, and recommended[163] Bone to make annual painting tours into Cornwall; but increasing work in town compelled him at length to give up these congenial trips. On the 24th January, 1780, he married Elizabeth Vandermeulen, a descendant of Philip Vandermeulen, battle-painter to William III.; and Bone's first picture, exhibited at the Royal Academy in the same year, was an enamel painting of his newly-married wife. This enamel was of the then unusual size of two and a half inches in height, and Bone's complete success on this occasion led him now to determine on setting up on his own account instead of working for others. In 1782 his own portrait followed. These works brought him into prominent notice, and numerous patrons came to his studio. Giving his entire attention now to enamel-painting,—which has been well called 'painting for eternity,'—he completed, in 1789, 'A Muse and Cupid,' from his own design, of a greater size than had ever before been executed by this process.[69]

In 1794 we find him exhibiting 'The Sleeping Girl,' after Sir Joshua Reynolds; and in 1797 a portrait of Lord Eglinton, which attracted the attention of the Prince of Wales, who appointed him, in 1800, his enamel-painter, and became a generous patron to him afterwards. In the following year he was elected Associate of the Royal Academy, and enamel-painter to George III.; and he occupied the same post under George IV. and William IV. He subsequently[164] executed several fine enamels, mostly after Sir Joshua Reynolds, and also a fine piece after Leonardo da Vinci. On 15th April, 1811, he was elected Royal Academician, and shortly after produced the largest enamel which had ever been painted up to that time, viz., a copy of the 'Bacchus and Ariadne' in the National Gallery, after Titian, eighteen by sixteen inches. This picture was considered so marvellous a production that more than 4,000 persons went to inspect it at Bone's house; and it was at length sold to Mr. G. Bowles, of Cavendish Square and Wanstead, for 2,200 guineas. The story goes, on the authority of Mr. George Bone, of Blackheath, that this sum was paid in the form of a cheque drawn on Fauntleroy's Bank. Bone cashed it on his way home, in order to have the pleasure of showing to his wife so huge a sum in coin. The following day the notorious forgeries and frauds were discovered, and the firm was bankrupt. But according to a writer in the 'Annual Biography' for 1836, who seems to have been well acquainted with Bone, the amount was paid partly in cash and partly by a draft.

Bone next undertook, in addition to enamel portraits and copies from the ancient masters, a series of historical portraits, mostly of the time of Elizabeth. They were of great merit, but unsuccessful financially. These were exhibited at his house, 15 Berners Street, near that of his friend Opie, No. 8, who painted Bone's portrait.[70] There[165] were also portraits of the Cavaliers distinguished in the Civil War, painted for J. P. Old; as well as portraits of the Russell family, from the reign of Henry VII., for the Duke of Bedford. A catalogue of the last-named was privately printed in 1825, and there is a copy of it in the South Kensington Museum.

In 1831 failing eyesight compelled him to retire to Somers Town, and reluctantly to receive the Academy pension; but owing to the expensive professions adopted by his sons, there was no alternative. Here he died of paralysis on December 17th, 1834. Some time before his death Bone offered his works, which were valued at £10,000, to the nation for £4,000. This offer was declined, and some time afterwards, viz., 22nd April, 1836, they were sold by auction at Christie and Manson's, realizing about 2,000 guineas, and so were scattered far and wide. Other important sales of Bone's enamels took place on the following dates, viz.: 1st May, 1846; 25th April, 1850; 10th May, 1854; and 13th and 14th March, 1856.

Bone had a large family—twelve, it is believed; of whom ten survived. His eldest son, Henry Pierce Bone, born November 6th, 1779, first exhibited at the Academy in 1799. He commenced enamel-painting in 1833, was appointed enamel-painter to Queen Adelaide, and afterwards to her present Majesty and the Prince Consort; and in the course of fifty-six years he exhibited 210 miniatures and enamels. He[166] died in London, October 21st, 1855. Bone's grandsons (W. Bone and C. K. Bone) are also enamelers.

Robert Trewick Bone, the third son, born September 24th, 1790, was a subject-painter of some ability. He died from the effects of a hurt, May 5th, 1840. One son, Thomas, a midshipman, was wrecked and drowned, in the Racehorse, sloop, off the Isle of Man. Another, Peter, a lieutenant in the 36th Regiment, was wounded at the battle of Toulouse, and died soon after his return to England; and another of Bone's sons was called to the bar.

Of Henry Bone's private character, it was truly said, by one who knew him well, that 'unaffected modesty, generosity, friendship, and undeviating integrity adorned his private life;' and as to his artistic merits, it is no exaggeration to say that he was 'unequalled in Europe for the perfect truth and enduring brilliancy of his productions.'

A voluminous list, prepared by the late Mr. J. Jope Rogers, of the works of art produced by the various members of the Bone family, will be found in the 'Journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall,' No. XXII., for March, 1880. It shows a total of 1,063 recorded works by this gifted family, nearly half of which were painted by the principal subject of this brief memoir.

Chantrey executed a fine bust of Henry Bone, which has been well engraved by Thomson; and there is another portrait of him, as an elderly man, which was painted by Harlow, and engraved by F. C. Lewis in 1824.

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[167]

REV. DR. WILLIAM BORLASE, F.R.S.,

THE ANTIQUARY.

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[168]
[169]

REV. DR. WILLIAM BORLASE, F.R.S.,

THE ANTIQUARY.

'In the shade, but shining.'

Pope to Borlase.                    

The little parish of Ludgvan[71] (or as it is sometimes called, Ludgvan-Lees), on the north shore of the Mount's Bay, can boast of having contributed at least its share to the list of illustrious Cornishmen. Small, remote, and obscure as it is, Ludgvan is one of the places mentioned as the birthplace of Sir Humphry Davy; it was for more than half a century the residence of the subject of this article; and here, too, at Tremenheere, was born one of the most illustrious professors of the healing art that the county has ever produced—himself the friend and medical attendant of Borlase and of Pope—I refer to Dr. William Oliver, of Bath.

That the pursuits of a keen inquirer, endowed with no ordinary powers of observation and considerable[170] artistic talent, should, in such an out-of-the-way corner of England as Ludgvan still is, have been directed towards natural history, and to the megalithic remains of antiquity with which the neighbourhood once abounded, and of which there are still numerous examples, is not to be wondered at. And it cannot be denied that the study of those sciences, both in Cornwall and elsewhere, was materially benefited by the numerous and careful drawings and descriptions of the stone monuments of a mysterious and almost unknown race of men, which it was one of the main objects of Dr. Borlase's learned leisure to investigate and record. Many of these ancient remains have altogether disappeared since his time, and many others have been mutilated or altered; but in the Doctor's volumes such minute descriptions of them have been preserved that the loss of the monuments themselves has been rendered of much less serious importance than would have been the case but for his careful and elaborate records. Of the deductions and suggestions which are appended to those descriptions something will be said hereafter.

But, in accordance with the method adopted in the case of the other Worthies of Cornwall, it is well first to say something of the stock from which Dr. Borlase sprang. A Norman origin is claimed for the family—they are said to have descended from one Taillefer: presumably some connexion of him who is reported to have struck the first blow at the Battle of Hastings. Coming into Cornwall, as, by the way,[171] very few other followers of the Norman Conqueror did, the Borlases seem to have adopted a custom which has always more or less prevailed in the county of merging their own name into that of their place of residence; and here it may be observed that the name of Borlase, supposed by some to mean 'the high green summit,' is still attached to two or three little homesteads in the parish of St. Wenn, three or four miles north-east of St. Columb Major.[72] The direct male line became extinct in the time of Elizabeth, when the coheiresses married a Tonkin and a Bray; and the family does not appear to have risen to any distinction until they moved farther westward, and about the middle of the seventeenth century took up their abode (which is still in the possession of a member of the family) at Pendeen, in the parish of St. Just.

The early Pendeen Borlases seem to have been staunch Royalists, for it seems that one of them assisted his cousin, Colonel Nicholas Borlase, in raising a troop of horse for the King. Of this troop a writer in the Quarterly Review for 1875, quotes the following story:

By way of comment on these proceedings, Fairfax quartered some of his troopers at Pendeen,—doubtless to the intense annoyance of the owner thereof; and as regards Colonel Nicholas, a letter from Cromwell to Lenthall tells all that I have been able to gather as to that hero's career. It is dated Edinburgh, 13th June, 1651, and asks the Speaker to hasten the hearing of Borlase's case, which seems to have been involved in the conditions of the hurried treaty of Truro, when Hopton surrendered to Fairfax, and terminated the supremacy of the Royal cause in the West country.

The Borlases were not, however, without some sort of barren reward for their faithfulness to the Stuart cause; for Humphry, who was Sheriff of Cornwall during the last two years of the reign of James II., was created a peer by that monarch after his abdication. Under these circumstances he, of course, never enjoyed the title. He sometimes resided at Truthan, in the parish of St. Erme, near Truro, and left his estates to the Borlases of Pendeen.

Dr. Borlase was born at Pendeen, on 2nd February, 1695, the second son of his father, 'John of Pendeen, twice Member of Parliament for St. Ives in Cornwall in the reign of Queen Anne, and Lydia Harris, of Hayne, county Devon, his wife,' a lady descended, so the writer in the Quarterly Review informs us, through the Nevilles and Bouchiers, from Edward III. But the Borlases had also plenty of good Cornish blood[173] in their veins; and amongst other old families of the soil with whom they intermarried may be named their not very distant neighbours, the Godolphins.

With a member of the last-named family John Borlase seems to have had an altercation one day in church, the particulars of which are set forth in his victim's petition to Parliament as follows, viz.:

What this poor gentleman had done to deserve the 'Justice's justice' thus summarily inflicted on him, observes the writer in the Quarterly Review, from[174] whom I quote this letter, there and then, in the midst as it seems of divine service, and by the occupant of the next pew, we are left to conjecture.

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Pendeen[73] is a house of unusual interest in this part of Cornwall, where, indeed, primæval remains abound, but where are few examples—save small and (with one or two exceptions) not particularly interesting churches—of mediæval and later architecture. It is now occupied as a farmhouse, but was formerly a place of much more importance. Substantially built of native granite, the structure was evidently designed for the occupation of some prosperous man; and its ground-plot indicates that it was so traced as to be capable of some sort of defence against marauders. In one of the bedrooms—most probably that in which William Borlase first saw the light—are some curious figures on the wall, of which a sketch is preserved by the writer.

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But it is not so much to the house itself as to its surroundings that we must look for what were probably the determining circumstances of Borlase's career. He was in the very heart of the cromlehs, the cliff-castles, the weird stone-circles, and the huge monoliths of a forgotten race; and, close to the house, there was a long and mysterious double cave—a vau or ogou—which, we can but believe, must have[175] excited an inquiring child's awe-struck interest. We are indebted chiefly to himself for the little that we know of his early days; and this information is derived from a modest autobiographical sketch which he drew up in 1772, when seventy-seven years old, for his friend Huddesford, the Curator of the Ashmolean Museum, at Oxford, an institution to which Borlase contributed nearly the whole of his collections of natural history and antiquities.

His first school seems to have been at the nearest town, Penzance; and of him his master said what so many a master has said of many another apt but dreamy and indolent scholar, who was nevertheless destined afterwards to distinguish himself, that 'he could learn, but would not.' Thence he went, in 1709, under the tuition of the Rev. Mr. Bedford, at Plymouth, where he seems to have profited more by the instruction which he received. It has also been supposed that he was educated partly at Tiverton School. In March, 1712-13 he was entered, Cornish fashion, at Exeter College, Oxford, and here he took his B.A. and M.A. degrees in due course; was in 1719 ordained deacon; and in 1720, priest.

Dr. Borlase gives the following picture of the Oxford of his days:

His amusing description of a journey home from the University with Sir John St. Aubyn, in 1722, is given hereafter in the chapter on that family.

Two years after he was ordained priest, and (his father having bought for him the next presentation) he was presented to the living of Ludgvan, by Charles, first Duke of Bolton, through the influence, as Nichols inaccurately tells us, of Sir William Morice, of Werrington—a family with whom the St. Aubyns intermarried. This living he held for fifty-two years.[74]

When Borlase settled in his Rectory, the retired situation of the place did not altogether prevent his indulging in the mild social dissipations of the neighbourhood; notably there was a bowling-green club, formed in 1719, which proved an agreeable means of meeting with his friends, and afforded Mr. Gwavas—one of the latest writers in the old Cornish language, and a member of the party—an opportunity of composing a set of verses in Cornish in honour of the foundation of the club.

There can be little doubt, from what we know of[177] his surroundings and proclivities, that Borlase was already making notes of the neighbouring antiquities, and dipping into his favourite authorities—the best of the day—for information, which he was afterwards to apply in a somewhat too speculative manner, to his pet subject—the Druids. He seems to have relied mainly for this purpose upon several passages in Julius Cæsar, Pliny, Elias Schedius de Diis Germanis, Smith's 'Syntagma de Druidis;' a collection of the French and German writers in Frickius de Druidis, Sheringham, Sammes, Montfaucon, Mons. Martin's 'Religion of the Ancient Gauls,' Toland's 'History of the Druids,' Rowland's 'Mona Illustrata,' Dr. Stukeley in his 'Stonehenge and Abury,' and Keysler in his 'Antiquities.'[75]

His method was to examine, and especially to survey and to draw carefully the old weather-beaten stone structures of Cornwall; being convinced, as he says, 'of the necessity of copying the original monuments,' and 'offering something to the public which their undeniable properties suggested.' We shall, however, I think, presently see that, in endeavouring to carry out this method, the worthy antiquary was rather prone to do that which so many other investigators have done—namely, to see that which he wished to see.

Fortunately for him, and for the records of the 'Cornish Antiquities,' when he married (as he did in 1724) Anne Smith, the daughter of the then Rector of Camborne and Illogan—'peramatæ, amanti,[178] amabili,' as he wrote for her epitaph—he found a partner who (again to use his own words) took 'more than her part of the domestic cares,' in order that he might the better prosecute his antiquarian researches. The marriage ceremony was performed by his elder brother the Rev. Walter Borlase, LL.D., of Castle Horneck (the seat of the family on their removing from Pendeen, about a century and a half ago), afterwards Vice-Warden of the Stannaries from 1761 to 1776.

Although he lived to a very ripe old age, his health seems to have somewhat failed him for a time in 1730; and he accordingly repaired to Bath, as the waters were then in high repute for maladies such as his, in order to be under the care of his friend Dr. Oliver, who happily cured him, and gave him 'a new lease of life.' There can be little doubt that this excursion was also of great importance in another way; for it was here, and at this time, that he made the acquaintance of Pope,[76] of Ralph Allen, and of many other well-known characters in the literary and scientific world, who afterwards became his correspondents. His clever pencil was also employed during his sojourn at Bath in designing the obelisk in Orange Grove—so named after the Prince of Orange—another of those persons[179] who credited the renowned Bath waters with the power of renewing their youth.

In 1732 Dr. Borlase's elder brother, Walter, died; and thereupon the subject of this memoir had the Vicarage of St. Just added to his previous preferment. This second living he held for the long period of forty years. The two places were not so far apart (only about twelve miles) as to preclude his giving attention to both cures; and indeed those biographers who have written of Borlase (notably Chalmers), state that his performance of his clerical duties was highly praiseworthy, being marked with 'the most rigid punctuality and exemplary dignity.' At St. Just, a populous mining parish, his congregation often consisted of 1,000 persons on a Sunday morning, and 500 in the afternoon. This, too, it must be remembered, was at a time when Churchmanship generally was at a very low ebb in Cornwall, and needed Wesley's trumpet-call to arouse it.[77]

Notwithstanding his increased responsibilities, Borlase did not neglect his antiquarian and scientific studies, nor his out-of-door pursuits of gardening and[180] planting, for which the mild air of Ludgvan was highly favourable. In fact, at this period he seems to have 'entered upon the study of Druid learning' with renewed fervour. His chief companions were Sir John St. Aubyn of St. Michael's Mount hard by, and the Rev. Edward Collins of St. Erth, the latter of whom appears to have joined in nearly all his rambles, and not to have failed to administer occasionally 'the salutary censure of a friend;' for, as Borlase himself tells us, he found Mr. Collins a useful 'check in some disquisitions.'

Thus tranquilly passed away some fifteen years of this quiet and uneventful, but busy life,[78] until circumstances again brought him into contact with that outer world of larger and more learned minds which 'do mostly congregate in cities.' In 1748 he went to Exeter, to be present at the ordination of his eldest son. Here he was introduced to the Dean of Exeter, the Rev. Dr. Charles Lyttelton, afterwards Bishop of Carlisle, and the first President of the Society of Antiquaries. And it is not a little curious to note, by the way, that Dr. Lyttelton's successor as Dean of Exeter, Jeremiah Milles, of Duloe in Cornwall, also succeeded his predecessor in the Deanery in the distinguished post of President of the Antiquaries. It can readily be believed that new sources of intellectual enjoyment opened up with an acquaintance with such men as these. They forthwith became correspondents; and to their names were added, either about this time or at other periods of[181] Borlase's life, those of Linnæus, Gronov of Leyden, Stukeley, Atterbury (Bishop of Rochester), Browne Willis, Pococke (Bishop of Ossory), Thomas Pennant, and Ellis, the author of the 'Corallines.' The library at Castle Horneck contains upwards of forty volumes in MS. of Borlase's Correspondence and Notes.

One of the fruits of Borlase's visit to Exeter was the production of his first essay (or 'Exercise' as it was termed) for the 'Philosophical Transactions.' This appeared in 1749. It was the first scientific account of any of the Cornish minerals; and was entitled 'Spar, and Sparry Productions, called Cornish Diamonds.' This was considered of sufficient merit to secure his election as Fellow of the Royal Society, an honour which was conferred upon him on his visit to London in the following year. Many other contributions followed, nineteen in all; chiefly on subjects connected with meteorology and natural phenomena, and one paper of an antiquarian character. They are catalogued in the 'Biographia Britannica,' vol. ii., p. 425.

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But the time had now arrived when Borlase felt himself strong enough to invite the attention of the world to more considerable works from his pen and pencil. And first he turned his attention to grouping and arranging the results of his archæological researches, the publication of which, by subscription, he set about accomplishing. It was not, however, until 1753 that he saw his way clear to taking the MSS. of his 'Cornish Antiquities' with him to[182] Oxford—preferring that city to London for two reasons, the first of which we can easily understand, viz., its greater retirement; but the second is one which sounds strange to modern ears, because of the 'more ready access to books.' So great was his diligence, and that of his engravers, that the work, in folio, with its numerous illustrations, was published at Oxford in February of the following year, 1754;[79] and the indefatigable author at once returned to Cornwall in order to arrange the materials for his next great work, the 'Natural History' of his native county. Meanwhile, in 1756, appeared his account of the Scilly Islands, an enlargement of one of his papers in the 'Philosophical Transactions,' and a work of which Dr. Johnson wrote in the Literary Review that 'This is one of the most pleasing and elegant pieces of local inquiry that our country has produced.'

On this occasion, too, he seems to have proceeded with his usual despatch; for in October, 1757, we find him once more at Oxford, for the purpose of printing the last-named work. And again, by the spring of the following year, 1758, this too was ready for the public eye.

Having now secured in print the results of so many years' labours, the happy idea occurred to him of presenting to his beloved University the collections of antiquities, natural history, etc., upon which his works were based, and he accordingly deposited them forthwith in the Ashmolean Museum, continuing[183] to send thither from time to time any similar rarities which he discovered. It is scarcely necessary to add that for this generous gift he received the thanks of the University; which, in token of the high appreciation in which they held his talents and his liberality, on the 23rd March, 1766, conferred on him, by diploma, the degree of Doctor of Laws, the highest academical honour which it was in the power of the University to bestow.

But Borlase was now getting an old man, being over seventy years of age. The friends of his youth were dying off; and he was unable to undertake the long antiquarian rambles which had been the delight of his stalwart days. His outdoor amusements began to be restricted to the superintendence (which he seems to have thoroughly enjoyed) of the improvement of the numerous roads which ran through his parish; one of which, it may be mentioned, was the highroad to Penzance, until that which now skirts the shore of the Mount's Bay was substituted for it. His literary labours consisted partly in writing his 'Sacræ Exercitationes,' which were chiefly paraphrases of Ecclesiastes, the Canticles of Solomon, and the Lamentations of Jeremiah—rather for his own pleasure than with any view to publication; and his home recreations were the 'Belles Lettres' and drawing and painting. He did not, however, neglect entirely his old pursuits; for he prepared for the press the new and enlarged edition of his 'Antiquities,' which, as we have seen, was published in 1769; and he busily engaged himself in a similar office[184] for his 'Natural History,' which he did not live to complete. The emendations, however (or rather the principal of them), appeared in the Journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall for 1875. And during this latter part of his life, as well as during the previous years, he was occupied in collecting materials for a Parochial History of the County, which never saw the light.

His last literary labour was a treatise on the 'Creation and the Deluge,' which contains some ingenious speculations on the nature of earthquakes and submarine upheavals. The beginning of this little work he had actually sent to the press; but a sudden and violent illness in 1771 warned him that he was overtaxing his strength, and he resolved not to go on with the publication. Within two or three months of his death he drew up a short memoir of his life, written in the third person, for his friend Huddesford, which closes in the following happy strain:

So lived, and so, on the 31st August, 1772, peacefully died, at Ludgvan, Cornwall's 'Nourice of Antiquity,' Dr. William Borlase. He was buried by the side of his wife, near the east end of his own church, on the north side of the altar; and his executor inscribed on his unpretending monument the words:

He had six sons, only two of whom survived him, the Rev. John Borlase and the Rev. George Borlase, Casuistical Professor and Registrar of the University of Cambridge. His son Christopher, a sailor, died of a fever on the coast of Guinea in 1749, and appears to have inherited some of his father's artistic skill.

[186]

As an illustration of Borlase's 'method,' and of his perfervid imagination when he got amongst his native granite rocks, I have thought it would be interesting to cull the following few notes from his 'Scilly Isles':

'On a Carn adjoining the Giant's Castle,' he observes, 'the floor, consisting only of one Rock, must convince us that this Circle was intended for a place of Worship, for it could not serve for a Sepulchre; but why the Quoits were hollowed out into Basons (as they are placed in a Religious Circle) must have been in some sort or other subservient to the purposes of the Druid Superstition.' As regards the 'Rock Basons,' he goes on to say, 'My opinion concerning the use of them you do not want to be informed of; I have always thought that they were designed to receive in their utmost purity the waters of the Heavens for holy uses; but in such doubtful cases let every man think for himself.' A little further on, however, the worthy Doctor's theory as to the extreme purity of the water is somewhat disturbed by his finding some of them inconveniently near the sea; but he is equal to the occasion. 'Though,' he says, 'the spray of the sea so near them on every hand might well be supposed to fill these Basons with salt water, yet I found the water in them to be quite fresh.' Some of these were actually under the sea-level!

In another place, writing of tolmens, the Doctor observes that, though their Cornish name, appropriately enough, signifies a holed stone, yet that was[187] not 'the true Druid name ... for the Druids probably call'd it by the name of one of their Deities as soon as it was ritually consecrated, and most likely by that of Saturn.'

He is in doubt whether the furrows which he noticed on certain rocks were channels on the sites of the holy fires of the Druids, made in order to enable the priests the better to collect the sacred embers, or whether they were designed to collect the blood of sacrificed victims for the purposes of divination. But he admits ''tis all mere conjecture.'

And again—a 'canopy rock' with a row of rude stone pillars before it is a 'Druid Seat of Judgment';—in fact, on Borlase's theory, the whole of the Scilly Isles must have been thickly peopled with Druids.

But as the writer in the Quarterly truly observes, 'The Druids have of late years been somewhat rudely dismissed from the shade of their accustomed oaks, and the rock-basons have been proved to be simply the result of the weathering of the granite.'

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[188]
[189]

THE BOSCAWENS.

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[190]
[191]

THE BOSCAWENS.

A novel feature presents itself in this case to the would-be historian which does not appear, at least to so great an extent, in the cases of certain other distinguished Cornish families. The Killigrews, the Arundells, the Godolphins, and the Grenvilles, for instance, all yielded more than one man of mark deserving of special notice; but this can hardly be said of the family of Boscawen: the interest centres in Admiral the Honourable Edward Boscawen, almost to the exclusion of all his ancestors, and of all his descendants. And he affords another instance, like Opie, of being doubly secure of a niche in the temple of Fame, from his own distinguished career, as well as through the wit and distinguished social qualities of his wife; who, the writer regrets to add, was not—as the majority of her husband's ancestresses, and as those of most distinguished Cornishmen were—a Cornish-woman.

[192]

It would probably be of little use now to speculate upon the causes why the Boscawens, for at least five centuries, continued to hold a well-recognised position in the county, acquiring by their judicious marriages into wealthy families vast landed interests in various parts of Cornwall, but chiefly in the vicinities of Buryan and Tregothnan and in the north-western part of the county, doubtless holding their own amongst their fellows, and doing what the world would call their 'duty;' and yet contributing, so far as I can ascertain, scarcely one person whose name is to be found in the usual records of English history until we reach the eighteenth century.

Yet it must be noted that the Boscawens are of very old standing in Cornwall. Hals indeed tells us that the first Boscawen who settled in Cornwall was an Irish gentleman;—and Hals may be right; for he had peculiar facilities for learning the early traditions of the family from the neighbourhood of Fentongollan (the seat of the Halses) to Tregothnan, the seat of the Boscawens; and also from the fact that one member of the family 'Hugh Boscawen, Gent., Master of Arts,' as a labour of love, taught young Hals, and many other youngsters, all that they knew of Latin and Greek in an old school-house in St. Michael Penkivel Church.[80] Nor was the[193] Master of Arts the only member of the family who dispensed information free of charge; for Hals tells us of a Charles Boscawen of Nansavallan who was a barrister-at-law, 'and who made noe further use thereof in his elder years then to councill and assist his friends in all their lawe concerns gratis.' He died in London, without issue; and was Member of Parliament for Truro,—an ancient borough, with which, as we shall see, the Boscawens were intimately connected.

At Boscawen Rose, in the parish of St. Buryan, within a few miles of the Land's End, where the name is still found attached to places in the parish, the first Boscawen is said to have exchanged his Irish patronymic for that of the place where he took up his abode, and which was probably well enough described by its Cornish name, which signifies the Valley of Elder-trees. It is interesting to notice how many of these trees (much esteemed by the old Cornish folk), and almost these alone, still are to be found near the wind-whipped shores of the Land's End.[81]

I find no record of the marriages of the first two or three generations; but in the reign of Edward I. (about 1292), Henry de Boscawen married Hawise Trewoof; and some half century later (1335) John[194] de Boscawen married an heiress, Joan de Tregothnan,[82] thus establishing a connexion between those two names, which has ever since been maintained; for Tregothnan, 'the place of well-wooded valleys,' is still the family seat: it is now the Cornish residence of Evelyn Boscawen, sixth Viscount Falmouth. The present house, a handsome structure, was built by the architect, W. Wilkins, jun., about the year 1815, replacing a more picturesque but smaller and less commodious building.

Intimate relations with the exquisitely wooded banks of the Fal were still further established by the marriage of the son of the aforesaid John Boscawen of Tregothnan with another heiress, named Joan, like his mother, who brought her husband the wealth of the family of Albalanda or Blanchland, in the parish of Kea, on the opposite side of the river to Tregothnan; a place where, according to Lysons, copper was first successfully worked in Cornwall. And, while on this subject, it seems not unworthy of remark that the alliances of the Boscawens and the Albalandas with the families who resided on the Fal and its tributaries were numerous. Rose Albalanda married a William[195] Dangrous of Carclew, in the fifth year of Edward III.; and the heiress of Trenowith, who married Hugh Boscawen, a great grandson of the first-named John, was herself the descendant of ancestors called after Tolverne, Trewarthenick and Tregarrick—names which still belong to places on the shores of the river, or hard by. Nor did the Boscawens neglect to cultivate acquaintance and to intermarry with other Cornish families who made more noise in the world than those to whom we have been referring; for they and the Albalandas also married with Arundell, Bassett, St. Aubyn, Lower, Godolphin, Carminow, and Trevanion.

He who married Elizabeth St. Aubyn for his first wife was one Richard Boscawen, who paid a fine of five pounds rather than undergo the expensive ceremony of being made a Knight of the Bath at the coronation of Henry VII., possibly because he was an old man, and dreaded a long journey to the metropolis, for he died four years afterwards, in 1489. His grandson, Hugh, who by the way married Phelip, a daughter of the fine old Cornish family of Carminow, now extinct, paid a similar fine of four marks at the coronation of Queen Mary; for what reason I know not. In the 'Bayliff of Blackmore' there is a long story of his being outwitted by a family in Truro; but the course pursued by these Boscawens, as narrated in that curious MS., was not unusual in those days. With the great-grandson of the last-named Hugh, himself bearing the same Christian name, commences, so far as I am aware,[196] a more particular connexion of the family with the ancient borough, now the city, of Truro, where the principal street (formerly two streets, then bearing other names, but now thrown into one) is still called after them, 'Boscawen.' He was chosen Knight of the Shire for Cornwall in 1626; and Edward, his fifth son, who represented Tregony in Parliament, was one of the leading members of the House of Commons, temp. Charles II. This Hugh, who was 'Chief of the Coat Armour' at the Heralds' Visitation of Cornwall in 1620, was likewise in that year Recorder of the Borough. He had three sons: Hugh,[83] of whom nothing seems to be known except that he married a Clinton; Edward, a rich Turkey merchant, who was a Member of Parliament, temp. Charles II., and died at Trefusis, a lovely place overlooking the waters of Falmouth Harbour; and Nicholas, who joined the Parliamentary army (a rare thing, by the way, for a Cornish gentleman to do) with a troop raised from among his own tenantry. But the military career of Nicholas Boscawen (how terminated I have not been able to ascertain) must have been a short one; for, when only twenty-two years of age and unmarried, he was buried in Westminster Abbey, whence his remains were removed some fifteen years afterwards, at the Restoration, to be flung into a common pit in St. Margaret's churchyard.

We now approach that part of the family history[197] when the individual members cannot be quite so rapidly dismissed from notice.

The only son of Edward Boscawen (the Turkey merchant) and Jael Godolphin was another Hugh; who, like his father and uncles, seems to have been no friend to the Stuarts, and to have assisted in bringing to England William III. This no doubt explains his being made Captain of St. Mawes Castle, Warden of the Stannaries, Steward of the Duchy of Cornwall in the room of Francis Godolphin, Viscount Rialton; Comptroller of the Household; a Privy Councillor; and finally, in 1720, his being ennobled by the titles of Baron Boscawen Rose and Viscount Falmouth. He was also Vice-Treasurer of Ireland, a post which he resigned the year of his death. He several times, before gaining his title, sat for Cornwall in Parliament; but gave up all his appointments except that of Warden of the Stannaries, on the defeat of the Excise Scheme.

Hugh Boscawen seems to have been quite carried away by his political zeal, for he was foremost in arresting, or trying to arrest, any, even of his old friends, who were suspected of holding high monarchical principles; amongst whom may be named Sir Richard Vyvyan, of Trelowarren, and, as we have already seen,[84] Mr. Basset, of Tehidy. He died of an apoplexy, at Trefusis, in 1734, having married, in 1700, Charlotte Godfrey, a niece of the great Duke of Marlborough, by whom he had eighteen children, eight sons and ten daughters.

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The second Viscount of the same name seems, though of a kind and gentle disposition, not to have possessed a very brilliant intellect. Davies Gilbert tells the story of him that he is said to have mistaken the phrase, 'Optat ephippia Bos,' for the Latin of his own name; and that he always confounded Horace Walpole with the Roman poet whose name is so familiar to us. Probably a somewhat unattractive sort of man, for his wife often threatened, so Mrs. Delany says, that she 'wou'd part with my lord.'

Yet he was not without shrewdness, and had some political influence. Votes which overthrew Sir Robert Walpole were carried against the Minister by his losing the majority of the Scotch and Cornish boroughs; the latter of which were managed by Lord Falmouth and Thomas Pitt. Indeed, the second Viscount Falmouth, like so many others of his contemporaries, was a great dealer in boroughs. It is of him that Dodington tells the story, that he went to the Minister to ask him a favour, which the latter seemed unwilling to grant; upon which Lord Falmouth said, 'Remember, sir, we are seven!' And Dover says that Lord Cowper resigned the Bedchamber on the 'Beefeaters' being given to Lord Falmouth:—'The latter, who is powerful in elections, insisted on having it; the other had nothing but a promise from the King, which the Ministry had already twice forced him to break.'

He was also Yeoman of the Guard to George II., and in 1745, according to Chauncey, raised a regiment at his own expense to serve against the Scotch[199] rebels; and he had such influence in Cornwall that 6,387 persons joined an association, the members of which bound themselves to appear armed in the best manner they could, under his command, to defend the King and the Government. Mrs. Thomson, in her 'Memoirs of Viscountess Sandon,' tells us how the second Viscount's wife, H. C. M. Russell, née Smith, was in desperate straits to get herself appointed a Lady of the Bedchamber, and wrote the most pressing letters to Mrs. Clayton on the subject. In one she says that she could not sleep a wink all night for thinking of it!

His brother Nicholas went to Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, took holy orders, and on the Duke of Newcastle's visit to the University, as Chancellor, was created a D.D. He was appointed a King's Chaplain, and 'Dean' of Buryan in 1756, Rector of St. Mabyn and of St. Michael Penkivel in 1774, and a Prebendary of Westminster in 1777. The only remarkable thing about him seems to have been his appointment as 'Dean' of Buryan, the exact significance of which dignity it is difficult to discover, though it is said that this 'Deanery' had jurisdiction over three parishes, and the probate of wills therein, and that there were three prebends attached to it; it is not uninteresting to note this tendency in a member of the Boscawen family to 'hark back to their early St. Buryan haunts.[85] His wife, Mrs. Hatton, was, I believe, the widow of a linendraper in Newgate Street.

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There was another brother, John—a Major-General in the army;—and the 4th son of the second Viscount, the Hon. George Boscawen, was another military member of the family; he was present at the battles of Dettingen and Fontenoy, and represented Truro in Parliament from 1761 to 1764. His daughter, Mary, maid-of-honour to the Princess Charlotte, wrote a memoir of the Princess.

William Boscawen, younger son of the above General George Boscawen, was educated at Eton, where he became a great favourite of Dr. Barnard. He became a Gentleman Commoner of Exeter College, and on settling in London studied law under a Cornish lawyer, Mr. Justice Buller, about 1770, and went the Western Circuit. William Boscawen does not appear to have taken his degree at Oxford; but Wordsworth, in his 'Scholæ Academicæ,' points out that it was not unusual during the last century, and at the commencement of the present, for gentlemen intending for the law to leave the University without taking a degree. He published two or three law treatises, was a Commissioner in Bankruptcy,[201] and in 1785 he was made a Commissioner of the Victualling Office. By his marriage with Charlotte Ibbetson he had five daughters. He was much attached to literary pursuits, and translated, first the 'Odes,' 'Epodes,' and 'Carmen Seculare' of Horace, then the 'Satires,' 'Epistles,' and 'Art of Poetry;'—and in many respects his translation was considered superior to Francis's. He was much indebted for his 'notes' to Dr. Foster, of Eton College. In 1801, he published some original poems and other works. A friend who met him in the Strand a few days before his death noticed that he was looking very ill; and on the 8th May, 1811, he died of asthma, at Little Chelsea. He was of an affectionate and benevolent disposition; and the Literary Fund he considered almost as his own child, writing the annual verses for it till within five years of his death.

A contemporary critic says of his literary productions, that if in them 'he does not take a lead among his contemporaries, he at least discovers an elegant taste, a poetical mind, and a correct versification.' 'Could his character be truly drawn, it would exhibit a consummate picture of everything that is amiable and estimable in human nature.' 'Incapable of being an enemy, it was never known that he had one; and his friends were as numerous as his virtues.'

As a specimen of his powers as a translator, his rendering of the well-known fifth ode of the 1st Book of Horace, will, I venture to think, compare, not altogether unfavourably, with the productions of his mightier predecessors in the task—Milton and Cowley.

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But a third brother of the second Viscount—Edward, the Admiral—was destined to live in the pages of history; and of him I propose to treat more at length at the conclusion of this brief sketch of the family generally, which now draws rapidly to a close.

George Evelyn, the Admiral's youngest son, was the third Viscount, issue having failed through his two uncles, and George Evelyn's brothers having died before the death of their uncle, the second Viscount. Of these brothers it may be observed, that Edward Hugh,[86] the eldest, who was M.P. for Truro, died abroad in 1774; and that William Glanville, a youth of great promise, and an officer in the navy, was drowned when eighteen years of age, in 1769, whilst bathing at Port Royal, Jamaica. In[203] him, said Mrs. Delany, 'his father's (the Admiral's) merit revived,' and he was 'the delight and glory of the lives of his mother and sisters.' I hardly know whether the following lines on his death are from Mrs. Delany's pen, or from his mother's:

There can, however, be little doubt that it was a mother's pen which described him, on his cenotaph, as that 'most lovely, most beloved youth.'

---

But to return to the surviving and youngest brother, George Evelyn, who was destined to perpetuate the title. He is said to have been very like his mother, who describes herself as 'a little personage;' and he must have inherited the talents of both his parents, for he did remarkably well at Winchester, and very early showed a determination to follow in his illustrious father's footsteps by fighting against the enemies of his country, notwithstanding the wishes of his family to the contrary. For the sum of £400 his mother at last unwillingly procured for her 'poor little soldier,' as she termed[204] him, an ensigncy in the 4th or King's Own Regiment of Foot; and he, proceeding forthwith to America, was soon after present at the battle of Lexington. When Prince William Henry, afterwards William IV., came into Falmouth harbour in the Hebe in 1785, he was entertained at Tregothnan, and thence, under Viscount Falmouth's guidance, visited all the Cornish 'lions.' On 25th October, 1787, Mrs. Boscawen writes thus to Mrs. Delany: 'My son has been a peacemaker in Cornwall, and was happy enough to pacify near a thousand angry miners, who were marching into Truro to pull their houses about their ears;' and here it may be noted that one of his ancestors had performed a similar valuable public service when the Hon. Hugh Boscawen, Lord Warden of the Stannaries of Cornwall and Devon, presided over the Convocation of the twenty-four Stannators, 20th February to 20th April, 1710, held in the Coinage Hall, Truro; on which occasion, by a judicious speech, he dispersed a mob of some 5,000 or 6,000 men, tinners and others, led by one Charles Tregea, who had assembled to intimidate the Convocation, and 'force them to a farm.' The object of this Convocation was 'to keep up the price of tin, and to confirm the laws, customs, and constitutions of the Stannaries;' but it led to no satisfactory result.

The third Viscount's two sisters married well—one, Frances, gained for her husband the Hon. John Leveson Gower, Secretary to the Admiralty; and the other, Elizabeth, secured Henry, fifth Duke of Beaufort—an affair which does not seem to have[205] altogether satisfied that family. Her mother writes to Mrs. Delany, that the Beauforts were not particularly well pleased with the match;—'And yet, my dear madam,' says the sprightly Admiral's widow, 'does not Admiral Boscawen's daughter, with £10,000 now, and at least 5 (i.e. £5,000) more by-and-by, with many excellent wife-like qualities, and no faults that ever they heard of, deserve some gentler welcome, especially as nobody asks anything of them?' The Duke seems to have made the Cornish lassie a most devoted and affectionate husband.

George Evelyn Boscawen was succeeded in the title by his son, Edward, fourth Viscount and first Earl of Falmouth. He was an officer in the Coldstream Guards, and, like so many other members of his family, Recorder of Truro—the last who filled that office. He was the second of Lord Winchelsea in his famous duel with the Duke of Wellington, fought on Wimbledon Common in March, 1829, when the Duke fired and missed, and Lord Winchelsea then fired in the air and apologized. This nobleman rebuilt Tregothnan House, near the site of an older and picturesque mansion, in which might have been seen many carved stones from the old tower and chapel at Fentongollan; and he made the famous drive to it from Tresilian Bridge, an undertaking the result of which he is said to have always contemplated with much satisfaction. His son, George Henry, fifth Viscount, and second and last Earl, died unmarried in 1852, fourteen years after his father. He was a man of considerable ability, taking, in 1832, a first-class[206] at Oxford; and he was one of the best amateur violinists of his day. As we have said, with him the earldom lapsed. His cousin Evelyn succeeded him as sixth Viscount, and has been one of the most distinguished patrons of the turf, as well as a most fortunate owner of race-horses, having, as I am informed, won the Derby, the St. Leger, and the Two Thousand Guineas twice, and the Oaks and the One Thousand Guineas four times each; besides other important races.

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ADMIRAL THE RIGHT HON. EDWARD BOSCAWEN.

'A great Admiral.'
                            Pitt.

The foregoing sketch of the history of the Boscawens seemed desirable in order to give the reader some idea of the sources from which Pitt's 'great Admiral' sprang, and to serve as a background to the family picture in which his figure is the most prominent. We have seen that the Boscawens were an ancient, wealthy, and not altogether undistinguished group of Cornishmen; and have noted that their seat had for ages been on the banks of that sylvan river which empties its waters into the once[207] renowned Falmouth Haven. Here Edward Boscawen, third son of the first Viscount, was born on the 19th August, 1711; and, notwithstanding the absence (so far as I am aware) of any published details concerning the childhood and youth of the illustrious sailor, except the fact of his quaint humour in imitating the gestures of an old servant till he himself contracted a constant habit of carrying his head slightly on one side[87]—there can be little doubt, I think, that a good deal of the young sea-dog's leisure was spent on, or in, the Fal, which washes the shores of his ancestral woods and glades. We know, indeed, that he entered the navy whilst very young (when only twelve years old, so Campbell says), and this suggests the idea that the future 'old Dreadnought' may have found the limits of the sequestered Tregothnan estate and the quiet life led there incompatible with the high spirits which a lad of his quality must undoubtedly have possessed. In other words, we can but believe that he was a born sailor, and that he merited, from the first, another of his sobriquets,—derived from the heroic contempt of danger which he manifested throughout his life—'the brave Boscawen.' He no doubt expected that, in accordance with the practice of a century and a half ago, through family interest he would very shortly obtain his lieutenancy, when an order was suddenly and unexpectedly issued, subjecting all[208] midshipmen to at least six years' service. 'To this order,' Boscawen used to say, 'I owe all my knowledge of seamanship.' At any rate, the new regulation did not change his views, nor prevent many other Cornish youngsters from entering the navy and serving under an officer who was as fond of having them about him as they were of sailing under his command. Amongst such may be named the Hon. George Edgcumbe,[88] afterwards Admiral of the White, who commanded the Lancaster of seventy guns at the famous siege of Louisbourg (of which we shall hear more by-and-by); and Admiral Sir Richard Spry, who commanded a similar ship, the Oxford, on that occasion.

And here it should be remembered how different in many respects is the position of the modern British sailor—true Briton as he still is, and is proving himself to be at Alexandria even whilst I write these lines—from the traditional sailor of Boscawen's days. Now, most of the sailors' work in our steam iron-clads is done on deck or below; but, at the period of which we are about to consider some episodes, the larger proportion—certainly the more difficult—was performed aloft. In weather of all sorts 'there were dead-eyes to turn in, there were chafing gear to look after, reef-points to knot, masts to stay, studding-sail gear to reeve, and the like.' Then the wild excitement of going aloft to shorten sail in stormy weather! The old songs at the reef-tackles, the flapping of the canvas, the springing into the[209] shrouds, and the helter-skelter race for the weather-earing—unless, indeed, the iron-hard pressure of the gale pinned you against the shrouds as if you had been a spread-eagle. In work of this sort the English tars were always pre-eminent, and one can easily believe that the Admiral accordingly had a thoroughly hearty contempt for the unsailor-like character of the French crews. Of one he said he 'never saw so bad a crew on salt water before; there were not twenty men on board who could go aloft.'[89] Those, too, were days not only of rough work, but also of rough-and-ready fighting; and Boscawen's motto, like that of Hawke,[90] his illustrious contemporary and rival, was always, 'Strike.' One night Boscawen's lieutenant came to him, and awoke him, saying that they had fallen in with three ships of the enemy. 'What shall we do?' 'Why, fight 'em, to be sure!' said Boscawen; and, dashing up on deck in his night shirt, he soon compelled [210]the enemy to sheer off. It was from this action that he is said to have acquired the name of Old Dreadnought. On another occasion he took off his wig, and with it stopped a leak in his boat, which was rapidly sinking.

As we have seen, he was the third son of the first Viscount Falmouth, and was called Edward after his grandfather. His grandmother, Jael, was of the fine old Cornish stock of Godolphin, and his mother was Charlotte Godfrey, a niece of the great Duke of Marlborough, not a natural daughter (as Hals says) of James II., by Arabella Churchill, but her eldest daughter, by Colonel Charles Godfrey, Master of the Jewel Office, whom she had subsequently married;—so that he seems to have had royal as well as good fighting blood in his veins, some of which he was destined to shed for his country. I do not know at what date he received his lieutenant's commission; probably it was on being appointed to the Hector in 1732; but on the 12th March, 1737, when not quite twenty-six years old, he was appointed captain of the Leopard, a fourth-rate of fifty guns. On the outbreak of the war with Spain, he was transferred to the Shoreham of twenty guns, and was sent to cruise off Jamaica. Unfortunately, when Admiral Vernon determined, in November, 1740, on attacking Porto Bello (a place which Columbus had discovered and named in 1562, and which had once before succumbed to a British Admiral, Sir Francis Drake, in 1596), the Shoreham was found to be unfit for action; but Boscawen[211] would not be deprived of this chance of seeing some active service, so he sailed as a volunteer, and so far distinguished himself at the easy capture of the place—for the garrison was on a peace footing, and the British lost only seven men—that he was entrusted with the duty of superintending the demolition of the fortifications.

Rejoining the Shoreham, which had now been thoroughly overhauled, we next hear of him, in March, 1740-41, at the siege of Carthagena, the chief port in New Granada, again under Admiral Vernon, who is described as a man of fair abilities, but of harsh overbearing temper;—one of those naval heroes of whom Byron sourly says in his 'Don Juan:'

'They filled their sign-posts then like Wellesley now.'

Here again he gathered laurels, and attracted considerable notice by what Campbell describes as his 'quick-sighted judgment and intrepid valour,' commanding a detachment of 300 sailors and 200 soldiers, and storming a fascine battery on Boca Chica, which had much galled General Wentworth, and held our forces in check.

Campbell thus describes Boscawen's part in the affair, which reminds us of the recent gallant rush on Tel-el-Kebir:[91]

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But the place was too strongly fortified; and the siege of Carthagena was soon after raised (a circumstance which, by the way, tended to hasten the fall of Walpole). Yet before Boscawen left he was again employed, as at Porto Bello, to rase the different forts which the English had taken on the neighbouring coast; and, whilst engaged on this service, was appointed to the Prince Frederick, of 70 guns, on the death of Lord Aubrey Beauclerk, who gallantly fell at Boca Chica.

Clinton observes that the siege lasted from January to 24th April, 1741; and that as the surf prevented a bombardment from the sea, it was determined to make a lodging on Boca Chica, in order to reduce the fort there. The long-standing jealousy between the navy and the army was, he thinks, the cause of the failure of the siege. However that may be, three thousand men were lost by assaults and sickness; and the fleet returned to Jamaica.

On the 14th May, 1742, Boscawen reached home, or rather St. Helen's, Isle of Wight, bringing advices of Admiral Vernon's having sailed on a fresh expedition, which unfortunately proved abortive. But this year was memorable in his life for other than warlike exploits; for its close witnessed his marriage with the graceful, sprightly, and accomplished Frances Evelyn Glanville, of St. Clere, Kent; a lady sufficiently distinguished in her day to claim, as a Cornishman's wife, the notice which I have ventured[214] to append to this sketch of the Admiral, her husband,—whose epitaph, glowing with eloquence, she was destined to write.

In the year that he married he was elected Member for Truro. And here it may be observed that the gallant naval officer was always extremely popular in his native county. One account states that he was 'positively adored' by the people, and that they insisted on sending him to Parliament as their representative, notwithstanding his reluctance to serve, on account of one member of his family being already there—namely, his father—in the House of Peers. Again, in 1747 he was elected for both Saltash (another old Cornish borough) and Truro; but he decided on maintaining his political connexion with the latter.

The next few months of his life would seem to have passed without any events of public interest occurring; but, early in 1744, war, arising out of the assistance given by the French to the Young Pretender's ill-starred descent upon England, broke out with France; and Boscawen was made Captain of the Dreadnought, of 60 guns. With her he very soon after captured the Medea, a French frigate of 26 guns and 240 men, commanded by a M. Hocquart—whom in the course of our history we shall twice meet again as Boscawen's prisoner. This was the first prize taken in the war. For some time he continued doing what may be called home duty—cruising in the Channel, sitting on courts-martial, and acting as Commodore on board the Royal Sovereign, at the[215] Nore. Whilst acting in the latter capacity it fell within his province to send out several of the newly-pressed men as they were brought to him in company with some experienced seamen, in frigates and small vessels, to guard the mouths of many of the minor creeks and rivers along the shores of Kent and Sussex.

In January, 1746, he was appointed to the Namur, formerly of 90 guns, but afterwards reduced to a third-rate; and in November of that year, being in command of a small squadron at the mouth of the Channel, he captured two prizes—one a large privateer from St. Malo, the other a despatch-boat from M. De Jonquiere (the commander of the French fleet on the American station), with advices of the death of the Duc D'Anville, and of the consequent failure of the expedition under that officer's command.

We now approach the time when he was to receive his first wound of consequence, and to perform one of the most gallant and self-denying exploits of his brave career—a deed so daring and so brilliantly successful as to excite the jealousy of Anson, his superior officer, and thus to lay the foundation of an ill-feeling between those two gallant seamen which, it is to be feared, can be traced throughout their lives.

In 1747, whilst commanding a line-of-battle ship in the fleet intended for America, under Admirals Anson and Vernon, he was present at the gallant action of the 3rd May, off Cape Finisterre. 'Here,' says Campbell, 'Boscawen signalized himself equally[216] by his heroism and his judgment. The French fleet, having got the weather-gage, kept up a constant and well-directed fire on the English ships as they turned to windward to form the line abreast of the enemy. But Boscawen, perceiving that our ships would thereby be disabled before their guns could be brought to bear upon the French line, and his ship being a very superior sailer to any of the rest, and being, besides, the leading ship of the van, pressed forward with a crowd of sail, received himself the greatest part of the enemy's fire, and singly maintained the conflict until the remainder of the fleet came up to his support; by which daring but judicious manœuvre he principally contributed to the success with which on that day the British arms were crowned.[92] On this occasion he was severely wounded in the shoulder by a musket-ball. His country, however, was not long deprived of his services by this misfortune, from the effects of which he recovered in a few weeks.' At Finisterre all the French ships, ten in number, were taken, including the Diamant, of 56 tons, commanded by M. Hocquart, who thus became, for the second time, Boscawen's prisoner.

Shortly after being made Rear-Admiral of the Blue, he was invested with a command which shows the remarkable estimation in which he was held by the[217] Government, receiving, as he did, a commission from the King as Admiral and Commandant of a squadron of six ships of the line and five frigates, with 2,000 soldiers on board, ordered for the East Indies; and also as General and Commander-in-Chief of the land forces employed in the expedition—'the only instance, except that of the Earl of Peterborough, of any officer having received such a command since the reign of Charles II.' Yet, such were his tact and personal character, that no ill-feeling arose on the part of the troops thus placed under his command—in fact, as an officer, quoted by Campbell, quaintly says, 'the Admiral, by his genteel behaviour, gained the love of the land officers, and never was greater harmony among all degrees of men than in this expedition;' notwithstanding which it failed in effecting the main objects which it had in view, viz. the capture of Pondicherry, and the attack on Port Louis, Mauritius, en route thither. He sailed from St. Helen's on the 4th November, 1747; but owing to bad weather and contrary winds, did not reach the Cape of Good Hope till the 29th March, 1748; and here he remained a short time to refresh his jaded crews.

The difficulties of the landing at Port Louis, and the strength of the batteries by which it was defended, were such as to triumph over even the genius and courage of Boscawen; and after vain though most strenuous search for a practicable landing-place, the Admiral called a council of war, at which it was determined that a small boat-party should land[218] during the night with a view to capturing (if possible) at least one man of the enemy, from whom they might obtain information as to the numbers and situation of the French forces. This ingenious attempt, however, failed; and at a second council of war it was agreed that the attack on Port Louis, even if it succeeded (which was doubtful), would necessitate the leaving behind so large a force to occupy the place, that it would imperil the chances of capturing Pondicherry, the principal object of the expedition; and to this it may be added that Boscawen had lost many of his men from their eating a poisonous fish called the vieille, at the island of Roderique.

They accordingly sailed at once for Fort St. David, near Pondicherry, which place they reached on the 29th July; and here Boscawen took over the command, from Admiral Griffin, of what had now become the largest 'marine force belonging to any one European nation that had ever been seen in the Indian seas.' Boscawen marched forward with his army on the 8th of August, and opened the trenches on the 27th. But his men rapidly grew sick in that unwholesome climate; his chief engineer was killed; the monsoons were shortly expected. It was found that the garrison far outnumbered the besiegers, and, 'everything having been done which gallantry and perseverance could perform,' writes Walpole, on the 6th October it was finally determined to raise the siege.[93] And a gale, on 14th April, 1749, arose,[219] which seems to have been the main cause of the unsuccessful termination of the whole expedition—the Admiral's flag-ship, the Namur, foundered; the Pembroke and the Apollo (hospital ship) were also lost, together with a very large proportion of their crews. Providentially, our Admiral and General was on shore at the time.

Not long afterwards peace was declared at Aix-la-Chapelle, and Boscawen had, at least, the gratification of having Madras delivered up to him.

In April, 1750, he returned to England in the Exeter, to find that during his absence he had been appointed Rear-Admiral of the White; and additional honours soon after fell to his lot. In 1751 he was made a Lord Commissioner of the Admiralty, and at the Board's meetings found many opportunities of falling foul of his old foe, Anson, whom he always suspected, perhaps without sufficient cause, of having sent him on what the former knew from the beginning would be the fruitless expedition to Pondicherry. This suspicion, however, would seem to be confirmed by a letter from Walpole to Mann, dated 31st January, 1750, in which the writer says that Boscawen was unfortunate during the[220] whole expedition (East Indies), and that Anson sent him upon it 'on purpose to ruin him ... upon slight intelligence, and upon improbable views.' A jealousy, as we have seen, had previously arisen between the two Admirals over the Cape Finisterre affair, when Boscawen complained loudly of Anson's behaviour. In July, 1751, he was made an Elder Brother of the Trinity House; and in May, 1754, he was, for the third time, chosen to represent in the House of Commons his old borough of Truro, between which and himself there had existed so long and friendly a connexion;—and now, 'for want of something better to do,' as one of his biographers insinuates, he became a zealous politician.

In 1755 he was made Vice-Admiral of the Blue; and, the French beginning to display ambitious projects in America, Boscawen was despatched from Spithead on 19th April, with a strong fleet, to frustrate their designs. The French Admiral was M. Bois de la Motte, and he had a large and powerful armament of twenty-five ships of the line, and other vessels, together with a train of artillery, etc., etc. Boscawen's force consisted of eleven sail and a frigate, together with two regiments of infantry. He was, however, afterwards reinforced by six ships of the line and another frigate under the command of Rear-Admiral Holbourne. The English ships waited for the Frenchmen off Cape Ray, Newfoundland; but in a fog the French Admiral eluded his antagonists, and contrived to get his ships (with two exceptions) into harbour. These two ships Boscawen captured[221] on the 10th June, after a gallant engagement of five hours. They contained £80,000 in specie, a large number of French officers, and altogether 1,500 prisoners. The two French ships were the Alcide and Lys (each of 64 guns), which were taken by the Defiance and the Dunkirk. Again Boscawen took the first French ships during the war; and again found his old acquaintance, M. Hocquart, on board one of them, who thus for the third time became the British Admiral's prisoner of war. The story of the action is thus graphically told by Lord Mahon:

On the 15th November, Boscawen returned to England with his prizes and his prisoners, and anchored at Spithead.

In the following year, 1756, he commanded the squadron in the Bay of Quiberon, stationed there for the purpose of watching the French fleet; but, so far as I am aware, was engaged in no important active service on that occasion. His leisure, however, gave him an opportunity of showing the interest he took in the welfare of his men, as well as his resource in alleviating the tedium of their unoccupied time, by setting them to work to cultivate a barren island, and converting it into a fruitful garden, whose produce was an extremely welcome adjunct to the invariable salt junk and biscuit of those days. Promotions, however, came, and he was made, at short intervals, successively Vice-Admiral of the White and of the Red.

---

But the year 1758 proved more eventful for our hero; and is perhaps the most memorable in his[223] annals, for it witnessed his gallant attack and capture of Louisbourg—'once mistress of the seas,' and 'the key to French America,' but now consisting of a few fishermen's huts and some moss-covered ruins. This event directly led to the conquest of Canada.

On the 28th of May, being now full Admiral, he sailed from his old starting-point, St. Helen's. And here it may be well, in order to understand the importance of the service on which Boscawen was now engaged, to take a rapid glance at the general position of affairs.

In 1758 there was war in each of the four quarters of the globe. England was triumphing over the Gallic power in India, and over its settlements on the western shores of Africa. And Pitt, having decided on dealing a blow at the French in North America, planned an expedition for the conquest of Cape Breton and St. John's. Disregarding the old principles of selecting for the command officers whose chief recommendation was their family connexions or their political influence, he selected General (afterwards Lord) Amherst to command the army, and Boscawen to be the head of the fleet. The armament (says Lord Mahon) assembled at Halifax, and consisted of 150 sail and 12,000 soldiers. On 2nd June it came to anchor within seven miles of Louisbourg, the capital of Cape Breton. The land-defences of this place had been carefully strengthened by the French, in expectation of the attack; five ships of the line were drawn up in the harbour, and the garrison,[224] soldiers and marines together, exceeded 6,000 men. It was with much difficulty, and after stout resistance, that the English effected their landing. Wolfe (who had attracted Pitt's notice by his behaviour before Rochefort) was the first to spring from the boats into the raging surf, and cheer on his soldiers to the charge. During the whole siege his ardour and activity were equally conspicuous.[94] The conduct of General Amherst also deserves high praise; and the most cordial co-operation—another proof how judiciously the chiefs had been chosen—prevailed between himself and Admiral Boscawen. For the besieged, they kept up their fire with much spirit, and attempted several sallies; but before the close of July, many of their cannon being dismounted, and divers practicable breaches made in the walls, they were compelled to capitulate. The garrison became prisoners of war, and were transported to England. Besides the ships captured in the harbour, a large amount of stores and ammunition was found in the place. Wolfe was on this occasion second in command to Amherst; and Clinton, too, notes that 'for almost the first time in a mixed expedition there was perfect accord between all ranks of both services: Boscawen, Amherst, and Wolfe concerted all measures without jealousy, and an eye-witness records that "the soldiers worked like horses, making the roads, and drawing up the cannon, while the sailors went and lent a hand to build up the batteries."' The whole island of Cape Breton submitted,[225] on the fall of its capital; and the island of St. John's followed the fate of Cape Breton, being occupied by Colonel Lord Rollo with a detachment of troops. Eleven pairs of French colours taken during the siege were, by his Majesty's command, carried in procession, with kettle-drums and trumpets sounding, from Kensington Palace to St. Paul's Cathedral, and deposited there amidst a salute of cannon and other public demonstrations of triumph. They were received by the Dean and Chapter, and put up near the west door of the Cathedral, whilst the guns of the Tower and St. James's Park thundered out their victorious salutes. Sir Henry Ellis, in his edition (1818) of Dugdale's 'St. Paul's,' says that, of the flags and banners hung inside the nave and round the dome, the oldest were those taken at Louisbourg. Nor were the rejoicings confined to London; a great number of other towns and corporations lighted bonfires in the streets, and sent addresses of congratulation to the King; and a form of prayer and thanksgiving for the victory was read in all the churches in England.

Among the many brilliant exploits of the British navy during the year 1758—during which period we captured or destroyed 16 French men-of-war, 49 privateers, and 104 merchant ships, besides 176 neutral ships seized as laden with French colonial produce or military stores—Boscawen's share was as we have seen, conspicuous.

It was not until the 1st of November that our[226] Admiral returned, with four of his ships, to St. Helen's, having, on the way home, fallen in with six French ships off the Scilly Islands, of which, however, he was unable to give his usual good account, as they sailed much faster than his. He nevertheless managed to disable one of them, the Belliqueux, and drove her up the Bristol Channel, where she was secured by the Antelope.

The following 6th of December was a proud day for the victorious naval hero; for, in his place in Parliament, he received the thanks of the House of Commons. In the course of Speaker Onslow's address conveying the thanks of the House, he declared himself 'unable to enumerate and set forth the great and extensive advantages accruing to this nation from the conquest of Louisbourg, with the islands of Cape Breton and St. John,' and described the vote of thanks as 'a national honour from a free people, ever cautiously conferred, in order to be the more esteemed, and the greater reward; a reward which ought to be reserved for the most signal services to the State, as well as for the most approved merit in it.' Boscawen's reply was characteristically short, modest, and sailor-like. He said, from his place, 'Mr. Speaker, I am happy in having been able to do my duty; but have not words to express my sense of the distinguished reward that has been conferred upon me by this House; nor can I enough thank you, sir, for the polite and elegant manner in which you have been pleased to convey to me the Resolution.'

[227]

The Gentleman's Magazine for August, 1758, gives a long and (to military men at least) an interesting journal of this important siege, of which the following is a résumé[95]:

Owing to the violence of the surf, great difficulties appear to have existed in landing the troops and matériel for the operations; and, on the 23rd June, Boscawen had to inform his colleague that no less than 100 boats had, up to that time, been lost in the various attempts which had been made. Nor was this the only way in which the naval commander endeavoured to contribute to the success of the undertaking, for on the 26th June, with 200 marines, the Admiral took the French post of Kennington Cove, which proved, as General Amherst said, 'a great ease to the army.' To add to the difficulties of the undertaking small-pox broke out, and proved fatal in a great many cases—2,000 men dying from this and other causes during the expedition; whilst dense fogs and stormy weather also frequently hindered the progress of their operations; yet, in spite of a host of similar discouraging circumstances, the work was pushed on with truly British vigour and tenacity. On the 25th of July, Boscawen sent in boats with 600 men into the harbour, and took two French ships—the Prudent, of 74 guns, and the Bienfaisant, of 64 guns—whose fire had terribly galled the besiegers. The former vessel was burnt, as she was aground; but the Bienfaisant was captured and[228] towed into the north-east harbour. Boscawen, in his letter to Pitt of 28th July, 1758, refers to this as 'a particular gallant action' on the part of his captains. A similar operation was to have been attempted on the following day, but the French had by this time had enough of it; an offer of capitulation was made by the Governor, and articles were agreed upon, including the surrender of the garrison—over 3,000 men—as prisoners of war, together with sailors and naval officers to the number of 2,606. A vast number of mortars and cannon, etc., were also taken. Thus the strong fortress of Louisbourg fell, the islands of Cape Breton and St. John thereupon surrendered, and a deadly blow was inflicted on the French arms.[96] The insurance on vessels to America at once fell from 25 or 30 to 12 per cent., and on the 26th August the Lord Mayor of London, with many of the principal citizens, waited on the King to congratulate him upon the victory. In the course of their address occurs the following passage, which I quote as illustrative of the importance which the City attached to the event, and of the strong anti-Gallic feeling which prevailed at that time:

Exeter, Cambridge, and other important places followed suit.

Boscawen had surely now received

but his career was not to close without his having at least one more opportunity of distinguishing himself. In the following year, on the 14th April, 1759, he was again afloat; on this occasion appointed to the command in the Mediterranean, with a view to overmastering the French fleet. Having vainly endeavoured to entice the enemy out of their harbour at Toulon, the British Admiral withdrew to Gibraltar to refit; and whilst here, having ascertained that the French ships under M. De la Clue had somehow contrived to pass the Straits without his being able to prevent them, he came to the conclusion that their object was to effect a junction with the Brest fleet—a consummation which of course Boscawen was bound to prevent. At once he gave the order for pursuit, and slipping his war-hounds from the leash, he came up with the enemy in Lagos Bay, some 150 sea miles north-west of Gibraltar Straits. He[230] had pursued the Frenchmen all night, and came up with them at 2 p.m. on the following day, when, after a furious engagement which lasted some hours, he captured or destroyed nearly half the enemy's ships, and thus 'effectually defeated the magnificent scheme of invading England, with which the French Minister had for some time amused the military ardour and romantic spirit of his countrymen.' It is worth while to give Boscawen's account to the Admiralty of the memorable action in his own words:

Well might even the gentle poet Cowper say of so brilliant and important an exploit as this was: 'When poor Bob White brought in the news of Boscawen's success off the Coast of Portugal, how did I leap for joy!'

As part of the results of his victory Boscawen took three large ships and burnt two; and on the 15th of September reached Spithead with his prizes and 2,000 prisoners. Unfortunately the victory involved us in a protracted negotiation with the Portuguese, who complained, not without reason, that the neutrality of their coasts had been violated. It was on this occasion that Pitt, in giving, in his letter to Mr. Hay, then British Minister at Lisbon, his directions for the conduct of the negotiations, loftily writes on the[233] 12th September, 1759: 'You will be particularly attentive not to employ any favourable circumstances to justify what the Law of Nations condemns!' Yet the great Minister was careful to add in his P.S. that 'any personal mark on a great Admiral who has done so essential a service to his country, or on anyone under his command, is totally inadmissible; as well as the idea of restoring the ships of war taken.' The delicate political considerations involved in this transaction may perhaps account for Boscawen's not again receiving the thanks of the House; but that the enormous value of the service which he had rendered was not unperceived, may be seen from the fact that the City of Edinburgh embraced this opportunity of presenting the Admiral with its 'freedom.' After a while, however, more substantial rewards followed. He was made a Privy Councillor; and, on 8th December, 1760, a General of Marines, with a salary of £3,000 a year. It may be a matter of surprise with some that no title was conferred upon Boscawen; but, as a public writer has recently observed: 'Naval services have been by no means so frequently rewarded by peerages as military services, especially of late years; as may be gathered from the fact that while the Queen has already created thirteen military peers, she has created only two naval peers—namely, the late Sir Edmund Lyons, made Baron Lyons after the Crimean War in 1856, and Lord Alcester. Before that the latest naval peerage was the Barony of De Saumerez conferred on Sir James Saumerez in 1831 by William IV.; and before that, again, the[234] Viscounty of Exmouth, conferred on the Cornish Admiral Sir Edward Pellew in 1816 by the Prince Regent. And, even from the age of the great French War of the end of last and the beginning of the current century, the titles remaining in the peerage are far from numerous: Nelson, Bridport, Camperdown, Gardner, Graves, Hood, Howe, Rodney, and St. Vincent, nearly or quite exhausting the list.' In the present instance there was probably the further consideration that our Admiral's brother was already a Viscount, whilst his own son was heir apparent to that title.

---

We now come to Boscawen's last service—once more in the Bay of Quiberon—where he was posted with a view to his following up Conflans after his defeat by Hawke. In this command he was relieved on the 26th August; and little remains to be told except the final record that, on the 10th January, 1761, this thoroughbred seaman and gentleman died of a bilious fever, when only fifty years of age, at his seat, Hatchlands Park, near Guildford, Surrey. But his body was laid amongst those of his ancestors in the remote and quiet little church of St. Michael Penkivel—'grata quies patriæ'—where no more warlike cannonade was destined to disturb his repose than the sunset and sunrise gun from Pendennis or St. Mawes Castles, or from the guard-ship stationed in the adjacent harbour of Falmouth.[99]

His monument, of white marble, is an imposing[235] piece of statuary, the most prominent part of which is a bust designed by Adam, and executed by Rysbrack, which well displays the bluff, portly, and determined features of one of England's bravest and ablest sons. But, to my mind, the best and loveliest part of that trophied memorial is the following inscription from the pen of the well-beloved partner of all his joys and sorrows:

Here perhaps it may conveniently be added that[236] his name is still honourably remembered in the Navy, for the Boscawen, of 101 guns, was one of the Baltic fleet in 1854; and there is a ship of that name, now stationed at Weymouth, used as a naval training-ship for boys.

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The career of Admiral Boscawen depicts his character. It was that of a brave, blunt, determined sailor of the old school. He could not look at a French ship without desiring to fight her; and his determination, according to his enemies, amounted to obstinacy. Walpole tells us how the Admiral in 1757 is said to have been recalled from his then station to serve under Hawke, which he declined to do, 'and his Boscawenhood is now much more Boscawened; that is surly in the deepest shade;' and the same writer says, in another place, that he was 'the most obstinate man of an obstinate family.' Yet even Walpole is compelled to pay this somewhat unwilling tribute to the Admiral's worth during the perilous time when he served his country so well: 'Never did the bravery of the English and the want of spirit in the French appear in greater opposition; the former making their attacks on spots which the French deemed impregnable, threw them into utter dismay; and dictated a very quick and unjustifiable submission—Boscawen's rough courage was fully known before.' And a recent critic, who has already been quoted more than once (himself a naval officer), thus sums up our hero's character: 'He was virtuous like Anson and Hawke, and as[237] brave and eager for employment and distinction as Nelson himself.'

But the prize which the Cornish hero must have valued most must have been the eulogium which Chatham, when Prime Minister, addressed to him—words with which I may not inaptly close this imperfect sketch of his life and actions:

'When I apply to other officers respecting any expedition I may chance to project, they always raise difficulties; you always find expedients.'

---

MRS. BOSCAWEN.

It is not too much to say of the Admiral's wife that she was worthy of him, and that she was duly proud of his name and reputation. We have seen how she thought her daughter Elizabeth was no unfit match for a duke, remarking that she was 'Admiral Boscawen's daughter;' and she was dearly fond of the sea, 'delighting in it (as she used to say) beyond all sights and all objects whatever,' until the mournful day came when he for whose sake she had loved it so dearly had ended his connexion with it for ever; and then she spoke of it as that sea whose memories 'had cost her so many tears.' She was the only daughter of William Evelyn Glanville, Esq., of St. Clere near Ightham, Kent, and was of the family of the celebrated John Evelyn, whom she was fond of calling her 'good, old uncle;' and she took immense[238] interest accordingly in the production of Dr. Hunter's new edition of the 'Sylva.'[100]

When twenty-four years of age she was married, in December, 1742, to Admiral Boscawen, seven years her senior, and they seem to have been a well-suited, happy couple. Her character is perhaps best seen in the interesting gossiping letters which she and Mrs. Delany (a Grenville of Stow) interchanged. She was also a correspondent of Hannah More and Mrs. Chapone.

Hannah More, in her 'Sensibility,' writes thus of her:

And in another place she adds:

The reason for dedicating this poem of 'Sensibility' to Mrs. Boscawen is glanced at in the following couplet:

[239]

On the death of her husband, Dr. Young thus addressed her, in a postscript to his poem 'Resignation',

As another illustration of her intimacy with literary people, and of her fondness for their pursuits, it may be mentioned that Mrs. Boscawen was one of the society of 'eminent friends, both ladies and gentlemen,' who used to meet at Mrs. Montagu's, where she made herself welcome, says Dr. Doran, by 'the strength of her understanding, the poignancy of her humour, and the brilliancy of her wit.' A Mr. Stillingfleet, one of the coterie, was rather slovenly in his costume, and, amongst other delinquencies, wore grey stockings, which caused Admiral Boscawen humorously to affix to the whole party a name which has now become a household word—'The Blue Stockings.'

After they had been dining together on the 29th April, 1778, at Allan Ramsay's—when Dr. Johnson and Sir Joshua Reynolds had been of the party—Boswell wrote of Mrs. Boscawen, 'If it be not presumptuous in me to praise her, let me say that her manners were the most agreeable, and her conversation the best of any lady of our party with whom I had the happiness of being acquainted.' Tenderhearted and sprightly she undoubtedly was; and, as an instance of her vivacity, I may perhaps be excused for quoting a passage in one of her[240] letters to Mrs. Delany which Lady Llanover has given in those well-known 'Memoirs' of her ancestress, to which I have already more than once referred. 'The first time,' writes Mrs. Boscawen, 'I experienced the pains of child-bearing, I concluded that no woman had ever endured the like upon the like occasion, and that I could not possibly recover it; whereas I danced a minuet about my room in ten days, to insult my nurse-keeper and set her a scolding for my diversion!'

But she was something more than a vivacious letter-writer and a dilettante, for she dabbled too in political affairs, especially in the Cornish elections, giving her interest to 'the old members' rather than to Sir William Lemon in 1774. She took, of course, great interest in the warlike views of the day; and on returning to her inn one evening whilst she was travelling through the country, on hearing of the retaking of Long Island, 'made a most agreeable supper and drank health to the noble brothers'—the two Howes. When her son-in-law, Mr. Leveson, had the command of the Valiant, man-of-war, conferred upon him in November, 1776, she set to work for him 'with great alacrity,' as she says, to raise a crew of fishermen in Cornwall. In fact, throughout her life her correspondence shows that she took the keenest possible interest in the doings of our army and navy. As an illustration of the warlike spirit which at this time pervaded even the bosoms of the gentler sex, Walpole thus writes in May, 1778: 'The Parliament is only to have short[241] adjournments; and our senators, instead of retiring to horse-races (their plough), are all turned soldiers, and disciplining militia. Camps everywhere, and the ladies in the uniforms of their husbands.' 'It is said,' writes Mrs. Boscawen to Mrs. Delany, 'that the Duchess of Devonshire marched through Islington at the head of the Derbyshire Militia, dressed in the uniform of that regiment!'

Her residence when in London seems to have been generally in Audley Street; but she also had a pretty place at Enfield, and a small house at Colney Hatch which she used to call her 'nut-shell.'

When about eighty years of age she was living at Rosedale, a place near the entrance to Richmond from Kew, which was formerly occupied by the poet Thomson, whose table, cane, and chair were long preserved in the house; and whilst residing here a little poetical correspondence took place which may be worth recording, not only as an illustration of the courtly politeness of the time, and of the respect in which the good old lady was evidently held by her contemporaries, but also because Mrs. Boscawen's letter, written in a firm, almost manly hand, notwithstanding her advanced age, is still preserved in the British Museum, where it will be found in the Additional MSS. Pye, the Poet Laureate, had written a sonnet on Rosedale, which he communicated to the Rev. W. Butler, who sent it on to Mrs. Boscawen. The lines, by no means remarkable for vigour or originality, conclude thus:

[242]

The lady graciously acknowledged the compliment conveyed to her in the last two lines, and thus replied on the 26th June, 1797:

After surviving her husband for forty-four years, and never marrying again, the Honourable Frances Evelyn Boscawen closed her long and amiable life at her house in Audley Street, in March, 1805, at the venerable age of eighty-six; and was buried in the same vault with her husband at St. Michael Penkivel, where a monument designed by her son, George Evelyn, third Viscount Falmouth, and executed by Nollekens, was erected to her memory. An epitaph does her no more than justice.

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[244]
[245]

DAVY,

THE MAN OF SCIENCE.

---

[246]
[247]

DAVY,

THE MAN OF SCIENCE.

'Igne constricto, vita secura.'

Davy's Motto.                

The pretty little homestead—or as it is called in Cornwall, the 'town-place'—of Varfel, (or Barfell as it was sometimes spelt) in Ludgvan, lies on a southern slope, about two and a half miles N.E. of Penzance, and is a somewhat less distance from St. Michael's Mount, a view of which, as well as of the famous Mount's Bay and of the Lizard district, it commands. Varfel seems to have belonged from an early period to the Davy family, some of whose monuments in Ludgvan Church are nearly 300 years old. Either here, on the 'paternal acres,' or in the town of Penzance, on 17th December, 1778, at 5 a.m., was born to 'Carver' Robert Davy (so called from his proficiency in his trade as a wood-carver and gilder) and his wife Grace Millett, their eldest son,[101] who was[248] destined to emerge from this remote and obscure corner of England, and become President of the Royal Society—a man of science so distinguished that Brande, in his celebrated 'History of Chemistry,' spoke of Davy's death as nothing less than 'a serious national calamity.'

---

The district of Penwith, with its wild furze-clad granite moors, its rugged cliffs, and emerald bays, proved

'Fit nurse for a poetic child;'

and the imaginative faculties of the future illustrious chemist were not nursed in vain. Like Pope, he 'lisped in numbers,' reciting, when only five years old, his own rhymes at some Christmas gambols; and his poetic vein never left him, even in the laboratory or in the lecture-room, compelling the aristocratic idlers of London to love Science, because, as they were constrained to confess, under his magic guidance, Science was made beautiful, and was attired by the Graces. It was said by Coleridge that had Davy not devoted himself to Science, he would have shone with the highest lustre as a poet; and the following youthful lines, full of true local colour, certainly show, as indeed did his whole life, that he had drunk of 'the fount of Helicon:'

'TO THE LAND'S END.

It was this poetic temperament, derived (as his brother, Dr. Davy, thinks) from their grandmother, which induced the gifted Dr. Henry, F.R.S., thus to refer to the subject of this memoir:

Davy's first school was at Penzance, his first schoolmaster a Mr. Bushell; his next, the Rev. Mr. Coryton, seems to have been one of the old rough sort, determined that his pupils should not lack correction, even if they did not profit by his instruction. He used to address the little boy in the following doggrel, whenever he thought he saw an opportunity of administering castigation:

But neither Mr. Coryton, nor Dr. Cardew, the excellent master of the Truro Grammar School, to which place Davy was for a short period removed, when fourteen years old, seems to have perceived any remarkable genius in the scholar—except that the latter discerned at least his taste and skill in poetry, and in his translations from the classics into English verse. One of the efforts of his muse was an epic poem, 'The Tydidiad,' written when he was twelve years old. In truth Davy, when a schoolboy, was generally composing either ballads or valentines (in Latin or English) for his school-fellows, in making fireworks, or in fishing or shooting, thus proving—what has been so often proved before—that 'the boy is father to the man.' His oratorical displays—sometimes addressed to a crowd of juveniles assembled in[251] front of the Star Inn at Penzance, sometimes to a row of empty chairs in his own bedroom—and his turnip-lantern exhibitions (which afterwards developed into the wonderful mimic volcanoes with which he astonished and delighted his audience at the Royal Institution) were highly popular; the price of admission to the turnip-lantern shows is said to have been paid in an extremely low currency—pins. It would moreover appear from an entry of his in the blank page of his Schrevelius that Harlequin was his favourite part in a pantomime. Of his youth, which all accounts agree in representing as genial and amiable, little more remains to be said, but that he was very awkward with his hands (often blotting out an error in his MS. by dipping his fingers into the ink-bottle)—could never get out of the 'awkward squad' in the Volunteer Corps which he joined—that he was round-shouldered and clumsy—had no taste or ear for music, and possessed a singularly inharmonious voice. Clearly, the outward gifts of our hero were not such as were likely to help him forward on his way through life. To judge what a change the fire of genius, years of study, and the advantages of moving amongst cultured and refined society can accomplish, his portrait, when he was about thirty-three years old, by Lawrence,[103] prefixed[252] to Dr. Paris's 'Life'—or perhaps rather that by Phillips, R.A., which will be found in Polwhele's now rare little volumes the 'Biographical Sketches,' and in the 'Gentleman's Magazine' for 1829, should be examined.

As he grew up he is described as being of about the middle height, of remarkably active frame, and with a mobile countenance, which, though the features were not regular, was full of expression and vivacity. He had bright, wavy, brown hair, and eyes 'tremulous with light;' and his voice so improved by cultivation and experience that it became remarkably melodious. When to this are added his wonderful talents, his grand discoveries, and his eloquence, his sanguine temperament, his purpose firm, his spirits singularly cheerful and elastic, and his disposition ever philanthropic, it will easily be believed that his society was sought by all classes; and it is not to be wondered at if the attractions which such opportunities presented laid him open to the charge (from some quarters) of cultivating too much the wealthy and the powerful.[104] Davy, however, was too wise not to perceive the advantage of interesting[253] such persons in the pursuits to which he was himself through life devoted. But he was really fond of intelligence in all classes, whenever and wherever he met with it; and there is an amusing story told of one of his street acquaintances, who showed the moon through a telescope, and who always refused to take Davy's penny, because, as the man said, of their being 'brother philosophers.'

But, to return to his youthful days. Davy's schooling probably did not cost his parents much, for in Dr. Cardew's time the charges were only £18 a year for board, and £4 for teaching, and perhaps some of these were paid by a very kind friend of the family, Mr. John Tonkin of Penzance. He 'put on harness' in 1793, when little more than fourteen years old (the year before his father died), by being articled on 16th February, to Dr. J. B. Borlase of Penzance, a gentleman who seems to have taken a kind and appreciative interest in the welfare of the lad.

Davy seems to have bestowed a fair amount of attention upon the studies pertaining to his profession, and is said to have been particularly kind and attentive to his master's patients, especially those of the poorer classes; but 'nourishing a youth sublime' on the preparation of pills and potions was out of the question; and we gladly find that, ere long, a more intellectual banquet was to be laid before him. He was at this time passionately fond of fishing and shooting, the former of which pursuits he dearly loved to the last: casting longing looks, even within[254] a few days of his death, on the waters of Lake Leman on which he had often in earlier days thrown a fly. His charming book 'Salmonia' (pace the shade of Christopher North) shows what a deep interest he always took in fishing, and, indeed, in Natural History generally. It is amusing to note here, that in later years his costume, hat included, when he went fishing, was, for purposes of concealment, green; when, however, he went shooting he adopted scarlet garments for distinction, having a great dread of being shot. Declamations by the shores of Mount's Bay were also a source of great pleasure to him, when a boy, and many a time did he harangue the waves, when he could not secure a human auditory.

We may be sure that chemistry was not omitted; and, in the attic of a house belonging to that worthy friend of the family—Mr. Tonkin—such apparatus as Davy could muster might have been found: phials, wine-glasses, teacups, and tobacco-pipes, and a few acids and alkalies were amongst the principal items, and—most treasured of all—an old clyster-pipe, washed ashore from a wreck, out of which he had contrived to manufacture an air-pump!

The crisis of Davy's life at length arrived. Mr. Davies Gilbert (then named Giddy) a Cornish gentleman eminent for his attainments, had his attention called to the youngster's scientific knowledge, and became his friend and patron—little thinking at the time that he was hereafter to become Treasurer of the Royal Society under Davy, and at length to[255] succeed his protégé as a President. It is noteworthy here—that Trelissick House, on the Fal, built by Davy's grandfather, for Mr. Daniell, became afterwards the property of Mr. Gilbert, and is now one of the seats of his grandson, Carew Davies Gilbert, Esq. Davies Gilbert also brought into public notice the Rev. Malachi Hitchins, once a miner, afterwards the principal calculator of the Nautical Almanac, and (conjointly with Samuel Drew) an historian of Cornwall; also the Rev. John Hellins, many years assistant to Dr. Maskelyne. He was moreover an early friend and adviser of Richard Trevithick (q.v.).

It is said that when the boy Davy first saw Mr. Davies Gilbert's laboratory his tumultuous delight knew no bounds. Other appreciative friends now came forward; amongst them Dr. Edwards of Hayle Copper House, and Professor Hailstone, and Dr. Beddoes, representatives of the rival geological schools of Neptunists and Plutonists, as they were then called, to both of whom Davy was able to render valuable information; though he himself, with his usual sagacity, sided with the Plutonists. Gregory Watt, the youngest son of the renowned James Watt, was another of Davy's early acquaintances at Penzance; and from Watt the youth derived much valuable information and advice.

One result was the offer of an appointment, when he was about nineteen years old, as assistant in Dr. Beddoes's Pneumatic Hospital, at Dowry Square, Clifton,[105]—an establishment founded for the purpose[256] of investigating the nature of the gases, with especial reference to their remedial influences.

This was an appointment after the young chemist's own heart. The salary was sufficient for his modest wants, and he forthwith renounced all claims to his share of the small family property, in favour of his mother and sisters. He threw himself at once with ardour into his work, and originated those celebrated but highly dangerous experiments on the effects of nitrous oxide, which indeed nearly cost him his own life, but which in their result have alleviated the sufferings of tens of thousands of his fellow-creatures. The description of one of the 'séances,' when experiments were tried on many different persons—including Southey, then Poet Laureate—were described by Davy in an amusing little poem.

The friendship with Southey was not only on a scientific basis;—the Poet recognised his brother-poet's faculty: and accordingly Southey submitted to Davy the proofs of his mystic poem 'Thalaba,' for criticism; whilst the younger bard contributed to the 'Anthology' of the elder. And while on this subject it may be added that Coleridge (another of his Clifton acquaintances), who often referred to Davy's enchanting manners, used to say, so Barrow tells us, that he was in the habit of attending Davy's lectures at the Royal Institution, 'in order to increase his stock of metaphors.' On another occasion Coleridge remarked: 'There is an energy and elasticity in Davy's mind which enables him to seize on and analyze all questions, pushing them to their legitimate[257] consequences. Every subject in Davy's mind has the principle of vitality—living thoughts spring up, like the turf under his feet.' And Davy, of course, could not fail to admire the genius of Coleridge—it was he who persuaded the dreamy poet to give his well-known series of eighteen lectures on Shakespeare at the Royal Institution in 1808. Horne Tooke was another of Davy's admirers, and was so enchanted with him early in his career that he engaged Chantry to make a bust of the Cornish philosopher.

It is further evident that Southey had the highest possible opinion of Davy's talents, for he wrote thus to Taylor:

In fact our poet-chemist must have been altogether a most fascinating man. An old personal acquaintance of his writes in the 'Gentleman's Magazine,' 1845, that 'when Davy is at ease, and excited in conversation, his splendid eyes irradiate his whole countenance, and he looks almost inspired.' But perhaps the best analysis of Davy's powers is that given in Good Words for 1879, by Professor Ferguson, who has also written by far the most generally interesting account of the great chemist's discoveries:

[258]

Davy's note-books now became rapidly filled with the Results of his studies, with Reflexions, with Resolutions, and with the most ambitious prospectuses of his future labours. Dr. Davy gives, in his 'Life' of his brother, an interesting specimen, written in 1799, when Davy had taken a house in Dowry Square, Clifton. Two hours before breakfast were to be devoted to his 'Lover of Nature,' or the 'Feelings of Eldon'—the five hours from nine to two to experiments—the time from four to six was to be spent in reading, and from seven to ten p.m. in the study of metaphysics. So passed the time away at Clifton, amidst the most congenial pursuits, thoroughly sympathetic friends, and in the enjoyment of an income which, modest as it was, enabled him to assist his mother in the education of his younger brother. But for one thing he bargained—John was not to be placed under Mr. Coryton.

Clifton, however, ere long became too small a sphere for Davy; and in 1801 an appointment as Assistant Editor of the Journals, Director of the Laboratory, and Assistant Lecturer (with a view to his ultimately becoming the Professor of Chemistry) to the then newly-founded Royal Institution, in London,[260] was joyfully accepted; his salary being fixed at 100 guineas a year, with a room, and coals, and candles. The Duchess of Gordon, amongst other leaders of fashion, attracted by his youth and simplicity, as well as by his enthusiasm and eloquence, took him by the hand; and his success became assured. Compliments, invitations, and presents, Dr. Paris tells us, were showered upon him from all quarters; his society was courted by everybody, and all were proud of his acquaintance. In 1802 he commenced a long series of lectures before the Board of Agriculture, on the connexion of Chemistry with Vegetable Physiology, which have been translated into almost every European language: in fact, Sir Humphry has been well named the father of Agricultural Chemistry.[106] In 1803 he obtained the enviable distinction of being elected a Fellow of the Royal Society, and two years afterwards, having become a Member of the Royal Irish Academy, he found himself a correspondent of all the chief scientific men of the day.

Davy's début as a lecturer at the Royal Institution appears to have been highly successful; 'the sparkling intelligence of his eye,[107] his animated manner,' according to one critic, and 'his youth, his natural eloquence, his chemical knowledge, his happy illustrations, and well-conducted experiments, excited universal attention and unbounded applause.' It has [261]been well said that 'under his touch the coldest realities blossomed into poetry.' But the real secret of his success was this—that he was master of his subject; and that his whole heart was in his work. His mode of life, his brother tells us, was at this time extremely simple, his fare frugal, his rooms slightly furnished, and the only 'thing of beauty' which they contained was an exquisite little porcelain Venus, the gift of his early friend Wedgwood, with whom he was associated in some of the very first attempts made in this country in the art of photography.

In 1806 and 1807 he was selected to deliver the Bakerian Lecture (the subject chosen being the 'Chemical Agencies of Electricity')—an honourable distinction—leading, as it probably did, to his promotion in the latter year to the posts of Secretary to the Royal Society, and Member of the Council. Of this paper Dr. Whewell said, 'It was a great event—perhaps the most important event of the epoch under review,' and as such 'it was recognised at once all over Europe.' Probably no man's life was happier than Davy's at this period; his income was ample, his work was his pleasure, and his disposition was happy and sanguine. Whilst holding constant and friendly intercourse with his brother philosophers at home and abroad,[108] he had also plenty of time for relaxation; and made several pleasant excursions to[262] Scotland[109] and Ireland; everywhere sketching, making notes, fishing, or pursuing his inquiries amongst the natives with a vivid pertinacity and good-nature which at once astonished and delighted them. His brother (who used occasionally to occupy an adjoining bedroom at the Royal Institution) tells how Humphry might frequently have been heard during the night addressing in fervid tones some imaginary audience, or humming aloud an angler's song. Indeed, it might almost be said that during this period one cloud only darkened his horizon. He was seized with typhus fever, caught during an inspection of Newgate Prison, which he visited with a view to arranging for its disinfection; but, as Dr. Dibdin remarked in his introductory lecture to the Institution:

During Davy's visits to Ireland in 1810 and 1811 he lectured before the Dublin Society, and whilst in the Irish metropolis had conferred upon him by Trinity College the honorary degree of Doctor of Laws. During the first week 550 tickets for his lectures were sold at 2 guineas each, and the price ultimately rose to from 10 to 20 guineas. His own pecuniary remuneration was also handsome; in the former year he received 500 guineas, and in the latter £750.

The result of his researches during the eleven years[263] whilst he was officially connected with the Royal Institution may, Dr. Davy thinks, be conveniently divided into two portions, viz., the earlier one, terminating with his great discovery of the decomposition and recomposition of the fixed alkalies, by the aid of an enormously powerful voltaic pile which he had specially constructed for him, and the cost of which was defrayed by subscription—the reward of his triumphant and all-important electro-chemical researches; and the later period, which re-established the simple nature of chlorine. His views on these subjects were adopted by all the leading chemists of the age; and, with few exceptions, were after a short time promulgated in the schools. To the theory of tanning he also gave much attention, experimentally wearing for some time one shoe tanned with oak bark, and the other with catechu. He published the results of his inquiries in the 'Philosophical Transactions' for 1803.

It is not uninteresting here to note that Davy, on becoming connected with the Royal Society, did not entirely relinquish his intentions of prosecuting—what might probably have been a more lucrative career—his original profession of medicine. But not even such a prospect—nor even that of an illustrious career in the Church—(to which it is said the Bishop of Durham and others, charmed by his eloquence as a lecturer, urged him)—could draw away his affection from science. And he was not without his reward; for he had the satisfaction of reading in Cuvier's address to the French Institute,[264] whose members were of course rival scientists, that—'Davy, not yet thirty-two, in the opinion of all who could judge of his labours, held the first rank among the chemists of this or of any other age.'

---

The month of April, 1812, was an eventful one in Davy's life. It saw his retirement from the post of Secretary to the Royal Society; it saw him receive the honour of Knighthood, then rarely bestowed upon men of science;[110] and last, but not least, it saw him married to Mrs. Apreece, whose maiden name was Jane Kerr (of Kelso), a wealthy, amiable, and intellectual widow, to whom he appears to have been devotedly attached: he described her, in a letter to his mother, announcing the intended marriage, as 'a woman equally distinguished for virtues, talents, and accomplishments;' and to his brother as 'the most amiable and intellectual woman I have ever known.' To this tribute to her worth it may be added that, when Scott went on his tour to the Hebrides, his 'dear friend and distant relation,' Mrs. Apreece (afterwards Lady Davy), went with the family party: she had been, Scott says in one of his letters, 'a lioness of the first magnitude in Edinburgh' during the preceding winter. And when writing to Byron, inviting him to Abbotsford, Sir Walter mentions as one of the visitors who made his home attractive: 'The fair, or shall I say the sage, Apreece that was, Lady Davy that is, who is soon to show us how much science she leads captive in Sir Humphry.'

[265]

But there are 'cabinet' portraits of the lady and her husband in 'The Life of George Ticknor' (p. 57, vol. i.) which may be introduced here.

The honeymoon, the greater part of which was spent in Scotland, was scarcely over, before, in the month of June, he dedicated to his wife his 'Elements of Chemical Philosophy,' as a pledge of his continued ardour for science, as well as of his love for her; and Davy returned to his scientific pursuits. In the following November he nearly lost his eyesight, whilst performing the dangerous experiment of effecting the combination of azote, as nitrogen was then called, and chlorine. He soon, however, completely recovered the use of his eyes, and took a trip into his native county; fishing and geologizing on the way. It was about this time also that Davy made the first experiments in electric lighting, by producing the voltaic arc by the use of carbon; the discovery was improved by Foucault, who substituted retort-carbon[267] for wood-charcoal. (Comte du Moncel's 'L'Eclairage Electrique,' Paris, 1880.)

With reference to this, now highly important, subject, a writer in the Times for 22nd October, 1881, points out that 'Sir Humphry Davy showed that when a powerful current passes across the point of contact of two carbon rods, their points become heated; and on separating them to a short distance, an arc of light shoots between them, and the carbons are raised to a white heat.' The writer adds, that 'all lamps (until lately) had this point chiefly in view; namely, to introduce an arrangement which should keep the carbon-points at the fixed distance found to be the most advantageous.' Surely here was the germ of that discovery which is now becoming so rapidly developed.

---

In the autumn he went with Lady Davy for a long tour on the Continent, accompanied by the illustrious Faraday, who was a bookseller's apprentice when Davy first knew him, as his assistant and secretary; and equipped (as on previous similar occasions) with a portable chemical apparatus. He passed (with a special passport from Napoleon) through Paris—fêted by all the Parisian savants, including Laplace, Gay-Lussac, Thénard, etc., but treating them, it is said, somewhat haughtily—thence through France and Switzerland into Italy, by way of Nice to Genoa, where he rested a few days in order to make some ineffectual experiments on the torpedo; and so on to Florence, visiting en route all the most[268] remarkable extinct volcanoes in the south of France. This year he was elected a Corresponding Member of the 1st class of the French Institute, who had previously awarded to him their prize of 3,000 livres for his treatise on 'Chemical Affinities.' In the spring of 1814 he reached Rome, where he spent a month; and thence visited Naples; all the while filling his note-books with interesting entries, personal, scientific, and poetic. On his return homeward he made the acquaintance of Volta, then seventy years old, at Milan, and he records his pleasure at conferring with the ingenious and amiable old man.

Midsummer found him at his beloved Geneva; and here he spent three delicious months in a villa whose garden sloped down to the cool blue waters of the lake. He wintered at Rome, busily occupied with his scientific pursuits, with shooting wild-fowl in the Campagna, and in the enjoyment of the intellectual society of the Eternal City;—not omitting to transmit the results of his studies for publication in the 'Philosophical Transactions.' It was about this time that the Geological Society of Penzance was started; and it need scarcely be said that it had from the first the best wishes of Davy, who contributed specimens to its cabinets, and subscribed a handsome sum towards its expenses.

This was not the only institution of a scientific nature of which Davy was an early patron, if not indeed an originator. Sir Roderick Murchison, in his 'Biography' by Geikie, mentions that Davy, Croker, and Reginald Heber were the real founders and[269] earliest trustees of the Athenæum Club. And Sir John Rennie, in his 'Autobiography,' says as follows:

In the spring of 1815 he returned to England, viâ Mayence and Brussels, and bought for his residence a house in Lower Grosvenor Street, No. 28.

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There is perhaps no subject connected with the career of Davy with which his name is more inseparably and more honourably associated than that now to be mentioned,—and it was a subject which even the genius of a Humboldt had failed to master—namely, the brilliant and philanthropical discovery of[270] the Safety Lamp (the original lamp in its first and simplest form is preserved in the Royal Institution), which has often been described in detail. His brother goes fully into the train of reasoning and of experiments which led to its construction. It is, as he says, a cage of wire-gauze which actually makes prisoner the flame of the deadly fire-damp, and in its prison consumes it. This grand invention—and it is not the less grand because it is so simple—by which in all probability more lives have been saved than by any other invention of similar character,—Davy nobly refused to patent, lest the sphere of its usefulness should be restricted: indeed, throughout his life he was indifferent to mere money; he was constantly giving away things for which he had no immediate use, and never kept a book after he had once read it. He received for the invention of the Safety Lamp unbounded praise and heartiest thanks from the great body of coal-owners and coal-workers of the Tyne and Wear especially; and was presented by them, on 11th October, 1817, with a magnificent service of plate worth £2,500,[111] at a public dinner at the Queen's Head Hotel, Newcastle, when the Earl of Durham (then Mr. Lambton) said in the course of his speech: 'If your fame had needed anything to make it immortal, this discovery alone would have carried it down to future ages, and connected it with benefits and blessings.'

[271]

Of this lamp (which the miners call 'a Davy,') the inventor, with his usual philanthropic spirit, often said, 'I value it more than anything I ever did.' The Emperor of Russia sent him a magnificent silver-gilt vase, the cover of which was surmounted by a figure of the God of Fire weeping over his extinguished torch, and the present was accompanied by an autograph letter. Early in the following year, his services to Science and to Humanity were recognised, somewhat tardily, by his having a baronetcy conferred upon him by the English Sovereign.[112]

---

In the summer of 1818 he contemplated a second visit, with Lady Davy, to the Continent. The programme included Flanders, Austria, Rome, and Naples,[113] to the two last of which places he went [272]commissioned by the Prince Regent to investigate at Pompeii the bases of the colours employed by the ancients in their frescoes; and to discover, if possible, some chemical process of unrolling the papyric MSS. affected by the fire at Herculaneum: in this, however, he was unsuccessful; and his want of success—a thing so unusual with him—afforded him infinite chagrin. Most of the summer and part of the autumn of 1819 were spent in luxurious repose at the baths of Lucca; but the winter found him again at Rome, all the while making notes and storing up thoughts for his delightful book, 'The Consolations of Travel.'

In the summer of 1820 he returned, by way of the south of France, to his house in Grosvenor Street, and deeply interested himself in an inquiry into the 'Connexion between Magnetism and Electricity,' the result of which he communicated to the Royal Society on the 12th November.

Again he visited Scotland; and Lockhart gives a graphic account of the party at Abbotsford, in the autumn of this year, as they started on a sporting expedition, in which, after sketching the portraits of some members of it, Scott's biographer goes on to say:

After a merry lunch at Newark Castle they all moved on towards Blackandro, and, Lockhart continues:

[276]

I am also indebted to Lockhart for the following story:

The crowning honour of Davy's life now awaited[277] him. His friend Sir Joseph Banks—himself the successor of such men as Sir Christopher Wren, Sir Hans Sloane, and Sir Isaac Newton—who had held the post of President of the Royal Society for forty-two years, died on 19th June, 1820, and Sir Humphry was, almost unanimously, elected on the 30th of the following November. He continued to fill the post for seven successive years, and his annual addresses are very characteristic specimens of his eloquence and suavity. He retained the old practice of delivering his speeches in full court dress,[114] and with the Society's mace (Oliver Cromwell's celebrated 'bauble') laid before him. He also continued his predecessor's practice of having weekly evening gatherings of the most distinguished men of science of the day, so long as he remained in Lower Grosvenor Street; but they were discontinued on his moving, in 1825, to 26, Park Street, Grosvenor Square.

---

Davy now began to find that

'Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.'

He was worried by the numerous small duties which pertained to his prominent position, and was sadly disappointed at not being able to prevail upon the Government of the day to take up his somewhat magnificent views as to the development of the Royal[278] Society, and the subordination of certain other great public establishments to it. He used to complain that the Government were only too glad to get anything they could out of the Society, but were loth to give back anything in return. I gather too, from what Dr. Davy says, that symptoms of failing health began, even thus early, to show themselves. He somewhat relaxed the severity of his labours—made trips to Ireland, Wales, and Scotland (dining at Edinburgh with Sir Walter Scott), chiefly with a view to enjoying the fine scenery, and the fishing and shooting; but, as regards Wales, also with the object of devising means for remedying the results produced by the noxious copper effluvia from the Smelting Works at Swansea.

In the autumn of 1821 he paid a visit to Penzance; always fond—as indeed most Cornishmen seem to be—of embracing an opportunity of revisiting his native place. On this occasion he was entertained at a public dinner; and he left his old home, doubtless expecting to see it again and again: but this was destined to be his last visit.

---

From 1823 to 1826 may be described as the last period of his scientific labours; and it was in a great measure devoted to investigations, undertaken at the request of the Government, into the best mode of preventing the destruction of the copper-sheathing of vessels by the action of the sea. This Davy to some extent accomplished by coating the copper with tin; but, unfortunately, the tin did not prevent[279] (as the copper did) the fouling of the metal by accretions of seaweeds and shells; and the practical result was nil.

He was much disappointed at this, having taken great pains in the matter, and having even made a voyage to the North Sea for the purpose of conducting his experiments. Of this excursion, which included visits to Norway, Sweden, and Denmark, he has left copious records—though, as a general rule, he had now discontinued his diary—and these include his reflexions not only on the scenery, etc., through which he passed, but, according to his custom, his impressions of the distinguished men of science and others with whom he came in contact. Those circumstances which impressed Davy most deeply he often recorded, as was his practice throughout his life, in verse. A specimen may be given here in the following fragment written at Ullswater, which he visited in August, 1825:

But he could not succeed in shaking off the illness of which he had had more than one warning; and even his elastic spirits began to flag under its depressing influence. The spring of 1826 found him[280] worse; he complained much of rheumatism, and of slight numbness in his limbs; and the death of his mother in the autumn still further affected his health. With great pain and effort he delivered what proved to be his last address to the Royal Society—a body whose mission was so like his own, 'ad inquisitionem et inventionem naturæ veræ et interioris rerum omnium'—on St. Andrew's Day, 1826; and shortly after he suffered a slight attack of paralysis, which, however, did not prevent his revising his discourses, nor even deter him from projecting new scientific treatises. During his recovery he liked nothing better than having novels and romances read to him,—partly I should think to divert his mind from the small worries which were inevitable to one occupying the post which he filled, but which at this juncture pressed upon him with increasing force, and indeed probably conduced to his determining upon another visit to the Continent in January, 1827, accompanied on this occasion only by his brother, Dr. John Davy, an army surgeon.

The winter journey was rough and dreary. Paris was avoided, on account of the too great excitement which it was feared its society might induce; and the roads along which the travellers drove, bad at the best, were now in their very worst condition from the snow. The scenes through which they passed were uninteresting, the occasional roadside churches being the only noteworthy objects; and these they rarely failed to enter, the sick philosopher generally dropping on his knees for a silent prayer.

[281]

So they passed on, notwithstanding the severe cold and the snow, over the Mont Cenis, into Italy, reaching Ravenna on the 27th February—Davy, strange to say, rather the better than the worse for his cold and cheerless expedition. Here he rested for some time, occupying himself chiefly in shooting, fishing, and reading Byron, whose acquaintance (with that of the accomplished Countess Guiccioli) he had previously made at this place. His note-book was kept up, and was filled with numerous acute observations on subjects connected with natural history and chemistry, interspersed with expressions of pious humility and of gratitude to 'the Great Cause of all being.' His health improved; and in March, 1827, Dr. Davy returned to Corfu, whilst Sir Humphry shortly afterwards started on a solitary expedition through the Eastern Alps and down the Rhine. But his health now declined; he frequently had to apply leeches and blisters, and he lived so abstemiously as to considerably reduce his strength and spirits. 'Valde miserabilis!' he often exclaimed in his note-book; and once he wrote, 'Dubito fortissime restaurationem meam.' It was no doubt whilst in this mood that he wrote to Mr. Davies Gilbert from Salzburg, on 30th June, 1827, announcing his retirement from the office of President of the Royal Society.[115] Whilst on one of his numerous fishing expeditions, a[282] pursuit[116] which, as we have seen, he passionately followed all his life long, he wrote about this time, the following pensive lines, more suo, on contemplating a rapid river:

This was a favourite thought of his. He amplified it in a letter which he addressed from Rome in the following year to his friend Poole:

The current of his own life now carried him back in one of its eddies to London, which he reached on 6th October.

The winter was passed in town, but the state of[283] his health prevented any great exertion, and did not permit his seeing much society; yet the world can scarcely be said to have been the loser; for in his retirement he composed (being now nearly fifty years of age), that delightful book, dear to every angler, 'Salmonia.'[117] Returning spring revived his desire to revisit what he considered the finest scenery in the world, namely, the Alpine valleys of Illyria and Styria; and at the end of March he left England, accompanied by a young medical gentleman (his godson), Mr. Tobin, the son of a much-valued old friend. His pursuits were much as usual, and, living somewhat more generously, he more than once entertained some faint hopes of his ultimate recovery; 'attaching,' as he himself put it, 'a loose fringe, of hope to his tattered garments.' His mind was fully active during this summer, as may be judged from his having now planned his well-known work, 'Consolations of Travel,' which he used to say 'contained the essence of his philosophical opinions;' and from his having sketched out a slight plan for his own memoirs. Stress of weather detained him a short time at Wurzen, and here he occupied the time of his detention by writing his little Irish romance, 'The Last of the O'Donoghues.' He also now sent to press the second edition of his 'Salmonia,' which he thought 'twice as good, as well as twice as big' as the first. At Trieste he resumed his experiments on[284] the electric eel, and at length satisfied himself that under no conditions did the shock affect the magnet. This formed the subject of a paper—the last of a series which continued almost uninterruptedly for a period of twenty-eight years—published by the Royal Society. It was about this time that he made the noble and touching entry in his diary:

'Si moro, spero che ho fatto il mio dovere; e che mia vita non e stato vano ed inutile.'[118]

The curtain rises on the last act, at Rome, where he passed the winter. Here—where he describes himself, in a letter dated 6th February, 1829, to his friend Poole, as 'a ruin among ruins'—he received, a fortnight after that date, his last and fatal shock of paralysis. It was quite unexpected by him, and he was barely able to write one or two hurried letters to his brother, begging him to come quickly. He now quite made up his mind that he was about to die; but his mind continued calm and clear, and he urged Dr. Davy, when he at length arrived, not to give way to any vain regrets, but to regard the matter philosophically. Even in this extremity, the consideration of the strange powers of the torpedo exercised a fascinating influence over him; and he directed experiments and dissections of the fish from the bed upon which he not only believed himself to be dying, but upon which he thought, more than once, that he had actually died. Only with great difficulty was he persuaded by his wife and surrounding friends[285] that he had not as yet passed the dark portals of the grave.

It will hardly be believed that from such a state as this he rallied. Yet such was the case! Lady Davy had brought with her from England an early copy of the second edition of his 'Salmonia;' and he read it with avidity. Indeed reading—or rather being read to—was now almost his only pursuit. Moore's 'Epicurean,' Shakespeare, 'The Arabian Nights,' and 'Humphrey Clinker,' by turns engaged his attention; and at length he not only thought recovery possible, but by April was actually able to take drives about Rome and its neighbourhood, entering fully, with his companions, into all the enjoyment of the charms of a brilliant Italian spring.

At length, leaving Rome, 'by slow and easy stages,' they came to Geneva, which place they reached on the 28th May, by the Mont Cenis route. Here the little party took up their residence at La Couronne hotel, which overlooks the lake; and Davy expressed an earnest desire once more to throw a fly on it. He was very deeply affected on hearing of the death of his old friend Dr. Thomas Young; but dined heartily with the others at five o'clock. After dinner he was heard joking with the waiter as to the cooking of the fish, and desiring that he might be furnished with a specimen of every variety which the lake contained; and, after being read to as usual, he went to bed at nine. In rising, however, from his chair at the dinner table, for this purpose, he gave his elbow a rather violent blow, the sensations resulting[286] from which frightened him very much, and probably accelerated his decease. At half-past two in the morning the servant aroused Dr. Davy with the information that his illustrious brother was much worse. The doctor flew to the chamber, but only in time to see Sir Humphry expire, just as the morning of the 29th of May, 1829, began to dawn.

His will was proved under £30,000, and Lady Davy was appointed sole executrix. Paris says that he left £100 to the Penzance Grammar School, the interest to be devoted to a prize for the best scholar, provided the school kept holiday on the anniversary of his birthday; but I do not find this in the will. I believe that the interest on the money is still paid, but that the holiday is omitted.

A public funeral was decreed him by the authorities and literati of Geneva, including his friends Decandolle and Sismondi, who highly appreciated him; and his mortal remains were deposited in the cemetery at Plain-Palais, close to those of Professor Pictet.[119] It was Davy's wish, as expressed in his will, to be buried wherever he might die: 'Natura curat suas reliquias,' he wrote; and on his monument will be found the reason of this lofty reliance—namely, because he was

'Summus arcanorum Naturæ indigator.' [120]

Thus died, without issue, and within a few months [287]of his great friends Wollaston and Young, Sir Humphry Davy, poet and philosopher, before he had completed his fifty-first year—a man (to use the words of Dr. Paris) 'whose splendid discoveries illumined the age in which he lived, adorned the country which gave him birth, and obtained from foreign and hostile nations the homage of admiration and the meed of gratitude.'

His genius it would be presumptuous in me to endeavour to analyze or describe. I have attempted a biographical sketch rather than an essay on Davy's proper place in the ranks of science;[121] but he was undoubtedly one of the master-spirits of his age; and I gladly select, from among many other similar accounts, the peroration of the éloge pronounced upon him by Baron Cuvier before the Institute of France:

The talented and indefatigable editors of the 'Bibliotheca Cornubiensis' have observed that, since the formation of the Royal Society, fifty-eight persons, either born in Cornwall or long resident within its borders, have become, through their eminence in mineralogical and other pursuits, Fellows of that body. A full list of their names is printed in the index to Messrs. Boase and Courtney's work; and in it they rightly say that Cornishmen may be pardoned for believing that no such record of distinction in scientific knowledge could be drawn up from any English county of corresponding size and population. I will only add my opinion that, amongst the foremost in that bright roll of honour, stands forth the name of HUMPHRY DAVY.

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[289]

ADMIRAL VISCOUNT EXMOUTH.

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[290]
[291]

ADMIRAL VISCOUNT EXMOUTH.

The life of this gallant sailor and good man was told so admirably in 1835, by my late valued friend, Edward Osler, F.L.S.—for many years editor of the Royal Cornwall Gazette, and himself one of our Cornish Athenæ—that his memoir must necessarily form the backbone of any account of Lord Exmouth's career. To Mr. Osier's well-known work I would therefore refer those who desire a more detailed account than space allows me to give to the subject of this chapter. I should, however, add that I have been fortunate enough to gather some facts to which even Mr. Osier does not refer in his elaborate memoir.

Lord Exmouth's career was both eventful and distinguished; but, notwithstanding its brilliancy, his chief glory was his unswerving devotion to his[292] country, irrespective of all party feeling (and he was a strong Tory)—his generosity in recognising to the fullest extent the merits of his subordinates—his combined strictness and kindness to his men—and his constant recognition of the Divine Hand in all his victories. No vessel under the orders of Pellew was ever taken by the enemy.

Like many another Cornish worthy, Edward Pellew was a man of comparatively small beginnings. Originally, it is said, of Norman extraction, the Pellews were an old-established West Cornwall family, whose tombs may still be found at Breage. Humphry Pellew, his grandfather, an American merchant, the builder of part of the little town of Flushing in Falmouth harbour, took for his wife, in 1692, Judith Sparnon of Sparnon and Pengelly in Breage, by whom he had six children; but the children of Samuel, the youngest son (who was only eight years old when his father died in 1721), were at length the only male survivors of the family. This Samuel Pellew, Lord Exmouth's father, a man of determined character, commanded a post-office packet on the Dover station. He married in 1752 Constance, daughter of Edward Langford, Esq., of a Herefordshire family, settled at or near Penzance—a woman, Mr. Osier says, 'of extraordinary spirit,' and fitted, as indeed her husband also was, to be a parent of heroes.

In 1765 Samuel Pellew died, leaving a widow and six children; of whom Edward, the second, was born at Dover, 19th April, 1757. In 1765 he removed[293] with his mother to Penzance; and here, when quite a child, gave an early instance of his love of the 'pomp and circumstance of glorious war,' by walking all the way from Penzance to Helston, in order to follow a troop of soldiers; and of his indomitable courage, when somewhat older, by removing from a burning house a quantity of gunpowder which had been stored there. He frequently played truant from school in order to get into a boat at the quay; and was a great favourite with the loafers there, who taught him to box. Bottrell says that Mrs. Pellew and her family lived in a thatched cottage 'near the Alverton entrance to Fox's gardens;' the house still stands, on the left-hand side of the road as the traveller leaves Penzance for the Land's End.

The Truro Grammar School, where the Rev. R. Polwhele was one of his schoolfellows, as appears from his 'Reminiscences,'[122] was the next scene of his combative energy; and here he thrashed so many of his schoolfellows, that, in order to escape a still severer thrashing with which the head-master (then Mr. Conon) threatened him, he ran away, and—against his grandfather's consent, but luckily for English glory, and for his own fame—went to sea. Whilst at Truro, hastening through the courtyard of the Red Lion Hotel to assist in putting out a fire, Pellew found the high back gate shut; but he sprang over it, and I remember the spot being pointed out to me in evidence of his strength and agility. His freaks[294] on the water in after-life were of the most daring kind, and he often set the example on board ship, when no sailor could be found bold and active enough to perform some dangerous act of seamanship.

In the year 1770, being then about thirteen or fourteen years of age, Edward Pellew entered the Navy in the Juno, and went his first voyage to the Falkland Islands. Thence, under the same captain (Stott), he sailed in the Alarm to the Mediterranean, where, at Marseilles—a place which he was destined afterwards to save from destruction by its own inhabitants—he left the ship, in consequence of a gross and uncalled-for insult inflicted by the Captain on one of Pellew's brother midshipmen, named Cole.

He next joined the Blonde, under Captain Pownoll—who had been trained in the school of another Cornish naval hero, Admiral Boscawen—and with whom he soon became a prime favourite. It was on board the Blonde that he so alarmed and amused General Burgoyne, by standing on his head on the yard-arm when the General came on board to make his ill-starred expedition to America; and from the fore-yard of the same ship Pellew sprang to rescue a man who had fallen overboard. His magnificent physique and perfect courage enabled him to perform similar services on more than one occasion.

A smart engagement with a superior American force on Lake Champlain was his next exploit, in which, though unsuccessful, he found another opportunity of showing his coolness and bravery; and his services on this occasion gained him his lieutenant's[295] commission. Shortly afterwards he very nearly captured, single-handed, the American Commander-in-Chief Arnold. The stock and buckle, which General Arnold left behind him in his flight, were long (and perhaps still are) preserved by the Pellew family.

Joining Burgoyne's unlucky army, and sharing in all the dangers and hardships which it underwent, Pellew, though only twenty years old, was summoned to the council of war at Saratoga, at which (against his own advice) it was resolved, in October, 1777, to capitulate to an American force of double the strength of the English. On his way home to England, in a transport, he fought an American privateer, and beat her off with his usual pluck and skill.

On receiving his commission to a guard-ship, he threatened to throw it up rather than remain at so inactive a post; and it was not until he declared his intention to command a privateer that he obtained his appointment to the Licorne, in which he sailed for Newfoundland in the spring of 1779. He returned, however, to England in the following winter, and joined the Apollo, under his old friend—his 'only one on earth,' as he said—Captain Pownoll, taking part in an engagement with the French frigate Stanislaus, on which occasion the Captain left to Pellew the honour of completing her capture.

The old sloop Hazard, of which he was promoted to be commander, was his next ship, and the East Coast of Scotland his station in the summer of 1780. Then followed the Pelican, a French prize, whilst commanding which he drove ashore some French[296] privateers near the Isle of Bass, an exploit for which he was made a post-captain on board the Suffolk:—thus obtaining every step in his profession as a reward for some successful action. When it is added that, whilst in temporary command of the Artois, he captured on 1st July, 1782, the French frigate Prince of Robego, we may conclude this part of his career by observing that this was his last service before the Peace, which left him without any employment in His Majesty's service for four years.

The year 1783 saw him a denizen of Truro,[123] and married to Susan, daughter of J. Frowde, Esq., of Knowle, in Wiltshire. Doubtless, in his wooing, he told her—

It was probably about this time, also, that he became, according to Polwhele, a member of the Truro Corporation. He soon, however, removed to Flushing, near Falmouth, a curious little village, which had for Pellew, as we have seen, family associations, and where his elder brother, Samuel Humphry, formerly a surgeon of Marines, was collector of the Customs.

In 1786 we find him on board the Winchelsea, and once more on the Newfoundland station, into every harbour of which he squeezed his ship with the[297] utmost intrepidity, often exhibiting remarkable feats of personal strength and activity.

The Winchelsea was paid off in 1789, and till 1791 Captain Pellew served in the Salisbury, of 50 guns, again on the Newfoundland station; and this time with his younger brother, Israel, as first lieutenant. He afterwards became Admiral Sir Israel Pellew, K.C.B.—an officer whose distinguished career was scarcely less illustrious than that of his more celebrated brother. He was born at Flushing in 1761, and died at Plymouth in 1832. His ship, the Amphion, of 32 guns, blew up in the Hamoaze, Plymouth, on 22nd September, 1796, and only her commander and a few others escaped with their lives.

Once again the distasteful 'piping times of peace' came round; and Pellew, for want of something to do, turned farmer. His experiments in this capacity were made on the little family estate of Treverry, near Falmouth; but they were a failure; and the declaration of war against France, in February, 1793, promised him a most agreeable relief after his enforced idleness. He was appointed to the Nymphe (formerly a French frigate) of 36 guns; and, to Cornishmen at least, his connexion with this ship—manned as she was for the most part by Cornish miners, eighty of whom joined her at Spithead—is one of the most interesting parts of his career. On the evening of 19th June, 1793, the Nymphe came up with the French frigate Cleopatra,[124] of 40 guns, and after a[298] furious cannonade of three-quarters of an hour, the Cornish crew, most of whom had certainly smelt powder before (underground), though none had ever before heard a cannon fired, had the proud delight of seeing the enemy's pennant hauled down, and of capturing the first frigate in the war,—thus illustrating Drayton's lines in his 'Barons' Warres':

For this action Pellew was knighted ten days afterwards. The Portsmouth correspondent of the Gentleman's Magazine, writing in July, 1793, of this engagement, says that 'the commencement of the action between the Nymphe and Cleopatra was the most notable and awful that the naval history of the world ever recorded. The French captain ordered his ship to be manned, and, coming forward on the gangway, pulled off his hat, and called out, "Vive la nation!" when the ship's company gave three cheers. Captain Pellew, in like manner, ordered his men from quarters to the shrouds, and gave three cheers to "Long live King George the Third!" and his putting on his hat again was the signal for action, one of the most desperate ever fought.' The captain of the Cleopatra, Citoyen Mullon, was buried in Portsmouth churchyard.

In January, 1794, he joined the Arethusa, which formed one of the cruising frigates of the Western Squadron, a branch of the service which our hero may be said to have originated. In the engagement between the small French and English squadrons on 23rd April, 1794, off the Isle of Bass, he captured the[299] Pomone, a larger vessel than his own, and carried her into Portsmouth harbour, on which occasion Pellew received the warmest thanks of the First Lord of the Admiralty, and of Earl Howe. Another French squadron was, in the following August, driven ashore near Brest, by Pellew and his brave companions in arms; and the Channel was thus practically cleared of the enemy's cruisers for a while. But the following October saw the Frenchmen once more on the move; and it was not until after a smart engagement off Ushant between the Artois and the large French frigate Révolutionnaire, on which occasion Pellew commanded the squadron, that the French navy was completely cowed.

On the 2nd January, 1795, private intelligence having reached Sir Edward that the enemy's fleet, consisting of thirty-five sail of the line, thirteen frigates, and sixteen smaller vessels, had put to sea from Brest, he set forth from Falmouth with his little squadron of five ships to reconnoitre; but no engagement resulted from this expedition.

He now joined the Indefatigable, which he successfully insisted upon having cut down and rigged after his own method. She sailed from Falmouth on 2nd March; and shortly after, the squadron of which she formed part captured fifteen out of a convoy of twenty-five vessels near the Penmarcks rocks.

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The scene now shifts to Plymouth Sound, where he performed, on 26th January, 1796, one of the most heroic acts that it has ever fallen to the lot of[300] man to accomplish. He was in evening dress, and on his way to a dinner-party, when he heard that a large ship, an East Indiaman, the Dutton, was on the rocks under the citadel, and that no one was able to go to her assistance; but, with his usual hardihood, he swam out to her through the surf, and thus became the means of saving the lives of between 500 and 600 of his fellow-creatures. This service he performed at the imminent risk of his own life, and when, as we have seen, no other witness of the wild scene had the courage to make the attempt. For his gallant conduct on this memorable occasion he was created a baronet, as Sir Edward Pellew, of Treverry. The Corporation of Plymouth voted him the freedom of their town, and the merchants of Liverpool presented him with a service of plate. The civic wreath and the stranded ship which appear as honourable augmentations on his coat-of-arms were derived from this event.

On the 20th April following, our sailor was again at sea, and the action was fought between the Indefatigable and the Virginie, which ended—as usual with Pellew—in victory. 'He takes everything!' said the brave French Captain Bergeret, weeping bitterly as he surrendered his sword to his opponent.

November, 1798, witnessed the well-known futile descent of the French upon Ireland. In the ineffectual steps taken by the British fleet to prevent it, Pellew had no share beyond watching Brest, and reporting progress. But in January, 1799, he fell in with the Droits de l'Homme, and, in the midst of a[301] furious gale, and after an engagement of eleven hours (during the latter part of which the Indefatigable was assisted by the Amazon, Captain Reynolds),[125] the French ship was driven on shore in the Bay of Audierne. The Amazon was also wrecked, and the Indefatigable herself had a narrow escape.

The capture of a few privateers is all we now have to chronicle until we hear of Sir Edward making the daring proposal of attacking with a few frigates the whole of the French fleet then in harbour at Brest; but, whether from timidity on the part of the Admiralty, or, as was suggested, from the jealousy of Pellew's superior officer, Lord Bridport, the offer was declined.

The Impetueux, one of his captures from the French, was his next ship; and in her, at Bantry Bay, he promptly quelled a mutiny, which, but for his courage and sagacity, would probably have extended to other ships, whose disaffected crews, demoralized by the reports of the mutinies at Spithead and the Nore, were, it is said, only waiting a successful result of the rising on board Sir Edward's ship. The Impetueux soon after joined Earl St. Vincent in the Mediterranean, and formed part of the force which pursued the combined fleets from the Mediterranean to Brest.

In the siege of Ferrol, August, 1800, the Impetueux played an important part; but, Pellew's advice (which seemed to Sir J. B. Warren too dangerous to[302] follow) not being taken, the place was not captured; though it was afterwards discovered that Pellew's advice should have been followed, and that the garrison were quite prepared to lay down their arms.

A short period of retirement which he spent in the bosom of his family at Trefusis, on the shores of Falmouth harbour, followed.

The year 1801 saw him nearly at the head of the list of post-captains, and appointed a Colonel of Marines. In the following year he was elected Member for Barnstaple; but inactive posts did not suit him, and at the very first moment possible he returned to his beloved profession, being appointed to the Tonnant, of 80 guns, one of the Channel fleet. Detached from the squadron, together with the Mars and the Spartiate and five other sail of the line, which were placed under his orders, he blockaded the French at Corunna and at Ferrol. But he was recalled by the Ministry in order to support the Government against an attack made upon their Naval Administration by Pitt, and on Pellew's excellent speech on this occasion the vindication of the Ministry is said to have in a great measure depended.

On 23rd April, 1804, he was promoted to be Rear-Admiral of the White, and was appointed Commander-in-Chief in India, hoisting his flag in the Culloden. Whilst on this station he was ever on the alert for French and Dutch privateers, of most of which the Admiral himself or his captains never failed to give a good account, to the great advantage of British commerce. The destruction of the enemy's[303] fleet at Batavia, on 2nd November, 1805, was an expedition on a larger scale. In this Sir Edward's son, Captain Fleetwood Pellew,[126] in the Terpsichore, took a prominent part; and a successful attack upon Sourabaya, in Java, soon followed. This sums up his Oriental experiences; and in February, 1809, he sailed from India with a fleet of Indiamen under his convoy, and safely arrived once more in England, after a narrow escape during a severe gale. The spring of the following year, 1810, saw him, on board the Christian VII., and Commander-in-Chief in the North Sea, effectively blockading the Dutch fleet in the Scheldt.

In 1811, in the Caledonia, he succeeded Sir Charles Cotton as Commander-in-Chief of the Mediterranean fleet, jealously watching the coast from the Ionian Islands to Gibraltar, and striving, with the utmost energy and success, to promote the efficiency and welfare of all who served under him. He was present at the capitulation of Genoa in February, 1814; and shortly afterwards saw the termination of the war, and the confinement of Napoleon as a prisoner in the island of Elba.

Of this happy event advantage was taken by the Government to confer on our hero the dignity of a baron—an unexpected honour to him—and he chose 'Exmouth of Canonteign' as his title, that being an estate which he had purchased as a family property. He also obtained the pension usually granted for services so distinguished as his had been (it amounted[304] to £2,000 a year), and the next year he received the additional honour of being made a G.C.B.

He went to the Mediterranean again in 1815, on the return of Napoleon from Elba, hoisting his flag in the Boyne, with his brother, Sir Israel Pellew, as Captain of the Fleet. Naples he rescued from anarchy on the flight of Murat before the Austrian army, and for this service King Ferdinand gave him the Order of St. Ferdinand and Merit. Next he saved Marseilles from the rebel Marshal Brune; and finally spent the winter of this year in Leghorn roads.

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The commencement of 1816 found him preparing for what is perhaps his most celebrated exploit, viz., the siege of Algiers; the objects of which, it will be remembered, were to obtain the release of all the Ionian slaves, who, by recent political arrangements, had become British subjects; and to repress the piratical excursions of the Barbary States.

The preliminary reconnoitre was admirably performed by Captain Warde, and the squadron, shortly afterwards, set sail for Algiers, where the demand for the release of the Christian slaves was forthwith promised. Tunis and Tripoli followed suit; and Lord Exmouth returned to Algiers in order to press upon the Dey the abolition of Christian slavery. Only evasive answers could, however, be procured; and, having secured from the Dey a promise at least to treat, the British Admiral returned for a short space to England for further instructions.

It need scarcely be said that Mr. Osler's description[305] of the siege of Algiers, the guilty 'pirate city,' is given with all that perspicacity and fullness of detail which characterized all his literary work; and to his account the technical reader may confidently be referred. The formidable sea defences alone consisted of 500 guns; and these Exmouth proposed to attack with only five sail of the line! Nelson is said to have named (under incorrect information, it is true) twenty-five as the proper force; but, at any rate, the attack of such fortifications as these by a few ships was quite a novelty in the annals of war.

Joined by five frigates, four bomb-vessels, and five gun-brigs, the fleet sailed from Portsmouth on the 25th July, 1816, practising regularly with their guns on the voyage, and arriving before Algiers on the 26th August.

Very early on the following morning, after waiting long and anxiously for the sea-breeze, which came at last, the Queen Charlotte, with Lord Exmouth (now sixty-five years of age) on board, led the attack amidst three ringing cheers from his men;—and in a few minutes her broadsides destroyed the defences of the Mole. It was reported that 500 Moors were killed by the first discharge of the English guns. The Algerines then attempted, in their gunboats, to board the British ships; but, as soon as they were discovered through the smoke, the heavy guns of the Leander and other ships sent 33 out of the 37 which composed the flotilla to the bottom. The enemy's ships at anchor were then fired; and by ten at night, after a cannonade of nearly nine[306] hours, the town and fortifications of Algiers were in ruins. 128 men only were killed and 690 wounded in the British ships, and 13 killed and 52 wounded in the Dutch squadron—losses by no means excessive under the circumstances; the enemy's loss, which must have been fearful, is not known. Lord Exmouth was struck (but only very slightly wounded) in three places; yet his coat was slit and torn by musket-balls as if it had been slashed by a madman's scissors.[127]

British sailors had never fought more bravely and determinedly, or in grimmer silence. When wadding failed, they cut up their clothes as a substitute for it; and even the women on board handed the shot and shell to their husbands. The Impregnable and the Leander suffered most from the enemy's fire; the former was hulled by 263 shot, 209 of which were between wind and water, and she herself discharged 6,730 round shot.

The next morning, the 28th of July, the Dey, Omar Pasha, a brutal and ferocious ex-Aga of Janissaries, whilst Algiers was in flames, and her sea-batteries pounded into ruins, sent in his complete submission; peace was signed under a salute of 21 guns for England, and the same for Holland; and 3,003 slaves, of whom 1,083 were Christians, and some of whom were English, were liberated, and returned to their respective countries.

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Honours now fell thick and fast upon Lord Exmouth.[307] He was created a Viscount by George III.; the Kings of Holland, Spain, and Sardinia conferred knighthood upon him; the City of London voted him its freedom; Oxford conferred upon him the degree of D.C.L.; and he received the thanks of Parliament; the letter from the Speaker, dated 3rd February, 1817, conveying them, being as follows:

Pellew had now attained the summit of his ambition; and, in 1817, having been appointed to the naval command at Plymouth,[128] was instrumental in saving from destruction the historic fortress of Pendennis Castle, which, from motives of economy, the Government of the day had proposed to destroy.

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He passed the close of his life quietly near Teignmouth,[308] the only additional honour which was bestowed upon him being that of his appointment, in 1832, as Vice-Admiral of England, a post which, however, he only filled for a few months; for, on the 23rd of January, 1833, in the seventy-sixth year of his age, the old sea lion calmly passed away, in pious confidence, to his rest. A brother officer who was often with him during his last hours, said, 'I have seen him great in battle, but never so great as on his death-bed.'

He was buried at Christow, the parish in which are the family mansion and estate of Canonteign; and in the church there an elaborate marble monument records his faith and piety, his honours and his virtues.

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There are three or four good portraits of Pellew, of which the three-quarter length by Northcote in the National Portrait Gallery is perhaps the best. It gives the unmistakably Cornish physiognomy of the original, and does full justice to the determined look of the lower part of his face. It was exhibited at the Royal Academy Exhibition at Somerset House in 1819, when Pellew was sixty-two years of age. Another fine portrait is by Sir Wm. Beechy (engraved by C. Turner), a full-length, representing the hero on the deck of the Queen Charlotte at the siege of Algiers, giving orders for furling her mainsail, when she was in imminent danger of being set on fire by an Algerine vessel, which was in flames close by.

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[309]

SAMUEL FOOTE,

WIT AND DRAMATIST.

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[310]
[311]

SAMUEL FOOTE,[129]

WIT AND DRAMATIST.

It is not a little remarkable that the fame of Samuel Foote, great as it was during his lifetime, and for some time after his death, has so rapidly dimmed; for he was not only a capital mimic, a boon companion, a most generous master to his subordinates, a ready wit, and an accomplished actor, but he was also a fair scholar, a bitter though an avowed satirist, and a prolific, as well as skilled, dramatic writer and critic. He wrote about thirty pieces for the stage (which were translated into the German in 1796), and the list of his works in their various editions occupies about thirty pages in the MS. British Museum [312]catalogue. His slightest sayings were carefully preserved; and the very slightness of some of them is, perhaps, one of the strongest evidences of the fame which he enjoyed.

Foster says of him, in the Quarterly Review for 1854, that his writings are 'not unworthy of a very high place in literature;' and that his name 'was once both a terrible and a delightful reality.' And yet, notwithstanding the amusing picture which they present of the manners and conversation of London a hundred years ago, they have not sufficed to preserve his fame. Who of the rising generation has ever read anything of Foote's besides his ever-ready and often quoted bon-mots; or knows anything more of his plays than has been learnt from an occasional representation of 'The Liar' on the stage? It is hardly necessary to inquire into the cause of this, for the joker's reputation is proverbially fleeting. Moreover, Foote's pieces are somewhat too slightly constructed, depending not so much upon the plot or the dénouement as upon such a delineation of the various characters as seems hardly to come within the scope of our modern actors; but, nevertheless, it certainly does cause one to reflect how soon a man, not without strong claims to be remembered, may be forgotten. Yet, while he lived, his name was in every man's mouth, and in a vast number of contemporaneous books. 'No man,' says Baker, 'was more courted when in the zenith of his fame: for instance, when the Duke of York returned from the Continent, he went first to his mother's, then[313] to His Majesty's, and directly from them to Mr. Foote's.' And yet it should be well understood that he was, withal, no toady. To the Scotch nobleman, boasting of his old wine, which he doled out in very small glasses—'It is very little, of its age,' said Foote, handling his glass. He congratulated the Duke of Cumberland on his digestion, when the Duke said he had come for the purpose of swallowing all Foote's good things—'for,' said the coarse wit, 'you never bring any of them up again.' And when the Duke of Norfolk consulted him as to going to a masquerade in a new character—'Go sober,' was Foote's instant reply.

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It will be the object of the following memoir not only to sketch the life of the Truro wit, and to enumerate most of his plays in chronological order, but also to give one or two short specimens of his powers as a writer: the difficulty on the latter point being to make a selection from the very numerous examples left to us. But it should always be remembered that the parts played by Foote are, as written, but a very faint reflexion of what he actually uttered, often impromptu.

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Samuel Foote was the older of two sons of Samuel and Eleanor Foote, of Truro. His younger brother Edward, a clergyman, was all but an imbecile, and in his later years depended almost entirely upon his elder brother for support. Samuel was born, not as is generally stated, at the Red Lion Inn, in Boscawen Street, which was at one time the[314] residence of Henry Foote—a distant relation; but 'at Johnson Vivian's[131] house, near the Coinage Hall' (now removed). So far as I can ascertain, this house must have stood nearly opposite to the Red Lion, on the site of the old King's Head inn, where, Lysons says, a nunnery of Poor Clares once stood, and close to the spot where Lemon Street and Boscawen Street now join. Polwhele suggests that the inscription 'I. F., 1671,' still to be seen over the door of the Red Lion, refers to John Foote, the dramatist's grandfather.[132] His father was M.P. for Tiverton, Mayor and Alderman of Truro, a Commissioner of the Prize Office, and Receiver of Fines for the Duchy of Cornwall; and had his summer residence at Pencalenick, about a mile east of the new city. And here it may be said that Foote was to the last very proud of his genealogy. His father died at 'Pednkallinick,' as his epitaph records, on 12th March, 1754, in the seventy-sixth year of his age, and was buried at St. Clement's, near Truro: his grave-stone is on the east wall of the little north transept. But the Footes had another residence in the same parish, namely, at Lambesso, where, according to Lysons, they were seated in the days of Charles II. His mother was a daughter of Sir Edward Goodere, Bart. (a descendant of the Earl of Portland), M.P. for Herefordshire; she was a lady of considerable vivacity, from whom Foote is [315]supposed to have derived what Carlyle calls the 'aroma' of his character, rather than from his father. She was eighty-four years of age when she died, and 'Hesiod' Cooke (who wrote Foote's life) says, she was as sprightly at seventy-nine as most women are at forty. She was as thriftless as her celebrated son himself, and he had ultimately to grant her an annual allowance. The following letters once passed between them:

However, he added, by way of postscript:

Samuel Foote, the subject of our sketch, was christened on 17th January, 1720, at St. Mary's Church (on the site of the Cathedral now in progress), and was educated first at the Truro Grammar School, under Mr. Conon, where he was particularly fond of his Terence, and afterwards under Dr. Miles, at Worcester. Notwithstanding his strong propensity[316] for jokes and tricks, he was a favourite with his master, and made fair progress with his studies; and he never failed, when visiting Truro, to call at the old school, and, in mock-heroic style, to beg a holiday for the boys.

In 1737, he was entered at Worcester College, Oxford, which had been in 1714 founded anew by a connexion of the Foote family,[133] and worked tolerably hard, acquiring considerable proficiency in the lighter classical authors; but his chief delight lay in caricaturing the Provost, Dr. Gower, and in playing tricks upon him and the verger of the College Chapel. One of these tricks consisted in tying a wisp of hay to the bell-rope which hung outside the chapel, in a lane down which certain cows went to grass. The cows naturally snatched at the tempting morsel, and rung the bell in a most weird manner, to the alarm of the authorities, who determined on sitting up to watch the rope one night in order to discover the author of the trick played upon them. Another of Foote's Oxford freaks is recorded by Murphy, who says that whilst at Oxford the future player and dramatist acted in the part of Punch.

Shortly after he came of age, which was in 1741, he was entered at the Inner Temple, where he distinguished himself chiefly by the magnificence of his chambers, and by the smartness of his oral criticisms[317] on the actors of the day, when discussing their merits and their faults with other sparks and critics at the Grecian, in Devereux Court, or at the Bedford Coffee-house in Covent Garden. The dry study of the law had little or no attraction for our volatile hero; and Dr. Barrowby (the friend and adviser of Macklin in his controversy with Foote's chief rival, Garrick[134]) has thus sketched the Truro youngster for us at this period of his life. One evening, says he, I saw a young man extravagantly dressed out in a frock-suit of green and silver lace, bag-wig, sword, bouquet, and point ruffles, enter the room,[135] and immediately join the circle at the upper end. Nobody recognised him; but such was the ease of his bearing, and the point and humour of remark with which he at once took part in the conversation, that his presence seemed to disconcert no one, and a sort of pleased buzz of 'Who is he?' was still going round the room unanswered, when a handsome carriage stopped at the door, and the servants announced that his name was Foote, that he was a young gentleman of family and fortune, a student of the Inner Temple, and that the carriage had called for him on its way to the [318]assembly of a lady of fashion. Vanity was indeed to the last one of Foote's besetting sins, and he could not shake it off, even on the stage; for he was very greedy of applause, and often sacrificed his fellow-actors performances to his own ends. 'Fine feathers, however, do not make fine birds;' and Foote must have relied a great deal on the skill of his tailor; for he was in person rather short and stout—exactly like his mother—and his features were plain and coarse. Yet, his arch smile and merry eye, preserved to us in his likeness, when fifty years old, by Colson (engraved by Caroline Watson), redeemed his otherwise commonplace visage, and made him, on the whole, not an unattractive-looking person. Zoffani also painted two admirable portraits of him, in character; but the best is that by Sir Joshua, now at the Garrick Club, painted about the year 1760, when Foote was forty years of age.

Two of Foote's 'three fortunes' came chiefly through his mother, who succeeded to the Goodere family property, said to have been worth about £5,000 a year, in a most strange and tragic manner; but he also inherited some property left by his father. Mrs. Foote's elder brother Sir John, a man of weak intellect, was entrapped on board his brother Samuel's ship, the Ruby, in Bristol Roads, and was then and there strangled by him—a crime for which the younger Goodere was deservedly hanged.[136][319] Foote, at that time in terrible pecuniary straits—in fact, literally a stockingless Foote, as he himself would perhaps have said—wrote, for £20, a pamphlet, describing the murder, and endeavouring, but vainly, to exculpate his uncle and namesake. It was published anonymously in April, 1741.

With so much wealth and popularity as he had even thus early acquired, it is wonderful that Foote continued his legal studies for so long a period as three years; but, in fact, he can hardly be said to have done this, for he had already begun to earn money by his pen (chiefly by writing a few pamphlets), having contrived in a couple of years, like the prodigal of old, to 'waste all his substance in riotous living,' and to fall into sad straits.

Accordingly, his connexion with the stage, to which he seems to have been introduced by some excellent amateur actors, his valued friends the Delaines, now commenced, in 1743, by his taking a share with his friend Macklin in the wooden theatre in the Haymarket, known as 'The Little' or 'Summer Theatre,' and 'The Hay'—the laudable and distinguishing feature of the performances being a natural mode of elocution and gesture, as contra-distinguished from the stilted and drawling sing-song style then in vogue (from which Foote used to think Garrick himself was not entirely free), and at least an attempt to dress the characters in something like correct costume. And here it may be convenient to observe that the title of the 'English Aristophanes,' by which Foote came to be generally known, is not[320] altogether applicable to him. Foote could lay small claim to Aristophanes' genius as a poet; whilst, on the other hand, he never libelled his country or his gods, as did the illustrious Greek.

With that strange infatuation which induces so many born comic actors to fancy themselves tragedians, he made his début as a paid actor at the above theatre on 6th February, 1744, as Othello; the performance was, as might have been expected, an utter failure, as were likewise his attempts at Shylock[137] and Pierre on other occasions. The same may be said of his essay at genteel comedy as Lord Foppington, in 'The Relapse.' But in the following winter he found his true line, and appeared at Drury Lane in the characters of Sir Paul Pliant, Fondlewife, and Bayes; in all of which (especially in the latter) he succeeded admirably, and his success determined his career as that of a comic player and writer.

His first piece, 'The Diversions of a Morning,' in which he himself played the part of Puzzle (intended for Macklin[138]), was brought out at the Haymarket in the spring of 1747; but the satire was so keenly felt by many of the persons represented, mostly prominent actors of the day, that, at their instance, the magistrates withdrew Foote's license, and he adopted an expedient which it is said had also been employed by Garrick at the Goodman's Fields [321]Theatre, of evading the interdict of the justices by inviting his friends to 'drink tea' with him 'at playhouse prices,' and entertaining his audience with 'The Diversions of a Morning' whilst tea was getting ready,—a 'tea' which never appeared.

This venture had what was then considered the long run of forty representations; in fact, 'to drink a dish of tea with Mr. Foote' became the rage of the season. It was succeeded by a somewhat similar performance entitled 'An Auction of Pictures,'[139] in which Foote 'knocked down' sundry worthless persons of the day at ruinous prices, contriving that the stage company of purchasers should make satirical observations on the subjects of the pictures. Peter Aretine, 'the Scourge of Princes,' says Davies, was not more dreaded than Foote had now become; and in this piece the satire was again so biting that Foote made many enemies, for there was somewhat of a vindictive character in his vein. Yet, notwithstanding, perhaps partly in consequence of, the coarse and furious lampoons with which he was assailed, and of which notable specimens will be found in Churchill's 'Rosciad,' and in Chetwood's 'General History of the Stage,' the town continued to run after and applaud him. And here it may be added that Polwhele records how Foote's address and politeness had a similar soothing effect upon two gentlemen who called to cudgel him for caricaturing[322] them, to that which Incledon's singing had on a somewhat similar occasion.

The same season saw the production of 'The Knights,' in which Foote introduces the character of Timothy, who speaks in the Cornish dialect; the performance of this part by a Mr. Castallo was warmly applauded. Foster says of this piece that 'it is the first sprightly running of a wit which to the last retained its sparkle and clearness; that its flow of dialogue is exquisitely neat, natural, and easy; and that its expression is always terse and characteristic.'

About this time, 1748, he got another windfall of money from the Goodere estates; and, not warned by the misery and poverty to which his previous recklessness and extravagance had reduced him, again went on in his old way, now setting up his carriage with the motto 'Iterum, iterum, iterumque,' on its panels, in allusion to his having been left a third fortune. The story goes that the only attempt that Foote ever made to regulate his money matters was to keep one paying and one receiving pocket. Four years of fast living in France dissipated nearly all his money, and the year 1752 witnessed his return to London, confuting by his arrival all sorts of rumours which had been circulated as to his death by many who had felt the sting of his whip, and who doubtless were believing, because they hoped, the rumours true. To these Foote alludes in the prologue (said to have been written by Garrick) to 'The Englishman at Paris'—his next production.

[323]

Foote once again took the Haymarket Theatre in 1754; and, for a few nights, ridiculed Macklin's celebrated School of Oratory, in the 'Inquisition.'[140] But he soon returned to Drury Lane, as an actor chiefly in his own pieces, and at the same time was occupied in preparing for publication his amusing farce of 'The Knights.' 'The Author,' which was successful, but which was suppressed by the Lord Chamberlain in consequence of the severity of its satire on Mr. Ap Reece (Cadwallader), appeared in[324] 1757; and, probably owing to complications arising out of the matter, early in 1758 Foote went to Dublin with Tate Wilkinson the mimic (who imitated Foote himself so well, as more than once to deceive a shrewd audience). With the same companion Foote visited Edinburgh during the following season, where they reaped a good harvest. It was whilst on this occasion in Ireland that he exclaimed of the Irish peasantry: 'I never knew before what the English beggars did with their cast-off clothes.' In the winter, however, the two returned to Dublin, and here on 28th January, 1760, that clever comedy, 'The Minor,' made its first appearance, but with indifferent success, so that Foote lost a considerable sum of money. During his first visit to Dublin, in January, 1758, having hung a room at his lodgings in black, and provided himself with a dark lanthorn, Foote disseminated hand-bills to the effect that 'there was a man to be met with at such a place who wrote down people's fortunes without asking them any questions.' He is said to have carried on the deception with great success for many days, sometimes clearing as much as £30 a day, it is said, from his dupes. He soon after returned to London, and, having enlarged and improved 'The Minor,' brought it again before the public, and this time with the most satisfactory results, the theatre closing, after the piece had run thirty-eight nights, 'with a full treasury.' Foster thinks its three acts are worth almost any five that he knew. The object of the play was to ridicule religious cant, and especially[325] Whitefield, then in the height of his popularity.[141] The story runs that Foote submitted the MS. to the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Secker, with a request that his Grace would strike out anything that, from a religious point of view, might appear objectionable. But the Archbishop—knowing the sort of character he had to deal with—returned the MS. untouched, observing that if he erased or corrected anything, Foote would probably have advertised the piece as 'corrected and prepared for the press by the Archbishop of Canterbury.' 'The Minor' elicited many sharp pamphlets and letters against Foote, but he readily disposed of them all in a reply which he published, replete with learning, wit, and satire; and which contains an admirable vindication of the Comic Muse. It has been said that if all his other works had perished, this one letter would have sufficed to establish his wit, scholarship, and sense as of the rarest order; every line tells. His defence of the course which he adopted in ridiculing Whitefield contains the following spirited passage:

Foote seems at this time to have lodged in Suffolk Street, and to have got into several petty quarrels with his fellow-actors, whose manners and defects he imitated only too closely, and whose antecedents he used to make fun of: for instance, alluding to Garrick's having failed in his first start in life as a wine-merchant, Foote used to say: 'I remember Davy when he used to live in Durham Yard, and all his stock-in-trade was three quarts of vinegar in what he called his wine-cellar.' But such were his tact and jolly manner, that the estrangements were rarely of long endurance; and most, if not all of the offended parties were, sooner or later, glad to shake hands with the reckless mimic. He was always, however, implacably hostile to newspaper critics—then, by the way, a new institution—and very coarse in his remarks upon them, although the critics generally wrote of him with respect and praise; but it should be added that at one time managers were almost invariably their own critics, and the innovation was to them most unwelcome. Nor did he think much of the reliability of the judgment of the public. In Foote's[327] 'Treatise on the Passions,' he says: 'There are 12,000 playgoers in London; but not the four-and-twentieth part of them can judge correctly of the merits of plays or players.'

In January, 1762, 'The Liar,' the plot of which was taken from the Spanish, was produced at Covent Garden, and those who, like the writer of these pages, have had the good fortune to see the late Charles Mathews in the piece, will readily believe that it was highly successful. 'The Orators' shortly followed; it is said that it was in this piece that he intended to introduce Dr. Samuel Johnson, and that he was only deterred from doing so by the sturdy Doctor's threat that, if Foote did, he would get on the stage and soundly thrash the mimic with an oaken cudgel. But Johnson had a real regard for Foote and his abilities. Resolved not to be pleased with him, the Doctor was compelled to give in, and to laugh with the rest of the company that Foote was entertaining. 'Sir,' said Johnson, 'the dog was so very comical that he was irresistible.' Charles James Fox thought even more highly still of Foote's conversational powers. In fact he generally got the better of his opponents in all verbal encounters:—but the tables were once turned against him. He leased the Edinburgh Theatre for 500 guineas a year—a lawsuit arose, and Foote was defeated. The Scotch lawyer called upon him for his bill of costs; and on Foote's paying him the money and observing to the lawyer that he would no doubt, like most of his countrymen, return in the cheapest way[328] possible, was drily answered: 'Yes, I shall travel on foot.'

'The Mayor of Garrat;'[142] 'The Patron' (in which he ridiculed the 'Enthusiasm of Antiquaries,' drawing his friend and host, Lord Melcombe, in the character of Sir Thomas Lofty, which Foote played himself); and 'The Commissary' (in which the Duke of Newcastle figured as Matthew Mug), followed 'The Orators' at the Haymarket in rapid succession, bringing Foote considerable profit, and his worldly success now seemed assured. But early in 1766, a sad accident whilst hunting (when he broke his leg) marred his prospects, and embittered the close of his career. Amputation above the knee was pronounced necessary, and, though this was, of course, before the days of chloroform, he bore the terrible operation with remarkable fortitude, and could not, even then, resist the temptation to joke, begging the surgeons to deal gently with him, as it was his 'first appearance in the character of a patientee'—an allusion which will presently be made apparent. From this time he always wore, and played in, a cork leg. It was pitiable, O'Keefe remarks, to see Foote leaning sorrowfully against the wall of his stage dressing-room while his servant dressed this sham leg to suit the character in which his master was to appear; but in an instant resuming all his high comic humour and mirth, he hobbled[329] forward, entered the scene, and gave the audience what they expected, their fill of laughter and delight.

The Duke of York, with whom Foote seems to have been a favourite, now procured for him a Royal Patent for a summer theatre, thus enabling him to keep it open between the 14th May and the 14th September; and in May, 1767, the old theatre having been pulled down, and a new one erected in its stead, Foote appeared, as Himself, in 'An Occasional Prelude,' concluding with the following not ungraceful allusion to his Royal Highness's timely succour in the hour of misfortune:

'Consult,' he says, referring to the audience on the opening night:

The 'Devil on Two Sticks,' an excellent little piece, which appeared in 1768, and which ran for a whole season, is said to have brought Foote some three or four thousand pounds! This play is a satire on medical quackery. Amongst others caricatured was Sir William Browne, 'whose wig, coat, and contracted eye firmly holding an eye-glass, and his remarkably upright figure were all there; but the caricaturist had forgotten Sir William's special characteristic—his muff, which the good-tempered doctor sent to Foote, to make the figure complete!'

But, 'lightly come, lightly go;' Foote could not[330] keep money as easily as he could earn it; and, on his way once more to Ireland, he fell in with some blacklegs at Bath, to whom he lost all his money; so that he was 'ruined once more,' and actually had to borrow £100 in order to complete his journey. The 'Devil on Two Sticks,' however, took as well in Dublin as it had done in London; Foote was again rehabilitated, and was received with great favour at the Castle.

His play 'The Lame Lover,' produced in London in 1770, did not prove a success; it was followed, in 1771, by the 'Maid of Bath;' and by the 'Nabob' in 1772. But the 'Primitive Puppet-show,' or rather 'Piety in Pattens,' in which the 'Puppet-show' was introduced, brought crowded houses to the Haymarket in 1773; it was performed by wooden puppets nearly as large as life. In the prologue, spoken by Foote in propriâ personâ, and in a scarlet livery, as was the practice with the theatrical managers of the time, he says: 'All our actors are the produce of England ... to their various families you are, none of you, strangers. We have modern patriots made from the box—it is a wood that carries an imposing gloss and is easily turned; for constant lovers we have the encircling ivy; crab-stocks for old maids; and weeping-willows for Methodist preachers; for modish wives we have the brittle poplar; their husbands we shall give you in hornbeam;' and so on. In this piece he ridiculed 'Sentimental Comedy;' it was not one of his most successful productions; but the 'Exordium' was very clever, and is given[331] entire in the Town and Country Magazine, vol. v., p. 319.

'The Cozeners' appeared in 1774, with a prologue written by Garrick, to whom Foote was again reconciled, after a quarrel caused by Garrick's refusing to lend his successful but impecunious friend the sum of £500. 'The Cozeners' fairly enough caricatured Mrs. Grieve as Mrs. Fleecem—a woman who extorted money from her victims by promising to procure for them Government appointments. Now, Foote himself was generally thought to have obtained an annuity from Sir Francis Delaval, by bringing about a marriage between him and Lady Nassau Powlett, with whom Foote had been very intimate. It was, however, too bad of Foote to caricature, under the name of Mrs. Simony, the widow of the Rev. Dr. Dodd, then only recently hanged. But Foote's aims were really not lofty; he sought, as Dr. Doran says, less to reform vice and folly than to produce amusement (sometimes unscrupulously enough), by holding them up to ridicule. And here it must be observed that, although he was thin-skinned, and not over-courageous, yet Davies wrote of him: 'There is hardly a public man in England who has not entered Mr. Foote's theatre with an aching heart, under the apprehension of seeing himself laughed at.'

The following year saw Foote involved in one of the most disastrous and disagreeable events of his life—namely, his prosecution at the instance of the profligate Duchess of Kingston, whom Foote had[332] prepared to lampoon in a little piece called 'A Trip to Calais,' in respect of her then approaching trial for bigamy, when she was found guilty by the House of Peers. The Duchess's influence, however, prevailed to prevent the appearance of the piece, and the Lord Chamberlain's license was withheld; and correspondence of a most virulent nature between Foote and the Duchess ensued. It was on this occasion that Foote penned the following defence of his writings: 'During my continuance in the service of the public I never profited by flattering their passions, or falling in with their humours. In exposing follies I never lost my credit with the public, because they knew I proceeded upon principle.' The Duchess tried to buy off her persecutor, but in vain; attacks on each side, of the grossest and most virulent nature, now appeared in the papers; and an expensive prosecution of Foote on a foul but imaginary charge, by one Jackson,[143] was instituted; but Lord Mansfield summed up in Foote's favour, and the result was his immediate and honourable acquittal (the jury not even turning round in the box to consider their verdict). The worry and anxiety attendant upon so abominable a persecution shattered Foote's health and spirits, and unfitted him for awhile for appearing again on the stage. He accordingly sold his patent, including the theatrical wardrobe and leave to perform any of Foote's unpublished plays, to George Coleman, for £1,600[333] a year; and he only went on the stage thrice afterwards.

During the quarrel with the Duchess of Kingston Foote had bitterly satirized some of her worthless creatures in a piece called 'The Capucin'—the last that he ever wrote except 'The Slanderer,' which, however, he left unfinished at his death.

In May, 1777, he made another attempt to appear on the stage; but illness and anxiety had made fearful havoc with his looks and his gaiety; and a paralytic stroke whilst acting in his own piece, 'The Devil on Two Sticks,' put an end for ever to his stage performances. He retired to Bath, and there his health and sprightliness somewhat recovered; but it was only a flickering of the expiring candle in its socket. The doctors advised him to try Paris, and thither, from his house in Suffolk Street, Pall Mall, he proceeded, by way of Dover, in the following October, with a presentiment that he should never return to Town alive. It was here, whilst waiting at the Ship Inn for a favourable passage, the conversation occurred with the cook-maid, and probably Foote's very last jokes, without which no account of him seems to be considered complete. The woman was boasting that she had never left her native place, when Foote retorted by saying that he had heard upstairs that she had been 'several times all over Greece,' and that he himself had seen her at 'Spithead.' On the following day, the 21st October, 1777, he had another paralytic seizure, and was no more. On the 3rd November he was buried by torch-light[334] in the west cloister of Westminster Abbey.[144] No stone marks his resting-place; but there is an epitaph to his memory at St. Mary's, Dover, of which the following is a copy:

He left, besides portraits and small legacies to sundry of his friends, the bulk of the property remaining to him to his two natural children, Francis and George; and I may here observe that, notwithstanding Cooke's positive statement that Foote married a Worcestershire lady, and that shortly after the wedding he took her to his father's house at Truro; and Polwhele's dictum that he married Miss Polly Hicks, of Prince's Street, Truro—(she is said to have been sixteen and Foote eighteen when they married, but she died early of consumption)—I have been unable to discover with certainty whether or not he was ever really married. Certainly, no Mrs. Foote ever appeared upon the scene when he lived at [335]'The Hermitage,' North End, between Fulham and Hammersmith (to which place he had moved from Parson's Green, where Theodore Hooke afterwards lived). Here he used to be very fond of entertaining his friends, amongst whom were many members of the nobility, and occasionally even royal personages, with his usual wasteful extravagance. There is a story of his having been 'reconciled' to his wife whilst he was living at Blackheath; and another story of his old fellow-collegian Dr. Nash, the historian of Worcestershire, having called to see him when confined for debt in the Fleet Prison, and finding a supposed Mrs. Foote hiding somewhere in the room; but there are, I believe, no proofs positive of the reckless, dissipated subject of this memoir having ever submitted to the marriage tie.

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The Gentleman's Magazine for 1777 says of him that 'As no man ever contributed more to the entertainment of the public, so no man oftener made the minds of his companions expand with mirth and good-humour; and in the company of men of high rank and superior fortune, who courted his acquaintance, he always preserved a noble independency. That he had his foibles and caprices no one will pretend to deny; but they were amply counterbalanced by his merit and abilities, which will transmit his name to posterity with distinguished reputation.'

We commenced this article by considering how fleeting this reputation was; yet still it is strange that in this case it has died from amongst us so soon.[336] Garrick said of Foote that he was a man of wonderful abilities, and the most entertaining man he had ever known; and this was a tribute from a rival manager and actor, be it remembered. Fox, eminent conversationalist as he was, said that whatever was the subject of conversation, 'Foote instantly took the lead, and delighted us all.' Davies, Tate Wilkinson, and Horace Walpole joined in the chorus of his praise; and even Dr. Samuel Johnson, who perhaps feared Foote as much as he disliked him, admitted that he was a scholar, that his humour was irresistible, and that he could drive any of his rivals out of the room by the sheer force of his wit. The remarks of Sir Walter Scott and Lord Macaulay fall flat after such tributes as the above; and they are probably to be explained by the fact that they never came within the range of the personal influence of the man—without having done which they can hardly be considered competent judges of so amusing an actor, and such an invariably ready, courageous wit and satirist as was Samuel Foote.

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[337]

THE GODOLPHINS OF GODOLPHIN,

STATESMEN, JURISTS, AND DIVINES.

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[338]
[339]

THE GODOLPHINS OF GODOLPHIN,

STATESMEN, JURISTS, AND DIVINES.

[340]

Without stopping to inquire whether or not Hals's great-grandmother was not Ann the sister of Sir Francis Godolphin (instead of his daughter), that gossiping historian's claim on behalf of his ancestry may at once be conceded; indeed, it is very singular that he did not specify one of the family who lived much nearer his own time, and whose illustrious name makes those of the other Godolphins 'pale their (comparatively) ineffectual fires.' We shall, however, come to treat in his proper place of Sidney Godolphin, the friend of Marlborough, the trusted Prime Minister (for so he might be called) of James II., of William III. and of Anne, and for many years the moving though almost silent spirit of English politics.

It will be convenient to commence our remarks by a description of the family seat where they had settled for so long a period that Colonel Vivian, in his genealogical table, has been obliged to commence the pedigree with John, Lord of Godolphin, 'sans date;' but probably he flourished about the time of Henry III. or Edward I.

Godolphin, which gives its name to a high hill about half-a-mile to the south-west of the house, is situated in the parish now called Breage; and in the parish church, so named after the Irish St. Breaca, as well as in numerous other churches and churchyards of western Cornwall,[147] lie the bones of many[341] a Godolphin, while their helmets—one of them surmounted by the 'canting' crest of a dolphin—hang rusting 'in monumental mockery' over some of the tombs. The remains of the mansion (now occupied as a spacious and comfortable farmhouse), the many roads of approach to it, the antique gardens, and the broad, terraced hedges, still testify to its ancient importance. For a place of much consideration it evidently was, even down to the time of Sidney Godolphin, and later. Those were days when the only newspaper which came to so remote a corner of England—and which was procured weekly, together with his despatches (whilst he was in Cornwall), by the Lord Treasurer's own special messenger to Exeter—lay on the table in the hall at Godolphin, now called the King's Room, for the benefit of the neighbouring clergy and gentry. Dr. Borlase gives a more or less conjectural view of the house in its glory, surrounded by its park and groves; and what is supposed to have been a view of it was found on a panel in Pengerswick Castle; but its glories have long departed. Yet, although Godolphin has not vanished from off the face of the earth, like Killigrew, the early abode of the Killigrews in St. Erme, and the two Stows, the residence of the Grenvilles of Kilkhampton, sufficient remains to indicate to the passerby that here may once have lived a family as distinguished as that to whom Hals so proudly refers. The surface of the surrounding landscape is now scarred by mines and clay-works; and the little stream, crossed just below the house by Godolphin[342] Bridge, is discoloured by mine-refuse, disfiguring instead of beautifying the scene.

'No greater Tynne Workes yn al Cornwal then be on Sir Wylliam Godolcan's ground,' wrote Leland, and his statement long held true. It was remarked by the late W. J. Henwood in 1843, that in eighteen years Wheal Vor, an adjacent mine, had raised tin to the value of a million and a quarter sterling, of which £100,000 was profit to the adventurers. To be a steward of the Godolphins was held to be a sure method of attaining wealth and influence; indeed, there is a humorous story told of one of the Godolphin ladies' excusing her late appearance at the dinner-table one day by saying that she had been down to the smelting-house 'to see the cat eat the dolphin;' the allusion being to the respective marks on the Godolphin tin and that smelted at the same time by Coke, the steward, who bore cats on his coat-of-arms. The Godolphin of the period thereupon introduced some much-needed reforms in the management of his tin business.

About a mile to the south of the house, and rising nearly 600 feet high—a considerable elevation in western Cornwall—rises Tregoning (or more properly, Treconan) Hill—the dwelling of Conan—from whose summit, looking to the south-west, the eye commands a vast stretch of waters, over which the sailor might pass to the West Indies without seeing land, unless he chose to touch at the Azores. Nearer at hand, and seeming almost under our feet, lie the noble curves of the Mount's Bay, with,[343] for a central feature, the rocky islet—'both land and island twice a day,' as Carew says—on which stand the Castle and Chair of St. Michael—'Kader Mighel'—still looking

'Tow'rd Namancos and Bayonas' hold.'

Turning our gaze towards the north-west, we see sapphire waves roll on the golden sands which fringe the shores of St. Ives Bay; and, towards the west, the Land's End district so melts into the grey haze of the Atlantic, that it would be as hard to say where the land ended and the sea began, as it would be now to gather the whole truth as to the lost land of Lyonesse, traditionally reported to have been submerged between Bolerium and the Isles of Scilly.

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Such were the surroundings of Godolphin. The building itself, originally a castle or fortified residence of some sort, was in ruins in the days of Edward IV. William of Worcester, in 1478, says of it:

'Castellum Godollon dirutum in villa Lodollon'; and Leland, in the days of Henry VIII., describes it in the following words:

[344]

Rebuilt as Godolphin Hall in the days of Elizabeth, it appeared as a quadrangular mansion, with a fine portico of white granite along the north front, constructed by Francis, the second Earl; but this was the last flickering of its lamp. The rooms over the portico were, it is said, never fitted up, and the mansion of the Godolphins is now occupied by Mr. Rosewarne, a zealous guardian of its crumbling walls.

Concerning the etymology of the name there has been much dispute. Some have claimed for it a Phœnician origin, and said that the word signifies 'a land of tin'—certainly a not inappropriate derivation. Hals is not very dogmatic (as he often is) as to the meaning. He thinks it may mean 'God's Downs,' an 'altogether wooded down or place of springs,' and utterly repudiates Carew's suggestion that it means 'a white eagle.' Others have suggested 'Goon Dolgan'—Dolgan's Down. This, at least, is clear, that the name, as applied to persons, has had more than one narrow escape of becoming extinct. Once, towards the close of the fourteenth century, or early in the fifteenth century, when Ellinor Godolphin married John Rencie; but her husband assumed the patronymic of his wife. Up to that time, and, indeed, for many generations afterwards, we constantly find the Godolphins intermarrying with good old Cornish families, many of whom are now extinct. I find in their family tree such names as Trevanger, Trewledick, Antrewan, Prideaux, Tremrow, Carminowe, Erisey, Bevill, Killigrew,[345] Trenouth, Cararthyn, Carankan, Tredeneck, Pendarves, Carew, Grenville, Arundell, St. Aubyn, Boscawen, Hoblyn, Molesworth, etc. In short, there are very few Cornish families of any distinction in whose veins the blood of the Godolphins of Godolphin did not mingle.

The first Godolphin of note (although, according to Lipscombe, they came in with the Conqueror) would seem to have been one who also bore the ill-omened name of Knava; and who, in 1504, was, as Hals tells us, 'struck Sheriff' of Cornwall. King Henry VII., Hals goes on to say, 'declared his great liking of that gentleman in all circumstances for the said office, but discovered as much dislike of his name after the English,—not understanding the import thereof in Cornish,—and so further said, that as he was pater patriæ, he would trans-nominate him to Godolphin, whereof he was lord; and accordingly caused or ordered that in his letters-patent under the broad seal of England, for being Sheriff of Cornwall, he should be styled or named John Godolphin of Godolphin, Esq^re, and by that name he accounted at the year's end with that King for his office in the exchequer, and had his acquittance from thence, as appears from the record in the Pipe office there.' Another Cornish gentleman who bore the name of Erisey was, it will be remembered (see the story of the Killigrews), also considered, by James I., to be unfortunate in his patronymic; but in his case the family name remained unchanged until it became extinct.

[346]

Sheriff John's son, Sir William, Vice-Warden of the Stannaries, was also sheriff of the county in the reigns of Henry VIII., Edward VI., and Elizabeth. He was a warrior of note, and a favourite of bluff King Hal, 'who,' Polwhele says, 'for his services conferred on him the honor of knighthood, and constituted Sir William warden and chief steward of the Stannaries. He lived to a great age, and was several times chosen one of the Knights of the Shire for Cornwall in the Parliaments of Henry VIII. and Edward VI. He likewise acquired much fame by his conduct and intrepidity in several military commands, particularly at the siege of Bologne.' Carew ranks Sir William among the Worthies of Cornwall, saying: 'He demeaned himself very valiantly beyond the seas; as appeared by the scars he brought home; no less to the beautifying of his fame, than the disfiguring of his face.' Thomas Godolphin, his brother, was also present at the above-named siege, 'and on Thursday, the 14th August, 1544, he, Mr. Harper, and Mr. Culpepper were hurt with one shot from the town.'

Whether it was this Sir William, or his son (who bore the same name and title), who distinguished himself by his 'valiant carriage' against the Irish rebels towards the close of Elizabeth's reign, is not quite clear; but I am inclined to think it must have been the latter, as the first Sir William was gathered to his fathers in the year 1570, and was buried at Breage.

It was the former Sir William's brother Thomas[347] who took for his first wife a Grenville, and from them descended, for three generations, those Godolphins who probably led happy lives—for (so far as I am aware) they have 'no history'—and whose Christian name at least would imply their peaceful careers,—for there were three Gentle Godolphins in succession. But from Thomas's second union, with Katherine Bonython, sprang the more famous members of the family. One of these was Sir Francis,[148] Vice-Warden of the Stannaries, who was knighted in 1580: he was with his father and uncle at Boulogne, and was the contemporary and friend of Richard Carew, whom he helped in writing the 'Survey of Cornwall.'

Carew thus refers to his colleague:

And there is one other little episode of Cornish history with which the name of Sir Francis Godolphin will always be associated: the repulse of the Spaniards from Penzance in 1595.

There was an old Cornish prophecy which ran thus:

[349]

signifying that there should land upon the rock of Merlyn (at Mousehole), those that would burn Paul Church, Penzance, and Newlyn. And so it fell out that, during a fog, at dawn on the 23rd July, four Spanish galleys landed 200 men, armed with pike and shot, who burnt all the houses at Mousehole as they passed, and at length set fire to Paul Church itself. The peaceable inhabitants, being then only about 100 in number, and 'meanly weaponed,' as Carew says, 'fled on the approach of the buccaneers, but were rallied by Sir Francis Godolphin on Penzance Western Green, and proceeded to attack the enemy, who, however, managed to regain their boats, in which they now anchored off another little fishing-village—Newlyn. Here they landed 400 pike and shot, and marched upon Penzance, Sir Francis endeavouring to intercept them. But the flanking fire from the galleys was too galling for the poor Cornish folk, and (though none were seriously hurt) they gave way, dispersing in various directions, and some of them flying into the town of Penzance. At the market-place, which is in about the centre of the town, Sir Francis ordered them to make their stand—'himself staying hindmost, to observe the enemy's order, and which way they would make their approach:'—but only about a dozen men could be got together, and Sir Francis had to take to flight, the Spaniards setting fire to Penzance also, and then again returning to their galleys. Meanwhile, the story of the attack got wind, and increased numbers of Cornishmen assembled on the open spaces near[350] Marazion, when they drove the Spanish galleys from the shore. Succours from Plymouth arrived on the 25th July; and the English ships, having also heard of what had happened, were on the look-out; but a favourable breeze from the N.W. set in, and the enemy were unluckily enabled to make good their retreat.

Like his father, Sir Francis married twice: his second wife was Margaret Killigrew, and thus he became identified more closely than ever with Royalist interests. The Godolphins had obtained from Elizabeth a lease of the Scilly Isles, and more than one member of the family had acted as a sort of little viceroy there; 'Dolphin Town, as it is now called, on the island of Trescaw, still bears witness to their former sway. Here, at Elizabeth Castle, on St. Mary's Island, Charles II. found shelter when he sorely needed it; and from the Scilly Isles the Godolphins and the Grenvilles conducted many a bold exploit during the Civil War; until at length the fleet of the Commonwealth compelled the desperate Knights to surrender,—as we shall see further in the history of the Grenvilles.

The next few years saw a great number of deaths in the Godolphin family. Sir Francis, the Penzance hero, died, and was buried at Breage in 1608—his son, Sir William, following him four years afterwards. In 1619 John, who succeeded his father as Captain of Scilly, died too; and in 1640 the last of the brothers, the second Sir Francis, Recorder of[351] Helston, a borough with which the Godolphins kept up a parliamentary connexion, of the old style, for many years.

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The story of the Godolphins now conveniently divides itself into two parts, viz.: first, the history of the descendants of the above-named John; and secondly, that of the more celebrated line which descended from his brother Sir William.

John, 'Captain of Scilly,' had married a lady bearing the singular name of Judith Amerideth, and had by her three sons, and I think as many daughters. Of their offspring, Sir William and John alone claim our attention; and the former, solely on account of his being the father of another Sir William who was Ambassador at Madrid. The Ambassador was one of John Locke's most intimate friends when they were schoolboys together at Westminster, but was 'no great scholar;' he went to Oxford, and only got his M.A. degree by nomination of the Crown, for, truth to tell, he was too busy about politics to attend to his studies. In politics, however, he seems to have achieved some distinction, for he was Lord Arlington's secretary and right-hand man, and was always a staunch adherent of the Stuarts. He went to Madrid with the Earl of Sandwich, as his 'assistant;' and Locke joined the Embassy as secretary, through Godolphin's interest, in March, 1666.

He died without issue, and it was suspected that his religious views had been tampered with in his[352] latter days,[150] and that he had left his property to 'superstitious uses;' whereupon the Act 10 William III. was passed for 'confirming and establishing the administration of the goods and chattels of Sir William Godolphin, Knight, deceased.' It recites, that he lived at Madrid 'surrounded by Fryers, Priests, and Jesuits, as he lay Bedrid,' and that on the 30th March, 1696, he made a will appointing four of such persons his 'Testamentoros,' and leaving them legacies. The Act declares this document to be null and void; and refuses to recognise the clause in which Sir William declares his soul to be 'his Universal Heir.' But the four testamentoros were to get their legacies, and the property was then duly allotted amongst those to whom Sir William had intended it should be left, before he departed from England, viz., to his brother Francis, of Coulston, and his nephew Charles. To the poor of Camelford he left £20, and £10 each to the poor of Liskeard, and of St. Mabyn. The Godolphin school at Salisbury was founded out of the proceeds of Sir William's estate. The whole of the details of this transaction may be read in the 'Extractum ex extractu pacis,' preserved in the British Museum ((514,k.25)/2).

During two or three succeeding generations, this branch of the family continued to give Governors[353] and Deputy-Governors to the Isles of Scilly,[151] until at length the male line died out, and the Godolphin blood became perpetuated by intermarriages with, amongst others, the eleventh Earl of Huntingdon, and (within the last few years) by the marriage of the Vicar of Sydenham, in Kent, the Rev. H. W. Yeatman, with Lady Barbara Caroline Legge, daughter of the fourth Earl of Dartmouth. At Acton Church, near Ealing, were the tombs of Sir John Godolphin (1679), and of his daughter and heir Elizabeth, maid-of-honour to Queen Katharine of Braganza.

One is tempted to linger somewhat longer over John 'of Doctors' Commons, Doctor of Laws,' the third son of John and Judith Amerideth. He was born at Godolphin, in Scilly, on 29th November, 1617, and entered at Gloucester Hall, Oxford, in[354] 1632, taking his Bachelor's degree in 1636, and that of Doctor in 1642-43. I believe that if he did not at any time reside at St. Kew, in Cornwall, at least he must have had some thoughts of doing so, for he held, for some time, Tretawne,[152] an old Jacobean seat of the Molesworths in this parish; and he married Honor, a lady of that old Cornish family. A granite stone, about twelve inches square, let into the wall of the back kitchen, and inscribed

commemorates the connexion of the Molesworths with their quondam residence of Tretawne.

Polwhele says that Dr. John 'was at first puritanically inclined, but afterwards took the engagement,' and in conjunction with Dr. William Clarke and C. G. Cock, Esq., was, in 1653, constituted a Judge of the Admiralty. He seems to have always had a leaning in the direction of polemics, notwithstanding his being a member of the legal faculty, and his having been made one of the King's 'Advocates' at the Restoration; certainly his works on Divinity are more numerous than those on Law. His 'Orphan's Legacy, or Testamentary Abridgment,' which is in three parts—the first treating of Last Wills and Testaments, the second, of Executors and Administrators, and the third of[355] Legacies and Devises—was, no doubt, a useful hand-book of the period; and his 'Repertorium Canonicum' (1687)—'an abridgment of the Ecclesiastical Laws of this Realm consistent with the Temporal: wherein the most material points relating to such persons and things as come within the cognizance thereof are succinctly treated'—is a laborious attempt to exhibit in their legal bearings the relations of Church and State, especially asserting the King's Supremacy.

But probably he will be better remembered by his 'Holy Limbeck, or a Semi-Century of Spiritual Extractions,' and by his 'Holy Arbour' than by either of the foregoing works, or by his 'Συνηγορος Θαλασσιος, or a view of the Admiral's Jurisdiction.' The title of the 'Holy Arbour' runs as follows, in the fantastical, metaphorical style of the time:

And the Dedication, in similar vein, commences thus:

Our author died in 1678, in or near Fleet Street, and was buried in the north aisle of St. James's Church, Clerkenwell, leaving one son, Francis, who died in 1695, and who was buried with his wife, Grace, at St. Columb Major: down to within the last hundred years their descendants have hovered round the neighbourhood, and found like resting-place for their remains.

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We must now revert to that branch of the family which comprises, as I have said, its more distinguished members, and which sprang from the union of Sir William Godolphin (who died and was[357] buried at Breage in 1613) with Thomasine Sidney, of Wrighton in Norfolk, a lady who bequeathed her maiden surname to many of her descendants down to the present day.

One of their sons, Sidney, uncle of a yet more illustrious namesake, was killed in a skirmish during the Civil War, on Dartmoor, in February, 1643.[153] The Parliamentary forces had been defeated at Boconnoc, and Hopton thereupon 'flew with a party volant' towards Plymouth. His army, however, received a temporary check at Chagford; but Sir John Berkeley at length drove out the Parliamentary forces who quartered in that little village; and here the brave young Sidney Godolphin was slain.

He was, says Clarendon, 'a young gentleman of incomparable parts, who, being of a constitution and education more delicate, and unacquainted with contentions, upon his observation of the wickedness of those men in the House of Commons, of which he was a member, out of the pure indignation of his soul against them, and conscience to his country, had, with the first, engaged himself with that party in the west; and though he thought not fit to take a command in a profession he had not willingly chosen, yet, as his advice was of great authority with all the commanders, being always one in the[358] council of war, and whose notable abilities they had still use of in their civil transactions, so he exposed himself to all action, travel, and hazard; and by too forward engaging himself in this last, received a mortal shot by a musket, a little above the knee, of which he died in the instant, leaving the misfortune of his death upon a place which could never otherwise have had a mention to the world.' And Clarendon gives yet another and more elaborate portrait of him ('Life of Edward, Earl of Clarendon,' vol. i. p. 51):

In the 'Select Funeral Memorials,' pp. 10, 11, by[360] Sir K. J. Egerton Brydges, Bart., occurs the following passage concerning him:

The following lines may serve as an example of his ingenuity whilst, in 1623, a student at Oxford—and[361] it may be added that he also translated from Virgil 'The Passion of Dido for Æneas,' which Waller published:

'Sidney Godolphin,            
Equitis aurati filius è Coll. Exon.'      

The gallant young Sidney had a brother named William, who was colonel of a regiment for Charles I., and who died in 1636, aged twenty-four; and another brother, Francis, who was knighted at the Coronation of Charles II., in recognition, no doubt, of the 'many acceptable remittances' which Le Neve tells us he had made to the King when in exile, as well as of the loyal spirit which his family had always shown. His loyalty even displayed itself whilst he was yet a student at Exeter College, Oxford; as is evinced by the following copy of verses which I find in the same volume as the above:

'Fra. Godolphin,            
Equit. Aur. fil. nat. max. è Coll. Exon.'      

Sir Francis (to whom Hobbes dedicated his[362] 'Leviathan') was Member for the little Cornish Borough of St. Ives in 1640. He married Dorothy Berkeley, and had seven children, most of whom (and their children likewise) were buried in Westminster Abbey. Three only of Sir Francis's offspring are, however, known to fame—Sir William, created by Charles II. 552nd baronet of England, who died unmarried in 1710, leaving £5,000 a year to his more illustrious younger brother, the celebrated Sidney; and Henry, who became Dean of St. Paul's and Provost of Eton, dying at Windsor in 1733. We shall get glimpses of the three brothers in the pages of Evelyn and of Pepys. The Dean and Sidney each married a Margaret. Dr. Henry's spouse was his cousin, the only daughter of the first Sidney Godolphin who fell at Chagford; while the great Minister of State was blessed with the hand of that sweet Margaret Blagge whose saintly fame has been perpetuated in the pious Evelyn's 'Life of Margaret Godolphin.'

Before, however, proceeding to sketch the career of the more prominent Sidney, let us look at the memorials preserved of the good Dean. He was the fourth son of Sir Francis, and was educated first at Eton, and then at Wadham, and All Souls' Colleges, Oxford. Of the latter College he became a Fellow, and he took his degree of D.D. in 1685. Ten years after, having been for some time Vice-Provost, he was made Provost of Eton, of which he was, according to Maxwell Lyte, 'a kind ruler;' and on the 23rd of April, 1696, we find Evelyn visiting[363] him there, and dining with him. A few years before, Evelyn had been to St. Albans with the two brothers, William and Henry, to see the library of the Archdeacon, Dr. Cartwrite: 'a very good collection,'—especially in divinity—as might have been expected. The party visited the Abbey—which Evelyn calls 'the greate church,' and which, he adds, was 'now newly repair'd by a public contribution.' Nor had the pleasant diarist omitted to attend on the sacred ministrations of his friend, for we find it duly recorded that, on March 15th, 1684, 'At Whitehall preached Mr. Henry Godolphin, a prebend of St. Paules, and brother to my deare friend Sydnie, on Isaiah lv. 7.' On the 18th July, 1707, Dr. Godolphin was installed Dean of St. Paul's; and he lived long to enjoy his dignities, for he reached the good old age of ninety—or, according to other accounts, eighty-four. He was a most pious and charitable man, and gave £4,000 to Queen Anne's Bounty—a charity in which the Godolphins seem to have, from the first, taken much interest. He was moreover, and so were some others of his family,[155] munificent benefactors and restorers of Eton College;—the Provost's Monument, which is on the south side of the chapel, has a long and highly eulogistic Latin inscription recounting his munificence and his virtues.

[364]

Ecton, in his account of Queen Anne's Bounty ('Thesaurus Eccles.,' 4to., Lond., 1742), mentions that Dean Godolphin gave, in conjunction with others, 'the sum of £3,910 for the augmentation of small livings upon the plan of that bounty.' ... 'He gave a £1,000 towards the alterations of the chapel as it is at present, the which alteration (made about the year 1700) is widely different from the original plan given by the Founder, An^o. Regni 26^o. With this money the organ, it is said, was purchased, as being charg'd at about that sum. He adorn'd the outer court with a statue of the Royal Founder, cast in copper; placed on a marble Pedestal, and fenc'd in with Iron Palisades. Further, he bequeathed by his last Testament the sum of £200 for the buying books to the use of the College Library. He built the Alms Houses for 10 poor women.'—(Huggett's MSS., Sloane, No. 4843, f. 102, 103.) He also built, or rather rebuilt, in 1695, the extensive brick mansion of Baylis, or Baillis, near Stoke Pogis.

It was reported at the time, according to Luttrell, that on the death of Dr. New, in 1706, Dean Godolphin was to have succeeded him as Bishop of Exeter, but this promotion he never received.

The Provost of Eton left two sons and one daughter. Francis, one of his descendants, and third baron, succeeded to the title of Baron Godolphin, of Helston, in 1766, on the death of the second earl, when the earldom became extinct; and[365] as Francis Baron Godolphin died without issue in 1785, the barony also failed.

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But statelier figures are about to appear upon the scene: the solemn, silent Minister, in whose breast were locked the State secrets and intricate policies of a succession of English monarchs, and his devout and spotless wife, who, 'a saint at Court,' verily walked in the flames of 'the fiery furnace, and felt no hurt, neither did the smell of fire pass upon her.' Of Margaret, John Evelyn's exquisite 'Life' is familiar to many; but for her husband's career we have to search the annals of the Courts of Charles II., of his brother, James, of William and Mary, and of Anne: favoured and trusted by them all; until at length his sturdy resistance to the growing tendency of the last of the Stuarts to accept the counsel of irresponsible advisers instead of that of the Ministers of her Crown, caused the final rupture between the Queen and her Lord High Treasurer.

Born about the year 1630, of great natural abilities, educated at Oxford, and sprung from a family who were loyal to the backbone, Sidney Godolphin, when only about fifteen years old, was made, on the Restoration, first Page, then Groom of the Bedchamber. 'Never in the way, and never out of the way,' as the witty King said of him. In the following year, and during every Parliament of Charles's reign, he sat in the House of Commons as Member for Helston, an old coinage-town, and then the nearest place of importance to the family seat in Cornwall. In Parliament,[366] though rarely opening his mouth, he was soon looked upon as a great authority, not only on all questions of trade and finance, but in matters of high policy as well. In 1668, he accompanied his brother William on a mission to Spain. Twice, in 1678, was he an envoy to Holland on the question of the 'separate' peace proposed by France; and his services on that occasion, when he received the valuable assistance of Sir William Temple, were rewarded in the following year by an appointment to the post of Fourth Commissioner of the Treasury, in the room of the Earl of Derby. It was about this time that Pepys first became acquainted with him; and Pepys thus records his impressions:

Indeed, Pepys seems to have been on intimate[367] terms with the Godolphins; witness the following charming account of a dinner-party which he gave them:

[368]

Shortly after his appointment to the Treasury, Godolphin was made a Privy Councillor; and, with the Earl of Sunderland and Mr. Hyde, formed that triumvirate which was so greatly in the confidence of the King:—indeed he may be said to have already become one of the moving spirits of the age. Charles was particularly anxious that Sidney Godolphin should convey to the House of Commons his determination never to consent to the exclusion of the Duke of York from the succession; but there was an old, wise head upon Sidney's young shoulders, and, adroitly evading the task, Sir William Temple became his cat's-paw on that occasion. For a few months, in April, 1684, he succeeded Sir Lionel Jenkins, now grown very old and infirm, as a Secretary of State; and in the August of that year, on the retirement of the Earl of Radnor (whom the Earl of Rochester succeeded as President of the Council) our Sidney became First Commissioner of the Treasury. On the 8th of the following month, he was raised to the peerage, with the title of Baron Godolphin of Rialton, in Cornwall.

Rialton is an old manor-house on the banks of the little stream which finds its way into the sea at St. Columb Porth. It formerly belonged to the Priory of Bodmin, was for a long time in the possession of the family of Munday, and was granted to Sir Francis Godolphin in 1663. A great part of it was destroyed by fire towards the close of the last century, and the remains of it are now occupied as a farm-house. It was built by the haughty Thomas Vivian, last Prior of Bodmin, whose initials[369] and arms may still be traced on various parts of the picturesque remains: C. S. Gilbert, in his 'History of Cornwall' (vol. ii. p. 673), gives a view of the S.E. entrance.

On the accession of James II., the well-known means by which that King essayed to bring over to his own creed those by whom he was surrounded were employed upon Lord Rochester, amongst others. He was made First Commissioner, in the place of Lord Godolphin, to whom was confided, in lieu, the post of Chamberlain to the Queen. But James's tactics failed; and it was not long before the skilled financier was again at the Treasury—this time as Second Commissioner, with, for his colleagues, two Roman Catholic noblemen, Lord Bellasis and Lord Dover—a conjunction which the High Church party could not, for a long time, forgive their Protestant colleague. What would they have said had they known that, on the approach of the Prince of Orange, Godolphin was the man whom James selected to carry on his affairs during the King's temporary absence in the west; and that to this trusted Minister, together with the Marquis of Halifax and the Earl of Nottingham, were confided the proposals for an 'accommodation' which James sent to William, at Hungerford, on December 8th, 1688? That these proposals failed in their object is matter of history; but it is, perhaps, not so generally known that the exiled King, pressed for money whilst at Rochester, was obliged to have recourse to his Minister for a gift of a hundred guineas! He is said[370] to have accompanied James to the coast, and to have kept up a correspondence with that monarch until his death. Sidney Godolphin was no man of 'mere abstract ideas.' He moved entirely in the sphere of practical politics; and, notwithstanding his intimacy with the Stuarts, and his having been one of those who, in the Convention Parliament, had been in favour of a Regency—perhaps, indeed, partly because of all this—he soon found favour with the new King of England.

---

Can it be believed that throughout a career so rapid and so brilliant, the powerful Minister was sighing for repose, and retirement to the old home in Cornwall? Evelyn[156] assures us that such was the case with his 'deare friend,' at any rate, during the brief years of his happy married life. But Margaret—his well-beloved Margaret—had died in giving birth to Francis, their only son.

And now that we have seen her illustrious husband reach the pinnacle of his ambition, we may turn for a while to the story of his wife. She was descended from a good family out of Norfolk,[157] and her father was a Colonel Blagge, Groom of the Bedchamber [371]to Charles I. and II. She was born on 2nd August, 1652, and reluctantly came to the court of the then Duchess of York—Anne Hyde—when only about fifteen years of age, leaving it for that of the Queen on the death of the Duchess in 1671. She was always of a pious and retiring—not to say melancholy—disposition, and would have infinitely preferred the quiet innocence of a country house to the tumult and dissipation of such a Court as that to which she was now introduced. As an instance of the almost morbid tendency of her mind, Evelyn's description of her attitude in the portrait which she gave him may be cited:

An engraving of this picture is prefixed to the edition of Evelyn to which I have just referred. It quite embodies the spirit of Tennyson's lines to another Margaret:

It may be easily imagined that with such a temperament she bent her mind with extreme difficulty to what she considered her duty—namely, to be in the Court, and yet not of the Court—faithfully discharging all the duties allotted to her, and preserving a cheerful face, though her heart was aching at the recklessness and sensuality with which she was surrounded. And yet, says Evelyn, 'Arethusa pass'd thro' all those turbulent waters without soe much as the least staine or tincture in her christall; with her Piety grew up her Witt, which was soe sparkling, accompanyed with a Judgment and Eloquence soe exterordnary, a Beauty and Ayre soe charmeing and lovely, in a word, an Address soe universally takeing, that after few years, the Court never saw or had seen such a Constellation of perfections amongst all their splendid Circles.'

But her release from her uncongenial duties was at length, with difficulty, obtained; and she retired to her friends, Lord and Lady Berkeley (relatives of her future husband), at Berkeley House.[158] Evelyn,[373] writing in his usual rapturous way whenever he had anything to say of his exquisite Margaret, gives the following pretty picture of her flight from the Court:

She afterwards moved to lodgings which Evelyn himself built for her, 'over against his Majestie's wood-yard in Scotland Yard,' at Whitehall; settling here, as he says, 'with that pretty and discreete oeconomye soe naturall to her; and never was there such an household of faith, never Lady more worthy of the blessings she was entering into, who was soe[374] thankfull to God for them.' Her housekeeping and the mode in which she kept her faultless accompts are all lovingly dwelt upon; and, indeed, she seems to have been a bright example of the Wordsworthian line, of

'Pure religion, teaching household laws.'

At length, after many tormenting misgivings as to whether she was justified before God in so doing, she married Sidney Godolphin, 'that singular and silent lover,' whose gravity and temper at Court all knew so well, on 16th May, 1675, at the Temple Church. The marriage was a private one, for reasons which are by no means clear, and for which even Evelyn can hardly quite forgive her; though he says, 'If ever two were created for each other, and marriages, as they say, made in heaven, this happy paire were of the number.' Two or three years after their marriage she was brought to bed at Whitehall, of her first-born son, Francis—to the great joy of herself and her husband. But shortly afterwards a fever with alarming symptoms set in, causing the following touching letter to be written by her husband to Evelyn:

The immovable man was moved to bitter agony[375] now; and worse was to come: for 'sweet, pale Margaret' soon passed away to a world more worthy of her than that in which her lot had been cast. Evelyn says:

I doubt whether there is anything more tender and dolorous in our literature than the following letter which she addressed to her husband—her 'deare man,' 'the husband that above all living I vallue,' as she used affectionately to call him. The letter was not found till after her death:

---

It is scarcely necessary to say that her last wish was religiously complied with, and in Breage Church her remains lie, under a plain marble slab, awaiting the Resurrection of the Just.[161] Her husband, with some of his brothers and sisters, attended the funeral (the cost of which is said to have been about £1000), and on her coffin was soldered a copper plate, thus inscribed:

---

While I write, I hear of an intention to dedicate the funds collected at this year's (1881) Harvest Festival at St. Breage, towards the cost of a spire to surmount the church tower, in memory of the[378] saintly Margaret Godolphin, and her Ruth-like devotion to her husband and her husband's people.

---

But to return to her solemn and now solitary husband—who never married again—and whom we left installed in the favour of a King almost as taciturn as his great ancestor, or as the Minister himself. More troubled times were at hand for him. Party spirit, and, above all, jealousy at his rise and his secure position close to the throne, were at work; and we accordingly find him assailed in the House of Commons by Hambden and others; but, whatever he may have felt, rarely condescending a reply. He was made Third Commissioner of the Treasury in 1689, and First Commissioner in each of the three following years; and, the King, on the death of Mary his consort, going across the sea to head the Confederate Army in the Netherlands, Godolphin was made one of the Nine Justices for managing the affairs of the Realm; still, however, retaining his post at the Treasury. This state of things continued, with slight variations, till the close of William's reign, when the astute statesman left his post for a while, in order, as it was supposed, to facilitate his re-appointment on the accession of Anne.

In 1702, only a few days after she ascended the throne, the Queen made Godolphin Lord High Treasurer of England. He accepted the post reluctantly—yet he 'conducted the Queen,' says Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, 'with the care and[379] tenderness of a father, or a guardian, through a state of helpless ignorance'—'the weight of affairs now lying chiefly on his shoulders;' and those were times when wariness and courage were as essential as at almost any period in the history of our country. One of his first steps was to induce Anne, out of her somewhat scanty resources, to subscribe £100,000 towards the expenses of the new war; to abolish the sale of Places; and to settle her firstfruits and tenths for the augmentation of small benefices (the origin of the well-known Queen Anne's Bounty)—steps which, though they of course involved heavy pecuniary sacrifice, were highly popular with the nation, and tended to enthrone a Queen in the hearts of her people.

He was much interested in endeavouring to carry out the Treaty for the Union with Scotland, and his brother Charles, now M.P. for Helston, and First Commissioner of Customs, was one of the Commissioners appointed for the purpose; but their efforts for the time failed; the weight of the English National Debt, and the repugnance of the Scotch to Episcopacy, being the main difficulties in the way.

It would occupy too much space to describe in detail—even if it were now possible to do so—the intricate policy of Lord Godolphin and his firm friend, the great Marlborough—another West-country man, born at Ashe in Devonshire—at this juncture. Suffice it to say, that the famous warrior absolutely refused the command of our armies unless Sidney Godolphin[380] was at the Treasury: he was the only man in England, Marlborough said, on whom he could implicitly rely for being punctually furnished with the indispensable 'sinews of war.' Nor would it be profitable to enter very deeply into the party politics of the time. The difficulties which the great general and the skilled financier had to contend with were legion. Rochester, the Queen's maternal uncle, had to be got rid of; and afterwards 'the careless Harley,' who yearned to be independent of Godolphin—a far more difficult task, and for succeeding in which, I believe, Anne never forgave him. On this occasion Godolphin wrote to his quondam colleague, 'I am sorry to have lost the good opinion I once had of you; but I must believe my own senses. I am very far from having deserved this of you. May God forgive you for it!' The bitter feelings which these transactions produced may be seen in the 'Secret History of Arlus (Harley),' and in John Lydgate's 'The Beasts in Power.'[162] Again, in 1705, Charles Cæsar attacked Godolphin in the House of Commons for keeping up, together with Marlborough and others, a treasonable correspondence with the Court of St. Germains; and the speaker used language so intemperate that he was committed to the Tower for the remainder of that session. The fact was[381] that the correspondence had taken place—at least so it has been said—with the full privity and sanction of William, who is even reported to have expressed his admiration of the results of Godolphin's 'coquetting' with the exiled James and his French Court.

Attacks upon his consistency and his principles all failed; for, as Bishop Burnet has observed, 'The credit of the nation was never raised so high in any age, nor so sacredly maintained:' and so a new mode of annoying him was invented in an attempt to depreciate his abilities. He was thus satirized in 'Faction Displayed':

But, notwithstanding all this, the great Minister pursued his successful career—as a huge mastiff passes on his way regardless of the yelping curs at his heels. His honours increased. In 1704[382] he was made a Knight of the Garter;[164] in the following year he was appointed Lord Lieutenant of his native county, in the room of John, Lord Grenville; and about the same time his son, (whose birth, as we have seen, had cost his mother her life,) being now seven-and-twenty years of age, became Lord Warden of the Stannaries.

Congratulatory addresses were from time to time sent up to the Throne on the success of the English arms on the Continent. In some of them reference is specially made to Godolphin's share in the national triumph; and when the victory of Ramillies on the 23rd May, 1706, was celebrated, Godolphin was selected to accompany the Queen to the thanksgiving service at St. Paul's on the 27th of the following month. That great battle, which caused the French to evacuate Flanders, and secured the best part of the Spanish Netherlands to Austria, compelled France to offer terms of peace, which Godolphin wisely rejected; for three or four successful sieges were necessary in order to secure Flanders. But this, too, like almost every other action of his life, was afterwards brought forward by his enemies as a charge against him. And here is perhaps a convenient place to refer to another of his acts as a War Minister. It will be remembered that at the beginning of the eighteenth century all the seaboard of America north of the St. Lawrence was in French[383] possession. But in 1710 Godolphin granted six ships and a few hundred soldiers, with a sort of general commission, to one Nicholson, who, in May of that year, compelled the garrison at Port Royal (afterwards known as Annapolis) to surrender; thus acquiring for England the whole peninsula of Nova Scotia, and giving to the then capital of the province a name which will always associate the place with the memories of Queen Anne and her illustrious chief Minister of State. It cannot be supposed from his silence under attack—and he almost invariably held his tongue—that he did not writhe under his oppressors. 'Oh!' he wrote to Marlborough, 'a slave in the galleys is in paradise compared with me!'

Another object, and one worthy of the great statesman's ambition, was at length happily accomplished about this time—the union of England and Scotland;[165] a matter in which he manifested unusual zeal and activity. The Commissioners, wisely selected by Godolphin—holding their meetings at his official residence, which stood on the site of Henry VIII.'s cock-pit at Whitehall—at length happily brought it about 'to her Majesty's great satisfaction.' It was on the occasion of giving her assent to this Bill that Anne uttered the noble words, which may have been penned for her by Godolphin himself, 'I desire and expect from my subjects of both[384] nations that henceforth they act with all possible respect and kindness to one another, that so it may appear to all the world that they are heartily disposed to become one people.'

It is pleasant to be able now to quote a friendly critic, and I gladly avail myself of this opportunity of inserting the following lines by Dr. Garth, apparently in reply to an attack made upon Godolphin, entitled 'Arlus and Odolphus,' in which the real names of those alluded to are easily seen through their thin disguise:

We must pass briefly over his share in the Occasional Conformity Bill, in which he was said by some to have felt in one way and voted in another; and also his unfortunate attempt to provide for some poor Palatines both in London and at Godolphin Town in Scilly: at the latter place he proposed to maintain them as soldiers for the garrison. But, notwithstanding that the project was abandoned, it raised a hornets' nest about his ears. Some of his accusers (see the Medley, 11th June, 1711) asserted that Ministers had appropriated to their own use some of the thirty-five millions voted by Parliament; and more than one hot-brained partizan even clamoured that Godolphin's head should pay the price of the maladministration of his office.[385] The Weekly Examiner (No. 47) stated that the Ministry had borrowed money at 5 per cent., whilst they charged the unhappy creditors upon the bills assigned to them from 20 to 40 per cent. These and other similar lying accusations were some of them pronounced by both Houses of Parliament to be 'false and scandalous;' whilst others were promptly and thoroughly disposed of in a pamphlet written by Walpole; but the slanderous scribblers, and still more the irresponsible advisers and gossips round Anne's toilet-table and at her music-parties, on whom the Queen had latterly taken a fancy for relying, did to some extent attain their end by discrediting for a while her responsible Ministers.

And here it should be said that Godolphin, though a Tory at heart—for 'a Whig was his aversion'—at once discerned the rising genius of Walpole, favoured him with his protection, and recommended him to Marlborough; and, when our great statesman was dying, he said to the Duchess of Marlborough, who stood by his bedside, 'If you ever forsake that young man, and if souls are permitted to return from the grave to the earth, I will appear to you and reproach you for your conduct.'

Both Marlborough and Godolphin loudly and vehemently protested against the line of conduct which Anne had adopted in slighting their counsels, whilst she, with characteristic sturdiness, refused to listen to their reproofs and entreaties. Wyon gives a letter from Godolphin to the Queen on the subject of the appointment of the Duke of[386] Shrewsbury (the 'King of Hearts') vice the Marquis of Kent, as Chamberlain—the like of which, he thinks, can scarcely ever before have been addressed to a sovereign by one of her subjects, observing that 'He reproached her in round terms for permitting herself to be directed by a private ministry. Her conduct, he said, would draw ruin upon herself and the kingdom, and would force every man in the Council, except the Duke of Somerset, to run from it as he would from the plague. He put it to her what effect an entire change of Ministers was likely to have upon her allies abroad, and whether the war was likely to be carried on well by people who had been averse to it from the beginning.' Nevertheless, Godolphin loyally assured the Queen that, whatever course she determined to adopt, never would he in any way offer the least obstruction to her or to her Ministers.

Need it be added that after passages such as these the star of Godolphin paled? To what avail was it that, in 1706, he had been made Earl of Godolphin and Viscount Rialton? His life was a burden to him, as we have already seen; he was sick of the popularity which Sacheverell's[166] violent diatribes against the Government had secured for him; and he was weary of the intrigues of the discontented Whigs, and the taunts and sneers of the ultra-Tories. His nerves were shattered from constantly walking among many pitfalls; his mind was distracted by the[387] irksome dilemmas with which he had for so long a time been compelled to deal; and he could no longer brook the black, unforgiving looks of his royal mistress. Yet he might have truly exclaimed, as Sir Robert Walpole did of himself afterwards, 'My crime is my long continuance in office: in other words, the long exclusion of those who now combine against me.' Was it a greater relief to him or to her when, in August, 1710, the Queen dismissed Godolphin from his post, and desired him, according to one account, that 'instead of bringing the Staff of Office to her, he would break it, as easier to them both.' Swift says that in doing so, the Earl flung the pieces into the fire, an act which greatly annoyed the Queen. And with Godolphin fell his son—then Cofferer to the Household—and his son's wife, the Lady Henrietta, one of the Ladies of the Queen's Bedchamber.

The time had come at length for Harley and St. John to reap the fruits of their triumph; and, though Marlborough[167] had more than once warded off the[388] blow—not only for the sake of the friendship and the family ties[168] which had so long subsisted between him and the Minister, but for the sake of Queen and country—that blow fell at last. But the result was terrible also to the financial credit of England. The Treasury was put into commission; and vast was the commotion in Change Alley. Bank shares at once fell from 140 to 110, and soon to 106; whilst the Bank refused a loan of £400,000 to the new Government. 'That Godolphin should retire,' wrote Marlborough to his Duchess on 1st October, 1706, 'is impossible, unless it be resolved that everything must go ill abroad, as well as at home; for, without flattery, his reputation is as great in all Courts as well as at home; that such a step would go a great way with Holland, in particular, to make their peace with France, which at this time must be fatal to the liberties of Europe.'

Then came the Report of the Commissioners of Public Accounts (17th March, 1711-12), in which they stated, but did not dare to print their statement, that there were certain irregularities in the dealings of the English with the Scotch Treasury; and Godolphin's oath was confronted by another to the contrary from the Earl of Glasgow. Burnet describes this affair as an effusion of 'Tory malice,' and adds that 'the Earl of Godolphin's unblemished integrity was such that no imputation of any sort could be fastened upon him.'

[389]

To what could all this misery tend but to the breaking up of a constitution never one of the strongest,—and to the 'last scene of all, that ends this strange, eventful history'? Sidney Godolphin died, after a long and excruciating illness, at the Duke of Marlborough's house near St. Albans, on the 15th September, 1712, in the sixty-eighth year of his age; and his death so deeply affected Marlborough, that he left his native country, which had been as ungrateful to him as to his dearest friend, to live 'beyond sea.'

Four Dukes—namely, Richmond, Schomberg, Devonshire, and Marlborough—were the pall-bearers when the remains of one of our most illustrious Cornishmen were interred at night in Westminster Abbey. Here, in the south aisle of the nave, his monument was raised by his daughter-in-law, Lady Henrietta Churchill, who, in default of male issue, afterwards became Duchess of Marlborough, on her father's death in 1722, and who found a resting-place within the same venerable walls, twenty-one years afterwards.[169] Of her husband, Francis, the second and last Earl of Godolphin, there is nothing of much importance to record;[170] the history of the Godolphins [390]may be said to end with that of the illustrious Sidney. Yet from the union, in 1698, of the second Earl and Lady Henrietta, some of our noblest families derive their ancestry. Anne, then Princess, offered in the most delicate terms to endow the bride with a marriage portion of £10,000, but could not prevail upon the Lady Henrietta's parents to accept more than half that sum; they contributing £5,000 themselves.

One daughter, named after her mother, Henrietta, married Thomas, Duke of Newcastle, but they had no offspring. The correspondence between the Duchess of Marlborough and Sir John Vanbrugh on the subject of the marriage between Lady Henrietta Godolphin and the Duke of Newcastle, forms an appendix to the second volume of Mrs. Thomson's 'Memoirs of the Duchess of Marlborough.' Lady Henrietta had £22,000 to her portion, procured by the Duchess, according to her own account. But for all sorts of small family gossip, often of an amusing nature, the Egerton and Additional MSS. in the British Museum should be consulted—especially Additional MSS. 28,052.

The Lady Mary Godolphin, eventually sole heiress of the family, married Thomas Osborne, fourth Duke of Leeds, and from them sprang an illustrious succession, which it hardly falls within my province to describe; a similar remark applies to members of other branches of the family. The name of Godolphin has, however, been carefully retained by those in whose veins Godolphin blood[391] still flows; as in the cases of Francis, fifth son of the Duke of Leeds, and Baron Godolphin; Lord Sidney Godolphin Osborne, who died in 1861; and in those of more than one Duke of Leeds, including the ninth and present Duke, George Godolphin.

---

A portrait bust adorns Godolphin's marble cenotaph in the south aisle of the nave at Westminster; and there is also a fine portrait of the Great Minister, by Sir Godfrey Kneller, in the collection of the Earl of St. Germans, of which J. Smith has scraped a mezzotint. They both convey the impression which the story of his life would lead one to expect. Thoughtfulness, reserve mingled with sadness, and power, were the chief characteristics of his countenance as of his career. And a like reticence seems to have influenced biographical writers; for, so far as I am aware, there is no good monograph life of Sidney Godolphin. His gloomy expression was notorious; it procured for him more than one nickname, and has been handed down to us in grey-eyed, savage-faced, 'miserrimus' Swift's line:

'And wine cheers up Godolphin's cloudy face.'[171]

I do not, however, believe that there is any reason for supposing that he drank to excess. For literature and the fine arts he cared little; but he was a devoted[392] and successful admirer of the fair sex—notwithstanding the personal drawback of his face being much disfigured by small-pox; and Swift tells us that Godolphin would 'sometimes scratch out a song in praise of his mistress, with his pencil and card.' His devoted and romantic admiration of Mary of Modena was a frequent subject of remark; and he was always sending her little presents 'such as ladies love.' Gamble, he certainly did; but it has been said, by himself as well as by Burnet, that he took to cards so much as he did, in order to avoid the necessity of talking—a thing which he detested having to do. Cock-fighting and horse-racing were very favourite amusements with him, as with so many others of that time; and at Newmarket, during the racing season, he used to keep open house. His son seems to have had a similar love for the turf; and to the latter we are indebted for the introduction into England of the famous Godolphin Arab. This horse had a curious history. He was presented by some Arab chief to Louis XIV., but was not admired by the French Monarch, and was ultimately condemned to cart-work; but the keeper of an English coffee tavern recognised the merits of the animal, brought him to England, and sold him to Godolphin.

The details of the great Minister's sporting expenditure were known only to himself; it was generally believed that he won, both on the turf and at the card-table; but this at least is certain, that, notwithstanding his long tenure of office, and his having been left £5,000 a year by his brother, Sir[393] William, he died very poor; indeed, the Duchess of Marlborough endorsed on his letter of dismissal from his office, that Sidney Godolphin, Lord High Treasurer of England, left scarcely enough money to pay his funeral expenses. The following is the endorsement referred to:

It may not be out of place to note here, that Mrs. A. T. Thomson has vindicated, in a most spirited and successful manner, the charge, brought by some of the scandalmongers of the day, of a liaison between the Duchess and Godolphin.

And yet, notwithstanding his own poverty, so far as regarded the public weal hardly ever was there a statesman of more reliable, cool judgment, or a more skilled political economist; nor did anyone[394] possess in a higher degree, says Mr. Wyon, the then rare virtue of incorruptible integrity.

Although Godolphin had been the trusted Minister of Sovereigns of so various temperaments—holding his own with them all—yet that he was no sycophant or hypocrite is clear from his having run counter to the wishes of both Charles II. and James II., by voting for the Exclusion Bill, and by favouring the suggestion of a Regency even when the accession of William III. seemed inevitable. Men seemed to have felt that in Godolphin's hands they were safe. We have seen the effect which his fall produced amongst the financiers of London; and in the concluding sentence of one of Evelyn's letters (addressed though it was to Godolphin himself) we find, what is no doubt a true echo of the regard in which he was generally held:

Well might Swift write in one of his letters to Stella, dated 18th Sept., 1712: 'The Whigs have lost a great support in the Earl of Godolphin. It is a good jest to hear the Ministers talk of him with[395] humanity and pity, because he is dead, and can do them no more hurt.' Lady Henrietta Godolphin never forgave Swift for his way of writing about her father-in-law. She, as we have seen, cut him at a card-party at Lady Clarges', just as sturdy, honest Dr. Johnson cut him in the street.

Godolphin's character has thus been sketched by another hand; and with it the name and the fame of Sidney Godolphin will always be indissolubly joined: 'He was of quick apprehension and wonderful dispatch; almost unerring judgment ... of few words, but great Truth: few promises but strict performance ... by nature grave, reserved and taciturn, but without arrogance or scorn of others; and when he most relaxed and let himself into the greatest freedoms, they were such as might be told abroad without any hazard of his fame or Virtue.'

Bishop Burnet has thus summed up his character and career:

But Courts are different from other places; and we have seen that in the Court of Anne, the memory of Godolphin's virtues was 'written on water.' Had he lived but two years longer he might, like Marlborough, have once more been restored to Royal favour at the Court of George I., and in yet another reign have been again the First Minister of the Crown of England.

END OF VOL. I.

Elliot Stock, Paternoster Row, London.

[397]

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