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"Daphne, or Dorothy— which 1

Reproduced, by kind permission, from the " Graphic."]

[p. 105.

DOROTHY FORSTER

V

BY

WALTER BESANT

AUTHOR OF

'ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEM,' 'THE CAPTAINS' ROOM,*
'ALL IN A GAKL.EN FAIR,' 'THE REBEL Q.UEEN,' ETC.

A NEW EDITION

3L 0 nfl 0 It

CIIATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY
1895

-X;

TO

M. G. B.

E. K L.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER **r-t

I. THE EVE UF ST. JOHN • • • « • 1

II. THE FORSTERS . , . . . » 13

HI. THE HEIR OF BAMBOROUGH , . . « i 24

IV. HIS HIGHNESS THE PRINCB . , • , ,33

V. MR, ANTONY HILYARD . . . , . 37

VI. THE CHIEF CREDITOR . . . . ,43

VII. ROOM FOR MY LORD . . . .' . .57

VIII. A PRINCE IN ISRAEL . .... 74

IX. A HUNTING PARTY . . . . . .86

X. A TENDER CONSCIENCE . . , . .96
XI. DAPHNE ....... 103

XII. FRANK RADCLIFFB ...... 108

XIII. CHRISTMAS EVK . . . . . .114

XIV. CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT . . . .122

xv. NEW YEAR'S DAY . . . . . .132

XVI. A STRANGE THING . . . . . .137

XVII. HE LOVES ME ...... 144

XVIII. A CASE OF CONSCIENCE ..... 149

XIX. MY DECISION . . . . . .156

xx. HER LADYSHIP'S LETTER . . . . .167

XXL MR. HILYARD'S DREAM ..... 173-

XXII. THE FUGITIVE . . . . . .181

XXIII. WHAT WILL HE DO ? . . . . . . 187

XXIV. THE MEETING AT GREENRIG . . . 192
XXV. THE FIRST DAYS . . . . . .197

XXVI. MR. HILYARD RETURNS ..... 204"

XXVII. TO LONDON ....... 217

XXVIII. LORD CREWE. ...... 226

XXIX. IN LONDON ....... 231

XXX. LADY OOWFER « . ,239

vtti CONTENTS.

CHArnra yaoi

XXXI. THE UNFORTUNATE MB. PAUL » * ( 242

XXXII. A NOBLE PROJECT . . . , , .251

XXXIII. IN THE TOWER ...... 255

xxxiv. MR. HILYARD'S FREEDOM . . , , . 260

xxxv. JENNY'S SCHEME ...•., 266

xxxvi. THE LORDS' TRIAL . , . , , .271

xxxvii. FRANK'S ATTEMPT , ... 277

xxxvui. MY LORD'S LAST DAYS ..... 283

xxxix. TOM'S ESCAPE . . , , , ,292

XL. THE END ...,,,, 305

fOBTSCRIPTUU i « « < 810

DOROTHY FORSTER,

CHAPTER I.

THE EVE OF ST. JOHN.

THOSE wbo are so happy as to be born and to live out theit
appointed time in the North Country are not only removed from
the luxuries and vices of London, but also from that wicked modern
fashion of scoffing at the things which lie beyond man's compre-
hension, and should therefore be accounted sacred. We of Nor-
thumberland certainly do not pretend disbelief in what is sufficiently
proved, but cannot be understood. Almost everybody (every
woman, indeed, without exception) has seen, some time or other,
strange and wonderful things which cannot be explained. Some,
it is true, have endeavoured to reason these things away by pre-
tending the insensible and brute action of chance (among them, Mr.
Hilyard tells me, a great Latin poet, named Lucretius), which is
incredible unless we allow the round world and all that is therein
to have been itself constructed and set a-going by accident. Others,
still living, attribute the stories which abound among us to foolish
credulity and ignorant superstition ; unto such persons there is no
answer but the evidence of things related and testified. Others
again, whose opinion is to be received with respect, think they
perceive in them the workings of man's Chief Enemy. Let me,
however, for my own part, following the expressed opinion of Mr.
Hilyard and what I believe to have been that of my lord the late
bishop, continue to think that what is permitted, though it be not
understood, must be received with reverence and without too close
scrutiny, as doubtless intended for no other purpose than a merci-
ful one, videlicet, the admonition of the guilty and the encourage-
ment of the virtuous.

To those, again, who ask (seeking to throw discredit upon these
beliefs by means of an idle laugh) why the things of which I speak
are more common in tht> north than in the south of England — that
ii to say, why ghosts, spectres, witches, warlocks, elves, demon*'

2 DOROTHY FORSTER.

fairies or faws, waufs, warnings, and other strange manifestations
and mysterious powers, continue in the North Country, yet are
rarely reported from the Home counties or south of Tyne — I would
venture to reply that (supposing the fact to be so) I know, indeed,
of no other reason for the undoubted favour shown to us in this
respect than the great superiority of Northumbrians over all other
Englishmen in the matter of valour, strength, loyalty, and learning
— I mean, of courie, when they apply themselves to study, for, as
eveybody knows, the gentlemen of the north are fonder of sport
than of books. As for the piety of my people, much might be said
and much confessed or allowed. We have, doubtless, the reputa-
tion o^ ocxng hard drinkers and ready strikers ; and we are also
accused of smuggling and cattle-lifting. These charges are doubt-
less true, and cannot be denied, though of late years there has been
amendment, and one should remember that there has never been a
time until the present when a Northumberland man could look for
continued peace or respite from fighting ; nor could a rich man lie
down at night with any certainty that he might not awake in the
morning to find himself a poor man, his cattle lifted and his barns
fired ; nor could he fall asleep with an assurance that he would not
be roused at night by the blazing turf, and have to boot and sadcHe
and ride after marauders, pistol in holster, sword by side, and fire-
lock on shoulder. This has made a race of men quick to fight and
careless of life, since, willy nilly, they went daily in peril ; and
many families there are whose men, until a hundred years ago,
never knew what it was to die in their beds. So much must be
allowed my countrymen as an excuse for their readiness to strike.
As to their drinking, true it is that the gentry drink much wine of
France and Spain, Rhenish, claret, and mountain, with brandy,
usquebaugh, Hollands, ale, cider, punch, mum, cordials, and strong
waters of every kind, while the common sort follow the example of
their betters as far as they can afford (in which I blame them not) :
but still our rough country fellows are not, so far as I know, so
drunken as the rabble of London.

And as for religion, I dare maintain that no gentlemen in
England go to church with greater regularity than those of Nor-
thumberland, or more dutifully repeat the responses ; while the
country people, though there are many parts where there is no
church at all for them, do still keep up with zeal the observance,
with all customary marks of respect, of the great days of the
Church — that is to say, feasting on New Year's Day and Candle-
mas, fighting their cocks on Shrove Tuesday, eating parched peac
on Carling Sunday, carrying round the plough at Christmas, getting
up to see the sun dance at Easter Day, on May Day beating the
bounds, according to ancient custom of the Church ; and all with
the drinking of ale continually, both small ale and October, accord-
ing to their means, and plenty of honest quarter-staff, bull and
badger baiting, wrestling and boxing, to keep up the spirits of the
people. Moreover, there are among us, though many staunch

THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 3

Catholics, few, indeed, of the vermin who,undei the name of Inde-
pendents, Nonconformists, Whigs, and what not, have within the
last eighty years murdered one King, driven another from his
throne, and do still keep a third from the noble inheritance and
earthly crown which are his by Divine Right. These reasons seem
to me quite sufficient, without further inquiry, to account for the
great blessings which we of the North Country enjoy in the shape
of visits and messsages from the dead, supernatural warnings, with
omens, prognostications, and the spirit of prophecy. As regards
fairies and certain strange spectres which are reported to linger
among our old ruins, I say nothing : first, because I cannot under-
stand the purpose served in the Great Universal Scheme by the
race of fairies ; and next, because, as regards the spectres, it is a
thing incomprehensible to me why the ghosts of mere obscure and
lowly-born persons, such as Cuddy the Reaper, or Nelly the Knocker,
should be allowed so great a distinction as to continue among us,
although it is seemly and becoming that the souls of great persons,
such as that of the late Countess of Derwentwater (which I hear
hath been recently reported to have been seen by many at Dilston)
should be allowed to remain on earth as long as they please, either
for the sake of weeping over the past, or of lingering in spots for-
merly loved, until they can take their place in Heaven.

On the Eve of St. John, in the year 1703, when Thomas Forster,
Esquire, of Etherston, the elder, was Sheriff for Northumberland,
I, Dorothy, his daughter, was at the Manor House, Banborough,
where I was staying under charge of my old nurse Judith, in order
to see the Midsummer Fire. 'Twas the same year in which my
elder brother Thomas, coming of age, entered into possession of
that noble inheritance of the Bamborough estates, to which he was
heir in comparency with my aunt Dorothy, Lady Crewe. The
estates included the village and Manor House, with the castle by
the sea, and a great many other lands, manors, farms, and houses,
of which an account shall presently be given. The house on this
evening was filled with his companions, come to see the famous
midnight fire ; and after the manner of young gentlemen, they
were killing the time between supper and twelve of the clock with
drinking and singing.

The fire was built every year upon the seashore north of the
castle, where a broad space of level sand lies between the links and
the water, uncovered even at high tide. The custom of the St.
John Baptist's Fire goeth back beyond the memory of man — it is
so ancient that its origin is lost : it is so much esteemed that tne
folk would no more think of letting it be forgotten or neglected
than the girls would forget to dream of husbands on St. Agnes'
Eve, or to hide the men's shoes on Easter morning. Mr. Hilyard,
who hath always something to say concerning the ancient world,
will have it that the Midsummer Fire is nothing in the world but a
pagan rite, videlicet, a fire built and lit in honour of the god Baal,

1—2

4 DORO THY P ORSTER.

and of Phoenician origin ; that is to say, it came from Tyre, of
which city Hiram once was king, whose sailors navigated the world
in the service of Solomon, as is very well known, bringing to the
harbours of the Holy Land gold from India and tin from Britain.
For which reason, he saith, and in lasting remembrance of that
wise Prince, the Church hath done well to continue the practice,
and to place under the protection of St. John Baptist that rite
which formerly was part of the worship of a false god, and would,
therefore, without such protection, lay open those who practise
it to the wiles and temptations of the enemy.

From all quarters the people come a holiday-making, and to see
the Bamborough Fire. They come from Lucker and from Spindle-
ton, from the Sea Houses of North Sunderland, from Belf ord, which
is six miles away, and from Ellingham, which is ten. It is the chief
annual festival at Bamborough, even greater than the Hagameny
carrying of the plough at Alnwick ; the gipsies come and set up
tents upon the sands ; there is always a travelling show or two,
with men who do strange things, and booths where gingerbread is
sold ; and there is all day long cock-fighting, with cudgelling,
quarter-staff, and wrestling. The rustics come at daybreak, the
farmers ride into the place early in the day, and there is a vast deal
of drinking, eating, and singing long before the time comes for
firing the pile. The younger men build up the pile with wood,
artfully laying dry branches and twigs over and among the big logs,
so as to raise a sudden and lofty flame ; the boys look on and run
about, and tease and fight each other ; the girls are making wreaths
and garlands with midsummer rush, vervain, and St. John's wort ;
the older women and matrons stand together and talk. It is a
subject for gratitude to think how simple are the pleasures of
country women, since a long talk is, to most, their chief relaxation
and delight ; their husbands, poor souls, must still be drinking or
smoking tobacco, or looking on at fights or banging each other with
quarter-staves. As for the older men, if they are of the better
sort, they sit together in the inn ; and if they are of the lower
kind, they commonly lean against door-posts, each with a pannikin
in his hand, and slowly drink and slowly speak (because a rustic's
words are few, though his wisdom is great) in the soft Northumbrian
burr, which I, for one, have ever loved so much, and cannot, if I
would, lay aside. The ingenious Mr. De Foe hath lately called it a
' hollow jawing in the throat,' which is, by his leave, a rude and
ignorant way of describing it, and more fitly applied to the rough
talk of the Border Scotch. It is a way of speaking which cannot
be set down on paper, therefore all that follows is written as if it
had been spoken in the mincing, affected way of St. James Street,
or the rough tongue of the London Mob

c Oh, nurse !' I cried, c when will it be midnight ?'
4 Patience, lass,' replied the old woman. ' Time is a sluggard for
the voung, but for the old he gallops.'

THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 5

I was sitting in the parlour with my old nurse Judith, waiting
impatiently for the time ; the loud talk of the gentlemen was heard
from the dining-room. Presently my eyelids began to close, and
my restless fingers became still. Then my head fell upon the tall
back of the chair, and I was asleep. Nurse let me sleep till the
clock struck two-quarters after eleven, when she awoke me, put on
my hat, and tied a handkerchief about my neck, and so we sallied
forth. As we left the house, the cold air, the shouts of the people
outside, and the singing of tha gentlemen within —

1 When candlesticks they serve for bells ;

And frying-pans they use for ladles ;
And in the sea they dig for wells ;
And porridge-pots they use for cradles—

completely awakened me, and I shivered, threw up my head, and
felt no more sleepiness, and ran, laughing and shouting, to the
sand-hills from which I was to see the show.

The night was clear, with never a cloud, and a bright full moon
riding in the sky — yet in this season, even at midnight, it is so light
that there needs no moon. The wind had dropped, and the waves,
which sometimes break so high and terrible on this coast, were now
little ripples which rolled along the sand in a whisper. Above the
sands the great castle stood, a grand sight to behold, its rugged
walls either showing white in the moonlight, or, where in deep
shadow, black and gloomy, until the red blaze of the bonfire
presently lit them up, and made them yet more awful.

The sands were crowded with the noisy people. In the midst
stood the great pile waiting for the torch. Everybody was talking,
laughing, shouting, and singing. Upon the sea there lay a broad
belt of white moonlight, very pretty to look upon. To me, think-
ing of what Mr. Hilyard had told me, it seemed that perhaps when
King Solomon's sailors came they may have built their idolatrous
fire on the same place, and by the light of the same moon. But
perhaps there were then as yet no Forsters in Northumberland.
They are, it may be admitted, of later date than the age of Solomon
and King Hiram. Perhaps, too, there was no castle. It seemed
to me a great pity that Solomon's sailors should come so far and
not be able to see the castle after all ; and this, although they had
the glories of the Temple should they get home in safety to the
ports of Joppa, Sidon, and Tyre. But then the clock struck twelve,
and suddenly the fire blazed up, and in a moment seized on the
whole of the pile, and rolled upward in vast great tongues of flame
with a cracking and roaring very frightful to behold and hear.

' Thus,' said Mr. Hilyard once, * thus the false prophets on
Carmel danced and shouted round their altars ; through such a fire
the children were passed.'

Indeed, when one remembers the wild faces of the men and
women who leaped about that fire, there remains no doubt that in
the madness caused by the blaze and ro$r of the flames, and tfce

6 DOROTHY FORSTER.

drink they had taken, and the shouts and dancing, it needed little
to make even our own people toss their little ones through the flames,
as, it is said, but I know not with what truth, is done to this day by
the wild Kerns of Ireland.

In half an hour the first fury of the flames was spent, the small
branches being all burnt, and there remained only the steady
burning of the big logs. And then the young men began to leap
with shouts across the fire, and the girls threw their wreaths upon
it and sang again, and again danced round and round the pile.

4 Let us go, Judith,' said I, frightened by all this &tf>uting.

'Wait, child,' the old woman replied. 'Wait, my dearie ; they
are going to bring out the Midsummer Witch. We will go down
and learn thy fortune.'

At this point, indeed, there was a rush of the boys, always the
most zealous in every ceremony or public entertainment, across
the sands, over which was now seen approaching a procession of
half-a-dozen girls, walking slowly, and singing a kind of hymn. In
their midst, as one could presently discern, there walked a girl
dressed all in white, and veiled from head to foot. Her com-
panions were carrying, according to custom, wreaths of vervain,
midsummer rush, St. John's wort, and mother-wort.

' Tis Jenny Lee,' said Nurse Judith, half to herself. ' They told
me she was to be the St. John's Eve Witch. A proper witch, I
warrant. As for her father, sure he gave a love-drink to her
mother, else how should an honest farmer's wench go follow a
gipsy tramp, even though he wedded her in church and called him-
self the king of his thievish people, and was, as a body might say,
as well set up a man with as fine a leg as a woman can desire, and
as proud as Lucifer — Lord forgive us ! And on Midsummer Eve !'
She looked round as if she expected something fearful with claws
and fiery eyes, and crossed herself — a Papistical custom, but com-
mon in Northumberland. ' If you want a witch, you needn't go
farther than his daughter. They say she can do things already for
which in the old times a poor old woman would be burned — my
own great- grandmother for one, in King James's time. But that's
a hundred years ago, and the world is changed. Witches can come
and go without let or hindrance, which is a shame in a Christian
country. Yet it is a blessed thing to live in times when there is
no fear of being burned for a witch when you are only old and
toothless. Did I tell you, my dearie, how I once saw a witch fly
across the moon, broomstick and all ?

She had often told me that story ; but even at that tender age
I could not believe how a cloud, as it seemed to everybody else,
•should be to her a witch astride of a broomstick.

' To tell fortunes,' Judith went on, ' one must either be a witch
or a gipsy. Jenny is both gipsy and witch, they say. Look 1
Here comes his honour with the gentlemen and Mr. Hilyard.

As the procession came across the sands, the white- veiled figure
looking strange and ghastly in the moonlight, the gentlemen came

THE EVE OF ST. JOHN.

I

tmt of the hrnise and walked arm-in-arm down the street towards
the shore. My brother Tom, it may be supposed, had taken a glass
more than the strength of his head allowed, for he staggered a little
as he went. With him were two or three of his friends — Ned
Swinburne and Jack Swinburne, brothers of Sir William of
Caplu-aton ; Mad Jack Hall, of Otterbourne, whose presence- always
foreboded misfortune to the Forsters ; young Mr. Peregrine Wid-
drington, brother to my lord ; and Mr. Antony Hilyard, Tom's
former tutor. They all trooped along together, noisily laughing.

By this time the girls had placed the Midsummer Witch on a
sort of throne or stool of state covered with red cloth and flowers

' The Midsummer Witch must be a maid,' said Judith, * and a
firstborn child, else the spell will not work.'

They placed in her hand a vessel of some kind with a long and
narrow neck.

' It is filled with water,' continued Judith, c drawn by herself
from the sea on this very evening. Now, child, double thumb and
come along.'

Everybody knows that to double your thumb in your right hand
averts danger. I complied, and thus secured we ran down the
hillock, and joined the group.

The villagers were standing round their newly-made witch in a
respectful ring, the middle of which was occupied by Tom and his
friends.

* Now, fair witch and pretty sorceress,' said he, pretending not
to know the veiled girl, ' tell us our fortunes, and we will reward
thee with a kiss, if your ghostship allows us to see your face.1

But everybody knew very well who was the witch.

' Your honour must put something of your own in the jar, §aid
Judith.

Meantime the veiled girl sat as if she heard nothing ; in her lap
the jar, and her hands folded round it.

' Drop your ring in it,' whispered Judith, ' No need to tell her
your name or the name of any gentleman. She is veiled, and
cannot see.'

Mr. Forster drew a signet-ring, engraved with his arms, from his
finger, and placed it in the narrow-necked jar.

' Now,' he said, laughing, * tell me the fortune of the ring and
its owner.'

She put her hand into the vessel, and took out the ring. Then
she replied slowly, as if she were looking for words fitting the
fortune she was to tell :

' Great place, great chase : near the grave, yet one to save.
Great name, great blame ; far off to die, at home to lie.'

That was a strange fortune : what could it mean ?

' I said she was a witch,' murmured Judith. ' Take back your
ring, sir.'

The girl held out her open hand. Strange ! the stone had fallen
from the ring, and lay upon her palm.

8 DOROTH Y FORSTER.

' Lucky,' said my brother, ' that it did not fall in the sand. The
sea-water loosened it. "Great name,'" he continued, a little
sobered ; * what is it ? " Great blame," or " great fame "— " far
off to die " — well, what man can die more than once ? " At home
to lie "—one would wish to lie with one's own people. " Great
blame !" — who cares for blame ? A good fortune this. Now, Ned,
try your luck.'

Mr. Edward Swinburne, a young man of my brother's age or
thereabouts, stepped forward, and placed a piece of money in the
jar.

Said the girl, taking out the money :

' Prison walls and prison-bed ;
Who lies there is stark and dead.'

' 1 wish to heaven, Tom,' said the young man angrily, ' that we
had stayed at home, and sat out t'other bottle.'

Then Perry Widdrington took his place.

The oracle was more pleasant to hear. The voice of the girl was
low, and she never moved the whole time :

' Danger by land and danger by sea :
Yet your death at last in your bed shall be.'

' Thank you for nothing, witch,' said Peregrine, stepping back.

' As for me,' said mad Jack Hall, whom none of the Forsters,
except Tom, loved, because his presence seems to bode misfortune
to us — besides, a man of forty had no business drinking and
carousing with these young men — ' as for me, I will have none of
thy fortune, good nor bad. There's plenty good and plenty bad in
the locker. Good or bad, what matters, so there's beef on board
and drink in can ?'

His rosy face looked as if he had already taken as much drink
out of the can as he could well hold.

' Come, brave toper — come, my lusty Tony,' cried the lad Pere-
g-ine, clapping Mr. Hilyard on the shoulder : * try thy fortune,
man!'

The young man ought to have shown more reverence to the
scholar, but learning and Perry Widdrington did not indeed regard
each other with respect. Besides, the truth is that Mr. Hilyard
was himself somewhat inclined to stagger as he went.

Mr. Hilyard was a young man then, although so learned.
Perhaps he was about five or six-and-twenty. He wore no hat, his
wig was awry and out of curl ; his cheeks were red, his neckcloth
was disordered ; he stood behind the others, as if he did not by
right of birth (which was the case) belong to them. His merry
laughing face, when the fire lit it up, seemed filled with the joy of
wine and song : the poet Anacreon (whose verses he afterwards
translated) could not have been more jovial to look upon. His
nose was broad, his lips full ; his eyes were large, his figure short
and squab.

' My fortune ?' he asked, with a laugh— though why should fa

THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 9

langh over §o grave a matter as his own fate ? ' My fortune ?
What better fortune than to drink and royster among the gentle-
men of Northumberland ?'

However, he placed a coin in the girl's jar, and waited as if he
was ready for anything besides that fortune might have for him.

' Fortune has no more to give me,' Mr. Hilyard said presently.
1 Or, if anything, she keeps it concealed in a basket, as the Egyptian
his secret, who, to one asking, replied, " Since thou seest it covered
what impudence is this, to -inquire into a hidden thing ?" Keep
silence, priestess.'

But the girl gave his fortune :

1 Love a fair girl all your life,
Yet shalt never have a wife.
Thou shalt rise and she shall fall ;
Fear not thou wilt top them all.'

' Why,' cried Mr. Hilyard, ' here is an excellent fortune indeed !
Good Sybil, I thank thee. Yet Haman rose and topped them all.
So did Stylites, and so doth Steeple Jack. So does every poor
devil at Tyburn Tree. Nevertheless, I thank thee. Delphic oracles
are ever obscure. And there are many ways of rising — did one
only know them.'

'Enough fooling,' said my brother. 'Judith, give the girl a
shilling for her trouble.' He tossed her the coin. * Come, Ned —
come, Peregrine — come, Jack ! Let us go back and crack t'other
bottle.'

They returned as they had come, arm-in-arm, tramping up the
road, and the scholar began to sing as they went. He had a clear,
sweet voice :

' He dran* till night, and he drank till noon,

The thirst in his gullet was such ;
He never could drink a drop too soon — too soon :
And never, never, never — no never —
Never a drop too much.'

I whispered, * Judith,' when they were quite gone, ' let me now
try my fortune, too. Is it not my turn now ?'

But Judith was shaking her head.

' That shall you not,' she said angrily. * Here is a fine Mid-
summer Witch for you, with her bad luok for everybody ! Heard
one ever the like ? I would duck her in the sea for two straws.
And for all these gallant gentlemen, too !'

'Oh, nurse !' But the oracle sat as if she heard not. 'Nurse, I
must have my fortune told — I must indeed.'

'Yes — yes, cried the women of the village, pressing round.
'Miss Dorothy's fortune 1 Let us have Miss Dorothy's fortune,
too.'

Judith gave way. She was as curious as the rest to kr.ow what
this wonderful Midsummer Witch would say. Yet she was
afraid.

,0 DOROTHY FORSTER,

1 Hast ever a crooked pin about thee, child ?' she asked. ' So—
tliis will do. Drop it in the jar. Now—double thumb again,

The girl once more put her hand into the jar, and brought out
the pin. As for me, I waited in a strange expectancy. Oh, what
would she give me ? For the moment I felt as if this farmer's
wench, whose father was but a common gipsy, actually knew the
will of Heaven and could control the future. Impious thought !
And yet— it is truly wonderful— one knows not how— one cannot
say why— the predictions of humble women are so often fufilled.
Nurse Judith's great-grandmother— the one who was burned for a

witch predicted, as everybody still remembers, the tempest which

blew down the roof of Belford Church, and on her way to the
stake foretold a sudden and violent death for him who bore witness
against her. Wonderful to relate, the man was, only a year after-
wards, done to death in a fray with the Redesdale men. Yet that
little Jenny Lee, a milkmaid, a dairymaid, who dropped me a
curtsey when she passed me — that she should — it was impossible !
What she said, however, was ambiguous enough for any fortune :

' Lovers one, and two, and three,
Lovers of high and of low degree,
None of them all shall her husband be.'

If none of my lovers was to become my husband, I thought, whom
should I have to marry ?

'Poor lass!' the women murmured. "Tis a strange unlucky
night for the quality.'

It is a foolish thing that one should remember such a childish
play, but I never forgot any of the fortunes told on that Mid-
summer Eve. Nor, I think, did my nurse, as long as she lived,
which was for ten years more. But now Judith dragged me away
roughly, though the oracle had not yet finished telling the fortunes.

'Come, child,' she said. 'It is bed-time. Fuss enough made
about a girl ; silly talk — though 'tis St. John's Eve and all. Come,
Dorothy ! a maid of ten has got nothing to do with lovers. Lovers,
indeed ! Who ever heard of such things ?'

She, however, did heed them very much, for her lips kept mutter-
ing as we came away from the great fire, round which the country
people were now pressing and crowding together to know their for-
tune. What Jenny told them, I know not, but there now arose
shouts of laughter. Yet to me it seemed as if they ought not to
laugh when such melancholy fortunes had been told, and while the
great fire — the fire of Baal — was still burning clear and bright, a
terrible thing to look upon, just as it had done long ago when
Bolomon's sailors landed here, before King Ida built the castle, and
before ever a Forster was seen in the North Country.

' " Far off to die, at home to lie," ' Judith muttered. ( What did
the child mean ? Where did she learu it ? I hope his honour may
not be disturbed by such a thin^.'

THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. ll

His honour was not, bocauso, with his companions, he was put to
bed that illicit too drunk to remember anything.

' "Why, to be sure,' the nurse went on, 'it is only a play. And
yot it is an old play, and we must never let it drop, or bad luck
will come to us. Nobody knows who is abroad on such a night as
this. Spirits whisper — I felt a cold breath on my own cheek just
now. Tis a fearful night. Say prayers, my dear, and get to sleep.'

Late as I had gone to bed, I was up betimes and dressed by six.
"When I went down the stairs I found Mr. Hilyard already up, and
talking with no other than the girl Jenny Lee herself at the door.

I know not whether he had been, like the other?, drunk the night
before. He was quite sober now, and composed and grave in his
manner, as becomes a scholar and was his wont in the morning
But his eyes were red, as sometimes happens after much wine.

* Come, girl,' he was saying, ' thou shalt not put me off with non-
sense. Who taught thee the rhymes ?'

Jenny was a tall girl of twelve or thirteen, who might have been
seventeen, so well grown was she. Judith called her a gipsy : her
father, who was dead, belonged to that race. She had a gipsy's
black hair and bright black eyes ; also a gipsy's swarthy skin, red
lips, and white teeth. She bore on her head a pail of milk. When
Mr. Hilyard spoke to her she looked confused, and hesitated.

' Come/ he said. ' Here is little Miss Dorothy. As you hope
for any favour from this young lady, tell us where you learned those
fortunes.'

1 Perhaps they were whispered by the spirits,' said the girl im-
pudently. ' Everybody knows that on St. John's Eve the good
people are about.'

4 Perhaps they were not whispered. Perhaps I know where they
came from/

I suppose there was something in his look which she read, because
•he dropped her eyes.

1 Telling misfortunes to gentlefolk is no laughing matter, my
girl. Such prophecies sometimes bring their own fulfilment. It is
recorded of Marius — but that concerns thee not. Who was it,
Jenny ?'

4 Granny,' she whispered. * Granny. Oh, she is a proper witch !'

' Of course, I knew it,' he replied. * Yet I saw none of your
people among the gipsies yesterday.'

She replied that, in fact, they were in trouble, one of them having
been unjustly hanged for stealing a sheep (the whole tribe being
ready to swear an alibi), and another having been recently flogged
through the town of Berwick-upon-Tweed ; and that as regards
Bamborough, the last time they were camped in that place there
were so many complaints about pigs, geese, and even cows dying
suddenly and mysteriously (their bodies being taken away by the
gipsies and eaten), and so many threats of throwing the old woman
into tho pond for a witch, that they were afraid of coming any

n DOROTHY FORSTER.

nearer. She was indeed — T knew her well — a most wonderful and
terrible old woman to look at, being doubled up with rheumatism,
and wrinkled and puckered in the face very curiously, yet with a
pair of coal-black eyes which shone like fire.

* She cast the fortunes of the gentlemen and Miss Dorothy with
the cards,' Jenny Lee went on ; ' and yours too, sir. Oh, granny's
words come true — every one !'

' Where did your people come from last ?' asked Mr. Hilyard.

' They came from Lancashire, by way of Shotley ; and they are
going to Wooler first, and then across the Cheviots and to Jed-
burgh.'

* From Lancashire.'

Mr. Hilyard stroked his chin and looked grave. Presently he
began to speak with her eagerly in a tongue which I did not under-
stand. Yet I knew very well that it was the language of the gipsy
folk, and that Mr. Hilyard could talk it, being a most ingenious
gentleman who could speak many languages, such as Dutch and
French, and even thieves' tongue, which they call Canting. This
he learned in London, while lurking (at great risk of being knocked
o' the head) among the thieves and rogues of that great and wicked
city. I believe there were also other weighty reasons, known to
Oxford vintners and others who had trusted him, why for a time
he should lie snug. You will hear presently how a person so learned
and of such curious accomplishments became a resident in our house,
and our dependent.

After a serious talk, Jenny went away, dropping me a curtsey
without letting the pail fall from her head, or a drop of milk to be
spilled. Then Mr. Hilyard hemmed twice, and said :

'I was saying to the girl, Miss Dorothy, that the poultry of
Bamboroughshire must not be stolen, or rogues will meet their
deserts.'

This he may have said among other things, but I knew very well
indeed that he had sent a much more important message. In those
days of unquiet, when there were secret communications and letters
constantly passing from hand to hand, and especially between Lan-
cashire and Northumberland, even a child could understand that in
some way or other Mr. Hilyard and the old gipsy woman were con-
cerned in letter-carrying.

* It is strange,' he went on, speaking gravely, and with his eyes
fixed, as if he was reading from a book, which was his way — ' it is
strange that the girl doth not forget the language of her father's
people, though her mother brought her away so young. Much I
fear that when she grows older she will leave the ways of Christian
folk and follow with the camp. 'Tis a strange wild people ! Nor
hath it ever been made certain whence they came or where they
were first seen, though some say Bohemia and some say Egypt.
As for their language, which I have been at some pains to learn,
that seems to have in it something of the Chaldasan. Meantime
forget, child, the pretended oracles of this gipsy Delphic. As fgt

THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 13

his honour, your brother, he will doubtless in some Tray achieve
greatness, as his grandfather before him, Sir William, sheriff of the
county ; and what the witch says is true, that great name brings
great blame. Themistocles is recorded to have compared himself
to a tree, the leaves of which are plucked by every passer-by ; yet
in days of heat they all run to it for shelter. And as for prophecy,
every man is Faber Fortunes, or maker of his own fortune, which
is the reason why some do spoil themselves in haste and hurry of
making ; so that we may admire the wisdom of Vespasian, who
stamped his coin with a dolphin and an anchor, and the legend,
Soon enough if well enough. Forget the oracles, child : seek not to
know the intentions of Providence : and doubtless when your
brother and the gentlemen are ready to take their breakfast, they
will have forgotten, by reason of the potency of his honour's port,
the predictions of last night.'

It is, indeed, as difficult to keep a gentleman of Northumberland
from wine as a woman from talk.

4 The goats of Candia,' Mr. Hilyard resumed, stroking his chin,
and changing his manner, ' being shot with an arrow, straightway
choose the herb dittany in order to cure the wound ; the tortoise,
having eaten a viper, seeks for wild marjoram ; the dragon, when
his sight fails, cleans his eyes with fennel. Cranes, for the good of
the stomach, drink sea-water. The wise man, Miss Dorothy, after
a bottle or two of port over-night, taketh a tankard of small-beer
in the morning.'

He disappeared, in search of his remedy, and I saw him no more
that morning. At noon the gentlemen took their breakfast, and
presently rode away all together, laughing and shouting, and I
never heard from any of them mention or remembrance of this
oracle of St. John's Eve.

CHAPTER IL

THE FORSTER3.

THERE are in Northumberland (one may thank Heaven for it) a«
many Forsters as there are Fenwicks, and more. First, it hath
been said, but irreverently, the Lord made Adam and Eve ; and
then He made the Forsters. They arc, indeed, as ancient a family
as any in the county ; as ancient in the county as the Percys, who
belong also to Sussex, and are now swallowed up by the Seymours ;
or the Radcliffes, who came from Cumberland. The ancient and
original seat of the Forsters from time immemorial has beenatEther-
ston, which is, being interpreted, the Adder Stone. An old ring of
the family, now in possession of my brother, John Forster, Esquire,
of Etherston, commemorates the origin of the name, being shaped
like unto a twisted viper with his tail in his mouth, and set with a
precious stone. There is a snake or dragon connected <vith many

f4 DOROTH Y FORSTER.

old and illustrious families : for instance, there is the loathly worm
of Spindleston ; there is the dragon of the Lambtons of Durham ;
there is the Conyers' dragon ; there is a Sussex dragon ; and the
princely House of Lusignan, I am told by Mr. Hilyard, is descended
from Melusine, a witch, or sorceress, who was half -woman, half-
serpent. The legend of the Forsters' adder is lost. Mr. Hilyard
once made a ballad or song about it, but so full of knights, shep-
herds, nymphs, and cool grots (of which there are not many in our
part of the country), that I thought it fantastical, although ingenious.
The shield of the Forsters is — argent : a chevron vert between three
bugle-horns stringed gules, and for crest a bent arm and a hand bear-
ing a broken lance. The Etherston quartering is also argent : on a
bend cottised sable three martlets. The motto is ' Si f ractus f ortis ;'
but, like the Fenwicks, we have our family legend, namely :

' Let us dearlie then holde

To mynde ther worthineo
That which our parents olde
Hath left us to posses.'

There are branches of the Forsters everywhere : at Stokesley in
Yorkshire, at Durham (where they are called the ' Friendly For-
Bters '), at Tuggall Hall, at Aldermarston, at Berwick, at East
Bolton, in Jamaica, in London, and I know not where else.
With these branches we have nothing here to do, save to mention
them with respect as flourishing offshoots of a brave old stock.
Especially, however, to be considered is the noble branch of
Bamborough, founded by Sir John Forster, the valiant and trusty
Warden of the March, under good Queen Elizabeth, for twenty-
seven years, and Governor of Bamborough Castle. It was to his
son, Sir Claudius, that King James made a grant of the castle and
manor. This made him a man of greater importance than his first-
cousin, Mr. Forster, of Etherston. Yet it is a proud thing to be
the Head of the House, which will ever be the happiness of the
Forster who holds Etherston.

The Forsters have always been, like most Northumbrian families,
blessed with numerous progeny. One of them had twenty-one
sons and a daughter ; being unsurpassed in this respect, even in
Northumberland, except by Sir William Swinburne's father, who,
to be sure, had thirty children. How great a happiness to bring
ftp so many valiant sons to fight England's enemies and maintain
the glory of the country ! By marriage, especially before the
Reformation, into which many noble Houses of the north would
never enter, the Forsters were connected with nearly every family
of gentle birth in the north ; videlicet, Lords Crewe, Wharton,
Hilton, and Ogle ; the Radcliffes, Shaf toes, Swinburnes, Chaytors,
Selbys, Herons, Carnabys, Crasters, Ridleys, Fenwicks, Salkelds,
Grays of Chillingham and of Howick ; the Coles of Brancepeth,
and the Ordes. By marriage with a Radcliffe, the Forsters of

THE FORSTERS. 1$

B,r.nborough acquired the Manor of Blanchland ; and by marriage
with a Kelby, that of Thornton. One of the Forsters was Lord
Chief Justice of England, another was a Puisne Judge ; many of
tin-in were Sheriffs and Knights of the Shire. Their history is, in
a word, part and parcel of the history of Northumberland itself ;
that is to say, of the great and glorious realm of England.

This book is written for no other purpose than to set forth the
true character of a gallant and honourable gentleman which hath
been of late defamed ; and especially by one who hath eaten hia
bread, drunk his wine, and received many favours at his hands.
The name of this gentleman is Thomas Forster, generally called
the Younger. It was he who commanded the Prince's English
forces during the unhappy Rebellion. The hand which writes his
history is that of his sister. I am, it is true, unpractised in the
penman's art, therefore unskilled in the trick of making the false
appear the true. Yet I can narrate faithfully the things which
happened ; I can show hypocrites and villains, stripped of their
disguise, the horrid wretches which they are ; and I can tell how
gallant gentlemen and loyal subjects of the lawful sovereign of
these realms (whom may God restore !) were betrayed to their own
undoing.

No one should be able to speak of a man so well as his sister.
As for his wife, she knows him only when he has arrived at man-
hood, and has no knowledge of the time when he was a stripling,
inexperienced and ignorant, though perhaps full of brave intentions,
or a boy at school under ferule and discipline, or a curly-headed
laughing child. The sister remembers the growth of her brother's
mind ; she has watched (if she be an elder sister) the hesitations of
the boy, his first doubtful flights, seeming, like the needle when
the compass is shaken, to incline now here, now there, until it
settles towards a steady north, as towards the straight and narrow
path of honour which leadeth to heaven. To a wife, a man pre-
sents himself completed, at his best ; like a finished work, a picture
framed, a poem written and printed. As for myself, it is true that
I remember not my brother Tom as a child, because he was older
than myself ; but I knew him as a young man while he wore his own
hair still tied up by a ribbon, and went about dressed in grey sagathy
and woollen stockings, and great thick shoes for weekday use ; with
broadcloth and silver buttons, thread stockings, and silver buckles
in his shoes, and a silk ribbon for his hair, on Sundays and holy-
days. A brave and gallant lad he was, better at hunting than at
reading, fonder of sport than of books, hearty with all, ready with
a laugh and a friendly word with rich and poor ; and gifted with a
natural love for friendliness, companionship, and good-fellowship.
which made him beloved of all. He is dead now, and his fortunes
broken and gone, and his enemies may say, as in the Otterbourne

1 Now we have carry'd all Bambroughshirt,
All the welthe in the world kave we.'

16 DORO THY FORSTER.

Many have drawn comparisons between Mr. Forster and his
gallant companion-in-arms, Lord Derwent water, to the disadvan-
tage of the former. It hath never been my pretence or opinion
that my brother was possessed of a nature so strangely and so richly
compounded as that of Lord Derwentwater. He, it must be owned,
drew all hearts by qualities as rare as they are admirable. But I
make bold to maintain that if loyalty, fidelity, and courage may
command respect, then we must give respect to the memory of Mr.
Thomas Forster. These virtues were conspicuous in him, as in all
his line. Like a river in a champagne country which runs evenly
between its banks, so is the race of the Forsters ; like the river
Coquet, which is now deep, now shallow, now gliding through open
fields, now running under rocks, now under high hanging woods, is
the race of the Radcliffes : and, like that river, they are most beau-
tiful just before the end.

The father of this Thomas Forster was Thomas Forster, com-
monly called the Elder, of Etherston. He remained a private
gentleman, taking no office until after the death of his cousins of
Bamborough. Then he became Sheriff of the County and, between
the years 1706 and 1710, Knight of the Shire. In the House of
Commons he made no greater figure than a gentleman of Tory and
High Church principles generally desires to make. Thus he was
never a prater, nor did he waste the time of the House with idle
talk and argument, being always well advised beforehand which side
was the right, whose arguments would be the better, and prepared
to vote, when called upon, with his friends. He, therefore, ac-
quired the respect which Parliament is always ready to accord to
members who sit silent and vote with their party. It would, indeed,
have pleased him best could the measures have been brought for-
ward silently, and voted without any speeches at all. ' It was a
poor reward,' he said, ' for the fatigue of a journey frcm Etherston
to Newcastle, and from Newcastle to town, to sit out a long and
tedious debate, when one's mind was already made up, and argu-
ment can produce no more effect than swanshot on the back of a
tortoise.' He married, while in his twenty-first year, his second
cousin Frances, daughter of Sir William Forster of Bamborough.
By her he had issue, namely, Thomas Forster, aforesaid ; John,
who is now the possessor of Etherston ; Margaret, the eldest of the
family, married to Sir William Bacon, of Staward ; Elizabeth and
William, who both died young ; and myself, Dorothy. It was the
misfortune of these children that their mother, who was as virtuous
and prudent as she was beautiful, died while they were all of tender
years, and I, for one, but a little lassie indeed, too young to feel
the blow which had fallen upon us, and too ignorant to join in the
resentment which filled the breasts of my elders when my father,
forgetting the incomparable virtues of the wife he had buried,
married a second time. This marriage lasted but a short while,
ending most tragically in the shooting by accident of madam.
Would not one think that any man would plainly see ir +«be death

THE fiORSTERS. 17

II

of two wives the direct injunction of Heaven to wed no more? Yet
my father tempted Providence and married a third time, his wife
being now a certain Barbara Lawes, from the South Country, whose
birth was not such as to warrant this elevation, and who understood
not the Northumberland people, or their speech, or their ways
She brought her husband two children, Ralph, who lived to be
thirty years of age, and Mary, now married respectably to Mr.
Proctor.

As to my father, he was the easiest and kindest of men ; all he
asked for in the world was rest and a quiet life ; to this he was
Furely entitled by reason of his birth, his fortune, and his good
In '.-il th. His fortune was moderate : an estate of some few hun-
dreds a year, and a house as good as any, except the great castles,
in the county. Etherston Hall is a mile or so from the little hamlet
of Lucker, and four miles from Bamborough. It is a large, square
house, as full of modern conveniences as any gentleman may desire ;
the sitting-rooms are wainscoted with walnut- wood ; it has sash-
windows, glazed with crown glass, which make the rooms light and
pleasant in all weathers ; there are stoves to burn a coal fire, as
well as andirons for wood ; in the parlour there is a high-backed
chair for madam, and a great oaken settle, for my father loved the
wooden seat of the North Country, with its cupboard below, in
which were kept all kinds of stores ; there is a shelf of-^iooks if
any want to read ; there are still-room and dairy ; and there is a
great cellar well stocked with ale, both small and October — wine,
both French, Spanish, and home-made — and whisky, brandy, and
Geneva. Outside there is a stately garden full of fruit-trees, and
planted with every kind of flower, fruit, and herb ; and to screen
the house from the cold north and east winds there is a thick plan-
tation, call it rather a small wood or coppice, containing all the
trees that afford thick foliage and shelter, as firs and pines, with
wych-elm, sycamore, ash, rowan, and so fort\ 'Why,' my father
would say, looking round him, 'there is no better house in all
Northumberland for the entertainment of one'p friends ; nor, upon
my word, doth a pipe of tobacco anywhere taste so well, whether it
be on the settle by the fire, or in/he garden beneath a tree. Go
fetch me one, Dorothy, my girl.' feeing how much he loved to be
at home, it may be thought surprising that he should have endured
so long the fatigue of Parliament, the discomforts to a country
gentleman of living in London, and the burden of the long journey
to town and back again. Yet a gentleman must not shrink from
the duties imposed upon him by his position, and when it became
necessary tor him to become Knight of the Shire, he accepted the
office with courage.

I have no cause for repentance as regards the fifth commandment,
and am easy in my conscience concerning my duty to my father
The fifth commandment, although it hath been held by some to
enjoin submission to all one's superiors in rank, fortune, place
Mliuity, or age, yet surely wa-s uevar intended to include step-

2

I

i g DORO TH Y FORSTER.

mothers. If it was, Heaven forgive the Forsters, for they have
greatly sinned. Still, without seeking, like Adam in that pitiful
excuse of his, to shift the blame upon another, it is not unjust to
say that the beginnings of the quarrels were generally made by
madam, who desired to rule her stepchildren, now growing tall and
beyond her control, as if they w"ere still little ones, and her own.
My sister Margaret, the eldest, a girl of uncommon spirit, was quite
able to hold her own. Perhaps madam was wrong when she charged
her with inciting the younger ones to disobedience ; but I am sure
that Tom was right when he, grown too big to be beaten, even by
his father, stood between madam and his little sister Dorothy, swear-
ing that he would not let madam lay finger upon her, whether she
deserved it or not. Let her go beat her own children as much aa
she pleased.

'Dame,' cried her husband, when madam complained, 'must I for
ever be going about with a whip in my hand, like an overseer in a
negro plantation ? Do you let the children alone, and they will let
you alone.'

Then would she sit glum in a corner till I went humbly to ask
pardon, and all for a time would go well again ; and over a pipe of
tobacco and a pot of October, my father would talk with Tom about
his horses and his hounds. When my sister Margaret married and
went away, the household became more peaceful. Between Tom
and myself — I being a child, and he a lad who was always ready
to promise anything, besides that he regarded his younger sister
with singular affection — it was presently arranged and understood
that when we grew up we would live together away from Etherston
Hall, and quite apart from madam. The compact was made long
before it seemed likely that it would ever be carried out ; but then,
who knows the decrees of Fate ? Nothing, says Mr. Hilyard,
according to the French proverb, is more certain than the unfore-
seen.

' We will live together,' said Tom. ' Cheer up, Dorothy. We
will go and live together somewhere as soon as I come of age to do
what I please. Then madam will have no one to flout but Jack —
poor Jack !'

It is sad to remember the quarrels which occurred daily between
these jealous children and their stepmother. She would rush into
my father's presence loud in complaint, scolding like a madwoman,
though perhaps it was but a mere trifle, calling loudly for rods and
whippings, lamenting the day that ever she came into a house where
the children were so disobedient, upbraiding her husband for his
lack of severity, and calling on the precepts of Solomon, who is no-
where so clear as on this point of punishing children. (Yet Reho-
boam, who was, no doubt, very soundly flogged, did not turn out
such a son as the wisest of men and fathers could regard with pride.)
On the other side stood Tom with Dorothy ; she hanging her head
and holding her brother by the hand ; he angry, flushed, with fiery
eyes, meeting accusation with denial or with charges of his

THE FORSTERS. 19

When the angry wife flung out of the room, the poor father would
turn a perplexed face to his children.

' It is hard,' he would say, ' that a man cannot come home and
hang up his wig and find peace without quarrels and fault-findings.
Tom, you villain, why anger madam ? Dorothy, child, go ask
pardon for both, and then sit down and let us be happy.'

Peace was attained presently, when, in a happy day, Mr. Hilyard
came to the house. No one, before his arrival, understood how to
tn at the fancies of a whimsical woman, to humour her prejudices,
and to keep her in good temper. Of Mr. Hilyard, more presently.
For the moment, sufficient to note that my father soon learned to
trust in him for the maintenance of an unclouded sky at home ; my
stepmother looked to him for such personal services and attentions
as were necessary to keep her in good temper ; my brother Tom,
for such money (to be begged of my father) as he wanted for his
personal pleasure ; Jack, for mediation in order to save him from
punishment ; and I myself, for amusement and instruction, com.
bined with the fingering of the spinet, of which I was always fond,
and over which I attained, thanks to Mr. Hilyard, a proficiency (I
may fairly say) equalled by few. There was never, sure, such a
tutor in any family as Mr. Antony Hilyard.

By my mother's side we came from the Bamborough Forsters — a
branch of the family more distinguished in the world than the main
stock, and remarkable for the gifts of politeness and love of learn-
ing. Madam Frances Forster was the elder daughter of Sir William
Forster, of Bamborough and Blanchland, by Dorothy Selby, his
wife, daughter of Sir William Selby, and granddaughter of Ferdi-
nando, Lord Fairfax. There were nine children of this marriage,
viz., William, the eldest, who married his second cousin, Elizabeth
Pert Forster, who died in 1698 without issue (she afterwards
married Lord Stawell, and enjoyed a charge of £350 a year upon
the estate) ; John, the second son, who died unmarried in 1699,
aged thirty-one years ; Ferdinando, of whom more immediately ;
Frances, my mother ; and Dorothy, the youngest, whose birth
caused the death of her mother.

This Dorothy, my aunt, grew up a most incomparable beauty, the
equal of whom was not to be seen anywhere in the county. In
those days, and until the death of Ferdinando, there was open house
kept at Bamborough, with so much company and such prodigality
and lavishing of good things as no other house in the county could
show. It was ever a distinction between the Forsters of Etherston
and those of Bamborough, that the former were quiet gentlemen,
lovers of home, and not profuse of expenditure ; while the latter
were large-handed, hospitable, and never so happy as when they
were spending money with open hands and both hands. True, they
had a great estate ; but there is no estate, not even his who owns
Potosi or Golconda, but requiras care in the spending. Sir William
first, and his sons afterwards, lived as freely as if they had an endless
revenue. They were not spendthrifts, nor d they throw money

f-l

20 DO ROTH Y FORS TEK.

away in riotous living, like him who was reduced to feed with the
pigs ; but they lived at a great rate : their house was always open
for anyone who chose ; their stables were full of horses ; their
cellars full of wine ; their rooms full of company ; grooms and
varlets in plenty lived upon them ; they even went to London.
Madam, I remember, was for ever wondering how the Bamborough
people could afford, even with their means, this great expense, and
looking forward to a sudden end. But she was one of those women
who rejoice to play the part of the Trojan Princess, constantly
foretell disaster, concern themselves continually with the affairs of
other people, and are never so well pleased as when they have some
fresh misfortune to discuss, or some certain calamity to predict.

To the beautiful Dorothy the coming and going of fresh company
meant the arrival and dismissal of so many lovers, for all men fell
in love with her at first sight. Those who. were too old lamented
their youth ; those who were married wished they were single for
her sake ; those who were rich trusted in their acres ; those who
were poor hoped she would accept their poverty, In a word, they
all with one consent began to ask her in marriage before she waa
seventeen years of age. But she would have none of them ; not
from pride, nor from a desire to make a great match (because, being
a Forster, she knew that she could marry no one better than a plain
Northumberland gentleman), but because she was young and happy,
contented to wait single for a while, and because of all the lovers
there was none who touched her heart.

'My dear,' she said to me once, long afterwards, ' a maid so young
is simple, and expects more than she can get ; this man is too tall,
that man too short, another too fat, another is boorish, another
drinks too much wine, another has a hasty temper — as if she must
needs have a man made on purpose for her. The gentlemen pleased
me well enough to converse with, though sometimes they were
coarse in their talk (a thing which gentlewomen cannot too strongly
reprehend) ; but I liked not the prospect of spending my whole
life with any one of them all. I desired, in short, more than a plain
gentleman can be expected to give. Heaven granted my desire,
save for one small particular, which, perhaps, I forgot to pray for,
or I might have had that as well. My husband, most admirable in
ail other respects, had lost, when I married him, what many young
women would prize the most — his youth. Yet he hath given me a
great place and high rank, with learning and piety even beyond
what may be looked for, even in a bishop ; wisdom more than one
expects, even in the House of Peers ; and, my dear, unfailing love
and consideration for woman's weakness, which is as rare as it it
delightful.' And with that her beautiful eyes filled with tears— but
not of sorrow.

For there came to Alnwick when she was staying in their house
in that town, being then but just eighteen, the great Bishop of
Durham, Lord Crewe, upon a confirmation. Perhaps, but I am not
sure, she was herself confirmed by him on that occasion. He was

THE FORSTERS. 21

then fifty-six years of age, and, though there is so great a disparity
between fifty-six and eighteen, and between a grave bishop and a
giddy maiden, his lordship fell in love like any young country
squire with Dorothy, and proposed to marry her. To me it seems
a truly awful thing to marry a bishop of the English Church, and I
am not surprised that Dorothy refused him. Being still in her
youth, she was naturally inclined to gaiety, mirth, laughter, dancing,
and the company of the young, which is a quite sufficient reason
for her refusal, and we need seek no farther. Yet it was a great
match, for he was not only Bishop of Durham (that is, a Prince
Palatine, with power to appoint his own sheriffs, and almost
sovereign in his own diocese), but he was also a great statesman (he
had made many enemies in his political career), and, besides this, a
peer of the realm by birth and succession, the only member of his
sacred profession who could boast of that distinction.

When his lordship found that his suit did not prevail he went
away, and presently married a widow — Penelope, the relict of Sir
Hugh Tynte. But when, ten years later, she died, he found that
he still remembered the beautiful Dorothy — probably he had never
forgotten her — and he again offered her his hand and title.

* Child,' she told me, ' when one arrives at twenty-eight, the
pleasures of youth have all been tasted. I had been to London,
and seen the glories of the park, the theatre, the gaming-table, and
the town of London. Nothing is solid, I had already learned,
except the joys of rank, dignity, and wealth. When my lord came
to me again, he was, it is true, ten years older — he was sixty-six—
yet I assure you that he bore himself still with the uprightness and
strength which most men show at forty, having no shadow of ail-
ment or weakness, or touch of infirmity. I was, therefore, sensible
of the great honour he proposed to me when he asked me again to
become his wife. My dear, that venerable hand which I presump-
tuously rejected at eighteen, I accepted with gratitude at eight-
and-twenty, and have had no reason since for a single day to regret
my decision. Pray Heaven my lord hath continued to regard hia
marriage with the same feeling of satisfaction !'

Of that, indeed, there could be no doubt, because the Bishop re-
mained to the end an ardent lover.

Such, then, was the family of the Forsters — a goodly trunk, with
many vigorous boughs — their original seat at Etherston, with
many stately houses and broad lands, belonging to the offshoots
and younger branches : a House received with the respect due to an
equal by all the great Northumbrian families, one which is num-
bered among those whose origin mounts to the time of the Con-
queror or earlier. Their name is not like that of the Fenwicks or
the Swinburnes, of territorial origin, but is, perhaps, a corruption
of Forester. They were, Mr. Hilyard says, the family who first
seized upon the forest, or they were the King's foresters. In the
old times, when they were always fighting, there was need of as
many as could be produced, for the men were mostly doomed to

52 DOROTHY FORSTER.

early death fighting on the Border, and the women, more to be
pitied, doomed to mourn for husbands, sons, and brothers. So
that to both alike fate was unhappy. But that time has passed
away. There is peace upon the Marches ; and if wicked men stir
not up the waters of strife, it is a time for sitting every man by
his own fireside, his wig hung upon one peg, and his sword upon
another, his helmet placed beside his forefather's monuments in
the church, above the old coat of mail, a pipe of tobacco in his
mouth, a brown tankard of October upon the table, with him a
friend or two, and talk grave or cheerful, as the time and mood
may suggest, while the sun slopes westward, and the shadows
lengthen, and the dark crypt of Bamborough Church draweth
nearer every hour.

The way in which Tom Forster, junior, of Etherston, became
Tom Forster of Bamborough, was as follows :

On August the 22nd, in the year of grace seventeen hundred and
one, Mr. Ferdinando Forster, Member of Parliament, the youngest
and only surviving of the three brothers, was entertaining a com-
pany of gentlemen to dinner at the Black Horse Tavern in New-
castle. Now, there had been anger (for what reason I know not,
and have never heard) for a long time between Mr. Forster and
Mr. John Fenwick, of Rock. It has always been maintained Mr.
Forster was a gentleman of easy and cheerful disposition, who bore
no malice, and was unfriendly to no one ; also that he was ready
and willing to come to an amicable settlement of their differences>
whatever they might be, hating nothing so much as bad blood, and
being ready to forgive private injuries so far as his honour would
allow. Unfortunately Mr. Fenwick was of an opposite tempera •
ment, being choleric, vindictive, and hot-headed. Also conceiving
that he had been wronged, he went about demanding vengeance,
and breathing threats whenever he should meet his adversary.
Was it not, therefore, a most unfortunate accident that he should
be in Newcastle on that same August morning ? And what should
be said of the mischievous wretch (reported to be mad Jack Hall)
who informed this angry man that his enemy was at the Black
Horse ? Thither he rushed, maddened by his great wrath, and,
bursting into the room where Mr. Forster sat with his friends, did
assail him with reproaches, insults, curses, and foul names of so
outrageous and intolerable a kind that there was nothing for a man
of honour to do but (having first called upon his friends to take
notice that the quarrel was forced upon him) to rise and follow the
aggressor into the open street. At the White Cross they stood, and
both drew their swords. Mr. Hall, who had followed Mr. Fenwick,
drew his sword as well, with intent to act as second. Just then,
before the weapons had crossed, Mr. Forster's foot slipped, and he
fell upon the stones. What followed is dreadful to tell, and shows
how rage may make even an honourable gentleman blind and mad.
For Mr. Fenwick, without waiting for his adversary to recover, or
to be in a position to defend himself, instantly ran him through the

I

THE FOOTERS. aj

heart, so that he fell dead. It has always been said that Mr. Hall
should have prevented this cruel murder by striking up Mr, Fen-
wick's sword with his own, and there are not wanting those who
call him as much a murderer as the unhappy man himself who did
the deed. I know not how this may be ; but so much is certa n^
that nothing afterwards ever prospered with Mr. Hall ; but he was
pursued with continued disaster to the day of his violent and un-
timely end— a clear mark of Heaven's displeasure. They seized
Mr. Fenwick red-handed, so to speak, and lodged him in prison.
A month later he was led forth and hanged for the murder — a
melancholy and disgraceful end for a gentleman of his birth and
fortune.

The intelligence of this terrible crime was brought to Etherston
by Mr. Hilyard the next day. He lay at Bamborough that night,
and so heard the news among the first. Madam was sitting in the
garden with the two boys and Dorothy, Tom being then seventeen
and Jack five years younger.

1 Alas !' she cried, when she heard the news — the children looking
at each other in amazement, not knowing what to say. ' Alas 1
sure some great wickedness, boys, must have been committed by
your mother's family. First it is John, then William, and now
Ferdinando ; all gone in three years. Of nine children there remains
but one. Some sins, we are assured, are visited upon the third and
fourth generation. Tom, it would become thee to repent, lest it
be visited upon thee as well.'

' When I find out what I am to repent of,' said Tom sullenly,
because he loved not to hear the least reflection upon his mother's
family, ' I will repent. My mother's family have brought nothing
but honour to us, as far as I know. There is credit in being worth
notice. Now, a Lawes might steal a pig and be hanged for it, and
his grandchildren never a penny the worse.'

'With submission, madam,' Mr. Hilyard interposed hastily, to
prevent further words, 'this crime may lead to your stepson's
singular advantage. For, if Mr. Ferdinando hath left no will, I
mistake much if the estates do not devolve upon him, or upon him
and Lady Ore we together.'

' Will Tom have Bamborough ?' madam asked. * Then he must
rot have Etherston as well. That,' she added, thinking of her
own son, not yet born, ' should be divided among all the other
children, however many there may be. The law is unjust as regards
the younger sons. No woman would ever be a second wife did she
know how her own children would be served.'

' I doubt not, madam,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' that should the oc-
casion arise, his honour will prove as just and as generous as you
would desire.'

' Their father,' madam replied, tossing her head, 'would give all
to Dorothy had he his own way. When justice is to be done, M.\
Hilyard, come to me about it.'

' As for me,' cried Tom, the brave lad, his face suddenly flushing,

24 DOROTHY FO&STER.

1 it will be my business to avenge the death of my uncle. Wnat
The breath only just out of his body, and we are talking of hii
succession !'

' Nay,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' as for the murderer, he is in prison
they say that he will be tried for his life. Let me advise you rathei
to keep this melancholy story before your eyes as an example, nevci
to be forgotten, of the danger of ungoverned wrath, which Lao
tantius calls a cruel tempest of the mind. Thus, as is recorded,
began the madness of Ajax.'

They brought the body of Mr. Forster to Bamborough, and
buried him in the crypt below the chancel. It was observed thr t
no longer procession had ever been known at the funeral of air •
one : nay, it is even said that when the coffin was borne into tne
church, the tail of the long line of mourners was yet a whole mile
away from the porch, and they had to wait till all had reached the
church, though all could not find room within, before they began
the words of the Funeral Service. The chief mourner was my
brother Tom, and after him my father, at the head of so great ft
gathering of Forsters that you might think them an army in them-
selves. Then came the county gentlemen and private friends, anf
lastly the tenants and the common people, who wept tears of un
feigned sorrow, for they had lost a landlord and friend of a kind
heart, although one who spent at a great rate and lived beyond his
income. The foxhunters gave their brother sportsman the last
view -holloa, as one fires a volley over the grave of a soldier ; and
the Manor House provided a noble supper for all the mourners, of
high and low degree, with as much drink of all kinds as their grief
could crave, so that few, indeed, departed sober from that last
tribute of respect to the murdered man.

It was proved to be as Mr. Hilyard thought— Mr. Forster had
made no will. Therefore, the Bamborough estates fell to Lady
Crewe and Tom as coheirs, each to take a moiety.

' Dorothy,' Tom cried, * what we agreed to do shall be done. As
soon as I am of age, and can go to live at the Manor House, thou
shalt come too, and we will live together.'

CHAPTER III.

%

THE HEIR OF BAMBOROUGH.

A NOBLE inheritance indeed, even if one only had a moiety or half
part ! Not only did it include the manors of Bamborough and
Blanchland, but also the Rectory and Monastery of Shotley, the
Manor of Thornton, with houses at Alnwick and elsewhere, fishin^-
nghts on Tweed and Derwent, and presentations to four livings
and cnapelries. Tom never wearied of enumerating his lands and
possessions.
1 As to her ladyship,' fee said, ' she may kave children and she

THE HEIR OF BAMBOROUGH. 25

I nay not. If she have none, then the whole will be mine. And
whatever happens, we shall live in the Manor House, Dorothy, and
ure will have a noble time — you and I together. She has a dozen
palaces and castles ; she will surely not grudge me the simple
Manor House of Bamborough.'

But as yet he wanted three years of twenty-one, and for tho
prcsc-nt he must needs have patience.

Presently, little by little, there began to leak out reports that all
was not as it should be with the estate. For first we heard of a
charge of £350 a year in favour of my nncle Will's widow— a
monstrous and most greedy jointure, truly, when one considers
that on many estates as large as that of Bamborough a poor £40 a
year is all that a younger son or daughter may look for. Next wo
heard of a rent-charge of £500 a year created by the late Sir
William Forster to pay for some of his profuse expenditure. This
was bought up by Lord Crewe, no doubt at her ladyship's expressed
desire, for £10,000. But the Bishop was one of the most wealthy
men in the kingdom, and could well afford even so great a sum.
Here, however, was a goodly cantle cut out of the estate. Half
the annual rent gone at once. Tom, for his part, showed little or
no concern about it.

4 There remains,' he said, 'another £800 a year, besides the houses.
There is a good deal to be done with the half of £800 a year. And
I am the heir of Etherston as well.'

He looked on his heritage of Bamborough as a means for living
as he wished until the Etherston property fell in.

Yet he ought to have felt that there is a sad falling-off from the
£1,600 or so of revenue received by Sir William, to the enjoyment
of only a moiety of £800 a year. There were other creditors and

ims upon the estate also, of which we knew nothing, and happily}
as yet, suspected nothing.

The heir of both Bamborough and Etherston was a much more
important person than the heir of Etherstoa alone. Lady Crewe,
who, to speak the truth, took little notice of her sister's children
while her brothers were living, now showed a very particular in-
terest in Tom, and wrote many letters upon his course of life, both
to him and to his father. She begged earnestly that he might go
to Cambridge, pointing out that, although her nephew's inclination
lay not much, as she understood, in the direction of books, it would
be well for him to make the acquaintance at that ancient seat of
learning of the young men, his contemporaries, and to learn how
matters of importance are regarded outside Northumberland.
Tom, therefore, went to St. John's College, as a gentleman com-
moner, with Mr. Hilyard for his tutor. Here, however, he remained
but three or four terms. Then her ladyship pointed out that a
country gentleman has to become a magistrate, so that it is most
desirable for him to know law, and entreated him to enter at
Lincoln's Inn, and to reside in London for a part of each year, in
order to study the Acts of Parliament and the powers of a justice

26 DOROTHY FORSTER.

of the peace. To this, however, Tom objected, saying that his
father and his grandfather had been justices without going to
Lincoln's Inn, or knowing any law at all, and that, to his mind, a
gentleman should not dirty his fingers with the quibbles and shifts
of lawyers. In this opinion he continued, although he was re-
minded that one of his cousins had been Sir Thomas Forster,
Justice of Common PJeas under King James I., and another, Sir
Robert Forster, no less than Lord Chief Justice of England under
Charles I. Then Lady Crewe wrote another letter, in which she
clearly told her nephew that his rusticity and that of his friends
was such as to unfit him for the posts of distinction open to the
owner of Bamborough (her brothers, indeed, especially Ferdinando,
had been gentlemen of courtly and finished manners, acquired
among the most polite society of St. James's) : and that if he
would neither study law nor letters, it behoved him, under proper
tutelage, such as that of Mr. Hilyard, to travel into Italy, and so
to acquire the manners of the great world. I knew not at the time,
and none of us were courtiers enough to discern, that her ladyship,
in taking all this trouble, was endeavouring to make Tom under-
stand her design ; namely, to make her nephew the successor of
her brothers, and no loser by their prodigality, provided only he
would show himself worthy of her bounty.

This project she never abandoned, being always most jealous for
the honour of the Forsters, although the events which followed
prevented her from carrying it into effect. Yet Tom was so foolish
as to fall into a great rage upon receiving her letter, alleging that,
as for his manners, he was not ashamed of them, and they were
those of his father and his friends ; that he was not, for his part,
going to become a London beau ; and as to travelling in foreign
parts, to be sure the Prince was in France, but what had an
English gentleman to learn from a set of mangy French and
scurvy Italians ? And as for distinction and the holding of high
posts, he might show her ladyship some day that he was as capable
of distinguishing himself as any man in Northumberland — rusticity
or no rusticity.

' Thou wilt not be guided by the wisest of women, boy,' mj
father said. ' She is the wisest of women, because she is led by
the most crafty and the wisest of men. Thou wilt neither to
London nor to foreign lands, though here is Mr. Hilyard longing
to go with thee. Well, stay-at-homes have little wit ; ignorance
breeds conceit. I have myself been to London and seen the
Court ; but as for thee, Tom, thou art pure rustic. Besides,
though I am a simple and unlearned person, content to stay at
home, they will not, I fear, suffer thee the same liberty. For thou
hast more to lose ; and where the carcase is, thither the eagles
gather.'

Then Lady Crewe privately exhorted Mr. Forster to take care
lest his son, through ignorance of the world, should be tempted
into some rash enterprise, like that of Sir William Feuwick, who

THE HEIR OF BAMBOROUGH.

was executed for treason in the year 1696 ; to remember that fierce
spirits were always abroad, endeavouring to stir up immature
risings and to hatch foolish plots for the destruction of unhappy
gentlemen ; and to be assured that though her own favour and
that of her husband would be continued to her nephew should he
move prudently, that favour would certainly be withdrawn should
rashness plunge him into difficulties with the Government : with
much more to the same effect.

' Her ladyship is right,' cried my father. ' None so hot for the
Sovereign as my Lord Bishop till King William comes to the
throne. Then he must needs run for it and try the air of France.
Running is a very noble exercise when you are young. My lord
is out of favour now, and he is getting old, and would fain stay
where he is, and I think he would like to taste once more the
sweetness of Court smiles ; but still, one who loves the old House.
is should be thy safest plan, Tom. Be guided by the Bishop.
He will never go over to the other side, and yet he will never put
" is neck in the noose. Wherefore, my son, remember that con-
spiracies are hatched by men who have got nothing to lose ; it is
easy for a landless Irishman to talk wild and vapour, but for us,
who have a name and an estate which we have held together for
seven hundred years and more, the risk is too great. I do not say,
neither, that we are to turn Whigs. We who fought for the
Stuarts stand by them still. They made my grandfather Sheriff
" Knight ; they gave Sir Claudius the Manor of Bamborough ;
,ving our religion, and our estates, Tom— and our estates, boy,
ind that — we must follow the Stuarts always. When the voice
the country is clearly for the Prince, the Forsters will come
ith the rest. But wben thwacks are going, let those who began
t the first of the hammering, while we stand by and see which
ay the battle is likely to go. Therefore, when thou art of age,
om, take care to write nothing, to promise nothing, to sign nothing,
for what may happen, we know nought. The Dutchman hath
o children : let us wait ; the Princess Anne may follow, but we
now not. Let us wait, and meantime lie snug all.'
However, there were two years to wait before the coming of
age, which was in the year 1702. By consent of Lady Crewe,
Tom was allowed during this time to use the Manor House as if
it was already his own, and many were the days which we spent
in the old place, sometimes with Mr. Hilyard for tutor and com-
panion, spending whole weeks there. The house was not larger
than Etherston Hall, but it was, in a way, more splendid. There
were portraits on the walls of Sir Claudius, Claudius his nephew,
Sir William, his three sons, the wife of the eldest, my own mother,
and my aunt, the beautiful Dorothy. Truly there never was a
more lovely and charming face than that of this portrait, the
original of which I had never seen. It represented her at the age
of twenty or twenty-one. She had a face round rather than oval ;
a sweet, rounded, dimpled chin ; a mouth more like a rosebud thau

28 DOROTHY FORSTER.

the lips of a woman ; light brown, curling hair, lying In a cluster
about her forehead, which, Mr. Hilyard said, was too ample foi
the Greek idea of beauty, their Venus being low of forehead ; the
nose was full ; the eyes were dark brown, and of a singular bright-
ness. I reflected with inexpressible joy, when looking upon thiia
sweet face, that my own eyes were of the same colour and bright-
ness, and my own hair of the same hue, and the same tendency to
twist and curl itself about my forehead. When gentlemen, past
the age of thirty or so, came to the Manor House, they gazed at
the portrait and sighed, remembering her beauty, and thinking, no
doubt, how great a thing it would have been to marry so lovely a
woman. When the young men came, they looked upon the
portrait with such wonder as they might experience in looking
upon that of Helen, Cleopatra, or fair Dido.

' She moves,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' a goddess confessed. Never,
since those fair women of old, has there been her like. Some-
times I think that the incomparable Sappho may have had those
eyes, which are yours also, Miss Dorothy ; and the chaste Lucretia
that look, in which you yourself greatly resemble your aunt ; and
even Venus herself that dimpled chin, which I am glad to see
remains still in the family.'

There were other portraits, but these were the best

The house itself is of two stories, and is built in the joodern
fashion, having square sash windows . ~"o on one side the door and
one on the other. It looks from the froiiv upon a triangular green,
planted with a clump of trees, having the village pant at the end,
and a field at the base. On the right is the church, and on the
left is the broad street leading to the castle. At the back is a
garden, not so big or so well provided as that of Etherston, because,
by the seaside, everything will not grow ; but it has a great store
of herbs and fruit trees, with currants, gooseberries, and straw-
berries in season, lavender and other plants for strong waters and
perfumes, and herbs for medicine : notwithstanding which, Nature
hath been so benevolent as to plant things for suffering man's
solace in every hedge, so that, though there may be plenty of
toothache in the world, there is also plenty of trefoil, yarrow, and
groundsel-root ; and, though one may catch a cough, there is no fear
of using up all the ground-ivy , and, though men will cut them-
selves with knives and sickles, their wives can gather for nothing
as much comfrey, self-heal, and valerian as will cure their wounds.

A goodly garden and ancient, with a trim lawn as well, on which
bowls could be played ; and a sundial, which had marked the flight
of time for many hundreds of years ; and a fountain, which was
stopped, and would work no longer till Mr. Hilyard set it agoing ;
and then we marvelled how we could have found the garden
perfect without the pleasant plash of that jet of water with its
little arch like a rainbow, and its sparkle in the sun. In every
season — summer, winter, or autumn — it was pleasant to walk in
the garden, and to look over the low wall at the end, and the green

THE HEIR Of BAM BOROUGH. 29

meadow beyond it, upon the broad sea which stretches away till
sea and sky meet. A stormy sea it is when the north-east winds
blow, and many have been the wrecks upon the rocks and islets
off the shore.

To live in the Manor House was in itself a help to cure our
rustic ways of thought and speech. For not only were there
portraits, but also pictures brought from abroad, pictures of Roman
Catholic saints — there was a martyr, I remember, set up as a target
for the arrows of his persecutors ; and others of hunting-parties,
and of battles by sea and land. Mr. Hilyard would stand before
these pictures and discourse with great learning to me upon the
Italian, Spanish, French, and Dutch Schools, and the chief merits
of each. There was also tapestry, but not much. Mr. Hilyard
has told me of the famous tapestry which he has seen in the
Palace of St. James. There was a cabinet full of curiosities
brought home by travellers in foreign parts — among them a stone
picked up in the Garden of Gethsemane, and a garland of thorns
bought in Jerusalem itself. This cabinet afforded Mr. Hilyard
the opportunity of many a discourse. There were also books —
not one shelf only, as we had at Etherston — but three or even
four shelves. There was Baker's 'Chronicle,' Holinshed's 'History,'
Sibbes's ' Soul's Conflict,' a volume of Jeremy Taylor, Camden's
' Britannia,' Grey's 'Choregraphia,' a 'History of the Lives, Travels,
and Sufferings of the Apc«tles,' with pictures, very moving ;
Record's ' Arithmetic,' the ' Marrow of Mathematics,' Hartmann's
1 True Preserver of Health,' Drake's ' World Encompassed,' Evelyn's
1 Gardener's Almanack,' the ' Paradise Lost ' of Milton, the Plays
of Shakespeare, Bacon's ' Essays,' Quarles's ' Emblems,' Butler's
( Hudibras,' in which Mr. Hilyard greatly delighted — I know not
why, because I could never read it with pleasure — and a great
many more. I read in most of these books, and, I hope, sucked
as much profit from them as was to be expected of a girl. To be
sure, I had beside me always a most patient, learned, and kind
commentator, who spared no pains to make me understand obscure
passages, and to illustrate places which, before he spoke of them,
seemed unintelligible. An ignorant reader is like a poor man with
empty purse, who walks along a valley strewn with diamonds and
precious stones, which he neglects because he knows not how price-
less are the stones beneath his feet. Pity it was that Tom would
neither read nor listen.

On Sundays, when we all went to church in the morning, there
was a great and noteworthy difference after Tom became the half
owner of Bamborough. For, as often happens in old churches,
this of ours was divided and parcelled out among the gentry. The
north transept belongs to the Greys of Howick ; the south transept
to the Radcliffes, although they are Papists ; the north part of the
nave belongs to the owners of the Lucker, the south to the Forstera
of Etherston, and the chancel to the Forsters of Bamborough.
While, therefore, my father, with madam and Jack and the children,

30 DORO TH Y FORSTER.

sat in their pew below the pulpit, Tom, and I with him, and Mr.
Hilyard, because he was the tutor, walked proudly into the chancel
and sat in a great pew raised three feet above the ground, so that
you mounted by steps. The seats were lined with red velvet, very
worn. Above us hung our own scutcheon, showing the Radcliffe
fleur-de-lys among the Etherston martlets ; on the other side was
the great marble monument of Sir Claudius, who died at Blanch-
land ; and, hanging on the wall, the helmet and iron coat of some
other Forster long since dead and gone. Beside us was the stone
effigy, with crossed legs, called Sir Lancelot du Lac, concerning
whom Mr. Hilyard had a great deal to say, as to whether he was
not perchance a Forster, and thus misnamed from the tradition of
some great exploit or deed of arms.

It is an old and crumbling chancel. Among other things it con-
tains an ancient window, through which the unhappy lepers outside
might formerly see the elevation of the Host within. Separating
chancel from nave, was an open screen of carved white stone, a
good deal broken. When we stood up for the reading of the
Psalms and the singing of the hymn, I could see through this
screen the back of the vicar at the reading-desk, and in the pew
below the pulpit my father's best Sunday wig in the crispest curl,
and madam's hat and ribbons. Beyond the pews of the gentle-
folk were the seats of the common people, worn black and shiny
by generations of the humble worshippers. I suppose that in
heaven there are no velvet-lined pews, with steps to mount, and
stoves to keep one warm in winter ; but it seems fitting thus to
separate gentle and simple, and doubtless even in heaven there are
degrees — one cannot understand that a prince and a scullion will
ever sit side by side. As for me, I confess that it was with pride
that I sat every Sunday beside Tom in the chancel, reflecting that,
although my father was the head of the older stock, the noblest
and best of the family came from Sir John, the great Warden of
the March, and Governor of Bamborough Castle — the most splendid
possession of his grandchildren.

There was never a day, when I was at the Manor House, but I
passed some of it within the old walls, clambering, exploring, and
running from one broken chamber to another, until I knew every
chamber and every vault in the great pile. When I climbed the
broken stairs and stood upon the giddy top of the half -roof ed keep, I
used to look around me with such pride as a Percy should feel a?
Alnwick or at Arundel. I was prouder even than my brother of
the stately place, though he never wearied of rehearsing the great-
ness of his folk. A noble castle, indeed ! This is none other than
the Castle of King Ida, called the Royal House. King Edwin
lived here ; miracles were worked here by saints for the preserva-
tion of the castle ; William Rufus sat down before it ; David
Bruce was a prisoner in it ; the breaches in the broken walls were
caused by the cannon of the Yorkists. Why, whenever I read
tjie history of England in Holinshed or Baker, I turned over tbf

THE HEIR OF BAMBOROVGIL 31

napes and looked out the places where the castle is mentioned,
ajnl then my foolish heart would glow with pride. But surely there
could be no more delightful place for a young girl's playground and
place of meditation. ^T he keep alone remains entire, out of all the
towers, bastions, forts, and strong places which once stood here ; but
their ruins still stand. In some places there are broken stone steps
leading up to chambers whose floors are gone, windows gaping wide,
and roof long since torn off ; in others there are deep dungeons,
open now to the light of heaven. At night, I used to think the
groans of dead prisoners still ascend to the sky. From the top of
the keep one may look out to sea and behold the Fames lying
beneath one as on a map ; to the north is Holy Island, with its
ruined church and castle on a hill ; to the south is black Dunstan
burgh, where the Seeker may be seen nightly by those who look for
him ; and inland lie the fields and woods belonging to the Forsters.
In early summer the rock on which the castle stands, black and
terrible in the winter, is covered, wherever the least ruggedness affords
space for a morsel of earth, with tufts of grass and flowers. There
are the thrift, the bell campion, and the trefoil, crimson, white and
blue, very pretty to look upon. Later on, the sandhills, about
which the rabbits keep running all the year round in thousands, are
covered with nowers of other kinds, the names of which I knew and
their properties, thanks to Nurse Judith and Mr. Hilyard.

Often Mr. Hilyard came here with me, telling out of his vast
knowledge stories of the days when this place, now so silent and
ruinous, was filled with knights and valiant men-at-arms, when the
courts resounded with the hoofs of horses, the voices of the soldiers,
and the clank of iron heels. He could restore the castle as it used
to be, and would mark out for me the inner bailly, the outer bailly,
the portcullis, the postern, the outworks, the chapel, the stables,
the kitchens, and all, until in imagination I knew the castle, as it
was when the Percies were its governors. No others came to the old
:le except myself and Mr. Hilyard ; it was quite lonely and
deserted. In stormy weather the waves leaped up to the very
walls, while the gulls flew screaming and the wind whistled. In
the evening, when the twilight fell, I would sit among the fallen
stones, seeing in the shadows of the pile grim spirits of the dead, and
hearing in the breeze the voices of departed saints, kings, knights,
bishops, sad prisoners, brave men, and fair ladies, whose ancient joys

»and sufferings made this place as sacred as the churchyard.
As for Tom, he cared little about the antiquity of the castle or
its past history ; his chief desire being for the time to arrive when
he could call the place his own and be out of tutelage, and his prin-
cipal occupation being hunting of fox and of otter, riding, shooting,
fishing, badger-drawing, bat-fowling, netting of partridges with the
lanthorn, setting decoys for ducks, hawking on the seashore, stalking
the wild bulls of Chillingham, cock-fighting, dog-fighting, with the
other manly sports in which young men delight. He conversed
inuch with grooms, keepers, feeders, and falconers, and was experi-

32 DORO TH Y FORSTER.

enced in every kind of sport. He also took great pleasure, in thost
days, in the wild-fowl shooting on the islands ; many a time he has
taken me with him when he had no other companion (Mr. Hilyard'a
stomach being unable to stand the motion of a boat). Then we
would sail through the waves to those wild and desolate rocka
covered with the nests of the sea-birds which rise screaming from
under the feet of the rare visitor. The cries of the birds, the whirr
of their wings, the whistling of the wind, the dashing of the waves,
are the only sounds upon these lonely islands where St. Cuthbert
built his hermitage. They are, indeed, a truly fitting place for the
gloomy recluse, who (though doubtless a holy man) dared to call
the half of the Lord's creatures unclean, and forbade a woman even
to set her foot upon the place where he resided. Many pious women
have gone into voluntary retreat and hermitage, but one never yet,
I believe, heard of a woman thus speaking of man as to call him
unholy or unclean. The walls of St. Cuthbert's house yet stand in
ruins on his deserted island, but there are now no human beings
within their shelter.

I learned to know all the birds by their flight, their cry, and their
feathers — the St. Cuthbert's ducks who make nests of the sea- weed,
the tomnoddies, the skouts, the guillemots, the shags, the kittiwakes,
the gulls, the brockits, the rock-pigeons, the sea-larks, and the jack-
daws who build in the rabbit-holes. In those days, who so brave
and handsome as young Tom Forster, leaping lightly from rock to
rock, fowling-piece in hand, his long hair tied in a ribbon, and
blown behind him by the sea-breeze, his grey eyes bright, and his
cheek ruddy ? What but a splendid future could await a lad so
gallant ? As for the girl who ran beside him, as agile as her brother,
dressed in short petticoats and thick shoes with woollen stockings,
she was a slip of a thing then, with dark brown eyes (like those of
her aunt), and long fair curls flying under her hat. Her brother,
though he sometimes swore at his grooms and thrashed the stable-
boys, never had a harsh or unkind word for her, nor she any thought
for him but of tender and true affection. Pity it was that one of
natural abilities so good would never read and acquire wisdom.

' The man who reads not,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' may get skill and
knowledge, but scarcely wisdom. The hind and herd are men of
great skill and knowledge, the one in ploughing, sowing, and reaping,
the other in cattle and the creatures of field and forest. So the old
wife in the village learns the virtues of all the herbs that grow, and
the sportsman learns the ways of the creatures whom he hunts. But
without books one knoweth not his brother man, nor his own posi-
tion and importance, nor the proportion which one thing beareth to
another ; as, for instance, the opinion of a Northumberland gentle-
man compared with the opinions of the City of London, or that of
Will's Coffee House. Thus the man of no books may easily con-
sider his own importance to be much greater than it is in the eyes
of others, and his own doctrines infallible, and his own way of
thinking the only way possible for honest men. Especially there ia

THE HEIR OF BAMBOROUGH. 33

the danger of over-estimating his importance. It was the ignorance
as well as the ambition of the thief Diophon which caused him to
burst and die with envy because, o'n his way to be hanged, be found
that one of his fellows was to be treated to a gallows higher than
his own.'

I understood Mr. Hilyard to be talking of my brother Tom and
his companions, wherefore I resented the likening of Tom unto the
rogue Diophon, even though he was an ancient Greek ; and he
hastened to assure me that the comparison was not as to honesty
but as to ignorance, which if it lead to self-conceit even in so base
a person as a common thief, may much more do so in the case of a
country gentleman of Northumberland.

CHAPTER IV.

HIS HIGHNESS THE PRINCE.

As regards politics, I declare that I know nothicg at all of what
went on in London or anywhere else ; but, as for Northumberland,,
I can safely assert that I have never known a time when there were
not, continually, whisperings in corners, mysterious communications,
breathless suspense, a coming and going of strangers or of gentle-
men whom I knew to be in some way connected with the cause of
the Prince. There were always great things going to happen, if we
were to believe the people who made it their business to keep up a
racket through the country in order to sustain and stimulate the
loyalty of the party. His Highness was about to embark ; a great
many thousand French soldiers were collecting for him ; everything
was ready ; the country was strong for the Prince. According to
these gentry, there never was any doubt at all about the voice of
the country. Why, when after many years I journeyed to London,
I was amazed to think of our own ignorance in believing all these
statements. I do Mr. Hilyard the justice of saying that he never
did believe them. He was, I know, a Whig by birth ; but, like a
good servant, he became a Jacobite because we, in whose service
he was, were of that cause. What did London think ? That was
ever his cry. Not London of the coffee-houses and St. James's
Street, but London of the City. Why, how strong and resolute
must be the Protestant party of this present day, seeing that it has
been strong enough to stomach a King who knew no word of
English, so resolute as to keep him with his ill manners, his ugly
mistresses, and his German Court, rather than have a Papist even
with all the Christian graces — though of these unfortunately the
Prince hath few, which one says with shame. This was not under-
stood in the north ; many friends of the Protestant gentry were
Catholics ; they were English, however, first, and Catholics next ;
not servants of the Pope first, and English next.

,' said Mr. Hjlyard, ' these are not the Pfcpich we in the

34 DOROTHY FORSTER.

south have been taught to fear. Their priests are courteous gentle-
men of good English families ; they show no wish to roast us at
the stake ; they are all for toleration. I doubt whether, if London
knew Northumberland, the country would any longer fear a Catholic
King. I hear there are some in Scotland who believe that the
King would be converted by his coronation, which I doubt. But
his advisers, if they were English priests, not foreigners, would
surely do the country little harm.'

Mr. Hilyard always put London before any other part of England :
doubtless with reason, as being the centre of all. And he acknow-
ledged that the people of England will never forget the blood and
fire of Queen Mary, nor will they cease to ask what security there
is that another Papist Sovereign will not surround himself with
other Bonners and Gardiners. Listening daily to the talk, I con-
ceived a plan by which everything might be set right. Like all
children's plans, it was impossible : for it was nothing less than
that the Prince should imitate the example of Henry IV. of France,
and for his crown change his faith. This, in my eyes, was all the
easier, from the circumstance that, while Henry left the right for
the wrong, our King would leave the wrong for the right. Wrong
or right, it must have been choking to King James to hear, when
he went to live in Rome — even in Rome, where he might look for
applause and support, if anywhere — to hear, I say, as he is said to
have heard, a Cardinal — one of the Holy College — whisper to another,
with scorn unworthy of his sacred profession and dignity, * Behold
the King who threw away three crowns — for a mass !'

There were busybodies who went up and down the country in
these days whispering, reporting, conveying letters, drawing up
lists, with a mighty fuss and pretence of secrecy. Some of them
were disguised ; some sent letters by the hands of countrymen, and
even gipsies, on whom they could depend ; some were Irish, who
are ever ready to embark in any mad scheme ; some were country
gentlemen or younger sons ; some, even, were High Church clergy ;
some were Roman Catholic priests of the intriguing kind, who
dressed as laymen — by dispensation, one may suppose. As for the
sum of these whisperings, it was always the same. The country
was ripe ; at a word, at the signal, the rising would be general ; the
Prince was always ready. A brave captain, too, who had shown
his valour at Oudenarde and Malplaquet (where, indeed, he was
fighting against his own countrymen) ; one who was eager to lead
his brave followers to victory, and to reward them generously with
the spoil of the Whigs. These things were industriously spread
abroad among the Jacobite gentry, especially of Lancashire and
Northumberland ; it was firmly believed that the party was irre-
sistible. And if the gentlefolk believed this, how much more the
common people and the ignorant Scotch, who ran after their chief-
tains to their own destruction ? Yet the events of the year 1707
ought to have opened the eyes of the party when they saw a French
fleet, well manned, well found, well armed, with sis thousand

HIS HIGHNESS THE PRINCE. 35

Boldiers on board, fly i^nominiously at the mere appearance of
A<lnir;tl Byu.u and his ships. The Prince was on board the French
commander's ship. He prayed to be landed on tne coast of Scotland
— no one, whatever side he may have taken, can doubt the gallantry
of his Highness in those days — but the prayer was refused, so that
he returned to France, and presently, notwithstanding the French
King's solemn engagements, was driven out of that country into
the i'apal Dominions. These things prove the value of the Grand
Monarque's word, and also that the English will not have a King
forced upon them by French bayonets.

1 We wait our time,' Tom said. ' When that time comes, the
unanimous rising of the country gentlemen will be accepted as the
voice of the people.'

4 Happy the man,' said Mr. Hilyard, stroking his chin, ' who rises
the last.'

* What ? And leave others the glory and the honours ?'

He was still a lad under age, but in this way he talked ; he and
his companions.

1 It will be the Protestant gentry,' he said grandly, ' though we
shall allow the Catholics to join us, who will restore his Sacred
Majesty. Then we shall find for him, perhaps out of Northumber-
land, counsellors wise enough to assure the country's safety.'

These were our dreams. Fatal dreams they were, which in the
end destroyed so many.

But always, in all these talks, the gentlemen spoke of the young
Lord Derwentwater and his return. He would lead the Catholics
of the whole country. He was a man of whose opinions, though no
one had yet seen him and he was but a boy, there could be no
doubt ; his loyalty was beyond all possible question, he was rich,
he was young and ardent, he was reported to be possessed of every
virtue. I heard so much talk of this young gentleman that he
became in my imagination a person more important even than the
Prince, concerning whom elder ladies already whispered and shook
their heads. Besides, his Royal Highness stood too far away for a
girl to think much about him. The kings of the earth are like the
gods of the ancients — one does not picture them except on coins
and in statues. But as for Lord Derwentwater, who would cer-
tainly some day return to his own people, he must be as beautiful
as David, as noble as Arthur, as spl&ndid as Adonis, and as valiant
as Orlando, or any of the Seven Champions. He was to one young
damsel, and doubtless to many others, the Prince of the old wife's
story. There are many such stories, but only one Prince for all of
them. He is young and handsome, so was Lord Derwentwater ; he
hath a noble and flourishing estate, so had my lord ; he hath a
generous heart and a lavish hand, so had the young Earl ; he is tfn-
niarricd and free to become a lover — a thing which always pleases
a girl, though she need not be so foolish as to think him likely to
become her own lover — thus was my lord. To these qualities add
that be had been the youthful friend, the companion^ tho sharer of

36 DOROTH Y FORSTER.

the studies, even the cousin of that young Prince, now our lawf nl
King, the rightful Sovereign of Great Britain and Ireland, acknow-
ledged by most of the subjects (that is to say by all honest men)
in these islands. He would tell the simple country folks when he
came home of the appearance and countenance of his Royal High-
ness ; he would come as a messenger, or an ambassador — say rather
a Lieutenant-Governor — to the North Country, to keep their loyalty
alive.

The origin of the Radcliffes is so remote as to be unknown.
Many of our northern gentry boast a descent from the Norman
Conquerors. They, however, were nobles in still earlier times. It
was not till two hundred years ago, or thereabouts, that a Radcliffe
first came from Cumberland to the neighbouring county, when Sir
William married the heiress of Dilston. The first Earl, Sir Francis,
was created on the marriage of his eldest son Edward, in the year
1 686, with Lady Mary Tudor, daughter of Charles II. It was an
unhappy marriage, but as to the reasons of the unhappiness, one
need not inquire. It becomes not a mere private gentlewoman to
pass judgment on the actions of Earls and Countesses ; yet it must
not be forgotten that the Countess, within two years of the Earl's
death, married two more husbands in succession.

After the separation the Earl remained in London, in no way
furthering (so far as I have learned) the cause of his rightful
Sovereign. The Countess, however, took her four children to
St. Germain's, where she brought them up in the Court, and among
the personal friends, of the Prince. It was feared by some that
their French training would have made them become Frenchmen
in habits and in mind. This was not so, however, for it may be
averred that there never were three young men who more ardently
desired the greatness of their country, and more loved liberty and
Constitutional Government, than these three.

We were kept regularly informed of the Earl's movements and
those of his brothers by the kindness of Sir William and Lady
Swinburne, of Capheaton, who received and sent letters from
London, Newcastle, and even St. Germain's. They were from the
Earl himself, Sir William's cousin, from the Countess, and from
Colonel Thomas Radcliffe, who chiefly lived in Newcastle. Sir
William Swinburne's father married the first Earl's half-sister, and
the union was blessed by the birth of four-and-twenty children.
Considering that the first Earl of Derwent water had eight daughters
and four sons, while his father had six sons and seven daughters,
all by his wife Isabel, daughter of Sir Ralph Grey, of Chillingham,
there were plenty in the north who could call the young Lord
Darwentwater cousin.

We learned, therefore, from their letters, year by year, how the
Earl and his brothers were in the hands of tutors, and were already
shoeing great promise ; how they were pages to the Prince ; that
it was decided not to let them carry arms in the French King's
; that tjiey would come to gngl^nd a.s soon as the Earl wag

HIS t/tGnA*£ss THE PRINCE. 37

of age, and so on, the news always keeping up our curiosity aboul
this young nobleman.

To pass over several years, we learned, in course of time, that his
lordship was now fully grown ; that he was a comely, well-pro-
portioned, and handsome young man, accomplished in all manly
exercises, fond of reading, and well instructed, acquainted with the
names and pedigrees of the Northumberland families, who were all
his cousins ; and that he was coming home to England without delay.
Then the intriguers sent word of this, as of a most important event,
about the country ; the messengers rode north and south with
letters ; there was a stir in the north, and it was felt that now the
time would shortly arrive for something to be done.

'But,' said Tom, 'we Protestants may not be led by a Catholic.
My lord must be content with being second.'

CHAPTER V.

MR. ANTONY UILYARD.

WHEN Mr. Antony Hilyard first came to us, as tutor to my brothers,
he was a young man of twenty-one or twenty-two, not long from
Oxford. He brought with him letters recommendatory, in which
his learning was highly approved, and was sent to us by Mr. Fer-
dinando Forster, who heard of him as a young man desirous of
entering a gentleman's family as tutor, in the hope of becoming
chaplain, and perhaps rising in the Church. Although a young man
of great accomplishments and vast knowledge, he left his University
without obtaining a degree, which was strange if anyone had
thought of inquiring into the cause ; as for so learned a scholar
coming to take a tutor's place in a gentleman's house, that was
nothing, because he was only the son of a vintner, and born in a
place called Barbican, London. Such a place of honourable service,
especially when the master is so easy a gentleman as my father, is
one which all young men of his birth and parts should desire,
though some, as Mr. Hilyard hath himself often told me, go to
London, and there court Fortune as poets, playwrights, translators,
writers of vamped-up travels, compilers of sermons for such of the
clergy as lack the ability to compose them, and such work, which is,
I am informed, as poorly paid as it is miserable? and beneath the
consideration of a man who values his own dignity. Mr. Hilyard
could write and speak both the French and Italian tongues ; he
was, besides, familiar with Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and Chaldaean ;
he was skilled in many branches of the mathematics ; he could play
on the spinet with great ease and dexterity ; he was an excellent
geographer, and could discourse for hours upon a mappa mundi, or
chart of the world ; he could tell the stars and their courses j he
could converse with intelligence and to the edification of nis nearara
on almost any subject, being equally at home in Pern and in

38 DOROTHY FORSTER.

London ; knowing the Hottentots and Japanese as well as tht
London Scourers ; and even in matters connected with agriculture
or housewifery ho could talk learnedly, being familiar with the
practice of the ancient Romans both in their houses and on their
farms. In a word, no knowledge came amiss to him ; he despised
nothing ; when he took his walks abroad he was always noting
something, whether the call of a bird or the habits of a weasel, a
wild flower or herb of the field ; he would ask a gardener about his
fruit, a shepherd about his sheep, a ploughman about the soil, a
dairymaid about her cows. And what he learned he never forgot.
I do not exhaust his accomplishments when I add that he was
skilled in the art of fencing, and that here he found Tom an excel-
lent pupil.

It was impossible for any young man to be more grave, and even
solemn, in his bearing and conversation ; when Mr. Forster invited
him to drink with his friends, which he sometimes did, he was
seldom greatly overcome with liquor, and even at his worst pre-
served his gravity ; he displayed none of the disposition to levity,
gallantry, profane talk, and impious scoffing which is manifested by
so many young men of the present day ; no woman's reputation
suffered by any act or word of his : no bishop could have been
more blameless in his daily life.

It shows the strength of youthful impressions that, although I
know so much better, I can never now think upon virtue without
there instantly appearing before my eyes the short squab figure of
Mr. Hilyard. He wears a brown coat, and he has no ruffles to his
shirt ; his face is round ; his nose broad, and a little upturned ; his
lips are full and mobile ; his eyes are large ; it is neither the figure
nor the face of a grave and learned person, yet was he both grave
and learned. Socrates, I have heard, was remarkable for a face of
great plainness, and yet was a very learned philosopher. Nor was
it a face which one would expect to find in a man of so religious
and severe a turn -as Mr. Hilyard. He always went to church first,
so to speak, and came out of it last ; his discourse was full of
examples gathered from ancient sources and learned authors, re-
commending the practice of good works.

Conduct so blameless, gravity so singular, wisdom so remarkable,
never before seen in a man so young, could not fail to command,
before long, the confidence of all. Mr. Forster entrusted his most
private affairs to the counsel of Mr. Hilyard ; madam earned her
complaints to him as to one who would find redress ; his pupil, who
loved not books, obeyed him, was shamed out of his rusticity, and
was kept by him from those follies by which young gentlemen in
the country too often suffer in reputation and imperil their souls.
As for myself, he took from the earliest the kindest interest in my
welfare, and taught me many things which I should never have
learned but for him, especially to read and talk the French tongue,
and to play on the spinet. Lady Crewe condescended to wri^ to
him concerning her nephew, and the Bishop sent him instructions

MR. ANTONY HILYARD. 39

as to the authors which Tom should be made to read. Tom did not
read them, but he sometimes listened while Mr. Hilyard read them
aloud, and in this manner, no doubt, he arrived at some knowledge
of their contents.

This preamble makes what follows the more astonishing. One
evening — it was in August, and a few weeks before Tom came of
age — while I was walking in the garden of the Manor House, the
Bun being already set, Tom came running and calling me :

* Come, sister !' he cried ; * come, Doll, quick ! There is some-
thing worth looking at, I assure you.'

He took my hand, and we ran into the village street, which was
generally quiet enough at this time, but this evening there was a
great noise of singing and laughing, and the playing of a fiddle. It
came from the inn.

' There is the rarest sport,' said Tom. ' A company of players
are at the inn, on their way from Alnwick to Berwick. Who do
you think is with them ? Mr. Hilyard !'

' Mr. Hilyard with the players ?'

* No other. Ho ! ho ! Laughing and drinking and playing.
Yes ; you may open your eyes, Dolly, but there it is. No other
than Mr. Hilyard ! You never saw the like ! Now, see ; if he
knows we are watching him he will stop. We can go to the back
of the house, and in at the kitchen-door. Hush ! Follow me, and
don't speak or laugh.'

We went on tiptoe into the kitchen of the inn, where the landlady
was sitting. She held up her finger, screwed her mouth, nodded
her head, and laughed, indicating by these gestures that something
out of the common was going forward. She then gently opened
the door which led into the best room — not that where the rustics
sit on wooden settles and push the pot around, but that which is
furnished with tables and chairs, used by gentlemen and the better
sort. The company consisted of about a dozen — men and women,
of various ages. They were not gentlefolk, yet they had an air
very different from that of the country people. They were
poorly dressed, yet had odds and ends of finery, one of the men
wearing a scarlet coat and laced hat, planted sideways on his
great wig, and cocked like an officer ; another with tattered lace
ruffles ; a third with a ragged coat of drugget, and yet a fine
flowered waistcoat. As for the women, there were five, of whom
one was old, two others middle-aged, two young. One of the
last was pretty, after a bold and impudent fashion, having great
eyes, which she rolled about, and large, comely arms. She was
dressed very finely, as if she was about to mount the stage, with a
silk petticoat and satin frock looped up, and she wore a low com-
mode upon her head. A bright fire was burning, though the night
was not cold ; a pair of candies were lighted ; on the table, which
was pushed into a corner, stood a bowl of steaming hot punch ; and
on the floor, prancing about by himself, with a thousand tricks of
fr *M and twistings of his body, was — oh ! wonder of wonders,

40 DOROTHY FORSTER.

and who could hare believed it? — no other than Mr. Antonj
Hilyard.

' See him !' whispered Tom. * Oh the pious and religious man !'

Indeed, I hardly recognised him, so changed he was. Why, he
had given, somehow, a martial air to his wig ; his face was twice aa
long as usual ; his eye was stern ; he wore the air of a commauder-
in-chief ; he carried his left hand upon his hip, as one who is a
marshal or prince at the head of his army. And he was at least six
inches taller. How a man can change at will his face, his stature,
and his appearance passeth my understanding. (Nota lene. — The
girl, Jenny Lee, was sitting in the corner of the room with her great
black eyes wide open and her mouth agape ; but of her I thought
nothing, so stupefied was I with the transformation of Mr. Hilyard.)

He beckoned to the actress who wore the silk petticoat, and she
laughed, sprang to her feet, and — can such things be possible ? — be-
came all in a moment changed, and was at once a great lady — a
princess or countess, at least. Why — a moment before she was a
common stroller of the company — and now

' Pretty Bracegirdle herself — the fair, the chaste Celinda — could
not look the part better,' said Mr. Hilyard. ' Now, frail Calista, for
the Line?.* Then they began to recite verses, walking up and down
with strange gestures and great vehemence — she sometimes sweep-
ing across the floor as if she had whole yards of train behind her ;
he, as if clutching at a sword.

It was the scene in the ' Fair Penitent ' in which the unworthy
Calista receives the vows of Altamont. He says, with a face full of
exalted joy and looks of the most tender love :

' Begone, dull cares ! I give you to the winds
Far to be borne, far from the happy Altamont 1
Calista is the mistress of the year :
She crowns the seasons with auspicious beauty,
And bids even all my hours be good and joyful.'

To which she, repentant, though he knows not why, replies, hiding
her head in her hands :

1 If I were ever mistress of such happiness,
Oh ! wherefore did I play the unthrifty fool,
And, wasting all on others, leave myself
Without one thought of joy, to give me comfort ?'

'He is not drunk, Tom,' I whispered, wondering ; because, at
first, I thought that must be Mr. Hilyard's condition. * It is beau-
tiful. But what are they doing ?'

' That is play-acting, simpleton. Look at him now !'
They had stopped, and gone on to another scene. Mr. Hilyard
was now another character ; his face expressed mingled emotions of
scorn, pity, and sternness, while the actress declaimed the well-
known lines beginning :

' Is this the famous friend of Altamont ?'

MR. ANTONY HILYARD. 41

After which came his turn, and he spoke like one who carries fate
his hand :

* Alas ! this rage is vain ; for if your fame
Or peace be worth your care, you must be calm
And listtn to the means are left to save 'em.'

And so on — a strange wild scene of horror and reproach.

Well, when they finished, there was a great shouting of applause,
id a swearing, with needless imprecations, that Wilks himself
could not have played the part better ; to which Mr. Hilyard
replied, without any show or pretence of modesty, that indeed they
were quite right, and that at Oxford he was always understood to
be a great deal better actor than even that tragedian.

quality. You shall see that we scholars of Oxford are not without
parts.'

He thereupon took off his full wig, and borrowed a worn bobtail
from the oldest of the company, who was sitting by the fire, toast-
ing his toes and drinking his punch, without taking any interest in
what was doing. He might have been the father of the troop, and,
in fact, was the father of some of them. Mr. Hilyard, then, borrow-
ing this wig, put it on his own head ; and, to be sure, a most
ludicrous appearance he did present. Never did one imagine that a
change of wig could make so great a difference in a man's appear-
ance. His face became short again ; his mouth was set askew, and
he seemed laughing with his very eyes.

4 Why,' whispered Tom, ' who ever thought he could laugh at all ?
He has been with us five years, and never a smile till now !'

As the red firelight fell upon, his face it seemed brimful of mirth,
joy, and merriment, as if he could never do anything but laugh.
His eyes swam with cheerfulness ; there, was no such thing as care
in the whole world, one would have thought. Yet the same face
that I knew so well, although now I seemed never to have known
it before. Oh ! figure of Virtue in a brown coat, and Piety with
sober face, and Learning with decorous gravity, where art thou ?

The actors looked at him with admiration. Not one of them
could twist and turn his face so well. As for me, it was not ad-
miration, but amazement.

4 Didst ever see the like, Doll ?' whispered Tom.

iWe still held the door ajar, and peeped through, unregarded by
any of the company.
Next, Mr. Hilyard, still with this face of smiles, turned a chair
down, and sat upon it as if upon a saddle. Then he folded his
arms, and delivered an oration in verse, at which everybody laughed
loud and long. For my own part, I saw nothing to laugh at, for
the verses were all about everybody being an ass — a thing to make
people cry, rather than laugh. The cit, they said, v :as an ass, the

42 DORO TH Y FORSTEft.

soldier was an ass, the lawyer was an ass, the sailor was an ass, and
so forth. Perhaps the punch made the company the better disposed
to laugh. When the speaker had finished, they all protested, with
profane oaths, that Will Pinkiman himself had never given that
epilogue better.

' Will Pinkiman, gentlemen !' cried Mr. Hilyard, getting off his
chair. ' A fig for Will Pinkiman ! Why, though to be sure he hath
some merit, where is his fire compared to mine ?'

' Where, indeed, sir ?' repeated the fellow in the scarlet coat, with
his tongue in his cheek. * A better than Will Pinkiman is here. I
drink your health, sir.'

' Gentlemen,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' an evening like this does one
good. Believe me, I have never sung a single song, or played a
single piece, for five years. In the north a man of my parts is truly
wasted and thrown away.'

' Come with us, sir,' said the youngest actress, who had played
Calista with him. ' Sure, a gentleman like you would make a
fortune on the boards.'

' Nay, fair Calista, or Celinda, as thou wilt. There, indeed, you
must hold me excused. Had your boards been the boards of Old
Drury, it might be different. In that Temple of Thespis would be
my proper home.'

He then called for another bowl of punch to be got ready against
the other's giving out, and taking up a fiddle which belonged to one
of the company, he struck a chord or two, and began to play very
sweetly. First he played the tune of ' May Fair,' then of ' Cheshire
Rounds,' then ' Ye Lasses and Lads,' and lastly he played ' The
Countryman's Delight.' After which he laid down the bow, and
looked about for applause, which came in thunders.

' Why,' whispered Tom, ' I thought he could play none but
Psalm tunes on the spinet.'

This done — just, I suppose, to show the players another of his
accomplishments — he gave back the fiddle to its owner, and requested
him to play an air which he named, and, I suppose, was very well
known, to which he said he would sing a little song of his own
composition.

' Lord !' Tom murmured, ' he is going to sing next.'

He did sing, having a very sweet, melodious, and powerful voice,
not slurring his words as some singers do, for the sake of harmonizing
the tune, nor forgetting his tune in order to give more emphasis to
bis words, as is the way with others.

' Sweet Amoret, 'tis you, I vow,

Whose soft, prevailing charms
Have bound my hopes of heaven now

To live within, to live within thine e.ns.3.
* But if condemned by thy disdain,

And of thy smiles bereft ;
Still let me nurse the tender pain,
Though no more hope, though no more hope be left.

MR. ANTONY HtLYARD. 43

He stakes his all to win or lose,

Who sets his hopes so high,
And finds too late he cannot choose

But still to love, but still to love— and die.1

1 Mr. Tofts himself,' said the fair Celinda (or frail Calista), wiping

tear — but I fear a false one — 'could not have sung this song more

eetly, or more touched my heart.'

Mr. Hilyard smiled as one who is superior even to Mr. Tofts,
said that, for a private man, not a professor of the Art, he
thought he had sung his own foolish song indifferent well. But,
h ! you may think of the surprise of the girl peeping through tha
r. He to sing a l^ve-song ! Would skies drop next ?

Now I was not so young or so ignorant but I could plainly see
1 t whether Mr. Hilyard acted or sang well or ill, the company
fooling him for the sake of his punch. Also that they looked
with approval while the girl with the soiled silk petticoat and

e large eyes plied their entertainer with praise, and kept filling
is glass between the performances. After the song she said that
she would like nothing so much as to rehearse with him a scene
from the ' Mourning Bride ;' that she had all her life been looking
for some gentleman, not a common actor, but a gentleman (here
the men grinned) who could not only give the lines with fire, but
also look the part, and be as handsome in his person and courtly in
his manner as Mr. Hilyard (here he stroked his chin and wagged
his head and smiled, but the men grinned again, and took more
punch). But, she said, taking out her handkerchief and weeping,
unluckily, as all her friends present knew well, she could not afford
a dress becoming to the part, and even had to play queens and
chambermaids in the same frock, so unhappy she was. The other
women murmured, ' Poor thing ! and Gospel truth ! and the L(»-d
knows ! But a kind gentleman !' The men took more whisky
punch, and Mr. Hilyard, now a little flushed with praise and punch
combined, and the girl's eyes, which were kept fixed upon him (so
the cunning snake charms the silly coney), and her wheedling voice
— for she had a very soft and winning voice— began to shed tears
too, out of compassion, and lugging out his purse, swore — could one
believe that he should ever swear ? — that she should make such an
appearance on the stage as would show off her beautiful face and
lovely figure to the best advantage, and gave her two or three guineas.
She fell on her knees, calling him her preserver and her patroii.
The other women held up their hands, crying, * Oh, the generous
gentleman ! And this conies of a feeling heart, and of knowing
what acting should bo ! And heaven, surely, hath its choicest bless-
ings for one so good of heart !' But the men took more punch.

Then Mr. Hilyard raised the cunning jade (who I could see very
well was only pretending) and lifted her on his own knee, and
began to kiss her, the other women murmuring that an honest girl
mi^ht let the gentleman have so much liberty in return for bis
goodness.

44 DORO TH Y FORSTER.

1 0 Lord ! O Lord !' murmured Tom. * This after what he said
to me only yesterday !'

The men tipped the wink to each other, and drank more punch.
Then, as Mr. Hilyard showed no sign of any more acting, one of
them, putting down his glass, began to sing a song, at which the
women stopped their ears and the men began to laugh, and Tom
dragged me away. And so an end of the most wonderful evening
ever seen.

* Now,' cried Tom, ' what do you think of Mr. Hilyard, Dorothy ?'
' Truly, Tom,' I replied, 'I know not what to think or to say.'

* Nor I. Well, he hath fooled us all ; but we have found him
out. Why, if he had only told me before wljat he could do, what
evenings should we have had in this dull old house ! After all,
there are only a few months to wait. Dorothy, breathe not a word
to my father or to Jack.'

Amazed, indeed, I was that Mr. Hilyard, of all men, should per-
form these antics ! As well expect the Bishop of Durham, Lord
Crewe himself, that venerable Father of the Church, to stand up
for the Cobbler's Dance, or the Vicar of Bamborough, a divine of
great gravity, to grin through a horse-collar !

' In the morning,' said Tom, who seemed as much delighted at the
discovery as I was amazed and grieved (for surely it is sad to find
folly in a wise man's mouth — oh, how often had he admonished us
both out of Solomon's Proverbs !) — ' in the morning you shall see
me smoke old Sobersides.'

Well, in the morning, when I expected the poor man to appear
crestfallen and full of shame, Mr. Hilyard came down exactly the
same to look upon as usual, save that he seemed thirsty. To be
sure, he knew not that he had been observed. Yet surely he must
have remembered, with repentance, the foolishness of the night.

' I have heard, sir,' said Tom presently, looking as meek as a
sheep, * that a company of players passed through the town last
night.'

Mr. Hilyard replied that a report to that effect had also reached
his ears. He then proceeded to pronounce a eulogium on the Art
of Acting, which, he said, was in his opinion second only to the
divine gifts of poetry and music ; that a man who was able to act
should behave with modest gratitude for the possession of so great
a quality ; and he proceeded to give examples to prove the greatness
of actors, from Roscius, who made a fortune of fifty millions of
sesterces — which seems a prodigious great sum, though I know not
how many guineas go to make a sesterce — unto the great Monsieur
Baron, still living, and the favourite of the Paris ladies, although
he was retired from the stage for twelve years and more.

' Have you yourself, sir,' asked Tom, ' ever witnessed the per-
formance of a play in London ?

' It hath been my good fortune on many occasions,' replied his
tutor, ' to see the play both at Drury Lane and the Haymarket.
Perhaps I may be permitted to witness the exhibition of that
divine Art again before I die/

MR. ANTONY ItlLYARD.

45

1 The best tragic actor is said to be Mr. Wilks, is he not ?' asked
?om, while Dorothy blushed.

'Mr. Wilks hath certamly a great name,' replied Mr. Hilyard.
'Though I knew not you had heard of these things, Tom.'
• And in comic parts one Will Pinkiman, I have been told,' said
om, ' is considered the best.'

1 He certainly is,' replied Mr. Hilyard, with some surprise. ' Who
ith told you of Will Pinkiman ?'

1 Could you, sir, give us any example or imitation of this in-
jnious man ? One would like to know how Pinkiman, for instance,
ironounced th-3 comical epilogue seated on an ass, on whose head
j had placed a wig.'

Mr. Hilyard, somewhat disconcerted, changed colour, and drank
>ff a pint or so of the small-ale with which he made his breakfast,
icn he hemmed solemnly, and replied gravely :
Such an imitation is not, indeed, beyond my powers. And I
jive, Tom, that thou hast heard something of yesterday evening,
perhaps witnessed the entertainment which I provided for those
>r but virtuous and ingenious people who passed the night at tbe
The Art of Acting was not included in the subjects which
rour father and Lady Crewe considered necessary for a gentleman,
"herefore, I have abstained from ever speaking of it. Certainly it
no more necessary than that of painting, playing an instrument,
ulpture, singing, carving, or any of those arts by which the daily
Pe of the rich is embellished and in some countries the lives of the
)r are made happy.'
He then, with so much gravity that one could not but remember
te merry face of last night, proceeded to discourse upon the im-
jrsonation of character, and actually depicted before us, without
iving his chair, and simply by changing the expression of his face,
id by various gestures of his hands, the diverse emotions of pity,
irror, awe, expectancy, resignation, wrath, revenge, submission,
>ve, jealousy, and suspicion, and all so naturally, and with so much
lignity, that we were awed, and when we expected to laugh, or to
like the poor man ashamed, we were made ashamed ourselves.
He concluded by warning us that, if we chanced to see a man
rho possessed this genius performing a foolish or mean part, we
mst be careful not to confound the man with the character which
assumed ; to remember that many illustrious persons, including
le Grand Monarque himself, had figured in operas, ballets, comic
)ieces, and burlettas, not to speak of Nero, a great artist, though a
;reat monster, and Commodus ; and to regard the stage as the
iuest school in the world for virtue and good manners ; although
yet it must be owned, he said, that there was still — as regards
/omedy — something to desire.

' Who would think,' said Tom, when ho had concluded, and left
j gaping at each other, ' who would think that only yesterday
reniiig he was hugging and kissing the actress ?'

this event happened a very short time before Tom came of

40 DOROTHY FORSTER.

age. He spoke no more about it to me, nor did Mr. Hilyard again
discourse of acting. It was not till a week before his birthday that
Tom opened upon the subject again.

' Dorothy,' he said, ' I have been thinking that for Mr. Hilyard to
%o away, when he hath become so useful to all of us, would be a
jreat pity.'

' Why should Mr. Hilyard leave us, Tom ?'

' Why, child, a man needs no tutor or guardian when he is twenty-
ne years of age. As for you and me, we shall live together ; but
;>ou will miss him more than I, especially when I am away with my
i/riends.'

' Oh, Tom, who will—' But here I stopped, because there
were so many things that Mr. Hilyard did for us that I could not
tell which to begin with.

' Who will keep the accounts — look after the cellar, the stables,
and the dogs ; make my flies, look after my feeders and my cocks ;
read books with you, talk about the Romans, spout poetry, and —
what, Dorothy ?'

' Sing sorgs and play the fiddle, Tom ?' I asked timidly, because
I had never dared to ask Mr. Hilyard to repeat that pretty per-
formance.

* And act like Will Pinkiman, and keep a whole roomful of men
in a continual laugh — who, Dorothy ?'

* Why, no one, Tom.'

* There is no one. I believe there is no one in all England who
can act, and play, and sing like Mr. Hilyard, demure as he looks,
and puiiing like a cat all these years. Dorothy, if madam had seen
him !'

' Oh, Tom ! Don't tell her.'

* I am not going to tell her. Now, listen, child : I have a plan,
and I will tell thee what it is. He hath been with us so long that
he knows our affairs and our most private concerns. I doubt not
that he is honest, and his play-acting — did you ever see the like ?'

Tom fell into a kind of reverie, and remained speechless for a
while. Then he broke out into a great fit of laughter, and began to
imitate Mr. Hilyard's face and speech (but at a long distance) when
he sat upon the chair :

* " Your fighting ass is a Bully,
Your sneaking ass is a Cit,
Your keeping ass is a Cully,
Your top prime ass is a Wit."

How well he did it, sister ! I have thought it over, my mind is
quite made up ; I will ask him to stay with me. He shall be my
secretary or clerk, the steward of my affairs ; he shall keep my
books for me, and deal with my tenants. As for me, I shall ride,
shoot, fish, and entertain my friends ; in the evening, Mr. Hilyard
shall have as much drink as he likes, and shall sing, play, and act for
the amusement of my company. I will give him, besides liis
and driri^j Jjye-and-thirty pounds a year in money.'

MR. ANTONY HILYARD. 47

On the twenty-first birthday there were rejoicings and a great
feast held. Strange to see how Tom (who had, to be sure, been
longing eagerly for the day) stepped into his place, no longer a
minor, but now one of the gentlemen of the county. His head had
been shaved, and he wore for the first time, but rather awkwardly,
a beautiful full wig, the curls of which, hanging over his shoulders,
greatly set forth the natural beauty of his features, and lent dignity
to his appearance. He was also dressed in a purple coat with
crimson lining, a white silk waistcoat, and scarlet leather shoes with
gold buckles (they had belonged to Mr. Ferdinando), and he wore,
for the first time, a sword.

* Now, Dorothy,' he said complacently, ' I feel I am a man at last
Remember what I said about Mr. Hilyard.'

Among those who offered their congratulations was ths tutor ;
but he wore a sad downcast countenance, because he looked for
nothing less than to be sent away, his business being at last accom-
plished, and his pupil now of age.

He laid down his office, he said, with as much regret as Seneca,
once tutor to the Emperor Nero. ' But,' he added, ' my own worth
falls as far short of that philosopher as my pupil's character sur-
passes that of Nero. Wherefore, in parting from so generous a
patron, I have no other consolation than the recollection of faithful
service in the cultivation of so fruitful a soil as the brain of Mr.
Forster, and the hope of letters recommendatory which may obtain
for me other and equally suitable employment.'

' Truly, suitable,' said Tom, laughing. Mr. Hilyard blushed, but
the rest wondered. ' As for parting,' Tom went on, ' there go two
to make a parting. Why not stay with me ?'

The poor tutor, whose face had been growing longer day by day
for two months, shook his head.

'My occupation,' he said, 'is gone.'

' As for occupation,' Tom replied, ' what say you to board and
lodging, as much wine and punch as you can hold whenever there
is company, and five-and- thirty pounds a year ?'

' But the duties — the work '

4 Why — that is the work, to eat and drink, and make merry.'

' Mr. Hilyard to eat and drink, and make merry ?' cried madam.
'Make merry? He?'

' Why,' said Tom, ' that is what we are asking him to do. He
will be strange to it at first, I fear. But I wan-ant you, give him
but a month, and you shall see a change indeed. He will then be
able to sing like Mr. Tofts, act like Will Pinkiman, drink like
.—like any man among us, play the fiddle, and '

'Is it possible, Mr. Hilyard?' asked my father. 'Ho! ho! I
believe no more in grave faces. This is indeed a hiding of lights

Micath a bushel.' For the tutor hung his head and looked foolish.

' If you want any other occupation,' Tom continued, ' there are
accounts to keep, tenants to reprove, grooms and feeders to over-
look, my sister to amuse, and, in fact, all the things you have
for the last five years.'

48 DOROTHY FORSTER.

' Your honour means this seriously ?' asked Mr. Hilyard.

* Certainly I do.'

4 Then, sir ' — his face lightened, and he looked round him with a
cheerful smile — ' I accept your generous offer gratefully. I confess
that the position and work of a tutor have ever been distasteful to
me, and I have only hidden those small accomplishments of mine,
which now you have discovered, because I feared they would be
considered inconsistent with an almost sacred calling.'

4 Why, then, there is no more to say,' cried Tom, 4 except to
shake hands upon it.'

' Yet there is one condition, if I may venture *

4 Venture, man.'

4 1 pray that I be not expected to go fox-hunting. I love not, in
truth, to risk my neck for a thing I never see, and which if I were
to get I should not want.'

' That is granted,' said Tom, laughing, be6ause some of Mr. Hil-
vard's adventures on horseback had been ludicrous to the beholders,
but painful to himself.

4 There is also one other thing.' Mr. Hilyard continued, with a look,
eideways, at myself, of which I afterwards thought with a kind of
pity. 4 A faithful steward wants the whole day for the manage-
ment of your honour's business and the occasions and services of
Miss Dorothy. I would, with submission, ask that I be only invited
to lay aside those duties in the evening, when I shall be always
pleased to place my poor talents, such as they are, at the service of
your honour and your friends.'

'My hand on't,' said Tom heartily, 4and so, honest Tony'— he
called him Tony on that day and ever afterwards. Yet hitherto he
had never spoken to him except bareheaded as to a parent or superior,
and called him always ' Sir.' So quickly does a young man change
when he comes to his twenty- first year. 4 So, honest Tony, thou
prince of brave topers, stay with me. Read your books with missy
all the day, but, by gad, all night you shall sing and drink your fill
with the best company in the county !'

4 Are we dreaming ?' cried niadain.

CHAPTER VI

THE CHIEF CREDITOR.

IT was in this way that our tutor remained with us. My brother
never did a wiser thing, nor made a better bargain ; for if Mr.
Hilyard was serviceable before, he was ten times as serviceable now,
by his care and watchfulness saving expense here and preventing
waste there. He took, in a word, the conduct of all Tom's affairs,
showing himself as capable and competent in administration as he
had been a faithful tutor.
For my own part (not to «™eak, more than can be helped, of tlje

THE CHIEF CREDITOR. 49

!

way in which his evenings were too often employed), I found him
a mnch more delightful companion now that he had no occasion for
tlu austerity of a tutor. Yet he preserved his gravity during the
Working hours of the day.

* I may at some time of my life,' he said, ' take upon me the vows
< f H oly Orders, for which I have ever had an ardent desire. One
would almost as soon preach in a London church as deliver verses
on the boards of Drury Lane, except for the applause, which, m
the Early Church, was not wanting. Wherefore I still cultivate the
habit of a decorous carriage. Yet I confess to you, Miss Dorothy,
that there have been moments, before Mr. Forster came of age,
wh en I have had a vehement yearning upon me to put on, as I may

y, the old Adam. That temptation has now disappeared.'

Probably, as he put on the natural Adam nearly every evening, the
cause of the temptation was removed. 'Twas as if a gambler should
cease to feel the desire for gambling in the morning after he had
begun to gamble every night. Mr. Hilyarti became, in fact, much
more pleasant. He would play tender and moving airs upon the
fiddle, and, though he reserved his powers of imitation and drollery
for the gentlemen (ladies being too often unable to see anything to
laugh at in what pleases men after supper), he would sometimes sing
very sweetly such songs as ' Love finds out the way,' or * Jockey's
Lamentation.' And often when we were alone, my brother being
away with friends, he would beguile an evening with a scene from
Shakespeare, which he would act and read with surprising force.

I need not speak of his powers wholly with admiration, because
their exe-cise had led him, as will presently be seen, to disgrace and
almost \. ruin. It was, when one thinks of it, a truly dreadful
thing for a man who was a scholar and a student of theology, of
great learning, noble parts, and true eloquence, to be carried away
by a love of buffoonery and the desire to display a monkey-like
power of imitation. A pretty reward, indeed, of his labours as
tutor, to be made the Merry Andrew, Clown, and Tom Fool of the
Vhole company whenever Tom gathered his friends together.
Ought they not rather to be ashamed of seeing so learned a man
i'ms lower himself ? Yet they showed no signs of compunction or
«•} ame, but at each new monkey-trick they cheered the louder and
lr. ughed the longer. Happily, women are removed from this tempta-
; ion (though we have plenty left). We do not desire to be continually
laughing, and we cannot understand what there is in most things to
laugh at, nor why, because men get together, they must be for ever
singing, laughing, and making merry. Everybody will understand,
however, that this strange thing was speedily bruited abroad, and
that the possession of this entertaining Oxford scholar brought
gentlemen to our house. My brother, easy and hospitable, loved to
entertain his friends, and they? not to be behindhand, constantly
returned the compliment, especially in the hunting season, so that
there was seldom a week without a feast and a carouse.

My time, from the year 1707 to the year 1710, was spent chiefly

50 DOROTHY FORSTER.

with Tom at the Manor House. In the latter year Lord Derwenl nratei
came home, which made a great change, as you will presently hear,
for all of us. In the morning it was my duty, even when quite
young, to order the household, so that I became, in course of time,
a notable woman, skilled in the preparation of conserves, jellies,
pies, cakes, biscuits, puddings, stuffings, strong waters, perfumes,
jmd home-made wines ; good at embroidery, and able to play the
fpinet with some freedom and delicacy ; also, I could make and
mend, cut out, fashion, sew, and trim with any woman : in such
pursuits my forenoon was entirely occupied, as well as that of my
still-room maid, who was no other than that Jenny Lee, the Mid-
summer Witch, when we all had our fortunes told — I am bound to
say that, whatever her subsequent conduct, she was the most faith-
ful, dexterous, and zealous maid to me, and I never had the least
fault to find with her. My old nurse, Judith (who had been Tom's
nurse as well, and loved not madam), sat all day long in her arm-
chair, reposing after a life spent in faithful service. One morning
she slept so long beside the fire that I tried to awaken her for
dinner ; but could not, for she had slept through her passage from
this world to the next.

In the afternoon, dinner over, Mr. Hilyard would sometimes read
aloud out of a book, or we would read French together, or he would
discourse upon matters of high import ; or he would walk with me
Ln the castle, or upon the sands, or across the fields, finding always
Something of instruction. Let me never forget how much I am
indebted to this good and patient man (good and patient all the day,
that is; though in those days somewhat deboshed with drink at
night). It is through him that I learned something of history,
geography, knowledge of the world we live in, and the stars beyond ;
yea, even my humble gratitude to the Divine Designer and Archi -
tect of the Universe, was first inspired by this modest scholar, in
pointing out the wonders of the earth and the motions of the
heavenly bodies.

Very shortly after Tom came of age he received a letter from
Lady Crewe, his coheir, which might have very seriously alarmed a
man of a less sanguine and hopeful character. What Tom believed
he held as matter of faith, out of which no one could shake him.
Now he held, as clearly as the Thirty-nine Articles of the Church
(but with much less reason), that the great estates he inherited
were as inexhaustible as the mines of Potosi. There had been, it is
true, and he knew it, three successive holders of the property, who
all spent, every year, more than their yearly income. Further, he
knew that Lord Crewe had bought in a rent-charge of £500 a year.
And this letter ought to have made him consider his position very
carefully ; but it did not.

'My DEAR NEPHEW AND COHEIB,' her ladyship wrote, — 'It in
with infinite pain that I hereby inform you that the creditors of my
late brothers have taken such steps as will result in our estate being

Ail

=

THE CHIEF CREDITOR. 51

rown into Chancery, the effect of which cannot but be disastrous
us both, though, in the long run, we shall perhaps recover. As
regards present expenses, we shall have to appoint some trustworthy
servant as steward of the property till such time as the lawyers have
done with it and the creditors are satisfied. And you may rest
assured of my care that your income shall be sufficient for you to
live at the Manor House, though not in the state which my brothers
ere able to maintain. You will have fewer horses and servants ;
u will not be able, at present, to bear the charges of a seat in
rliament ; but you will continue (I will take care therefor) to
ive on your estates, and in your own house. And, should I remain un-
happily a childless wife, you will, on my death, succeed to my moiety.
Therefore, my dear nephew, bid little Dorothy take care that there
no waste in the kitchen ; buy no more horses ; make no bets ;
n no matches ; keep my late brother's cellar for days of company ;
provide your table chiefly by your gun ; make no debts ; and hope
continually that the years of lean kine will be but few, and will
soon pass away.

* Your loving Aunt,

'DoitOTHY CREWE.'

Tom read this letter slowly.

'"Fewer horses!'" he said. 'Why, I have but half a dozen or
so as it is. "Fewer servants!" Then who is to keep the poor
varlets if I send them adrift? "Make no bets!" Why, my lady,
there you must please to excuse me, for a gentleman must make
bets. " Run no matches !" Well, not many. What does she mean
by " lean kine " ?'

' Her ladyship refers to the dream of Pharaoh,' said Mr. Hilyard.

' Then I wish her ladyship would talk plain English. After all,

it will be but a year or two, and then Tony, what the devil

are you looking so glum about ?'

4 Chancery,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' means more than a year or two.
Lawyers are like that famous vampire- bat, said to exist in Hungary,
which seizes on a creature, and never lets go while there is blood
left.'

It is wonderful to relate that Tom never took the least trouble to
find out what the liabilities were, or how long it would take to pay
them off. Meanwhile, there was no change in his manner of living,
save that he bought no more horses, hired no new servants, and
restrained himself from those things which require a great outlay
of money. I know not how the money was found for the daily
charges, but I suppose that Lady Crewe could tell, for the estates
were really thrown into Chancery, where they remained for sir
years. Mr. Hilyard, I believe, but am not certain, was appointed
steward. Also I know now that, one after the other, the creditors
weie mostly bought up by Lord Crewe.

With wings thus clipped, supposed to be the owner of a great
tetate. of W*ich he could enjoy nothing, Tom could not t tke the

$2 DOROTHY FORSTE&.

same position in the county as had been enjoyed by his predecessors.
Yet there was always the generous hospitality of the north, and th«
great cellar of wine left by Mr. Ferdinando held out even against
Tom's friends, who were mostly young, and all of them gifted with
a great appetite and thirst ; and as long familiarity with danger
makes one cease to believe in it (as a sailor puts forth to meet the
perils of the seas without a thought upon them), so Tom went on,
taking no heed for the morrow, as if the broad lands of Bamborough
were really his own, as they had been Sir William's. Yet, as I
grew older, and could understand things better, I learned from Mr.
Hilyard that his own expectancy for the future was gloomy indeed,
for all of us — for Tom, who might lose the greater part of his
estate ; for myself, who would lose, so to speak, whatever he lost ;
and for himself, because he would lose employment to his mind,
and a patron who was generous in his way, though sometimes quick
with his tongue, and so might be turned again upon the world to
seek his fortune at five or six and thirty years of age, when a man
ought to be settled in the way of life by which he earns his bread.

*I doubt,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'whether, when all is done, there
will remain for the coheirs enough to give a bare living to his
loiour. All will go to Lord Crewe, who, I hear, is buying up the
remaining creditors. We know not what may be the intentions of
his lordship, but he is growing old, and may die ; or he may intend
— but, indeed, we know not what he may intend, except that it is
poor work for a Forster of Bamborough to look to any man for
patronage and support.'

Poor work, truly ! even though that man was so near a connec-
tion as my lord !

Tom, then, took no thought for the future, believing that the
estates would shortly be cleared of all encumbrances, and his inherit-
ance become all his own. Nay, when letters came from the lawyers,
written in the language or jargon employed by the members of that
profession with intent to darken the judgment and confuse the mind
of a plain person, my brother tossed them over to Mr. Hilyard,
bidding him read them if he pleased, but not to vex him by rehears-
ing their purport, and so, with a whistle to his dogs, off to the sport
which chiefly occupied his mind. Nor would he hear afterwards
what the letters conveyed to him, though Mr. Hilyard shook his
head and groaned, telling me privately that our affairs were going
from bad to worse. Like master, like man ; he, too, when the
bottle went round, shook off dull care, and assumed that fool's-cap
which belongs to all who willingly dwell in a fool's paradise.

There came the time, however2 when the storm, which had been
gathering so long, burst upon us in great fury, finding one at least,
and that the man most concerned, wholly unprepared.

It was one day in the early autumn of the year 1709, and in the
afternoon. My brother was sitting at the open window, with a
packet of flies in his hands (they were made for him by Mr. Hil-
yard), but half -asleep and nodding, as sometimes happened to him

THE CHIEF CREDITOR. 53

after his dinner and noonday potations of strong ale. He was then
twenty-seven years of age. Six years had passed since he came
into his own, which was now, alas ! to be taken from him, though
he had never really enjoyed more than the shadow and reputation
of it. Yet they were six years of fatness, with plenty of feasting,
drinking, hunting, shooting, and fishing, so that one may easily
understand that Tom looked no longer the gallant and handsome
lad who received the congratulations of his friends when he reached
his twenty-first year. His cheeks were fuller, and he had already
something of a double chin. Yet a comely man still.

I have always thought it a great happiness that Tom was in nc,
hurry to be married. In this respect he resembled many others of
his family. His uncles John and Ferdinando, for instance, neve,/
married at all, nor hath his brother Jack as yet taken a wife, though
he is now (at the time I write) far advanced towards forty. Had
Tom become a father of children, this and later troubles might have
been more than one could bear.

Then there rode up to the door the post-boy, mounted on his
little pony, and blowing his horn, at the noise of which Tom started
and woke up ; Mr. Hilyard, who held in his hand a book in Latin,
laid it down and went out, and I put aside my sewing and waited
for the news. We were less astonished than most at the arrival of
a letter, because we were sometimes privileged to read Lady Swin-
burne's latest London News. Now it may seem incredible, but it is
nevertheless true, and I have experienced the same thing on the
occasion of other misfortunes as great, that I felt quite certain
beforehand, and while waiting for the letter, that it brought bad
news.

4 Read it, Tony,' said Tom, giving it back. ' It is from her lady-
ship. Perhaps it is to say that all is now off, and the estate is
clear.'

Mr. Hilyard opened the letter, which was a long one, with great
care, drew a chair to the window, and there read it.

This most astonishing epistle fell upon us all like a thunderbolt
in our midst, as one of the Allies' shells at Oudenarde. Consider;
for so many years there had been always before our eyes the
prospect of a time when the estates should be free — in a year or
two, perhaps, more or less ; what mattered ? Sooner or later Tom
would have his unencumbered moiety, and, as was reasonable to
suppose, at my lady's death the whole.

It was a truly dreadful letter. It informed us, in fact, that there
was nothing left. Law and the creditors had swallowed all. A
thing impossible to believe, and yet most true. There was nothing
left. My aunt, in telling us this drsadful thing, talked obscurely
about our remaining at the Manor House, with hints about affairs
of importance not to be undertaken without communication with
her. I was, for my own part, so bewildered, that I understood but
half of what she s;iid.

Now, when Mr. llilyard read, Tom, who began by paying little

54 DOROTHY FORSTER.

heed first, sprang to his feet, and then turned white and then red
crying :

' Read that again ! Read that again !' And when the letter
ended with an exhortation to resignation, Tom sank into his chair,
crying, 'For Lord's sake, Tony, tell me without her ladyship's
rigmarole — Death and Furies ! what have I to do with resignation ?
— what it means.'

' It means, sir,' Mr. Hilyard replied, ' briefly this : The Bain-
borough estates have been all, by order of the Lord Chancellor, sold
for the benefit of the creditors. Lord Crewe hath bought the whole
for the sum of £20,000, and the amount due to her ladyship and
yourself, the lawyers and creditors having been paid, and the rent-
charges provided for, is not more than £1,020, of which you, who
take the moiety, will receive £510 exactly.'

Then there was silence, during which we looked anxiously at
Tom, whose face was swollen, and so red that I feared he would
have a fit of some kind.

' So all is gone,' he said, at length. ; A goodly inheritance,
indeed ! Five hundred pounds !'

' Your honour forgets,' replied Mr. Hilyard, ' that you are still the
heir of Etherston. As to the land of the Bamborough Forsters,
that seems to have taken unto itself wings. If one cannot trust in
land, in what shall man place his trust ?'

' I am the heir of Etherston — that is true. But my father's estate
can do little more than keep himself and his family. Shall I have
to go back to him and live upon his bounty ?' To this, being greatly
moved and beyond himself, he added many strong words and oaths,
which may be passed over.

'Not so, sir,' said Mr. Hilyard. 'With submission, if you go
back, Miss Dorothy will go with you ; and I must needs go back
into the world, naked as I came into it at my birth. Therefore, I
trust this will not happen. As for this house and all these lands,
they are indeed the property of the Lord Bishop ; but there seems
a way — nay, her ladyship herself indicates a way. You will remain
here — as her nephew.'

'A fine way, truly! I am to be a beggar — a pensioner — a
dependent upon my aunt.'

' Nay ; the eldest son of Mr. Thomas, and the grandson of Sir
William Forster, must not be called by anyone a beggar, or a pauper,
or a dependent, even though his aunt, who is wealthy, provide the
expenses of his establishment. Her ladyship clearly signifies her
desire that you should continue as if this purchase had not been
made, and that you should live in the same style as at present,
which is not, I am aware, the style befitting Mr. Ferdinando's suc-
cessor, or equal to the splendour of his state : but yet it is the style
and manner of a gentleman, and equal to that of your honour's
father ; and she further clearly specifies her intention, if I read her
aright, that out of the revenues of the estates such ft sum shall t»9
reserved for your use as may be found necessary.'

THi. CHIEF CREDITOR. 55

4 Yes — bnt on conditions.

'With submission, sir, again : on reasonable conditions. She
desires only that no important step be taken by you without her
consent. That is to say, and, by way of illustration, when you
desire to marry, you would signify your intention to her ladyship.
That is what you would naturally do towards your lamented mother's
sister/

1 Tilly vally, Tony, that is not what her ladyship means. You
know very well what she does mean.'

* Then, sir,' said Mr. Hilyard, apparently without attention to
this interruption, ' there is also the danger which threatens the
whole country, and especially the north. Her ladyship, knowing
your honour's courage, loyalty, and daring, is right in fearing that
you might be led into some rash enterprise, like the late Sir John
Fenwick, in which you might lose not only your head but also your
estates. This danger, sir, I for one, if I may venture to say so,
have felt especially of late to be very great. Consider, that you
are acknowledged by all to be by birth and position, as well as by
abilities, foremost among the Protestant gentlemen of the north.'

' That may be so, Tony,' said Tom, softening. * I do not say that
thou art wrong.'

* A natural leader of the Cause, and of great daring.'
1 It is true,' said Tom, wagging his head.

4 Round whom the people will rally.'

* If not,' said Tom, sitting down, ' I should like to know round
whom they will rally.'

* Next,' said Mr. Hil^ard, 'it is very well known that there hath
been of late a great increase of agitation in the counties and in the
towns. Private advices reach us from London of the clubs, of the
enthusiasm for Dr. Sacheverell, and the loyalty even of the mob.
Her ladyship desires, naturally, that when you take that step, which
will go far to decide the victory of the Cause she hath at heart

4 It will,' cried Tom. ' It must.'

' She shall know beforehand, if only— but this I guess— in order
that you may be enabled to make a fitting appearance in the field.
A Forster may not be as magnificent as the Duke of Ormond, but
he must be suitably equipped and followed.'

' Why,' said Tom, ' if that is all her ladyship means '

4 What more, sir, may I ask, can she mean ? As your honour's
aunt, she is anxious for your safety ; as a woman, she reveres the
head of her branch ; also, as a woman, saving Miss Dorothy's
presence, having the power of the purse, she desires to keep it. As
for what she intends, that is to me very certain. She hath been
married more than ten years, and hath no children ; she is already
over forty ; her husband is past seventy-five years of age, and will
leave to his widow all he can, if he does not leave to her all he has ;
her ladyship's devotion to her own family is well known. To whom
should she bequeath her wealth, save to your honour ?'

4 True,' said Tom, 4 it is natural. My lord is very ricb.'

56 DOROTHY FORSTER.

'You will therefore become/ said Mr. Hilyard, 'before many
years, the richest gentleman in the north.'

' I shall then rebuild the castle, and live within its walls,' said
Tom.

' You will certainly be able to do this, and to revive the old state
of your ancestors, Sir John and Sir Claudius.'

* I shall also restore the ancient Tower of Blanchland, and make
a noble residence of it.'

' Sir, the idea is worthy of the great position you will then hold.

' As for you, Tony, I have made up my mind. You shall take
Holy Orders and become my chaplain, with two hundred pounds a
year.'

* Your honour is indeed generous.*

' I shall also go into the House. By that time the Prince will
have his throne. He will reward those who have been faithful to
him.'

' An earldom at least,' said Mr. Hilyard.

' At least,' said Tom, kindling. ' The Earl of Blanchland, eh ? It
would be as fine as the Earl of Derwentwater.'

' Even at present,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' your honour may marry in
any family you choose, being of so old and honourable a house. But
then — with Lord Crewe's inheritance and the Sovereign's favour —
of course you will be sworn of the Privy Council '

' Of course,' answered Tom proudly.

' Earl of Blanchland, of his Majesty's Privy Council ; Knight of
the Garter — I think, my lord — I mean, your honour — we may say
Knight of the Garter '

' You may,' said Tom, laying his fingers round his leg ; * you
may, sir.'

* Lord Lieutenant and High Sheriff of Northumberland ; Here-
ditary Grand Warden of the March (an honour only to be asked
for) ; Governor of the Castle of Bamborough ; Lord of the Manor
of Etherston '

' I give that,' said Tom, ' to my brother Jack. It is not worth
keeping.'

' With all these distinctions, is there an heiress or a lady in all
England but would rejoice at such an alliance ?'

' Gad !' said Tom, * you put things as they should be put. Tony,
your salary as my chaplain shall be four hundred, not two. You
shall be a king among chaplains ! But when you have the cassock
and the bands, you will not cease from drinking and singing, will you ?'

1 Sir,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' I shall be like unto Friar John des
Entommeurs. In the gown I shall only drink the deeper.'

With such persuasion and artful show of hope did Mr. Hilyard
soothe the disappointment of this dreadful blow, so that poor Tom,
although without a penny (save his five hundred pounds), and de-
pendent wholly upon the bounty of my aunt, felt himself in imagina-
tion exalted to the highest rank, and possessing all those distinctions
which are most coveted.

THE CHIEF CREDITOR. 57

1 Write to her ladyship, my good friend,' he said, with the majesty
of an Earl in his manner ; ' tell her in suitable terms that I agree
to her proposals. Bring me the draft of the letter, and I will write
it in my own hand, after I have corrected it. You can tell Jack,
Dorothy, that I shall give him Etherston when the time comes*'

Alas ! Jack has got Etherston, and has held it now for fourteen
years. But what did poor Tom get ?

Then — the kind brother — he thought upon his sister.

1 What shall I give thee, Dorothy ?' he asked. ' Truly, if it de-
pended upon me, thou shouldst have the finest husband in the
world, and the richest dower.'

So he kissed me on the forehead, and left us.

' Man,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' is ever allured by the things which are
of least use to him. Who would be Earl and Knight of the Garter,
and bear the weight and fardel of greatness ? Wn° would not
rather be a plain country gentleman, with an estate in land, a troop
of friends, and a goodly cellar ? His honour hath lost his whole
substance. He hath remaining not one acre of land nor one shilling
of revenue ; yet is he happy, because he will now have continually
before his eyes the inheritance of Lord Crewe.'

* But you think '

1 Nay, I am sure. I have deceived him in nought, except in this.
Her ladyship is, it is true, forty years of age, but she may very well
live as long as her nephew. But to tell him this in his present
mood would be the same as to kick over the basket of eggs out of
which this mighty fortune was to be made. I have also hidden
another thing, which I confess with shame. I am informed that
Lord Derwentwater will certainly return early in the year. He is
young and ardent ; he will gather round him, no doubt, all the hot-
brains and hair-brains of the county. Lady Crewe knows this,
because she knows all. Who can tell what may happen ? Is she
not right to ensure that her nephew, if he risk his neck, shall risk
nothing else ?'

CHAPTER VDL

ROOM FOR MY LORD.

IT wag in the year of grace seventeen hundred and ten that Lord
Derwentwater, who had been living abroad from childhood, returned
to his native country. He was then in his twenty-first year, having
been born on the 28th of June, 1 689, being a year younger than the
Prince, his cousin, whose education he shared, and whose playfellow
lu- \\as. To one of those who welcomed him back — a woman — it
will always seem as if her life had something of meanness in it before
he came. Until then, she knew not what was meant by the man
ners and airs which are learned only at such Courts as those of
Versailles and St. James's ; nor did she know before how splendid
ft beiug js a man who, besides being master of all the manly accom-

$8 DOROTH Y FORSTER.

plishments, as most of the Northumberland gentlemen are, also
possesses the language of gallantry, the manners of a courtier, and
the youth and beauty of Apollo. I can but own — why should I be
ashamed to own it ? — that the admiration which I felt for my lord
at the very first appearance and beholding of him, only increased
the of tener I saw him and the more I conversed with him. Sure I
am that Heaven hath nowhere bestowed upon this generation so
goodly and virtuous a nobleman. Yet was he granted to us to
gladden our hearts and set us an example of benevolence, courtesy,
majesty, and good breeding for five short years. Thus are the
greatest blessings granted to mankind (if I may be permitted so to
speak of the Heavenly Scheme) with sparing and jealous hands.

It was by way of the Low Countries that the Earl returned to
England, because the Long War, although it was drawing to a close,
was still raging. Indeed, it was but a short while since the famous
battle of Malplaquet, where the vanquished suffered not half so
much loss as the victors, and our valiant Prince charged twelve
times with the French regiment of Household Troops. Lord Der-
wentwater was accompanied only by his two brothers, Francis and
Charles, the latter of whom was but a lad of sixteen, and his gentle-
man, Mr. Welby (afterwards hanged at Liverpool). He was met
in London by his uncle, Colonel Thomas Radcliffe, and his cousin,
Mr. Fenwick of Bywell (a near relation of the unhappy man who
slew Mr. Ferdinando). As for the Colonel, who lived for the most
part at Radcliffe House, in Newcastle, he was a most worthy and
honourable gentleman, but subject to a strange infirmity. For he
imagined that he was being constantly pursued by an enemy armed
with a sword, so that when he walked abroad he constantly looked
behind him, and when he sat at table he would suddenly spring to
his feet and lay hand upon his sword ; and at night he would leap
from his bed, try the locks and bars of his door, and throw open
the window. For this reason he went to Newcastle by water, a
method of travelling which gave him the greatest content, because
on board ship he fancied himself safe except from pirates. It was
resolved that, though no secret should be made as to the Earl's
arrival, there should be no stay in London, to avoid the danger of
his being drawn into some rash design or engagement. For it was
his friends' anxious desire that while it should be very well under-
stood that he was the faithful and loyal supporter of the Prince, he
was to have no hand in any plots, and was not to move until success
was assured.

They were joined in London also by Mr. Henry Howard, a Catholic
priest, and cousin to the Duke of Norfolk (would that all priests
were like unto this venerable and godly man !). And though they
rode straight north, they made not so much haste but that news of
their arrival reached the north before they got as far as York ; and
it was resolved by many of the gentlemen, especially his cousins, to
give him welcome at Dilston Hall. As for us, we were doubly his
cousins, both by our ancestor, Sir John, who married Jane Had-

ROOM FOR MY LORD. 59

cliff e, widow of Lord Ogle, and his son, Nicolas, who married
another Jane Radcliffe, heiress of Blanchland.

' Who should go to welcome him if not I, his cousin and near
neighbour ?' said Tom. (He was now become quite easy in his
mind as regards his own circumstances, and secure of the brilliant
succession with which Mr. Hilyard had inflamed his mind.) * And,
if I go, why not you as well, Dorothy ?'

You may judge of the joy with which I heard these words. But
ft was a great undertaking, and needed much consideration, which
we entrusted to Mr. Hilyard. He finally resolved for us that we
should go, and that we should seize the occasion to spend the whole
year at Blanchland, where we might, at least, live retired, and at
small charge, the place being eight or nine miles from any neighbours,
and in the middle of a wild moor. I think — nay, I am quite sure —
that Mr. Hilyard's desire that Tom should spend no money was
greater than his wish to greet the Earl, for, though he complained
not, it fell to his lot to ask her ladyship for supplies, and to receive
the rebukes for prodigality with which she sometimes answered his
letters.

My heart was light at the prospect of so great a journey and thfe
sight of strange places, to say nothing of giving a welcome to the
young lord. I cared nothing for the cold wind of February, and
the driving sleet and snow in which we began our journey. To me,
though the snow lay in piles about the brambles and the bushes, and
the wind blew from the north-east, and one's fingers froze, and one's
feet in the saddle lost all feeling, the journey was delightful. We
were a great party, having with us a whole troop of pack-horses
laden with guns, fishing-tackle, clothes, and so forth. There were
also Tom's dogs and hounds, his second riding-horse, his grooms, his
own man (who shaved him, dressed his wig, and kept his clothes),
Mr. Hilyard, and my maid, Jenny Lee. So that we were like a
small army, and made, in fact, almost as little progress as an army
in motion. The first night we lay at our own house (but it was
now Lord Crewe's) at Alnwick ; the second we lay at Rothbury, a
pleasant town on the Coquet ; on the third at Capheaton Castle,
where we were hospitably entertained, though Sir William had
already gone two days before to Dilston with her ladyship. On the
fourth we rode into Hexham.

In this ancient town, which I now saw for the first time, we
found gathered together a goodly company of gentlemen, assembled
for the purpose of giving the Earl a hearty welcome home. The
street was full of them and of their servants. They stood about
the doors of the inns ; they drank and sang in little companies. A
group of the better sort were gathered in the open square between
the church and the old town, where they talked and welcomed new-
comers. Lord Widdrington, with his brothers, was reported to be
at Bcaufront with Mr. Errington ; Sir William and Lady Swin-
burne, with half-a-dozen of the Swinburne brothers, the Ladies
Katharine and Mary Radcliffe, and many other cousins, were at

6o DOROTHY FORSTER.

Dilston Hall. In Hexham there were Shaf toes, Claverings, Chor-
leys, Gibsons, and many more. Mad Jack Hall was among them,
shouting and vapouring. High over the heads of the crowd towered
the great form of Frank Stokoe, six inches taller than any other
man in Northumberland. He was not only the tallest, but also the
strongest, man in the county. He could crush pewter pots in his
hand ; he could pull against two horses, lift a couple of hundred-
weight with his little finger, stop a cart against a runaway horse,
bend iron bars across his arm, and break pence with his fingers.
Once he lifted a constable asleep, box and all, and dropped him
over the wall into a burying-place. He lived at Chesterwood, near
Haydon Bridge, and not far from Lord Derwentwater's Castle of
Langley, which lies in ruins these three hundred years, and is like,
Heaven knows, to continue in that same evil plight for as many
more. Also there were present certain gentlemen — birds of ill
omen, Mr. Hilyard called them, always imploring his patron to keep
aloof from them, hold no communication with them, and not suffer
himself to be enticed into correspondence with them. These are
the men who ensnare honest and loyal gentlemen by making them
combine, without their knowledge, in conspiracies and plots destined
only to failure. Each premature plot, when detected and put down,
costs the lives of some of these mischievous men ; but the devil
speedily raises up others to do his work, lest the wickedness of the
world should go less.

Now, as we rode into the crowd, some of the gentlemen shook
hands with Tom ; and others greeted me with such compliments as
they knew how to make (they were kindly meant ; but I was soon
to learn the true language of gallantry) ; and others shouted a
welcome to lusty Tony (it is a shame that so great a scholar should
consent to such a name), whose appearance and shining countenance
promised an evening of merriment. Presently, looking about among
the throng, I became aware of a person whom I had never before
ieen, in cassock and bands, and the most enormous great wig I had
ever seen, reminding one of the lines •

' His wig was so bushy, so long, and so fair,
The best part of man was quite covered with hair ;
That he looked, as a body may modestly speak it,
Like a calf with bald face peeping out of a thicket.'

His eyes were close together, which, I suppose, was the cause of his
looking shifty and sly — pigs have such eyes ; his nose, like his
cheeks, was fat ; and his lips were thick and full. Unless his face
belied him, he was one of those who loved the sacred profession for
the life of ease and the fat eating which may be procured by the
fortunate and the swinish. Miserable man ! Yet still he lives and
still he preaches, his conscience being seared with a hot iron.
Thank Heaven ! he is not an enemy of myself, but of my brother ;
therefore, I am not called upon to forgive him. Indeed, it is only
a Christian's duty to regard such as him with abhorrence, as one
abhors the devil and all his worksu

ROOM FOR MY LORD.

61

He was going about with an appearance of great bustle and
luisiiu'ss, as if everything depended upon himself, whispering to
one man, holding another earnestly by the button, taking a pinch
of snuff from another with an air of haste. Presently he advanced
to us, bowing at every step.

* Sir,' he said to Tom, ' I venture to present myself to your
honour. I am the Vicar of Allenhead, your worship's nearest
neighbour when you honour Blanchland with a visit ; and I venture
to call myself one of the right party. Sir, I rejoice to find that
you are here with so many noble gentlemen to welcome my Lord of
Derwentwater. As for me, my motto is, and still will be, " The
right of the firstborn is his ;" and, if it need more words, u Take
away the wicked from before the king." My name, sir, at your
service, is Robert Patten, Artium Magister, and formerly of Lincoln
College, Oxford, and— O Lord ! '

For he started back as one who has trodden upon an adder at
least, and with a face suddenly pale with fright or astonishment, I
know not which. Then I perceived that the cause of his alarm
was none other than the sight of Mr. Hilyard. He, for his part,
was looking down upon his reverence from his horse with a face as
full of disdain and indignation as you can expect from a countenance
naturally inclined for charity with all men. Mr. Hilyard could
change his face at will when he wished to personate the sterner
emotions in acting and make-believe, but, which is a truly wonderful
thing, when he was in earnest, and actually felt those passions of
scorn or wrath, his face failed to convey them.

4 If,' he said presently, ' the Prince's cause hath pleased Bob
Patten, we have got a brave recruit indeed, and are finely sped.'

At which the other plucked up courage, and, setting his band
straight, replied :

' I know not, Mr. Hilyard, what may be your present business in
the north. I pray it be honest. Nay, sir,' shrinking and putting
up his hand, for Mr. Hilyard made as if he would strike at him
with his whip — ' nay, sir, remember the cloth ! Besides, I meant
no harm. Respect the cloth, I pray you, sir ! Indeed, I am sure
from your company that it must be honest at least, and I hope
respectable. Wherefore, all that passed in Oxford may be forgiven.'

4 Forgiven !' cried Mr. Hilyard, in a great heat, * how dare you
talk of forgiving ? As for all that passed at Oxford, proclaim it
aloud an you will ; I have no call to be ashamed of it. But if you
speak of forgiving, by the Lord I shall forget your sacred profes-
sion, and remember only what you were !'

4 Gentlemen,' said Tom, speaking with authority, ' let us have no
quarrels to-day. Command me, Mr. Patten, if I can serve you in
any way. Meanwhile, there will be a bowl of punch towards nine,
if your cloth permits.'

4 Oh, sir !' replied Mr. Patten, bowing, and spreading his hands.
Ah ! crocodile ! as if thy cloth was ever guard against punch, ox
tny other temptation I

fo DOROTHY FORSTER.

Now that evening was spent in festivity, with singing and drink
ing, at which none of the gentlemen remained sober except Mr.
ELQyard, who helped to cany his patron to bed, and did him th«
kindly office of loosening his cravat, adjusting his pillows, and
pulling off his shoes. I know not if the gentlemen of the north be
more prone to drink than those of the south, perhaps not ; in
either case there was the excuse for these hearty topers that on
the next day they were to welcome home the noblest man of them
alL And as for Mr. Patten, he slept where he f elL As for me, I
went to bed betimes, bat not to sleep, for the streets were full of
men who went up and down— they were the servants and grooms ,
and were as loyal and as tipsy as their masters. And when I fell
asleep at last, it was to unquiet dreams, in which I was haunted b j
hoarse voices singing loyal songs.

The morning of the day when I was first to see Lord Derwent-
water broke cold and rainy. But as the day advanced the clouds
blew over, and we had that rare thing in February, a bright, cloud-
less, and sunny day. What mattered a cold and a sharp wind ?
Northumberland, the brave old county, would show at her best,
despite the winter season. Often I think that winter hath charms
of its own, especially in the woods, though the poets have resolved
on singing the praise of spring and summer. It is true that there
are no~flowers and few birds ; yet when the dead leaves hang, that
is, where the trees stand thick, there are all kinds of pleasant
colours. One who had travelled much in America once assured
Mr. Hilyard that in the autumn and early winter the forests are all
ablaze with crimson, yellow, and red leaves of the maple tree (from
which also he pretends that they make sugar, but one may not
believe all travellers' tales). There are places in Northumberland,
and especially in the hanging woods beside the Tyne, where this
beauty of winter leaves may also be observed. Methinks it is also
a beautiful thing to watch the snow upon the branches, each one
••^•niTigr like a stick of ice, and all together showing like the finest
lace of Valenciennes. The contemplation of tilings beautiful fills
the heart with joy, and raises the mind to heaven ; but we simple
women are slow and imperfect of speech ; it needs such a poet as
Milton (whom most of all I love, now that youth and joy are past)

Et into words the meaning of our thoughts. However, I was
and thankful that such a day had been vouchsafed for my
; return, nothing doubting but that his heart, too, would be
uplifted on seeing his own woods and towers lying in the light of
such a sun and such a clear blue sky.

We observed no order or time in setting forth. Some of the
younger gentlemen mounted after breakfast and rode off along the
road to Newcastle, intending to meet my lord's party early ; others
went off leisurely, proposing to halt at Dilston, two miles or so
from Hexham. We, for our part, waited till after dinner, judging
that the Earl would not arrive before three o'clock at earliest.

ROOM FOR MY LORD. 63

Mr. Patten, whom I disliked from the first, perhaps because Mr.
Flihard regarded him with so much aversion, rode with us. That
is to say, he rode beside Mr. Hilyard and behind us, but as if he
belonged to our party. This is the way with those who dt
increase their own importance ; they pretend to friendship with
one man in order to obtain the patronage of another. By riding
with Mr. Forster, the man Patten gave himself an excuse for
welcoming a nobleman with whom he had no manner of concern or
business.

When we had ridden past the bridge at Dilston, where there was
a great concourse of people waiting, we left Mr. Patten behind, but
we were joined by old Mr. Emngton, of Beaufront, a wise and
prudent gentleman, whose counsels ought to have guided the party
five years later, but he was overruled. We naturally talked of the
young Earl.

* I am very sure, Tom,' said Mr. Errington, * that we have in my
lord a pillar of strength. He will be to the loyal gentlemen of the
north as much as the Duke of Argyll to the Whigs of Scotland. I
have it on the best authority that, although brought up in France,
he is an Englishman ; though a Catholic, like myself, he is as
zealous for liberty as you can be ; an adherent of the Prince, yet
one who desires not violence, but rather the return of the nation to
common-sense and loyalty ; one who will conciliate and bind all of
us together, so that we shall become a solid party, and in the end
triumph even in the House of Commons.'

This, in the year 1710, was the earnest pray«r of all moderate
men and those who had much to lose.

'With submission, sir,' said Mr. Hilyard, (I would ask what
advices your honour hath received respecting the temper of London ?'

4 Nothing, Mr. Hilyard, but what is good. The Queen is well
disposed towards her brother ; the Tories are confident ; there is
talk of a peace ; the Whigs and Dissenters are terrified. But our
time may not come yet.'

4 The will of London,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' is the will of the nation.'

4 And, if fight we must,' Tom cried, 4 the Earl can raise a thousand
ir en.

kWe shall not fight,' said Mr. Errington. 4We will have a
bloodless revolution, such a Restoration as that of King Charles JL,
when he rode from Dover to London through a lane of rejoicing
faces. I know not, Mr. Hilyard, that London is so powerful as
you would have us believe. But already the country is with us,
and the clergy, as in duty bound. And the most that either party
can say of the towns is that they are divided.'

A bloodless Restoration ! It was, as I said, the dream of the
better sort. But the Catholics forgot the terror of the Smithfield
fires, which the people will never forget, from generation to genera-
tion, so long as E:-igland remains a country. The martyrs have
made it impossible for a Papist ever again to rule over us.

* As .for us,' said Mr. Errington, * we know very well, and do not

64 DOROTHY FORSTER.

disguise from ourselves, that in the present temper of the peopla
the Prince, when he returns, must choose his Ministers and advisers,
not from ourselves, but from his Protestant supporters. Lord
Derwentwater may remain his Sovereign's private friend, but can
never become a member of his Government. It is to you, Tom,
and such as you, that the King must turn.'

4 It is what I am always telling Mr. Forster,' said Mr. Hilyard.

Mr. Forster replied, with a blush of satisfaction and the gravity
which the subject demanded, that he was very much of Mr. Erring-
ton's opinion that, whether he himself should be found competent
to become a Minister or not, a Protestant country must have a
Protestant Ministry, and that, begging Mr. Errington's pardon,
when the priest walks in, the King and his people fall out.

So we rode along slowly, for the way is none of the best, in such
discourse, until about three o'clock or so, and a mile or two beyond
Dilston, we heard a great shouting ; and pricking our horses, we
presently came upon a party of those who had ridden on before.
They were now drawn up in a double line, and beyond this, his hat
in his hand, my lord himself rode in advance of his party to meet
his friends. No prince or sovereign in Europe but would have
been moved and gratified by so noble a reception as the young
nobleman received from the gentlemen who had thus ridden forth
to meet him.

The path at this place is but a beaten track over the turf and
level ground south of the river, which is here broad and shallow,
with islets and long tongues of sand ; there was an old angler in
midstream, with rod and fly, careless (or perhaps he was deaf) of
what this great shouting might mean, which he seemed not to
hear. The ground is flat and covered with a rough coarse grass ;
southward rise the gentle hills, clothed with the woods which
everywhere, except on the moors and the Cheviots, enrich the land-
skip of Northumberland, and form its boast. It was on this field
that we received my lord.

It is nearly five-and-twenty years ago. If Lord Derwentwater
were living, he would now be a man of forty-six, still in the full
force and vigour of his manhood. Would he still remember (but
he must) that afternoon in February, when, with his hat off, and
the setting sun full in his face, making it shine like the face of
Moses upon the mountain, he rode through that lane of gentlemen ?
As for myself, I saw more than I expected in my dreams. He was
always the Prince of a fairy story ; such as was the Childy Wynd,
who transformed the loathly Worm of Spindleston, so was he ; or
as King Arthur sitting under Dunstanburgh, ever young and glorious,
so was he. But the Prince of my dreams was a plain country
gentlemen, and before me was a gentleman of a kind I had never
imagined, more courtly, more handsome, more splendid. There are
some men who are called handsome by reason of a certain uniformity
of feature (such as may be carved with a chisel out of a piece of
stone) ; there are many who for a single good feature, a straight

ROOM FOR MY LORD. 6$

nose, the pleasing curve of a mouth, an agreeable smile, a bright
eye, may be very justly called pretty fellows. But all alike were
agreed in calling Lord Derwentwater the handsomest of men.
There are also some men, but very few, to whom has been given
that remarkable gift of commanding admiration, of compelling
affection, and establishing firm confidence at the very first aspect
and appearance of them. Such was my lord. For my own part, I
know of no other man of all those who have lived in this eighteenth
century, whose face is so well remembered even twenty years and
more after his death. AVhy, there is not a woman, over thirty,
within twenty miles of Dilston or Hexham, who, at the mere men-
tion of his name or recollection of his face, doth not instantly fetch
a sigh and drop a tear in memory of the handsome lord.

For those who never had the fortune to see him in the flesh, it is
necessary to state that his face was full, with features well propor-
tioned ; his nose long and finely cut ; his eyes grey of colour, and
large (the large eye, they say, betokens the generous heart) ; I have
myself seen those eyes so full of love, pity, and tenderness, that it
makes the memory of them fill my own with tears. His forehead
was high and square — Mr. Hilyard says that men with such fore-
heads, when they are born in humble circumstances, take to study,
and become philosophers, theologians, and great scholars, instancing
his own forehead as an example, which is broad indeed, but lacking
the dignity which sat upon the brow of the young Earl. His chin
was round and large — a small chin, or a chin which falls back, says
Mr. Hilyard, is a sign of weakness and irresolution ; a deserter,
coward, runaway, or informer should be painted with a retreating
chin (Mr. Patten's chin was such, which proves the statement).
As for my lord's lips, they were firm and well set, yet of the kind
which betray passion and agitation of the mind, so that those who
knew him well could at all times read in the movements of his lips
the emotions of his soul. Every feature in the face, according to
Mr. Hilyard, corresponds to some virtue or defect in the soul.
Thus, if one have thick lips, thrust forward, like Mr. Patten, one
may be expected to be like him, a self-seeker, chatterer, mischief-
maker, and betrayer of honest folk. My lord's complexion was fair,
and, before his hair was shaved, his head had been adorned with
clusters of brown curls.

In short, the countenance of Lord Derwentwater indicated a soul
full of dignity, benevolence, and sweetness. So it looked to me the
first time that ever I looked upon it ; so it proved to be so long as
I knew it ; so it seemed to me the last time — oh, most sad and
sorrowful time ! — that I saw it. There never was any human face
in which the great virtues of humanity and kindness were more
brightly illustrated than in the face of this young gentleman.

I It-hind the Earl rode his two brothers, Francis and Charles. The
former was of smaller stature than the elder brother, and held his
head down as if in thought ; but it wa? his habit to go thus looking
Dpon the ground. Wh-ui he lifted his eves one saw that they were

66 DOROTHY FORSTER.

strangely sad, and on his face there rested always a cloud, for which
there was no reason save that he was, like his uncle, of a melancholic
temperament from his youth upwards ; and his eyes had always a
look in them as of one who expects misfortune. Witches say that
to men with such a look in their eyes misfortune comes ; it is said
that the look of impending misfortune may be read in the eyes of
all the Stuarts — the Royal House which the Fates, or rather the
Furies, have persecuted with strange malevolence. Can it be that
the future of a man may be read in his eyes, as in the palm of his
hand ? I know not ; but Jenny Lee, my maid, the little gipsy
witch, dropped strange prophetic hints about these young men, for
which I rebuked her, even before she read their hands. As for
Charles, the youngest of the three, he was as yet but a lad of
sixteen, well-grown and comely ; wore his own brown hair, and was
as handsome as his eldest brother, yet in a different way. Those
who can read fate in the eyes may have read his sorrows there, but
to the rest of us they were brave and merry eyes, belonging to a
young man who neither looked for evil nor feared it, and certainly
never anticipated it ; a brave, impetuous creature, as full of fancies
and whims as any girl, as hot-headed as a Highlander ; no lover of
books or reading, yet a lad who had a great deal of knowledge, and
forgot nothing. As he read so little, one must needs conjecture
that he picked up his knowledge as the birds pick up their crumbs,
bit by bit from conversation. Thus, though no scholar, he began
very soon to be curious about the Roman remains, ancient ruins,
and the antiquities of the county, so that he must needs ride over
to Chollerf ord with Mr. Hilyard to see the old bridge and the wall,
and discourse with him on moat and tower, and the uses of the
wall, as if he had been a great student.

The mud and dust of travel had stained their clothes, but still the
three brothers were much more richly dressed than our plain gentle-
men, who for the most part wore plain drab or plush coats, with
silver buttons, their linen not always of the freshest, their ruffles
generally torn, and their wigs undressed. But then there is not
much money among these younger sons, so that these things go un-
regarded. Nevertheless, I saw more than one looking with envy on
the gold-laced hats and the embroidered scarfs of the Earl and hia
brothers.

Well, there was, to be rare, a great shouting as my lord rode
slowly through this lane, shaking hands with every man in turn.
He knew the names and families, though not the faces, of all, and
could give each a kindly speech, with his Christian name, as if he
had been an old friend separated only by a month or two. Presently
it came to our turn, and he bowed very low and kissed my hand,
saying a pretty thing about the good omen of being welcomed by
the beautiful Dorothy Forster, and that if she would extend her
friendship to him he should indeed be happy.

'I fear, my lord,' I said, being confused with so much com-
pliment, ' that you take me for my aunt, Lady Crew*.'

ROOM FOR MY LORD. 67

'Nay,' he said, 'I take you for no otter than yourself ; although
I know, believe me, of that elder Dorothy, once the flame of my
father.'

And then more compliments, which may be omitted, because they
were framed in pure kindness, and intended to please a girl who
certainly never had many pretty things said to her before, though
she knew very well that many gentlemen, she thought to please her
brother, called her the beautiful Dorothy.

My lord had been from infancy at the Court of St. Germain,
where, although there were many English gentlemen and their sons.
French was commonly talked. He had also had French servants
and valets, and lived among a people talking nothing but their own
language. It is not, therefore, wonderful that he not only talked
French as well as English, but also spoke his own language with a
slight foreign accent. This very soon wore off (changing into the
Northumberland burr), together with a certain shyness which
marked him during the early days when he knew nothing of his
friends except by name, and found them, as he afterwards confessed
to me, different, indeed, from his expectations ; that is to say, less
polished in their manners, and more loyal in their friendships.
Could a gentleman have higher praise ? And is not loyalty better
than a fine manner, however well we are pleased with it ?

4 And this,' said my lord, ' I dare swear, is my cousin, Tom Forster
of Bamborough.'

'No other, my lord,' cried Tom heartily, 'and right gird to »e«
you home again.'

Presently all rode back together, the younger men still shouting,
and the elders riding soberly behind the Earl, I having the honour
of riding on his right hand, and Mr. Errington on his left, while
Tom rode with Frank and Charles Radcliffe. It was wonderful to
observe how my lord knew all of them, and their private affairs and
estates, and their position in the county. Indeed, by his father's
orders — his mother caring nothing about such matters — he had been
instructed most carefully in the history of Northumberland families.
It was an amiable and even a prince-like quality in him, as it had
been in his grandfather, Charles II., never to forget the faces of
those whom he met. I suppose that, had he chosen to exercise the
power, he might also, like his royal cousin, and by right of descent,
have touched for the king's evil. Certainly the disloyal usurper,
the Duke of Moninouth, did so.

It was now nearly four o'clock, and the short February day waa
drawing to a close. But the people who had come so far were not
tired of waiting, and we found them all upon the bridge ready to
shout their honest greeting. An honest and hearty crowd. Among
them were not only some of the Earl's cousins — there was never a
Radcliffe without a cloud of cousins — and Lord Widdrington, with
his brothers and others of the company from Hexham, but also the
tenants and farmers, and a great company of miners, rough and
rude fellows, with bristly beards and shaggy coats, who had trudged

S-2

68

DOROTHY FORSTER.

across the moor from Allendalc. They were gathered together on
the bridge, with pipers and a drum. When the procession came in
sight, you may fancy what a noise, with the music and the shouting,
was raised, and what a waving and throwing up of hats, and how
the younger men in their joy, after the manner of young men, did
beat and belabour one another. The Earl stopped and looked about
him. These hundreds were assembled to give him welcome home.
It is such a sight as brings the tears into a young man's eyes ; it
was the first time, perhaps, that he understood his own power ; the
visible proof of it dazzled and moved him — remember this, I pray
you. Now, had he been brought up among all these people, he
would have been familiar with his greatness from the beginning,
and so might have grown hardened in heart, as happens to many
who come to their estates in boyhood. This was not his case ; and
he was ever full of compassion for those who were his tenants, his
dependents, and his servants. When the end came he spared them ;
he would not lead them out to the destruction which he wrought for
himself, and from a mistaken sense of honour, though with a heavy
heart. I say, at the sight of these rude and hearty people the tears
came into the young Earl's eyes and fell down his cheeks. I, who
was nearest to him, saw them, and treasured the memory of them
in my heart.

These rude miners, these sturdy farmers, these rough fellows,
with their strange speech unfamiliar to him, were his own people,
not his serfs and slaves. They were bound to him by no cruel
laws of service, as the wretched people of France ; yet, at his
bidding, they would rise to a man and follow him. The Radcliffes
were at no time tyrants and oppressors of the poor. From father
to son they were always a kindly race, who dealt generously with
the people, and reaped their reward in the affection and the loyalty
of their attendants and dependents. Perhaps Lord Derwentwater,
as he gazed upon the sea of faces, remembered that he might some
day bid them take pike and firelock and follow him. I, for one,
am ashamed to say that this was in my thoughts ; and so, I am
sure, it was in the thoughts of others in the company, who looked
on the Earl as nothing but the possible leader of so many hundred
men, and the owner of vast wealth, which was to be at the service
of the Cause.

Then we rode across the bridge, and so up the steep lane which
leads to the great avenue of Dilston Hall, and, beyond the avenue,
the bridge across the Devilstone, its water, then foaming white,
rushing down the dark and narrow channel between rugged rocks
covered with green moss and (but not in March) with climbing
plants, and arched over with trees, such as larch, alder, birch, and
rowan. Behind us tramped and ran the crowd, all shouting together,
with such a tumult as had not been seen since last the Scottish
marauders attacked the town of Hexham ; and that was long enough
ago, and clean forgotten.

At the doors of the castle the Earl's nearest relations stood ready

ROOM FOR MY LORD. 69

to receive him. The first to greet him were his aunts, the Ladies
Katherine and Mary Radcliffe, the sisters of the )ate Earl. They
were not yet old, as Northumberland counts age, but certainly
stricken in years, and perhaps neither of them under fifty. Both
were dressed alike, and wore simple black silk frocks, with plain
satin petticoats, high stomachers, and a great quantity of lace on
their sleeves ; also they had on long white kid gloves, and their hair
was carefully dressed in high commodes, on the top of which was
more lace, which gave them a nun-like appearance. Everybody
knows that they hesitated all their lives whether or no to enter a
convent, but in deference to their spiritual adviser remained without
those gloomy walls, and yet practised, besides the usual Christian
virtues, as to which many ladies of lower rank will not yield to
them, the rules of some strict sisterhood, in virtue of which they
rose early, and even in the night, to pray in the chapel, fasted very
frequently, and went always in terror whether, by taking an egg on
a Friday, or sugar to their chocolate, or cheese in Lent, they were
not endangering their precious souls. I laugh not at them, because
they lived up to the light of their consciences, and according to
the laws laid down by their confessor. Yet I am happy in having
had the plain Rule of Life laid down for me by my Prayer Book,
the late Lord Bishop of Durham, and, in f,hese recent years, by Mr.
Hilyard. I need no confessor, and my conscience is at peace within
me, whatever I eat or drink, thereby imitating the example of St.
Paul. However, these were great ladies, who thought much of the
example they were setting to other women ; they were proud and
stately in their bearing, yet kind of heart ; in appearance they were
so much alike that at first one did not distinguish them. Lady
Katherine was the elder, and she was perhaps more lined and crossed
in the face than her sister.

A pretty sight it was to see these two ladies trembling when their
nephews approached, looking from one to the other of the three
gallant young men who stood before them, and turning at length to
the tallest and bravest of the three, who stepped forward and bent
his knee, kissing their hands, and then kissing their cheeks.

'James,' cried Lady Katherine, 'you are like my father more
t-bin your own.'

' Nay, sister,' said Mary, ' he is also like our deceased brother.
Nephew, you are welcome home. Stay with your own people ; a
Radcliffe is best in Northumberland ; stay among us, and marry a
North Country girl. And these are Frank and Charles. My dears,
you are also very welcome. Remember, we are English here, not
French.'

So they, too, saluted their aunts, and then Lady Swinburne fol-
lowed, and after her Sir William, who, as he bade his cousin welcome
to his own, loudly expressed the hope that nothing would bo at-
tempted by the Earl or his friends which would endanger so noble
a head or so great an estate, adding that he knew there were many
about who would endeavour to make his lordship a stalking-horse ;

7o DOROTHY FORSTER,

that he was young as yet, and inexperienced ; and that he com*
mended him to follow the counsels of his father's old friend, Mr,
Errington.

To this Lord Widdrington responded with a loud ' Amen ' and a
profane oath, saying that as for danger, if all who were in the same
boat would only pull together, and with a will, there would be no
danger.

So, one after the other, all had been presented to the Earl, and
we were beginning to wonder what would come next, when we saw
the Reverend Mr. Patten stepping forward with an air of great
importance. He bowed very low, and said that he had the honour
to represent the Protestant Church of England and the clergy of
Northumberland. (This shows the pushing, lying nature of the
man, who had been in the Vicarage but a few months, and was un-
known to the clergy, except that he was once curate at Penrith.)
In their name he bade his lordship welcome. Speaking as a High
Churchman and Tory, he said that he, in common with most, desired
nothing so much as to be delivered of the godless ; meaning, I sup-
pose, the Whigs. And that, as for those who wish to transfer the
succession to the House of Hanover, he could say, from his con-
science :

' Confounded be these rebels all

That to usurpers bow,
And make what Gods and Kings they please,

And worship them below.'

He said a good deal more — being applauded by some and regarded
by others as an impertinent intruder. I was pleased to contrast
this officiousness with the modesty of Mr. Hilyard, who stood with-
out, not presuming to be presented to my lord, or to address him ;
yet, if he had spoken, he would certainly have delivered a very fine
discourse, full of Latin quotations and ref erenco to ancient authors.

' I thank you, sir,' said my lord coldly, when this person had
quite finished ; ' but for this evening, indeed, we will have nothing
of politics or the godless, or of Whigs and Tories.'

This he said partly to rebuke the impertinent zeal of Mr. Patten,
and partly to silence certain noisy gentlemen, including the noto-
rious Dick Gascoigne and Jack Hall, who were loudly boasting of
what would happen now that his lordship was at home. One may
truly say that there was hardly a moment from the time of the
Earl's return when he was allowed to rest in peace, from the day he
returned to the day when he left his castle for the last time ; their
intention being always to keep before his lordship, and never suffer
him to forget, that he was considered the head and chief of the
Prince's adherents in the north, and that his approval was taken
for granted, -whatever was hatched. Those who were for open
rebellion reckoned that he would join the first rising, whenever and
wherever that was attempted, without hesitation ; as for those who
were for patience and making the party strong, they knew that

ROOM FOR MY LORD.

7<

they conld depend upon him. In reality, however, it was perfect:)!
well understood that the Earl desired above all things, au
desired by the leading men of the party, to keep himself retired
and apart from politics until the time came when, like an important
piece in the game of chess, he could move with the best effect.

It would have been more consonant with his ambition had he
been born a mere private gentleman, able to live out his days in
peace, and in the exercise of good works. But then, as Mr. Hilyard
truly said, it is not every great man who is suffered by his friendp,
like Diocletian, after making Rome the metropolis of the whole
world, by a voluntary exile to retire himself from it, and to end his
days in his own secluded villa, a gardener and a private gentleman
in Dalmatia ; or like Scipio, to build his house in the midst of a
wood. Lord Derwent water would have imitated this great Roman
had it been permitted. It is, however, the misfortune of the great
that the grandeur and eminence of their state will not permit them
+o taste for long the felicities of a private life.

' An earl's coronet in unquiet times,' said Mr. Hilyard, ( is like
unto a king's crown. Few of them are so soft lined but they sit
heavy on the wearer's brow.'

When my lord and his brothers retired to change their travelling-
dress, Colonel RadclifTe invited the whole company to a supper, or
banquet, which would be shortly served in the great hall. This
was, of course, expected. Presently the brothers returned, dressed
in a fashion suitable to their rank. The Earl had n«>w a peach-
coloured satin coat, lined with white, a flowered silk waistcoat, a
crimson scarf, white silk stockings, and red-heeled shoes with
diamond buckles. He gave his hand to his aunt, Lady Katharine.
Lord Widdrington followed with Lady Mary, Francis Radcliffe with
Lady Swinburne, Charles with Madam Errington, and Sir William
with myself, and the rest after us in due order and such precedence
as their age and rank allowed.

I think there never was a more joyful banquet than this , perhaps
the cooks were not equal to those of Paris, but I am sure that by
the guests nothing better could have been desired or expected. Of
ladies there were only the five I have named. I was pleased to
observe at the bottom of the table Mr. Hilyard, who was proposing
to retire, as, not being a gentleman of the county or by birth, he
was right in doing ; but Colonel Radcliffe, who knew him well, in-
sisted on his coming in, and placed him at the table beside himself.

It was Mr. Errington who asked the gentlemen to drink a bumper
to the health of his lordship. He reminded those present who were
of his own age that it was already twenty years since a Radcliffe
had lived in Dilston Hall, and more than that length of time since
BO large a company had met together under its roof. He then spoke
of the young Earl's education, and averred his belief that, though
brought up in France, he had remained an Englishman at heart,
and had brought from that country nothing but the politeness of
its nobles and the gallantry of its people— qualities, he said, which,

7J DOROTHY FORSTER.

added to the courage ot the English bulldog and his own genercns
nature as a true Radcliffe, could not but command the affeciioni
and respect of all. lie would have said more, but the gentlemen
would listen no longer, and, springing to their feet, drained their
glasses, and shouted so that it did your heart good to hear them.
I am quite sure there was never a hypocrite or pretender among
them all (save Mr. Patten), so hearty and so unfeigned was their
joy to receive this comely and gallant gentleman among them.

' Gentlemen,' said his lordship, when they suffered him at length
to speak, and when his voice returned to him, for he was choked
almost with the natural emotion which was caused by so much
heartiness — ' Gentlemen, I know not how to thank you sufficiently ;
indeed, I have no words strong enough for my thanks. I am an
untried stranger, and you treat me as a proved friend. Yet we are
kith and kin ; we are cousins all ; our ancestors stood shoulder to
shoulder in many a border fight ; so let us always stand together.
And as for what my cousin, Sir William, said just now, it is truly
the wish of the Prince that no rash or ill-considered enterprise be
taken in hand.'

Then he sat down, saying no more, for he was a man of few
words. And, while the gentlemen shouted again, the ladies left the
board, and went away to talk by themselves about his lordship and
his two brothers.

Meantime, outside, the common sort, unmindful of the cold,
were regaling themselves in their own way, having a barrel or two
of strong ale broached, and a great fire, where an ox was roasting
whole, the very smell of the beef being a banquet to many poor
souls who seldom taste flesh, unless it be the flesh of swine, and
that in great lumps of fat, which they sometimes eat with bread
and sometimes soak in hot milk, Providence having bestowed upon
this class of people stomachs stronger than those of gentlefolk.

4 In ail times,' saith Mr. Hilyard, ' roast-beef has been in great
scarcily, insomuch that in Homer the gods are represented as pleased
by the fragrance or perfume of the roasting meat. And, if the very
gods, how much more the common people ! A morsel of bread
dipped in oil, and a fig or a bunch of grapes, made their only meal
for the day. As for swine's flesh, that they never so much as
tasted. When the Crusaders occupied the Holy Land (where they
founded the Latin Kingdom, which they thought would last for
ever), leprosy broke out among them, which they attributed to the
eating of pork. But I know not if that was indeed the case.'

Certainly, to a Northumbrian nose, there is no smell more delicious
than that of a piece of roasting beef, and these good fellows were
sitting patiently about the fire until the ox should be cooked through.
Some there were, it is true, who, miscalculating their strength of
head, took so many pulls at Black Jack tnat they rolled over, and
had to be earned into the kitchen and laid on the floor, so that they
went supperless to bed. This was a pity, because his lordship did

ROOM FOR MY LORD. 73

not give a roasted ox every day in the year, and to lose your share
in a great feast is a dreadful thing for a poor man, and one thrown
in his teeth all his life afterwards.

When Lord Derwentwater left his guests, which was early, be-
cause he never loved deep potations, he went outside to speak with
his humble friends round the bonfire. They were at the moment
engaged upon the beef, which was good, but underdone, and in their
best and most cheerful mood. He went among them shaking them
by the hand, asking their names, kissing the young women, promis-
ing to call at their houses and farms, bidding the lads bustle about
with the beer, promising to help them if he could be of any help,
laughing at himself for understanding their speech slowly, and all
with so hearty and easy a grace as to make the poor folk feel that
truly a friend had come to them at last across the seas.

The housekeeper, good Mrs. Busby, who had waited for him day
and night for twenty years, found beds for the ladies and for some
of the gentlemen. But most of them slept where they fell, and in
the morning, by dint of cold water poured upon the head, and small-
beer within, recovered their faculties before they rode away.

Before I went up the great staircase to bed, I looked into the
hall. It was already very late — nearly eleven. The gentlemen
were drinking still, and some of them were smoking pipes of
tobacco, while some were very red in the face, and some had fallen
asleep — their heads hanging downwards and quite helpless and sad
to see, or else lolling back upon the chair with open mouth like an
idiot, or lying on the table upon their arms. Strong drink had
stoleii away their brains, and for twelve hours they would be sense-
less. Among those who slept in their chairs was none other than
his reverence, Mr. Robert Patten. A shameful spectacle! His
great mouth was wide open, his head lying back, and some wag with
a burnt cork had marked his upper lip and cheeks with the black
moustachios and ferocious whiskers borne — I am told — by certain
soldiers of a fierce and warlike nation called Heyducs. Why, it is
a venial thing for a layman, one who has, perhaps, ridden and hunted
for a whole day, to be overcome with thirst and potency of drink ;
but for a clergyman, one whose thoughts should be set upon holy
things and the mysteries of the Christian scheme — faugh ! the sight
is sorrowful indeed. One may remember many evil things in the
life of Mr. Patten, but few more disgraceful than his tipsy sense-
lessness at Lord Derwentwater's return.

How different was Mr. Antony Hilyard ! He was not dnink,
nor, apparently, touched with wine. But his jolly red face was
beaming with smiles. On one side of him sat Colonel Radcliffe,
who had forgotten his invisible enemy, and was new laughing and
listening; on the other side was Charles Radcliffe, not drinking,
but looking curiously around him, and especially at the singer, as,
with glorified face, bright eyes, and brandished glass, as if life was
to aim a dream of pure happiness without a care or a fear, he sang

74 DOROTHY FORSTER.

merrily — men are like children, tickled with a straw, but yet it is a
catching air — his famous song :

1 1 am a jolly toper, I am a ragged Soph,
Known by the pimples on my face with taking bumpers off ;
And a-toping we will go — we will go — we will go —
And a-toping we will go.'

CHAPTER VIII.

A PRINCE IN ISRAEL.

So the next day to Blanchland, a ride of nine miles across a moor
as wild as any in England ; and Tom glum, partly on account of
last night's wine and partly at prospect of a whole year spent in
this secluded spot.

'Consider, sir,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'the advantages of the plan.
First, it will be impossible to spend any money '

Here Tom flung into a rage, and 8wore that it was shameful for
the owner of Bamborough to want for a little money.

'Next,' continued the judicious steward, 'your honour will have
most excellent shooting and fishing ; and as for society '

' I know all your songs,' said Tom. ' Can you not write some
more ?'

' As for society, there are my lord and his brothers within an
easy ride. Your honour doth very well understand that it may be
both a singular advantage for yourself to enjoy the friendship of a
nobleman who hath the Prince's private ear, and to his lordship to
have the benefit of your experience and advice in the conduct of
his private affairs. As for that, I conceive it nothing short of a
Providential interposition that, at the moment when he should
arrive, inexperienced and raw, he should find in your honour a wise
adviser.'

' That is true, Tony/ said Tom, looking more cheerful. ' Dilston
Hall is not ten miles from Blanchland, and the wine is good. We
will teach him how to drink it. These Frenchmen cannot drink.'

' And to mix whisky punch. In France they do not even know
the liquor.'

4 Poor devils !' said Tom. ' His lordship has much to learn.'

But as Lord Derwentwater was for the next six months entirely
occupied with the survey of his own estates, not only in North-
umberland, but also in Lancashire and Cumberland, we saw nothing
of him, and spent our time without any company other than our
own. Mr. Patten, it is true, was sometimes so kind as to ride across
the moor from Allenhead, and by a coarse flattery (call it rather an
abject surrender of his judgment), compared with which Mr. Hil-
yard's method was fine and delicate, he acquired an influence over
Tom which afterwards did great harm. Certainly it was a quiet
summer which we spent, and had Tom been content I should have

A PRINCE IN ISRAEL. 75

boon happy. Fortunately, her ladyship was pleased, and signified
her pleasure in plain terms.

' " I design not," ' she wrote, ' " that my nephew should live other
than a gentleman of his name and position ought. But I am well
pleased that you are for a space removed from the company of those
who lead you into wasteful courses with horse-racing and wagers" '
— Tom had been of late unfortunate — ' " of which it is now well-
nigh time to have done. It is my lord's earnest desire that you
should shortly take the place which becomes your family, and, on
the retirement of your father, that you should represent the county
in his stead. As this cannot be done without expense, and as we
learn that your father is not willing to undertake the charge, having
his second family to consider, it is the intention of my lord to make
an annual allowance out of his Northumberland estates, such as may
suffice for your maintenance in style befitting a gentleman. This
generosity, I beg you to believe, is unasked by me, though I confess
that he knows very well the solicitude with which I watch the wel-
fare of my nephew. To be guided, as well as to be assisted, by so
great and good a man, should be considered by you an honour." '

' This,' said Mr. Hilyard, who was reading the letter, ' is the first-
fruit of that intention which I foretold six months ago.'

'Ay,' said Tom, 'always at her ladyship's apron. But go on.
Has she any more advice ? Am I to ask the Bishop permission to
take a glass of whisky punch ? Will he give me leave to hunt
upon the moor ? 'Tis all his.'

' He who hath patience,' replied Mr. Hilyard, * hath all. Ladies'
leading-strings stretch not all the way from Durham to St. Stephen's.
I proceed with the letter :

1 " I desire next to inform yon that my Lord the Bishop hath a
great desire to converse with Lord Derwentwater, and that in a
private and quiet manner which will give no opportunity for mali-
cious tongues. A Bishop of the English Church cannot openly
visit a Catholic peer, nor should he invite scandal and malignant
whispers by entertaining in his own house so close a friend and so
near a relation of the Prince. He wishes, therefore, that you
should invite a hunting-party to Blanchland in October, at which
he, too, unless otherwise prevented, wifl be present. Among your
guests be sure that Lord Derwentwater is present. So no more at
present. Give Dorothy, your sister, my blessing and that of the
Bishop, and tell Mr. Hilyard, your steward, that I expect thrift in
household charges while you are at Blanchland.
* " Your loving Aunt,

'"DouoTUY CREWE."'

To be sure, it was impossible to spend money at this quiet place,
where there were no gentlemen to make matches, play cards, and

7« DOROTHY FORSTER.

lay bets, no market- town nearer than Hexham, no buying of horses,
and no other people except ourselves and the hinds who tilled our
lands. There is certainly nowhere in England a place which lie? so
remote from human habitation, unless it be in Allendale or among
the Cheviots, as this old ruined Tower of Blanchland. Formerly
it was a monastery, but was destroyed very long ago, in the reign
of the first Edward, by a party of marauding Scots, and was never
afterwards rebuilt. They say that the marauding Scots, who had
crossed the Border with sacrilegious intent to sack this House of
God, on account of its reputed wealth, had lost their way upon the
moor in a mist, and were returning homeward disappointed, when
they heard the monastery bell ringing close at hand — it was to call
the good monks together for a Te Deum on account of their escape
from the enemy whose coming was looked for. Alas ! the bell was
a knell, and the Te Deum a funeral chant, for the ringing guided
the robbers to the spot, and they quickly broke through the gates,
murdered all the monks, set fire to the buildings, and rode away,
carrying their unhallowed spoil with the sacred vessels, driving the
monks' cattle before them, and leaving behind them nothing but
the unburied corpses of the unfortunate brothers. Surely some
dreadful vengeance must have overtaken these men ; but it is so
long ago that the memory of their names as well as their punish-
ment has long since perished, though that of the crime has sur-
vived.

Blanchland lies along the valley of the Derwent in a deep hollow
about the middle of the great moor called Hexhamshire Common,
and ten or eleven miles south of Hexham ; the stream is here quite
little and shallow, babbling over pebbles and under trees ; it is
crossed by the stout old stone bridge built by the monks themselves,
who once farmed the valley. The fields are now tilled by a few
hinds who live about and around the quadrangle of the old monas-
tery still marked by the ancient walls, behind which the rustics have
built their cottages. The place has the aspect of an ancient and
decayed college, the quadrangle having been neatly cobbled, and a
pant of clear water erected by my great-great-grandfather, Sir
Claudius, who died here in the year 1627. Our own dwelling-house
consisted of two buildings ; one, which we used for company and
visitors, is first, a great square tower which stands over the ancient
gate— Mr. Hilyard says that the place might easily have been held
for weeks against simple moss-troopers — it has several good rooms
in it ; and the second a part of the old monastery, including the
refectory, a fair and noble hall, with a large kitchen below, and
beside it a small modern house, contrived either by Sir Claudius or
some previous holder, within another ancient square tower. This
house, very convenient in all respects, has a stone balcony on the
north side, from where stone steps lead to the green meadow, which
was once the monks' bury ing- place. The ruins of their chapel, an
old roofless toAver and the walls, are standing in the meadow.
\Yithiu the old chapel grass grows between the flags, waUlowers

A PRINCE IN ISRAEL.

77

flourish upon the walls ; there is on one of the stones a figure and
an inscription, which Mr. Hilyard interpreted to be that of a certain
man once Forester to the Abbey. But not a monument or a stone
to the memory of the dead monks. They are gone and forgotten —
names, and lives, and all— though their dust and ashes are beneath
the feet of those who stand there. Bush and bramble grow round
the chapel and cover the old graves, whose very mounds have now
disappeared and are level with the turf. Among them rises an old
stone cross, put up no one knows when. It is truly a venerable
and ghostly place. In the twilight or moonlight one may see, or
think he sees, the ghosts of the murdered friars among the ruins.
In the dark winter evenings, the people said, they could be heard,
when the wind was high, chaunting in the chapel ; and every year,
on that day when they rang the fatal bell and so called in the Scots,
may be heard at midnight the ringing of a knell. Many are there
who can testify to this miracle ; and at night the venerable ghost
of the Abbot himself may be sometimes met upon the bridge. But
this may be rumour, for the people of the place are rude, having no
learning at all, little religion, but great credulity, and prone to
believe all they hear. Certainly I have never mj'self met the
Abbot's ghost, though I have often stood upon the bridge after
nightfall alone or with Mr. Hilyard. On the other hand, I have
heard, on windy nights, the chaunting of the dead monks very
plainly. While we were there I heard so many ghost-stories that I
began to suspect something wrong, and presently was not astonished
to find that the number and dreadful, fearful aspect of the ghosts
had greatly increased since we came to the place, insomuch that for
years after (and no doubt until now) the simple people of the
village, if it may be called a village, were frightened out of their
lives if they had but to cross the quadrangle or fetch water at the
pant after sunset. The cause of this terror was no other than my
maid, Jenny Lee, who saw these apparitions. I verily believe that
she invented her stories out of pure mischief and wantonness,
spreading abroad continually tales of new ghosts. One day she saw
in the graveyard a skull with fiery eyes, which grinned at her.
Another evening she met the Devil himself (she declared ; but his
honour and Miss Dorothy must bo told nothing about it — artful
creature !), with flames coming out of his mouth, and a great roar-
ing, sure to bring mischief, if only the loss of a chicken or a sucking-
pig, to some one. Another time there was a black dog, which
portended death. Had I known of these things at the time, Jenny
should soon, indeed, have gone a-packing. But I did not know till
later on, when Mr. Hilyard inquired into the truth of these stories,
and traced them all to this girl.

We passed here a quiet time during the spring and summer of
that year. In the morning Tom went a-fishing, or hunted the otter,
or went after badgers, or some kind of vermin, of which there are
great quantities on the moor. After dinner he commonly slept.
After supper he drank whisky punch, and to bed early. As for. me,

78 DOROTHY FORSTER.

when my housewife duties were accomplished, I talked with the
women-folk, who were simple and ignorant, but of good hearts ; or
walked up the valley along the south side, where there is a high
sloping bank, or hill — to my mind very beautiful. It is covered
with trees. By the middle of June these trees have put on their
leaves, and among the leaves are the pink blossoms of the blue-
berries and the white flowers of the wild strawberry, to say nothing
of the wild flowers which clothe the place in that month as with a
carpet. Even thus, in June, must have looked the Garden of Eden.
In the afternoon Mr. Hilyard read to me, and we held converse in
low whispers while Tom slept. And on Sunday morning the
villagers came together, and Mr. Hilyard read the service appointed
for the day. It was in June that Lord Derwentwater rode across
the moor to visit us. We found that the shyness which he showed
on his first return had gone altogether, being replaced by the most
charming courtesy and condescension to all ranks. He had also
begun to acquire the North-country manner of speech, and could
converse with the common people. On his progress, if so it may be
called, he was received everywhere with such joy that he was
astonished, having as yet done nothing to deserve it.

' The gentlemen of Northumberland,' he declared, ' are the most
hospitable in the whole world, and the women are the most beautiful
— yes, Miss Dorothy, though they are but as the moon compared
with one sun which I know. As for the moors' — he had just
ridden across Hexhamshire Common from Allendale to Blanchland
on his way home to Dilston — ' as for the moors, the air is certainly
the finest in the world.'

Then he told us of his travels, the people he had met with, and
the things he had done and was going to do. He would enlarge
Dilston ; he would rebuild Langley ; he would build a cottage on
the banks of Derwentwater, where his ancestors once had a great
house ; here he would build boats, and then, with his friends, would
float upon the still waters among the lovely islands of the lake, and
listen to the cooing of the doves in the woods, or to the melodious
blowing of horns upon the shore. This, he said, would be all the
Heaven he would ask if I wai there to sit beside him in his boat.
Alas ! Every taste that most adorns the age was possessed by this
young nobleman, and especially those truly princely tastes which
desire the erection of stately buildings, the gathering of friends to
enjoy his wealth, and the society of beautiful women. We ought
not to reproach men with weakness on this score, seeing that all
the best and noblest of mankind — and chiefly those — have loved
women's society.

Among other things that pleased him beside the universal welcome
which he received, was that when he went into Lancashire — it is so
small a trifle that it should not, perhaps, be mentioned — they made
him Mayor of Walton. One would hardly suppose that it was
worthy of the dignity of so great a lord to be pleased with so small
a thing. Yet he was, and, just as Tom and his friends loved to

A PRINCE IN ISRAEL. 79

drink and laugh, and Mr. Hilyard (but of an evening only) to sing
and act, and play the buffoon, so Lord Derwentwater himself was
not free from what we may call, without irreverence, a besetting
infirmity of his sex, and a blemish upon the character of many
great men — I mean this love of tomfooling. Now, the Corporation
of Walton is nothing in the world but a club of gentlemen held in
a village of that name near Preston. Every member of the Glut
held an office. The Mayor has a Deputy, to take the chair in his
absence. There ai-o also in this foolish society a Recorder, two
Bailiffs, two Serjeants, a Physician, a Mace-bearer, a Poet Laureate,
f nd a Jester.

This burlesque of serious institutions appeared to Lord Derwent-
water, and no doubt to the other members of the Club, a most
humourous stroke ; he laughed continually over their doings and
sayings with Tom ; and, in fact, so tickled him with the thing, that
the very next year he took the journey with the Earl to Preston,
and there was elected into the Club, and honoured with the office
of Serjeant, while Mr. Hilyard, always to the front where fooling
and play-acting were concerned, was made at once both Poet
Laureate and Jester, which offices were happily vacant for him.
It is said that the verses he wrote, the jests he made, and the songs
he sung, were worthy of being added to Mr. Brown's 'Miscellaneous
Works,' or Mr. D'Urf ey's * Pills to Purge Melancholy ;' but, un-
fortunately, the records of the Society perished in the disasters of
thevear 1715, and with them Mr. Hilyard's verses.

(fne may easily excuse this levity in Lord Derwentwater, when
one remembers tbat he and all his companions were as yet in their
earliest manhood, before the vivacity of youth has vanished. Tom,
the eldest, was but six-and-twenty ; Lord Derwentwater himself,
the youngest, only twenty-one ; all of them honest country gentle-
men and their younger brothers, and none, as yet, sated with the
pleasures of the wicked town. How were the younger sons, for
instance, to find money for the pleasures of town? I cannot
pretend that all these young gentlemen were virtuous, or, in all
their amusements, innocent ; certainly, a good many of them were
frequently drunk. But still they were all young, and one feels that
a young man may sin out of mere youthful joy, and then repent ;
while an old man, if be sins it is hardness of heart. And, being
young, they were full of spirits.

'Solomon,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'teaches that a merry heart doeth
good like medicine. Also he reminds us that a merry head maketh
a cheerful countenance, and, further, that he who is of a merry
heart hath a continual feast. Wherefore, Miss Dorothy, let not
this laughter of his honour, my patron, and Lord Derwentwater
trouble yon.'

Why, it could not trouble one if the causes of their mirth could
have been understood. But it is of no use to talk of these things.
Women sit with quiet faces, though their hearts are glad ; but men
must needs be laughing. Besides, Solomon has said to much about

8o DOROTHY FORSTER.

fools and their mirth as to make one afraid, lest, by laughing over*
much, one may be confounded with these fools.

Then began my lord to come often to Blanchland, and I to enjoy
the most happy six months of my life. Only six months ! Yet,
all that went before and all that came after are to be counted as
nothing compared with that brief period of happiness. He would
come over in the morning, when Tom was abroad, and hold conver-
sation with me, either walking or in the old refectory where we
sat. We ta-ked of many things which I have not forgotten, but
cannot write down all I remember. Sometimes Mr. Hilyard was
with us, and sometimes we were alone. We conversed upon high
and lofty themes, as well as on little things of the moment. Once,
walking among the ruins of the monks' chapel, I had the temerity —
or perhaps the ill-breeding — to venture on asking him how it came
about that a man of his knowledge and penetration could continue
in the fold of the Roman Catholic Church.

He was not angry at the question, as might be expected (which
shows his goodness of heart), but laughed and said that he remained
a Catholic because no one had yet succeeded in converting the Pope.

' Fair Doctor of Divinity,' he added ; ' do net tempt me. There
is nothing I would not willingly do for the sake of your beaux
yeux ; but ask not a thing which touches my honour. Loyalty I
owe to my Church as much as to my King. My cousin Dorothy
would not surely advise a Radcliffe against his honour.'

This question of his religion dwelt in my lord's mind, and he
returned to it on another occasion, saying very seriously that
Protestants were unhappy in knowing none of the repose and ease
of soul v/hich belong to those who hold what he called the Time
Faith.

' For,' he said, ' either they are perplexed by doubts and always
drifting into new heresies, or they are painfully striving, each for
himself, and unaided, to attain his own safety, or they are guided
by one or other of the heretic doctors to their irreparable loss ;
whereas we,' he added, ' live free from doubts. The Church hath
settled all doubts long ago ; she orders, and we obey ; she teaches,
and we believe ; we have no reason for proving anything ; we live
without fear, and when at length we die,' he took off his hat, * we
are fortified by the last consolations and tender offices of the
Church, and borne away by ministering angels, some to Heaven,
but of these not many ; the rest to the expiating fires of Purgatory
Fair cousin, I would that you, too, were in this fold with me !'

I was silenced, for the grave eyes and earnest voice of his lord-
ship awed my soul. I knew not, indeed, what to answer until I
consulted with Mr. Hilyard. In thinking over what my lord had
said, his picture of faith seemed fair indeed.

'Why,' said Mr. Hilyard, when I spoke of it to him, 'that ia
true enough ; but, Miss Dorothy, rememoer that you, too, have a
Church which teaches, orders, and consoles. Where are the doubts
of which his lordship speaks ? I know of uone, for iny own part j

A PRINCE IN ISRAEL. Si

nor do you. And for us, as well as the Papists, surely there are
the Sacraments of the Church, without the fires of Purgatory.'

Thus easily is a Papist answered by a man of learning.

But to Lord Derwentwater I only made reply, meekly, that I was
an ignorant girl, and presumptuous in speaking of such things ;
whereas, if he would take counsel with Lord Crewe or with Mr.
Hilyard — but upon this he fell a-laughing.

4 What, cousin,' he said, 4 would you have me take the opinion of
a jester, paid to make merriment for his master, and a singer of
bacchanalian and dissolute songs for a company of drunken revellers ?
Kay, Miss Dorothy ; I know that he is thy friend, and I speak not
to make thee angry ; and, in sober moments, I confess that I have
found him a person of learning and wisdom. But in things spiritual
— think of it ! As for Lord Crewe, I have heard that he is an ex-
cfllrut statesman, venerable for rank and years, and most benevolent
in character ; but I have never heard that he is a great theologian,
or to be named in the same breath as the Fathers of the Church.
And if he were, I have not myself the learning or the wit to
examine and prove the very foundation of religion, or to be sure of
getting a new faith if I cast away my present one, or finding belief
through disbelief, or to hope for greater ease than at present I
enjoy.'

So no more was said at the time between them of Popery or
matters of religion ; as for matters political, naturally there was
much talk, especially when letters and papers arrived from London
with intelligence. The affairs of the French King were going
badly ; as Englishmen we could not but rejoice, therefore. Yet the
hopes of the Prince, so far as they rested on France, were decaying
fast, wherefore we must be sorry ; yet again, as if to put us in
heart, it was reported that London was growing daily more favour-
able to the lawful Sovereign.

4 What London is, my lord,' said Mr. Hilyard, ever anxious to
glorify his native town, 4that is the country. London deserted
Richard II., and he fell ; London joined Edward IV., and the Lan-
castrians' cause was lost ; it was London which deposed King
Charles and sent King James a-packing. Yet the passions of the
mob are fickle ; we know them not. To-day they bawl for the
Chevalier ; to-morrow they will throw up their caps for the Pro-
testant religion, and will plunder a Catholic Ambassador's house.
It hath been well observed that the mob is like Tiberius, who, to
one beginning, 4< You remember, Caesar ?" replied, " Nay ; I do not
remember what I was." '

4 We are a long way from Caesar,' said the Earl. 4 Let us, however,
have no secret conspiracies and dark plots. There have been too
many such already. It is not by treason that we shall bring back
the King ; but by the voice of the people. Never shall it be said
that I, for one, dragged men from their homes to fight for their
Prince, unless it wag first made clear that the country was wholly
for him.*

8a DOROTHY FORSTER.

' If London speaks, the nation ^rill follow,' Mr. Hilyard repeated

' When the country gentry agree to rise,' said Tom, ' the thing ii
as good as done.1

* Then let nothing be done,' Lord Derwentwater added, ' till the
voice of the country is certain, and the gentlemen of the country
can be depended upon. As for French bayonets, we want none of
them. And for premature risings, let us countenance none of them,
nor have to do with those who would bring them about. Say I
well, TomForster?'

' Excellently well, my lord,' Tom replied ; thcngh he was already,
I now believe, in some kind of correspondence with those arch-
conspirators, Dick Gascoigne and Captain Talbot. But let theso
words be remembered, because in the sequel it will be seen that
they fell into Tom's heart and remained there, bringing forth fruit.

The summer passed away with such discourse. The hunting-party
was fixed for October the 30th. Mr. Hilyard, following her ladyship's
instructions, designed to make it a small and private party ; but
when it was known that the illustrious Lord Crewe, with his wife,
would be present, there came so many promises of attendance, that
order had to be taken for a very great quantity of provisions, the
arrangement for which cost myself and Jenny Lee many a long
day's work. On the 29th, the Bishop and Lady Crewe rode from
Bishop's Auckland, a distance of twenty miles, over rough country
ways — a long ride for a man between seventy end eighty years of
age. When we heard that they were visible from the hill, Tom
and I went forth to meet them, and led them from the bridge to
the porch.

When Lady Crewe, whom then I saw for the first time since a
little child, dismounted, I perceived, though she was wrapped in a
great thick hood covering her from head to foot, that she had brown
curling hair like my own, and dark brown eyes of a singular bright-
ness, which my own also somewhat resembled, and that she was of
the same height, though stouter, then being about the age of forty.

( So,' she said to Tom, 'thou art my nephew and my coheir.
Kiss my cheek, Tom. We shall have a great deal to say.'

Then Tom assisted the Bishop to dismount.

' Welcome, my lord,' he said, ' to your own house and Manor of
Blanchland.'

' As for its being mine own, Nephew Forster,' said his lordship,
1 thou must ask thy aunt. She will not willingly let Bamborough
and Blanchland go to a Crewe.'

Then we led them within, and I received my aunt's gloves and
muff, after kindly greetings from her ; but I observed that her
eyes followed Tom.

I would have knelt to the Bishop for his blessing, but he raised
me, saying kindly ;

' Let me see thy face, Mias Dorothy the younger. Why — so—
there are Forsters still, I see. Wife, here is the living picture of a
certain maid with whom I fell in love twenty years ago. Thou art

A PRINCE IN ISRAEL. 83

Dit so beautiful in my eyes, child, as thy aunt ; but I doubt not
;ire plenty who '

'He hath the face of Ferdinando,' cried my aunt, speaking of
Tom, ' and the voice of poor Will. But perhaps most he favours
my father, Sir William.'

'She is very like all these, my dear,' said Lord Crewe, looking
earnestly at me. * Child, when I look upon thy face I see my own
Dorothy again, in her first beauty. Yet she is always the most
bountiful woman in the world to me. And every age with her will
bring its own charm.'

'He has the manner of my own branch, not the Etherston
Forsters,' my lady continued. 'Tom, you must come with me to
London before you go into the House. I shall present you to Lady
Cowper, onr cousin' (she was a Clavering). 'She is a rank Whig,
but a woman of fashion and, what is better, of sense and virtue.
Sense and virtue go together, Dorothy, child, though some people
will have it otherwise.'

Lord Crowe bestowed upon Tom a passing glance, which showed
me that he was less interested than his wife in the male Forsters.

' My dear,' he said, ' if your nephew is wise he will ask for the
society of no other woman than yourself while he is in London.'

Lord Crewe loved his wife so fondly that these compliments
were but expressions of his tenderness. Most old men dote on
their young wives : not so Lord Crewe. His passion, old as he was,
was that of strong manhood, a steady and ardent flame which
every woman should desire, one which causes the care and thought-
fulness of the lover to remain long after the honeymoon, and,
indeed, throughout the earthly course. Never was there any example
more truly illustrating the virtue and happiness of conjugal lore
than that of Lord Crewe and his wife.

When she had removed her travelling attire, and appeared, her
hair dressed in zfontange with Colberteen lace, her silk dres~ looped
to show the rich petticoat beneath, the lace upon her sleeve, her
gold chain, and, above all, the surpassing dignity of her carriage
and beauty of her face (though now in her fortieth year), I owned
to myself that I had never before seen a lady so stately or so truly
handsome, or so completely becoming her exalted rank as the wife
either of an English bishop or an English baron.

' What are thy thoughts, child ?' she asked, smiling, because I am
sure she knew very well what they were.

' Madam,' I replied, with respect, ' I was but thinking how the
people everywhere, not only the gentlefolk but the common folk,
and not only at Bamborough, but here and at Alnwick and every-
where, speak still of the beautiful Dorothy Forster — and that now
I know at length what they mean.'

' Tut, tut !' she replied, but she laughed and blushed — she had
still the fairest complexion ever seen, and the clearest skin (for tha
sake of her complexion she would never drink beer, and washed in
Cold water all the year round), and a colour, white and red, which

84 DOROTHY FOSTER.

came and went like a girl's ; her teeth were of a pearly white-
women of forty are sometimes lamentable to look upon, so bad have
their teeth become — with a mouth and rosy lips which seemed still
young ; her face was round rather than oval ; her eyes were large and
dark brown, as I have said ; her hair was piled in a low tower, and
covered with laces ; her sloping shoulders were also half -hidden by
a lace mantle, and she had the most dainty figure ever seen. Truly
a Juno among women, who had been the chief of the Graces in her
youth.

* Tut, tut !' she replied, tapping my cheek with her fan, but yet
well pleased. ' Silly child ! Beauty is but for a day. We women
have our little summer of good looks. A few years and it is over.
I am an old woman now. But you, my dear, may look into the
glass and see there what your aunt was like when she, like you, was
nineteen years of age.'

Then we sat down to supper, Mr. Hilyard being first presented.
He would have absented himself altogether, being modest and much
afraid of the Lord Bishop ; but my lady asked for him, and was
good enough to insist upon his presence. Conversation was grave
and serious, chiefly sustained by the Bishop, Mr. Hilyard saying
never a word, but keeping his eyes on the table, and mightily re-
lieved when at nine his lordship begged to be excused, on the ground
that they had travelled far, and that now he was old and must to
bed betimes.

4 You have put us in the haunted chamber, Dorothy,' said Lady
Crewe. ' It was there that Sir Claudius died. When I was a child,
I looked every day after dark for his ghost. But it never came.
Yes, Blanchland is a strange, ghostly place. The people used to
speak of terrible things.'

The Bishop gave her his hand.

' Come, my dear,' he said. ' I engage to drive away any ghosts
that come to disturb your sleep.'

Nathaniel, Lord Crewe, of Stene, in Northamptonshire, and Bishop
of Durham, was at this time seventy-seven years of age, which we
rightly consider a very great age indeed. There were in him, how-
ever, none of the infirmities of age ; his walk was as firm, his eye
ft- as as clear, his voice as vigorous, his seat on horseback as steady,
as in most men at fifty. In appearance he was most singular. For
he wore his own hair, and not a wig ; this was long, and abundant,
and perfectly white ; on his upper lip was a small whisker or
moustache ; he always had upon his head a little velvet cap ; he was,
in person, tall and spare ; in his carriage, he stooped somewhat, a
fine, scholarly habit, as caused by much reading and meditation ;
his eyes were black and piercing ; his nose was straight and clear ;
his lips were set firm ; and his chin was long and pointed. Those
who have seen the portrait of Charles I., may be informed that
Lord Crewe's face somewhat resembled that of the sainted monarch.

He was a younger son of Lord Crewe, of Stene, in Northampton'
shire, bat, by the death of his elder brothers, ho succeeded, in hii

A PRINCE IN ISRAEL. 85

fiftieth year, to the title. He was, in early life, a distinguished
scholar of Lincoln College, Oxford, and was elected a Fellow of
that venerable Foundation during the Protectorate, but declared for
Crown and Hierarchy in 1 660. He was made Rector of his College,
Dean of Chichester, and Clerk of the Closet to King Charles II.
In the year 1671, he was consecrated Bishop of Oxford, and two
years later was translated to the See of Durham, which he held for
fifty years, the longest episcopate, I believe, in the history of the
Church of England.

No one is ignorant that this prelate incurred great odium during
the reign of King James II. for his support of that monarch's
measures. I am not obliged to defend or to accuse his action while
he was on the Ecclesiastical Commission ; and to those who charge
him with the prosecution of Dr. Samuel Johnson, of the Vice-
Chancellor of Cambridge, with his famous offer to attend publicly
the entry of the Pope's Nuncio into London, and with his conduct
in the case of Magdalen College, Oxford, the writer has nothing at
all to say, because she is a simple woman, and these things are too
high for her. It is true that in 1688 he was exempted from pardon,
and had to take flight across the seas ; yet, which shows that his
enemies had nothing they could bring home to him, he presently
came back and remained unmolested until his death — that is to say,
for five-and-twenty years. He was so good a man, and of so truly
kind a heart, that one cannot believe he ever did or said a wrong
thing. Certainly he never changed his principles, upholding Divine
Right and the lawful succession of the Stuarts, and making no
secret of his doctrines. As becomes a bishop, however, he took no
active share in the affairs of the party, except in this very year of
grace, namely 1710, when he opposed the prosecution of Dr.
Sacheverell. And his last words to his chaplain when he died, full
of years, in 1722, were, 'Remember, Dick, never go over to the
other side.'

As for his wealth, he possessed, as Lord Crewe, his estates and
the ancestral seat of Stene, with other manors and houses, in
Northamptonshire. As Lord Bishop of Durham, he enjoyed the
revenues and the powers of a Prince Palatine, with six splendid
castles, including Durham, Auckland, and Norham, and eight great
houses. He mostly kept his Court (for truly it was little less) at
Durham, where he entertained in the year 1677 the unfortunate
Duke of Monmouth, on his way to the north. A magnificent pre-
late, indeed ; with the courage to declare and uphold his opinions ;
splendid in his carriage, his language, his dress, and in the liveries
of his servants ; one who ruled himself, his household, and his
diocese with a firm hand ; who spent freely, yet administered
prudently ; was affable to all except to those who would dispute
bis authority or his rank.

4 And now, Tony,' said Tom, when they were gone, ' we cannot
ring with a bishop in the house ; but we can drink. The lemons,
brave boy, and the whisky. Methinks her ladyship means well.'

86 DOROTHY FOKSTER.

1 So well,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' that your honour hath but to defer
to her opinions, and your fortunes will be higher even than I looked
for. As for myself,' here he sighed, and looked miserable for the
space of three and a half rummers of punch, when he cheered up,
and said that if starvation was before him, all the more reason for
enjoying the present moment, and that of all the choice gifts of
Heaven, that of whisky punch was certainly the one for which
mankind should be most grateful. While he discoursed upon its
merits I left them, and to bed.

CHAPTER IX.

A HUNTING PARTY.

IT has been pretended that the party of this day was one of the
earliest attempts made by Mr. Forster the younger towards making
himself the leader of the cause in the north. On the contrary, he
had as yet no thought at all about leading. The gentlemen came
together for no other purpose than to meet the Bishop (many of
them, being Catholics, who could only see him on some such occa
sion) and Lord Derwentwater, and the meeting was especially
summoned to enable these two to meet one another. Among those
who came to the meeting were many of the gentlemen who five
years afterwards, to their undoing, took up arms for the Prince.
Most of them lay at Hexham overnight, and came over the moor in
the morning. It was a gallant sight, indeed, to see the gentlemen
riding into the quadrangle, and giving their horses to the grooms,
while they paid their respects to Lady Crewe, who was already
dressed, early as it was, and received them with a kindly welcome
which pleased all. The Bishop, she said, begged to be excused at
that early hour ; he would meet his friends in the evening. Mean-
time, breakfast, or luncheon, was spread, with cold pasties, spiced
beef, game, and beer for all who chose.

They were a hearty and hungry crew. One cannot but re-
member with what good-will they trooped in, and how they made
the sirloins of beef to grow small, the pasties to vanish, and the
birds to disappear — except their bones ; also with what cheerfulness
they exhorted each other to fill up and drink again. They had a
day's hunting before them. Surely a man may eat and drink who
is going out for six or eight hours a-horseback across Hexhamshire
Common. It was a pretty sight, certainly, when they had finished,
to see them mount in the great quadrangle, with the shouting of the
younger men — ah ! King Solomon's medicine of the merry heart !
— and so off, trooping through the old gateway out upon the open
moor, whither the huntsman had taken the hounds. I, who seldom
rode, went with them on this day. Beside me rode Lord Derwent-
water, brave in scarlet, as were his brothers. But he was grave, and
even sad.

' I cannot but think, Miss Dorothy,' he said, ' that it is a strange

A HUNTING PARTY. *7

for us to laugh and shout while our business is to talk of
i, according to the law of the land. When will treason
bi-'-mne loyalty, and rebellion fidelity to the King?'

Then there arose a great yo-hoing and shouting, and the fox was
found, and we all rode after it. About that day's hunting it needs
not to speak much. It was a long run. Tom, with Charlie Radcliffe,
was in at the death, and they gave me the creature's brush. As for
Lord Derwentwater, he left not my side, being more concerned to
talk with me than to gallop after the hounds. Certainly he never
keen fox-hunter, his ideas of the hunt being taken from
France, where, as he hath told me, the party ride down lanes or
allees, in a great forest, after a wild boar or a stag, the sides of the
lanes being lined with rustics, to prevent the boar from taking
shelter in the wood. But he owned that our sport was more manly.
This was a pleasant, nay, a delightful ride for me, seeing as I did in
the eyes of his lordship those signs of admiration which please the
hearts of all women alike, whether they be confident in their beauty
or afraid that they possess no charms to fix the affections of in-
constant man. Perhaps we guess very readily what mosl we desire.
At this time (let me confess and own without shame what need not
be concealed) I had begun to desire one thing very much ; that is
to say, I understood very well that the happiest woman in the world
would be she to whom this young gentleman would give the price-
less blessing of his love. This made me watchful of his speech and
looks ; and enabled me, young and inexperienced as I was, to read
Tery well the confession made by eyes full of admiration, though
no word at all was spoken. No gentleman in the world had better
eyes or sweeter than Lord Derwentwater, and no man's love, I knew
very well, was more to be desired ; and, innocent and ignorant as
we were, neither of us, at that time, considered the difficulties in
the way. Poor Dorothy !

Some of the elder gentlemen remained behind, and sat all the
morning to talk with Lady Crowe, once their toast and charming
beauty, still beautiful and gracious, as a great lady should be. Every
woman likes, I suppose, to feel that men remember the beauty of
her youth. It is a fleeting thing, and we are told that, like all
earthly things, it is a vanity. Nevertheless, it is a vanity which
pleases for a lifetime, and, like understanding in a man, it may be
used, while it lasts, for great purposes. Lady Crewe knew well
how to use her beauty and charm of words as well as of face, in
order to lead men whithersoever she would. This is a simple art,
though few women understand it, being nothing more or less than
to make each man think the thing which he most desires to believe
true, namely, that he occupies wholly the thoughts, hopes, interest,
and sympathy of the woman who would lure him and lead him.

1 It is not love/ said Mr. Hilyard once, ' so much as vanity, which
1 the world. Dalila conquered Samson by playing upon his
• >f strength. Cleopatra overcame Antony by acknowledging
the irresistible charm of a hero.'

88 DOROTHY FORSTER.

So Lady Crewe, by coaxing, flattering, making men feel happy
and proud of themselves (since they would please so great and
gracious a lady), in a word, by charming men, could do with them
what she pleased. Of course, it need not be said that there could be
no question of gallantry with this stately dame, the wife of the
great Lord Crewe. Certainly not ; yet all men were her slaves.

Some time between ten and eleven in the forenoon, the party
being all ridden forth, my lord the Bishop came out from his
chamber, dressed and ready for the duties of the day. At so
advanced a stage of life, one must, I suppose, approach each day,
which may be the last, slowly and carefully, fortified before the
work of the day begins with food, prayer, and meditation. His
lordship looked older in the morning than in the evening ; yet not
decayed. Though the lines and crow's-feet of age lay thickly upon
his face, so that it was seamed and scarred by a thousand waving
lines, his eye was as bright and his lips as firm as if he were but
forty or fifty. After a little discourse with the gentlemen who had
remained behind, he sent immediately for Mr. Hilyard. He, to say
the truth, was by no means anxious for the interview, and had
shown, ever since this party was proposed, a singular desire to
avoid the Bishop ; proposing a hundred different pretexts for his
absence.

First, his lordship, with great show of politeness, of which he
was perfect master, begged Mr. Hilyard to show him the ruins and
remains of this strange place, which our steward very willingly did,
hoping, as will be seen, to stave off the questions which he feared.
Presently, after talk about the Premonstratensian Friars (this was
the learned name of the monks who were murdered, but why they
had so long a name, or what it means, I know not, nor need we
inquire into the superstitious reasons for such a name), and after
considering the quadrangle and the ancient Gate Tower, they turned
into the graveyard, where were the ruins of the chapel. Here they
talked of Gothic architecture, a subject on which, as on so many
other things, Mr. Hilyard was well versed ; and the Bishop, after
lamenting the ruin of so beautiful a place, said that he could not
suffer whole families thus to grow up in heathendom with so fair
a chapel waiting but a roof, and that he should take order therefor.

* As for you, sir,' he said to Mr. Hilyard, ' you seem to be pos-
sessed of some learning. You have studied, I perceive, the archi-
tecture of our churches.'

' In my humble way, my lord, I have read such books on the
subject as have fallen into my hands.'

' And you are not unacquainted with the ancient dispositions of
monasteries, it would seem.'

' Also in my small way, my lord ; and with such chances of ob-
servation as I have obtained.'

Then the Bishop seated himself upon a fallen stone in the cornel
of the tower, where he was sheltered from the wind, and where the
sunshine fell, and fixed upon Mr. Hilyard his eyes, which were like

A HUNTING PARTY. 89

the eyes of a hawk for clearness, and more terrible for sternness
than the eyes of a lion, and said :

' Then, sir, let me ask : Who are yon ?'

' My lord, my name, at your lordship's service, is Antony Hil-
yard.'

4 So much I know. And for ten years, or thereabouts, in the
service of the Forsters. Now, sir, I meddle not with affairs which
belong not to me, therefore when Mr. Thomas Forster of Etherston
received you as my nephew's tutor, I made no inquiry. Again,
when I heard, through her ladyship, that the tutor, instead of
becoming a chaplain, as is generally his laudable ambition, became
a steward, I made no inquiry, because, tutor or steward, your affairs
seemed to concern me not at all. But in view of the singular affec-
tion which my lady hath conceived for her nephew, her hopes for
his future, and her designs as regards his inheritance, I can no longer
suffer him to remain under the influence of men about whose
character I know nothing. Doubtless, sir, you are honest. My
nephew and his sister swear that you are honest.'

•I hope so, my lord.'

* It is certain that you have, whether for purposes of your own
or not, acquired such an influence over both my nephew and my
niece that I must come to an understanding. You sing, act, and
play the Merry Andrew, when he has his friends about him ; yon
manage his household, and keep his accounts ; you have taught the
young lady to sing, play music, read French, and other things, which,
as my lady is assured, are all innocent and desirable accomplish-
ments. We have also learned that although you were engaged upon
a salary or wage of thirty pounds a year, you have never received
any of that money, save a guinea here and there for clothing. Now,
sir, I judge not beforehand, but yon may be, for aught I know, a
vile Whig, endeavouring to instil into an honest mind pernicious
opinions ; or you may be one of those secret plotters who are the
curse of our party, and lure on gentlemen to their destruction ; or
you may be, which is not impossible, a Jesuit on some secret service.
So, sir, before we go any further, you will tell me who and what
you are — whose son, where born and brought up— of what stock,
town, religion.'

' For my birth, my lord, I am of London ; for my religion, I am
a Protestant and humble servant of the Church ; for my origin, my
father was a vintner, with a tavern in Barbican ; for my education,
it was at St. Paul's School, where I got credit for some scholarship,
and ' — here he bowed his head, and looked guilty — * at Oxford, in
your lordship's own College of Lincoln.'

1 Go on, sir.' For now Mr. Hilyard showed signs of the greatest
distress, and began to cough, to hem, to blow his nose, and to wipe
his* brow. ' Go on, sir, I command.'

* I cannot deny, my lord — nay, I confess — though it cost me th«
post I hold and drive me out into the world — that I concealed from
Mr. Forster the reasons why I left Oxford without a degree. 1

96 DOROTHY FORSTER.

hope that your lordship will consider my subsequent conduct to
have in some measure mitigated the offence.'

* What was the reason ?'

1 My lord, I was expelled.'

The Bishop nodded his head as terrible as great Jove.

' So, sir,' he said, while the unlucky man trembled before him,
1 so, sir, you were expelled. This is truly an excellent recommenda-
tion for a tutor and teacher of young gentlemen. Pray, sir, why
this punishment ?'

* My lord,' the poor man replied in great confusion, ' suffer me of
your patience to explain that from my childhood upwards I have
continually been afflicted — affliction must I needs call that which
hath led me to the ruin of my hopes — with the desire of mocking,
acting, and impersonating ; also with the temptation to write verses,
whether in Latin or in English ; and with the love of exciting the
laughter and mirth of my companions. So that to hold up to deri-
sion the usher while at school, which caused me often to be soundly
switched, was my constant joy — even though I had afterwards to
cry — because my fellows laughed at the performance. Or I was
acting and rehearsing for their delight some passage from Dryden,
Shakespeare, or Ben Jonson, which I had seen upon the stage.'

* In plain language, sir, thou wast a common buffoon.'

* Say, rather, my lord, with submission, an actor — histrio. Roscius
was rather my model than the Roman mime.'

4 As thou wilt, sir. • Go on.'

1 Your lordship cannot but remember that at every public act the
Terraa Filius, after the Proctor, hath permission to ridicule, or to
hold up to derision, or to satirize '

' Man,' cried the Bishop, * I had partly guessed it. Thou wert,
then, a Terrse Filius.'

1 My lord, it is most true.'

The Bishop's face lost its severity. He laughed, while Mr. Hil-
yard stood before him trembling, yet a little reassured. For, to say
the .truth, he expected nothing but instant dismissal.

' The Terra Filius,' said the Bishop. ' There were many of them,
but few of much account. Some were coarse, some were ill-bred,
some were rustic, some were rude — here and there one was witty.
The heads and tutors loved better the coarse than the witty. Ay,
ay ! They expelled Tom Pittie when I was a bachelor, and they
made Lancelot Addison, afterwards Dean of Lichfield, beg pardon
on his knees. So, sir, you were the licensed jester of the University ?
An honourable post, forsooth !'

' It was not so much, my lord,' Mr. Hilyard went on, ' for my
jests before the University, as for certain verses which were brought
home to me by the treachery of a man, who — but that does not
concern your lordship.'
. * Of what kind where the verses ?'

'They were of a satirical kind.' Mr. Hilyard pulled out his
pocket-book, in which he kept memoranda, receipts, bills, and so

A HUNTING PARTY. 91

forth. ' If your lordship would venture to look at them. I keep
always by me a copy to remind me of my sin.' He found a worn
and thumb-marked sheet of printed paper. * In Latinity they have
been said to have a touch of Martial or Ausonius at his best — but I
may not boast.' He placed the verses in the Bishop's hands, and
waited, with a look of expectant pride rather than of repentance :
be was no longer a confessing sinner, or a jester brought to shame ;
but, rather, a poet waiting for his patron's verdict of praise or
blame.

The Bishop read ; the Bishop smiled ; then the Bishop laughed.

4 The matter, truly, is most impudent, and richly deserved pun-
ishment. The style, doubtless, deserved reward. And for this
thou wast expelled ?'

' My letters recommendatory, my lord, made no mention of the
thing. Indeed, they were all written for me by those scholars who
were my friends and companions.'

'Well, sir, it is done, and I suppose you have repented often
enough. For so good a scholar might have aspired to the dignities
of the Church. It is an old tale : for a moment's gratification, a
lifelong sorrow. You laughed as a boy, in order that you might
cry as a man. You might have become Fellow, Dean, Tutor, even
Master ; Rector of a country living, Canon, Prebendary, Archdeacon,
or even — Bishop. There are, in these times, when gentlemen fly
from the Church, many Bishops on the Bench of no better origin
than your own. You are steward to a country gentleman ; keeper
of farm and household accounts ; fellow-toper, when his honour is
alone ; jester, when he hath company.'

4 1 know it, my lord,' replied Mr. Hilyard humbly. * I am Mr.
Forster's servant. Yet, a faithful servant.'

4 1 know nothing to the contrary. Why have you not, during
these six years, asked for the money promised at the outset ?'

' Oh, my lord — consider — pray — I am ander obligation of grati-
tude to a most kind and generous master, and a most considerate
mistress. They subsist, though his honour would not like it stated
so plainly, on the bounty of your lordship and my lady. Should I
presume to take for myself what was meant for his honour ?'

The Bishop made no reply for a while, but looked earnestly into
his face.

4 Either thou art a very honest fellow,' he said at length, * or thou
art a practised courtier.'

* No courtier, my lord.'

4 1 believe not. Now, sir, I think it vill be my duty to advise
her ladyship that no change need be made. But further inquiry
must be made. Continue, therefore, for the present, in thy duties.
Aii-1, for the salary, I will see that thou lose nothing.'

He then began to ask, in apparently a careless fashion, about the
manner of our daily life, hearing how Tom spent his days in shoot-
ing and so forth, and showed no desire for reading, yet was no f ool,
and ready to receive information ; -bow the hospitality of the Manor

91 DOROTHY FORSTER.

House, though not so splendid as that ot its late owners, was abtmd.
ant, and open to all who came, and so forth ; to all of which the
Bishop listened, as great men use, namely, as if these small things
are of small importance, yet it is well to know them, and that,
being so small, it is not necessary to express an opinion upon them.

' I hear,' he said, ' that certain agitators continue to go about the
country. Do they come here ?'

Mr. Hilyard replied that Captain Gascoigne and Captain Talbot
had been to the north that year, but that Mr. Forster was not, to
his knowledge, in correspondence with them.

' It is important,' said the Bishop, ' that no steps be taken for the
present. There are reasons of State, See that you encourage no
such work. I take it that my nephew is popular, by reason of a
frank character and generous hand, such as the Forsters have always
displayed, rather than by learning or eloquence.'

' Your lordship is right. If I may presume to point out a fault
in my patron '

'What is it?'

'It is his inexperience. He hath never, except to Cambridge,
gone beyond his own county. Therefore he may be easily imposed
upon, and led — whither his friends would not wish him to go.'

To this the Bishop made no reply, but fell into a meditation, and
presently rose and left Mr. Hilyard among the ruins.

' I expected,' said Mr. Hilyard, when he told me of this discourse,
4 nothing short of an order to be packing. Nothing short of that
would do, I thought, for a man who had been expelled the Univer-
sity for holding up the Seniors to derision. Alas ! I have been a
monstrous fool. Yet I doubt not I should do it again. "When wit
is in, wisdom is out. There was a man of whom I once read, " He
might have saved his life could he have refrained his tongue." But
he could not. Therefore, he said his epigram and was hanged,
happy in the thought that his bon-mot would be remembered. Like
good actions, good sayings live and bear fruit beyond the tomb.
My satire on the Senior Proctor — the Bishop laughed at it. Think
you that many Bishops in the future will not also laugh at it ?'

' Is it so very comical, Mr. Hilyard, that it would make me laugh ?
For, you know, my sex are not so fond of laughing as your own.'

He replied, a little disconcerted, that the chief points of his
yatire lay in the Latin, which I could not understand.

The business of the day, namely, the conversation between Lord
Derwentwater and Lord Crewe, took place in the evening, after
dinner. Our guests were divided into two sets, one of which con-
sisted of the older and more important gentlemen present, and the
other of the younger sons. The latter spent their evening in the
kitchen under the refectory, where they were perfectly happy, if
the noise of singing and laughing denotes happiness. I saw Tom'a
face grow melancholy as he sat between Lord Crewe on his left and
Lady Crewe on his right, listening to discourse on grave and serious

A HUNTING PARTY. 93

matters, while all this merriment went on below. Strange it was
to see at the same table an English Bishop and a Catholic Earl.

When the servants were gone, Tom rose in his place and reminded
his friends that they were assembled there in order to afford an
opportunity for a conference between Lord Crewe, the Bishop of
Durham, on the one hand, and Lord Derwentwater, with the honest
gentlemen of the county, on the other. This conference being
happily arranged, they would remind each other that they had with
them the most venerable of the party, one who could remember
Noll Cromwell himself, and had voted for King and Bishops before
Charles II. came back. With which words he asked them to drink
to the Prince.

After this they began by all, with one consent, talking of the
latest intelligence, and of the great hopes which they entertained ;
how the Queen was reported to lean more and more to the cause of
her brother ; how the people of London were fast recovering their
loyalty ; and how the country, save for a few pestilent and unnatural
Whigs, was Jacobite to the core ; and so forth. It seemed as if I
had heard that kind of talk all my life. If it was true, why could
they not recall the Prince at once, and without more to do?
If it was not true, why try to keep up their spirits with a
falsehood ? The plain, simple truth does not do for men ;
they must have exaggerations, rumours, see everything greater
than it is. Otherwise, there would be no such thing as a
party.

4 To one wise man,' said Mr. Hilyard to me, speaking privately of
this matter, 4 it seems as if, things being weighed, the for and the
against, the scale inclines this way. To another wise man, the
scale inclines that way. To the followers of those wise men who
cannot weigh the arguments, or even perceive them, the scale kicks
the beam. The more ignorant the partisan, the more thorough he
is. Wherefore, the Lord protect us from wars of religion, in which
every common soldier knows more than his officers/

While this kind of talk went on, the Bishop sat quiet and grave,
saying nothing ; while Lord Derwentwater listened, and Lady
Crewe smiled graciously on one after the other as they appealed
to her.

When each had said what was in his mind on the matter of
loyalty, the Bishop invited Lord Derwentwater to tell the company,
who had never had the happiness of seeing the Prince, what manner
of man he was to look upon.

4 In person, my Lord Bishop,' he replied, ' his Highness is tall,
and inclined to be thin, as his father was before him. He is,
although so young in years, already grave in manner ; he speaks
little ; he is rarely heard to laugh ; he hath little or nothing of the
natural gaiety of young men in France. He rides well ; his personal
courage cannot be doubted, having been sufficiently proved at Oude-
narde and Malplaqnet ; he is familiar with the names of all his
friend*. For instance, in Northumberland, ho knows that be can

<H DOROTHY FORSTER.

reckon on Tom Forster ' — here my lord bowed to Tom, who red-
dened with pleasure, and drank off another bumper to the Prince —
' and on Mr. Errington ' — here Mr. Errington did the like, and his
lordship went on to name other gentlemen, especially Protestants,
in the room.

' If a woman may ask the question,' said Lady Crewe, * we would
hope that his character for religion and virtue, as well as for courage,
is such as to endear him to the hearts of those who would fain see
princes of blameless life.'

At this time the Prince, then only two-and-twenty years of age,
though he had not acquired the reputation which afterwards made
many of his friends in England cold to him, was by no means free
from reproach — indeed, there are many who throw temptation in
the way of a prince — and Lord Derwentwater paused before he
replied.

' As for religion,' said my lord, ' I know that he hath been most
religiously educated, and that his mother is a saintly woman. So
much I can depose from my own knowledge. For, if my Lord
Bishop will pardon the remark, there were more masses at St.
Germain's than many about the Court would willingly attend. As
for virtue, there have been rumours— are there not rumours of
every Prince ? One must not repeat idle reports.'

' One would wish to know,' said the Bishop, ' if the Prince hath
a martial bearing, and one which may encourage his followers.
Let us remember the gallantry of Prince Rupert, and the cheerful
courage of young King Hal at Agincourt.'

' I have never seen him,' Lord Derwentwater replied, ' with
troops. I know not whether his face would show the cheerful
courage of which your lordship speaks. That he is brave is well
known. If he is less at home in camp than in his Court, we must
thank the Queen, his mother, and the good priests, his instructors,
who have made him, pernaps, fitter for heaven than for earth.'

' I very much doubt it,' said the Bishop, with a smile.

It was wonderful to think that here was a young gentleman who
had actually been brought up with His Highness, and conversed
with him, and was telling ns about him.

4 Well,' said the Bishop, ' they may have made him fitter for the
Mass than the march. Pity — pity — a thousand pities that his
father must needs throw aw»y his crown for his creed — your
pardon, my lord— when he had already, had he pleased, the ancient,
yet reformed, Church of England. It likes me not. I would rather
he were more of a soldier and less of a priest. These things are
well known to me already, but I wished that these gentlemen here
also should hear them. For, believe me, all is not yet clear before
us, my lord. I have watched the times for fifty years and more.
The crowd hath shouted now for one side, and now for another ;
but never, saving your lordship's presence, have their greasy caps
been tossed up for a Roman Catholic. And, even if the general
opinion be true, and the voice of the country be for the young

A HUNTING PARTY. 95

Prince, I am very certain that he will not win the English heart,
and so secure his throne, unless he consent to change his religion.'

1 It may be so,' replied the Earl. ' Yet sure I am that he will
never change his religion.'

4 Then,' said the Bishop, 'if he comes home this year, or next,
the very next year after his priests will get him sent abroad again.
We are a people who have religion much upon the lips — and it is
the Protestant religion — but it hinders not the luxury of the rich
or the vices of the poor. There are still living among us — I say
this in presence of you Catholic gentlemen — those whose fathers
aii'l grandfathers have spoken with men and women who remem-
bered the flames of Smithfield. Your lordship is young, but you
will never — I prophesy — no, never — see England so changed that
she will look without jealousy and hatred upon a court of priests.'

' The King may surround himself, if he pleases, with Protestant
advisers/ said the Earl. 4 We of the old faith are content to sit at
home in obscurity. Yonr lordship will not seek to burn ns. We
ask but toleration and our civil rights.'
The Bishop shook his head.

1 Will he be allowed ?' he asked. * Meantime, my lord, it does
my heart good to see you — still a young man and an Englishman —
no Frenchman — back again among your own people. Trust me,
you will be happier here than at St. Germain's or Versailles,
ove an old man who was about the Court for nearly thirty
years : it is an air which begetteth bad humours of the blood —
with jealousies, envies, and heartburnings. He who waiteth upon
Princes must expect rubs such as happen not to quiet men. And,
young man,' he laid his hand upon the Earl's shoulder, ' listen not,
I entreat you, to vapouring Irish captains or to Scotchmen disap-
pointed of their pensions, or to soured English Papists, or to those
who have waited in antechamber till rage has seized their heart.
Let us remain on the right side. Some day it will prevail. On
that day the voice of the whole country will call their Sovereign
home. It may be that they will make him first embrace the faith
as contained in the Thirty-nine Articles. Justice is mighty, and
shall prevail. But, gentlemen, no plots ! And you, sir, as you are
the nearest among us all to the throne, so be the most cautious.
Set the young hot-heads of the north a good example. Gentlemen '
— he rose, tall and majestic, with white waving locks and stooping
shoulders, and his wife rose at the same time and gave him her
arm — ' my lords and gentlemen, Anglican or Catholic, whether of
the old or the reformed faith, I give my prayers for the rightful
cause, and to all here the blessing of a Bishop. Yea !' — he raised
his tall figure to the full height, 'the blessing of one who is a
successor of the Apostles by unbroken and lineal descent and right
divine !'

Lord Derwentwater bent a knee, and kissed the Bishop's hand.
Then the company parted right and left, bowing low, while tfce Qjd
) ''-hop, with his lady and her niece, left the room,

96 DOROTHY FORSTER.

CHAPTER X.

A TENDER CONSCIENCE.

So, for prudence' sake, and for carefulness, and to avoid the
charges of an open house, we remained at Blanchland until the
New Year.

Before her departure, Lady Crewe held a long and very serious
talk with Tom, the nature of which I was not told at the time.
For many days afterwards he was graver than was his wont, and
talked much about his place in the county ; he reprimanded Mr.
Hilyard, also, when he spoke of sport, for thinking of nothing
more worthy his attention (whereas the poor man thought of sport
not at all, save only to please his patron), and he made inquiry
about the House of Commons, the duties and privileges of members,
and how a gentleman may rise to eminence in that august assembly,
from which I conjectured that some plan had been laid before him
by my aunt. He spoke also of matrimony and of heiresses, saying
that a man in his position, although his estates were embarrassed,
might look as high as anyone, and that London was the place to
find a rich gentlewoman — not Northumberland, where the families
were so large and the times grown so peaceful that of heiresses
there were none in the whole county.

' Sir,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' I know little concerning the ways of
the great, yet I have walked in St. James's Park and seen the ladies
followed by the beaux, few of whom can be compared with your
honour for comeliness and strength ; while there are many who cut
a fine figure in the park and the theatre, yet have never an acre of
land in all their family.'

Tom was twenty-seven by this time, no longer in the first flush
of manhood, but a handsome fellow still, though beginning a double
chin and inclined to be corpulent. As regards the pursuit of an
heiress, I never heard anything more about it, and conjecture that
it was a part of her ladyship's advice offered, but not carried into
practice. In matters of gallantry, our North-country gentlemen
are sadly to seek — nor do the ladies expect it of them ; and an
heiress and a fine lady of London would have so many beaux fol-
lowing her, that a plain man would have very little chance, however
good his family.

Presently, Toin grew tired of keeping his own counsel, and
therefore told us — I mean Mr. Hilyard as well as myself — all that
had passed. Her ladyship was, he said, most gracious and kind.
She assured him that the restoration of her own family to their
lost wealth and former position was all that she now lived for,
saving her obedience to her husband ; that she had no longer any
hope of children, and that while Lord Crewe's Northamptonshire
property would go to his own nephews, nieces, and cousins, he had
most generously given to her the bestowal of the Northumberland

A TENDER CONSCIENCE. 97

ty, which she was resolved upon bequeathing entire to her
lear nephew.

This was good hearing indeed. But better was to follow. The
Manor House was to be maintained as before, and a reasonable
allowance was to be made to Tom out of the revenues of the estate.
He was, therefore, once more master of Bamborough, and we might
Btill sit in the chancel without feeling that we were usurping that
place of honour. All was to be Tom's.

Yet there were conditions — just and reasonable conditions I call
them, and such as should have been accepted without a murmur.
But men are so masterful, they brook not the thought of bridle or
of rein. First, Tom was to remember that he was no longer a
young man, and that such follies as sitting up all night drinking
and singing in the company of young gentlemen whose expectations
and fortunes were far below his own, should now cease ; that on
the retirement of his father he was to become Knight of the Shire
in his place ; that he was to go no more to races and matches where
money is rashly and wickedly lost ; that he was to take unto him-
self, in reasonable time, a wife of good stock and approved breeding ;
and that, finally, as regards politics and the Party, he was to take
no important step, at any time, without her ladyship's consent and
approval.

These conditions Tom accepted, yet grumbled at them.

* Why,' he said, * I am already seven-and- twenty, and am still to
be in leading-strings. As for drinking, Heaven knows it is not once
a month that we have a bout — is it, Tony ? Well, two or three
times at most ; as for racing, if a gentleman have a good horse, why
should he not back him for a few pounds ? Is one to be for ever
counting up the pence and watching how they fly ? As for a wife,
all in good time. When Dorothy marries, perhaps, or when — but
Heaven sends wives.'

4 The conditions, sir,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' appear to me such as
your honour would do wrong to refuse, because they can never be
enforced ; nor can her ladyship ascertain whether or no they have
been obeyed, except as to the matter of Parliament, in which there
can be no doubt that it would be greatly to your honour's interest
to learn something of the affairs of the nation, if only with a view
to those great offices and positions of State which will, doubtless,
some day be forced upon you.'

4 Well,' Tom replied, ' it is something to have in the house one
who can talk a man into anything. Why, Tony, if her ladyship
ordered me a flogging at the cart's-tail, I warrant you would make
it out to be Tery much in my interest.'

We were not without company, especially in the autumn, for
Hexhamshire and Allendale Commons abound with wild birds and
game of all kinds : there are grouse, blackcock, partndge, bustard,
wild-geese, ducks, water-rail, heron, peewit, teal, and snipe ; also
for those who care to shoot them there are eagles, hawks, falcons,
kestrel, and kite ; BO that if gentlemen came there was always at

98 DORO TH Y FOKS 7 A£.

least game for the table, and he who sits down to a coursed hare^ t
brace of partridges, a rabbit-pie, or from the farm a Michaelmas
goose or fat capon, need not complain about his dinner.

They came, therefore, across the moors for the sake of the sport,
or for friendship with Tom, or to enjoy the singing and play-acting
of the jester, or perhaps some of them — I know not — on account of
myself. It is nigh upon thirty years ago. Alas ! the pleasant times
are gone. Wherefore let me, without boastfulness, but with
gratitude, remember the days of my youth, when men took pleasure
in such beauty as had been granted to me. I could tell (but refrain,
because this book is not about myself, but my brother) how Perry
Widdrington and Ned Swinburne quarrelled about me, and were
like to fight — the foolish boys — as if running each other through
the ribs would make a girl love either of them any the better. I
had a deal to do with them : for, first their honour was concerned ;
then they had said such words to each other as required, and would
have, the shedding of blood ; next — they were old friends from
childhood, and it was a shame for each to treat the other so — they
would be revenged ; lastly, what right had either to interfere when
it was plain that the other was in love with Dorothy ?

I told these boys that they were a couple of fools ; that if they
fought I would never speak with either of them again ; that as for
their religion, they were undeserving the name of Christians, who
must forgive one another ; and that, if they wanted further speech
of me, they must immediately shake hands and be brothers again.
At last they consented, and, with melancholy faces, shook hands
upon it. Why they were sad over it I know not, because this ^hand-
shaking saved the life of one and might have given the other a
bride ; only that the lady, when their hands had beJn given, told
them she was sorry, but she could take neither. So they went
away glum, and would not forgive me for a long time. There was
also young Tom Clavering, who gave much trouble, being more
persistent than most, and had to be spoken to very plainly. I might
certainly have married one of these young gentlemen ; but I know
not how the family pot would have been kept boiling, or a roof
kept over our heads, for they were all younger sons, with a poor
forty pounds a year at most for all their portion, and the great
family house to live in while they pleased ; and not one with any
thought of bettering himself. Young men think that the pot is
filled with wishing, and that love provides beef as well as kisses.
They were brave and gallant boys ; much I loved to see their hearty
faces and hear their merry laugh : but I could not regard them with
the favour which they wanted, and for a very good reason — because
there was another man who had already fired my heart, and inso-
much that, beside him, all other men seemed small and mean.

This, then, was the manner of our life at Blanchland, among the
nuns which the old monks had left, and their melancholy ghosts.
Sometimes I, who was a^ strong of limb and as well able to do a
dav's march as any, would go with the gentlemen when thev wen,f

A TENDER CONSCIZXC&.

99

shooting. Pretty it is to watch the dogs put np the gnme — the
grouse running in the cover, the swift whirr of the coveys, and the
snipe with their quick flight and their thousand twistings and
turnings, designed to deceive the huntsman and to escape his shot.
Sometimes I would don riding-dress (but not coat, hat, and wig, as
some ladies are reported to do nearer London), and ride with them
after the fox, well pleased if, as often happened, Master Reynard
escaped the hounds, putting the hounds off the scent by crossing a
stream ; or, but this was seldom, I would get up early in the morn-
ing, and go with them otter-hunting, which is too rough a sport for
a girl and too cruel, with the fighting of the dogs and the killing of
the poor brute at the end. After every party there was the finish
of the day, with the feast — rough and plenty — the flowing of small-
p.le, stout October, and whisky punch, and Mr. Hilyard always
ready, after his first glass or two, to play Jack Merryrnan for the
company ; and the Rev. Mr. Patten, if he was there, ready to bow
low at every remark which my brother might make, and to say
1 Hush !' when he was going to speak, and to sigh when he had
spoken as if Solomon himself had uttered out of his boundless
wisdom another proverb. When the punch began to go round I
withdrew.

One of the most frequent visitors, as I have said already, was this
Reverend Robert Patten, Vicar of AUenhead, for whom at the very
outset I conceived a violent dislike. He came, I doubt not, partly
in order to ingratiate himself with one who had two livings in his
gift, and partly in order, if possible, to obtain a recommendation to
the Bishop, and partly in order to get, at another's expense, as much
drinx as he could cany — and more. For my own part, I deplore
the practice of taking too much wine, even among gentlemen, but
in a clergyman it is truly scandalous. As for the enmity between
Mr. Hilyard and this disgracef ul minister, that by no means abated,
but quite the contrary ; so that, after the formal greeting, they
exchanged not a single word, both making as if the other were not
present.

At last I asked Mr. Hilyard for the cause of this bad blood
between them.

' It seems to me,' I said, * that Mr. Patten, whom I confess I like
not, is open to no other charge than that of drunkenness, which
alone should not make him hateful in your eyes. We must not, Mr.
Hilyard, judge our brethren too severely.'

* It is true,1 he said, ' that the sight of his sleek face and thick

after much hesitation.

* A Christian must not hate his brethren,' said Mr. Hilyard, « but
may, I suppose, regard him with contempt. It is with contempt

ho

th it I look upon Bob Patten. Know, therefore, Miss Dorothy, that
Ve were at Oxford together, ao4 of tfce q^me College. If I may

ioo DOROTHY FORSTER.

say it without vanity, my parts were tolerable ; but Bob was ever a
dull dog. Had I not imitated the part of the Prodigal Son, I
might now have been a grave and reverend Fellow — perhaps the
Tutor/

He had already told me of his foolish conduct as regards the
satire against one of his superiors.

'Alas ! the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil are
greater to some than to others. There are, I am sure, many men
who are tempted by none of the things which drive some of us to
madness. I am myself drawn as by strong ropes whenever I hear
the sonnd of a fiddle, the clinking of a glass, and the voices of those
who laugh ; if there is a church on one side of the street and a
theatre on the other, I have no choice, but must needs go into the
theatre. This was my ruin. Though I studied in the morning, I
drank, and sang, and made verses in the evening. So I became
known to the Proctors, and an object of suspicion.'

* But what has this to do with Mr. Patten ?'

* Creeping Bob neither sang (because his voice was like the
grating of rusty nails upon a slate), nor drank (because no one
would give him or trust him), nor made merry (having been born
on the shady side of the street), nor offended Proctors and Tutors,
hoping maybe, but in this he hath been mistaken, to make up for
muddy wit by nice morality, and perhaps to get a Fellowship and a
fat College living. This conduct made him deservedly popular with
his fellows, and gained him the glorious title of Creeping Bob. As
h« was then, so is he now.'

'But, Mr. Hilyard, ought the prejudice of youthful days to be
considered sufficient cause for so great a contempt ?'

' Nay — but there is more. For certain small natural gifts ' — he
assumed an air of humility which was nothing in the world but
pride in a vizard — ' which have been my plague ; namely, that I
could make epigrams (yet Martial himself was always a dependent
on patrons, and lived in poverty) and verses (poets are allowed to
be a ragged race) and orations, whether in Latin or in English, and
either in the comical or the serious vein, and could in half an hour
write more and better to the point than dull-witted pates such as
Bob can do in a year — I got a reputation, and was presently re-
garded with terror by every Doctor of Divinity and reverend person
in the University, because whatever was whispered of scandal, as of
one grave Professor being earned home brimful of punch, and
another — but these are old stones — suffice it that the next day there
was dished up, hot and hot, such a course of verses, satires, epi-
grams, and secret history as made the Fathers of the University
tremble. And though they knew the hand which wrought these
verses, they could not prove the fact.

' Perhaps I had still escaped, but for a dastardly act of crowning
treachery. For I had got safely to my third and last year, when J
ought to have been presenting myself for a degree in Arts, with v$y
string of syllogjsnia, Then, indeed, my life would have been clif-

A TENDER CONSCIENCE. 101

feront; instead of a servant — whose fetters, Miss Dorothy, you
have most generously covered with silk ' — he bowed low and hia
voice shook — ' I say, generously covered with the finest silk, so that
they have not galled the limbs of him that wears them, I might
have been now a great preacher, or a grave scholar, a credit to my
father's care, and a monument and proof of answer to his prayers.
Yet I lost all for the glory of a single set of verses.'

I knew already that he had committed this great madness. It
seems incredible that young men can be found so eager for applause
that they will even stake the hazard of a life upon the laughter of
an hour. But this Mr. Hilyard did.

' As for my oration at Commemoration, that,' he went on, 'might
have been passed over, though there were angry threats uttered.
Yet it was allowed that a better oration than mine had never been
made by any Terrae Filius in the memory of man. What did my
business was a satire on the Vice- Chancellor, which the next day
went about from College to College. There was no name to it, but
everybody knew who wrote it. This gave them an excuse for
bringing forward my speech before the Heads, and while one wanted
me to be forgiven, and another to write me for two years in the
Black Book, and another to send me down altogether, lo you ! the
President of my College settled the matter for me, for he lugged
out of his pocket a letter in which the writer, whose name he with-
held, said he felt moved by the extraordinary tenderness of his con-
science to disclose the fact that the author of the satire was no other
than Mr. Antony Hilyard, of his own College, and offered proof,
not only as regarded the last production, but of every epigram and
squib about which noise had been made for a whole twelvemonth.
After that there was no more to do. They sent for me, the letter
was read before my face, and I was expelled. The writer of the
letter was no other than Creeping Bob. This the President himself
afterwards told me. If I had been Aristides the Just they could
not more unanimously have voted my expulsion.'

This, then, was the reason of his animosity. Certainly, no ont
can deny that it was a good and sufficient reason.

4 Doth Mr. Patten know '

I 1 believe he knows it not. Yet, he who has once injured a man
always fears that man, and would injure him again if he could.
There is a way in which he could do me another wrong. I doubt
not he will some day discover this method.'

1 But how can he hurt you now ?'

4 When I was expelled, there was nothing for it but to run before
my creditors in the town got wind of my misfortunes. It is ten
years ago, but creditors never forget, and, were they to learn where
to find me, a debtors' prison would be my lot. If Mr. Patten is so
officious as to tell anyone in Oxford — well, at nineteen one is a fool,
but sometimes folly is punished worse than crime. I had no right,
being penniless, to have debts at all ; nor should I, the son of a
viutuur, have presumed to wear whit* linen^ lace ruffles, and silver

104 DOROTHY FORSTER.

buttons. Yet I did, trusting to pay when I was made a Fellow, a§
is the custom at the University. Wherefore I go daily in terror of
the bailiffs, and at night lie down thinking that Newcastle Gaol ia
my certain end.'

' Surely, a minister of the Church would not '

' Bob Patten would if he thought of it. As for the mischief
which he tries to work between his honour and myself, there, indeed,
I defy him.'

So for the present the conversation came to an end. But I turned
the matter over in my own mind, and watched the two. I saw that
Mr. Patten still cast upon the man whom he had injured malignant
scowls when he thought himself unobserved, and T found an oppor-
tunity to converse privately with him as well.

I began by asking him whether he had known Mr. Hilyard in
former times.

He confessed that their acquaintance was of old times, when they
were young and at the same College together ; though, he added,
they were never friends or of the same way of thinking. For which
he piously thanked Heaven.

Thereupon, I asked him further if there were anything, so far as
he remembered, against the private character of Mr. Hilyard — other
than might be alleged against any young man.

Here Mr. Patten hesitated. Presently, he said that as regards
character a great deal might be said ; but, indeed, a young man
who was expelled the University for intolerable license, railing ac-
cusations, exaggerated charges, and unspeakable disrespect towards
his superiors, had need of all that could be said for him ; still, he
would say nothing, only that, as he had reason to believe, there
were many tradesmen of Oxford, honest creatures, who had trusted
his word, and now would gladly know where Mr. Hilyard could be
found.

Upon this I stopped him short, and informed him in plain lan-
guage that, as no one could tell these tradesmen except himself, he
must understand, once and for all, that the favour of Mr. Forster,
if he hoped anything from it, depended on his observing silence.

4 Let there be,' I added, ' no letters of a " tender conscience," Mr.
Patten' — at this he started and looked confused — 'I say, let no
letters of a " tender conscience " be written. Remember that.
Should anything be done by Oxford people, it shall certainly be
laid at your door, though, to be sure, a body would be sorry if a
godly minister, such as yourself, should suffer from an injurious
suspicion.'

Mr. Patten, who had turned first red and then pale, at mention
of a letter of conscience, protested that he bore no malice towards
Mr. Hilyard ; and that, so far as the Oxford people were concerned,
he had nothing to make or meddle in the matter.

Then I went farther. I said that Mr. Hilyard had now been in
the family for a great many years ; that be had always shown him-
self faithful, silent on occasion, and honest ; that he was a gentle-

A TENDER CONSCIENCE. 103

man of most ingenious mind and great parts ; that not only Mr.
Forster but also Lady Crewe entirely trusted him. Wherefore, if
any distrust should arise in the minds of these, or either of these
two, it could be none other than the work of a private enemy ; and
I plainly bade Mr. Patten beware, lest, thpough any hostility of his
own. he should cause such a distrust, because, in such a case, ho
would have others besides Mr. Hilyard to encounter, and the truth
should be wholly laid before the Bishop.

He protested again that nothing was farther from his thoughts
than to create any such mischief ; that he was a man who loved
peace and friendship, and so forth. But ho looked angry and
troubled, his fat lips shook, and his small pig-like eyes winked.

Enough of this villain for the present.

CHAPTER XI.

DAPHNE.

I HAVE not yet spoken of our most honoured visitors, the three
Radcliffe brothers. They all came often, but the eldest most often.
The reason of his coming you shall presently discover. As for all
the three, though they conformed to our customs, and especially in
the hospitality for which the north is famous (to the destruction of
many a fine estate), they loved not to sit long over their wine, and
left the table when the night was yet young, and the bottle but just
beginning. The example of Lord Derwentwater's manner shamed
our young gentlemen of their rusticity, though it drove them not
from the whisky punch. Thus Tom, for instance, began to take
part in discourse which was serious and grave, as ladies like it.
With the assistance of Mr. Hilyard and my lord, we held a great
many conversations on those curious matters — theological, philo-
sophical, scientific, and so forth — which do most concern the soul.
To recall some of these old conversations of a happy time, the
question was once argued by us whether Abraham was not the first
institutor of public schools ; and again, why the Fallen Angel is
called alike the Son of the Morning and the Prince of Darkness ;
and another, whether a good painter may not draw a face better
and more beautiful than any yet made ; and whether it is right for
a good patriot, who loves his country, and should desiro to beget
children for its defence, to become a monk or a nun ; whether eyes
or tongue help most to love ; why a wet sheet tied round a cask
prevents the liquor from freezing in the hardest weather ; whether
the fall of Lscifer was the occasion of the creation of the world ;
what is the best argument to prove the existence of God ; whether
the death-watch gives a long or short notice ; why Alexander called
his horse Bucephalus ; how the flying of kites may be improved to
the public advantage ; why fish taken from the salt sea taste fresh ;
what sort of Government is best ? who are Gog and Magog ? why
the stork is neyar found except i* ft Republic ; who was the father

104 DOROTHY FORSTER.

of Louis XIV. ? whether the best times are already past, or RM y«t
to come — with many other questions and curious problems, invented
or found for us by Mr. Hilyard, who enriched every discussion with
so great a flow of learning as astonished those able to follow and
understand him. It was pleasing at these times to observe the
shamefacedness of those gallant boys, Perry Widdrington and Ned
Swinburne ; how they listened, and pretended to be regarding the
speaker and his manner of dealing with the subject in hand ; and
how, presently, they either fell asleep or stole gently away, and so
to their tobacco and October.

4 My lord,' said Tom, ' is a gentleman of the finest breeding ; yet,
hang it, he won't drink ! He can ride with tho best, and shoot
with the best — pity that so strong a man should have a head so
weak.'

'In Paris,' I replied, 'it is, happily, not the fashion for gentle-
men to drink.'

'Na — na. Fashion — fashion! we gentlemen of the north care
nothing for fashion. Drinking will never go out of fashion in this
country. A man ought to sit with the company and see the bottle
out, not to get up with a " By your leave, gentlemen," and so off to
the women before the toast goes round half-a-dozen times. Let me
tell you, sister, my lord and his brothers will never be truly popular
till they learn to take their glasses about with the rest.'

Tom was wrong, because the Earl's good heart made him every-
where beloved. It is better, methinks, to carry all hearts by
generosity and virtue than to be popular in a company of gentle
men for strength of head, like any Timothy Tosspot. Why, Mr.
Hilyard was popular among those who knew nothing of his scholar-
ship and fine qualities, because he was never known to fall under
the table while there was another man still sitting up. Any brewer's
man may become popular for the same cause.

* My Lord Derwentwater,' said Mr. Hilyard himself, who was not,
in spite of his own practice, a respecter of those who love strong
drink — see how men can admire virtue, and even love her, yet still
practise what they despise ! ' My lord is all goodness, I think. He
reads books ; he hath received a liberal education from the Jesuit
Fathers, and can quote from Tully, the Mantuan, and even the
great Epicurean poet. It is long, indeed, since so great a nobleman
was also so good a scholar. At the University of Oxford, alas ! the
sons of gentlemen and noblemen are encouraged to pass their time
in any pursuit rather than reading. And in Northumberland the
gentlemen have been too busy, until late years, upon their Border
frays to regard learning greatly. • My lord is truly a Phoenix among
them. Pity that he still adheres to the old religion. Faith, Misa
Dorothy, may surpass reason, but must not oppose it. Yet, as hath
been well observed, religion lieth not so much in the understanding
as in the practice.'

Thus it happened that on many occasions my lord would leave
the gentlemen over their cups and sit with me, conversing on all

DAPHNE. 10$

kinds of subjects, such as his relations with the Prince, his life in
Paris, and his projects for the future. He opened up his mind to
me in such a way as only a young man, in the society of a woman
whom he trusts, can open his mind. I may truly say that I found
him always inclined to good works, of the most benevolent disposi-
tion, and full of kindness, without any meanness, vice, or blemish
in his character. Why do I s*y these things ? His nobleness is so
well known that for me to add my testimony is but like carrying
coals to Newcastle. One thing I learned very plainly, that my lord,
though of so great a name and estate, desired nothing in the world
so much as to remain in ease and retirement ; to be what his great-
grandfather had been (there is no happier lot in the world), a plain
country gentleman, and so to live and die. Yet with such loyalty
that he knew well, and acknowledged, that when the Prince's fol-
lowers made a serious effort, he too, at risk of all, must arise and
go with them. Wherefore h3 prayed daily that the voice of the
nation might pronounce — yea, shout loudly — for the Prince, so that
a restoration, not a rebellion, might follow. But for vapouring
conspirators he had no patience, and to such he would never listen.

'It gives me pleasure,' he said (so kindly was his heart), 'to con-
verse with you, fair Miss Dorothy ; nowhere else do I find so kind
a listener. For if I talk with my brother Frank, he presently flies
into a rage at the country's treatment of Catholics ; and if to my
aunts, they reproach me for lukewarmness towards the Church,
whereas, Heaven knows— but that may pass ; and if to your brother,
he falls into his cups, and then he may say one knows not what.
There is wisdom in your face— which I have made to blush— for-
give me. Dorothy,' he whispered, ' have your lovers never written
any verses on your blushing cheeks?'

I told him that gentlemen in Northumberland do not make verses
on ladies at all.

Afterwards I told this pretty compliment (which was made with
all respect) to Mr. Hilyard, who laughed, and said that it was high
time for the Muses to exchange Parnassus for the Cheviot, or for
Spindleston Heugh at least.

Then my lord began to tell me of the ways in Paris, and how the
ladies were called by names other than their own, sometimes a name
made by an anagram, and sometimes by a name taken from classical
story.

'As for you,' he said, 'you should be called Daphne, after the
nymph who was turned into a laurel. Daphne or Dorothy, which
may I call you ?'

We were walking along the south bank of the stream, where it
rises in a hill, and is covered with hanging woods. Tom was gone
a-shooting, and, though it was late in the year, the yellow leaves were
still upon the trees, and there were flowers yet among the grass.

'Daphne, or Dorothy — which?'

'Oh! my lord, I am a plain country girl, and know not thf
language of gallantry.'

io6 DOROTHY PORSTER.

' Heavens !' he replied. ' If such a face could be seen in the land
where this language is talked ! But that, fair Daphne, is impos-
sible. The French ladies are gracieuses, but they have not the
beautiful face and figure of our Englishwomen, any more than
their country has the charms of this, which is surely the garden of
all the world.'

Could any woman hear such things said to her for the first time,
and by a man so young, so handsome, and so noble, and not lose her
heart? Why, I am proud to think that this divine young man
made love to me ; it makes me happy to remember it. I confess
that I was ready to give him my hand and my heart. I should be
ashamed of myself now if I had not been ready, because it would
argue a head so insensible that a negro of New Guinea would scorn.
And yet, whether I be believed or no, I declare that I had no
thought of securing a coronet and a great estate. This was so. I
was a simple country girl, but of an honourable house ; a Radcliffe
could do a Forster no honour by marrying her. I was unused to
the polite world, ignorant of courts, and untrained in arts of
coquetry. Again, I had no knowledge of a woman's power, nor
could I lure a man ; nor did I know aught of the strength and
passion of love, jealousy, or rivalry, save for the things Mr. Hilyard
read tome out of Ovid — such as the stories of Cephalus and Procris,
Hero and Leander, Sappho and Phaon. It was by no arts of mine
that my lord was attracted to my side. Yet a woman is not a stock
or a stone ; and when I saw that he loved me — why, truly, I need
say no more.

Some days after he called me Daphne I found lying on ray table,
written in a feigned hand, a copy of most beautiful verses. Who
could doubt the poet ?

1 Like apple-blossom, white and red ;

Like hues of dawn, which fly too soon ;
Like bloom of peach, so softly spread ;

Like thorn of May and rose of June —
Oh, sweet ! oh, fair ! beyond compare,

Are Daphne's cheeks,
Are Daphne's blushing cheeks, I swear.
'That pretty rose, which comes and goes,

Like April sunshine in the sky,
I can command it when I choose —

See how it rises if I cry,
Oh, sweet ! oh, fair 1 beyond compare,

Are Daphne's cheeks,
Are Daphne's blushing cheeks, I swe&y.
'Ah ! when it lies round lips and eyea,

And fades away, again to spring,
No lover, sure, could ask for more

Than still to cry, and still to sing :
Oh, sweet ! oh, fair ! beyond compare,

Are Daphne's cheeks,
Are Daphne's blushing cheek*, I swear.

DAPHNE. 107

Never, sure, were verses more beautiful. I read them again and
air i in. I took them to bed with me, just as a little maid takes hel
doll with her. I knew them all by heart, aud blushed —

' That pretty rose which comes and goes,
Like April sunshine in the sky ' —

whenever I said them to mvse!f. Who could have written them
but my lord ? I waited for his next visit, and showed the lines to
him, thinking he would have confessed. Ah ! the pretender! lie
iv-id them with an air of astonishment so natural that it might have
imposed upon any, so that I did not dare charge him with what he
was too modest to acknowledge.

'Daphne,' he said, 'they are pretty verses indeed. I would I
could find such rhymes to fit my thoughts. Prior himself hath
never written better. Alas ! why am I not a poet ?'

So he read them again, and when he read the last lines,

1 Oh, sweet ! oh, fair 1 beyond compare,

Are Daphne's cheeks,
Are Daphne's blushing cheeks, I swear/

he stooped and kissed my hand, saying :

1 Ah ! Dorothy, are there in all the world cheeks more sweet than
thine?'

Thus we talked, and in such sweet discourse the days passed by.
I have sometimes wondered whether Tom suspected that, while he
was tramping the moors, fowling-piece in hand, Lord Derwentwater
was turning his sister's head with compliments, and stealing away
her heart. Mr. Hilyard knew and witnessed all, but I understand
not why he grew every day more gloomy, insomuch that Tom
declared he now wanted six glasses of punch at least before he
became moderately cheerful. Why should he not, since he pro-
tested so much affection for me, be the happier for my happiness ?
And why should he, when I went singing, go with his head hanging ?
He ought, further, to have been happy because Lord Derwentwater
noticed him kindly, condescended to ask his opinion on many
matters of importance, and listened gravely to his conversation.

4 Such a man,' he said, ' would in France be a poet and wit in the
service of some great lord, or he would be a hanger-on of ladies'
salons and rucllcs, making verses for them, writing operas and
comedies. He would be admitted to the suppers of princes, where
he would sing and recite and play a thousand monkey tricks. He
would be just such a man as Boisrobert, the favourite of the
Cardinal fifty years ago, or Benserade, or Voiture, or any of them.
He would be an abbe at least, and presently would get something,
a canonry, a prebend's stall, or even a parish. What can such a
man do in England ?'

Such a man might, Mr. Hilyard himself told me, go to London,
find a patron, write plays, and perhaps obtain a place ; or he might
be the starving wit of a coffee-house, the hack of a publisher, and
die in a garret.

io8 DOROTHY FORSTER.

1 It is melancholy,' Lord Derwentwater continued, * to see so fint
a scholar thus wasted and thrown away. ' Not,' he added, ' that
any man can be thrown away to whom it is allowed to sit daily in
your presence and to hear your voice. But a man of such vast read-
ing, with a memory so prodigious, should have climbed high up the
ladder by now. He should be a Court Chaplain, or a Dean ; whereas
what is the poor man but a Jack Pudding in the evening and a
steward in the morning ? A play-actor need not know Greek nor a
steward Hebrew. And when Tom Forster marries — what ?'

4 Mr. Hilyard will always have one friend,' I said. ' Who lovea
me must love him too.'

4 1 would love an ape for your sake,' he replied. 4 Therefore I
find it easy to love this ingenious gentleman and unfortunate
scholar.'

So, one day, I ventured to ask the poor man why he grew so
melancholy.

He said, first of all, that he was not melancholy, but brimful of
spirits and joy, to prove which he heaved a deep sigh.

4 Nay,' I said, ' but I know the contrary. Tell me— why, surely
you, to whom I owe so much gratitude, cannot think I am careless
of your concerns. Tell me, dear friend, if it is anything I can help.'

4 It is nothing that you can help,' he said. 4I am, in truth, the
most ungrateful dog in the world not to be jumping about and
singing all day to give you pleasure ;' and yet here he fetched
another sigh. 4 1 think of the future, when you will go and I
remain. But since you will be happy, what matters it for me ?'

4 Oh, Mr. Hilyard ! I could not be happy if you were miserable.
We have been companions so long. Do you think I could ever
forget your readings and your talk, from which I have learned all
I know ? Nay — but let me whisper one thing. See— there is one
who — who — pretends to find pleasure in my society. He knows
very well that he who loves me must love my Mr. Hilyard as well.'

Mr. Hilyard hath a heart full of sensibility. He bowed and kissed
my hand, and said nothing. But tears were running down his
cheeks.

CHAPTER XII.

FRANK RADCLIFFE.

THE second of the brothers came seldom. He was a grave lad : he
neither laughed nor made merry, nor rode a-hunting like his two
brothers. In figure he was the tallest of the three ; but stooped in
walking, so that he seemed the shortest. He was possessed of a
strange melancholy, of which he was never quite free, although
sometimes he would seem to shake it off and talk bravely for a
while. He was like his uncle, Colonel Thomas Radcliffe, in hia
temperament, being as moody and as full of strange fancies.
' It is a disease,' said Mr. Hilyard, speaking of Francis Radcliffe'i

FRANK RADCLIFFE. 109

melancholia, 'for which there is no known remedy, while the cauaea
are subtle and manifold. The patients are subject to strange fancies
and illusions ; some have thought themselves made of glaas and
others of feathers ; some are held down with fears, and others in-
flated like bladders with wild hopes ; some suffer the curse of
Apuleius, in that dead men's bones are always held before them : a
strange disease indeed. Yet melancholy men, as Aristotle insisteth,
are often witty.'

Mr. Hilyard, therefore, regarded this young gentleman with a
peculiar curiosity, and loved nothing so much as to talk with him
and learn his thoughts. First of all he discovered that this boy was
strangely given to the study of all books which he could find upon
the unseen world, sush as books on oracles, conjuring, of spirits,
predictions, astrology, and so forth. On meeting encouragement he
opened his mind to Mr. Hilyard and took counsel with him. There
was no subject in the world, I believe, in which our most ingenious
Oxford scholar was not versed. Therefore Frank learned from him
how to conjure spirits, raise the dead, cast nativities, and so forth>
and that is to say, all that books can teach.

4 Which is,' Mr. Hilyard said, ' everything except the essential.
I mean, Mr. Radcliffe, that you may question the stars, but you
must read their answer yourself, because they are silent ; and you
may question the dead— these books tell you how— but I doubt if
they will reply.'

Nevertheless they began to amuse themselves with casting horo-
scopes and nativities, erecting celestial figures and the houses of
heaven ; Mr. Hilyard all the time protesting that the thing was a
foolish invention, and useful only in that it taught something of the
planetary courses. Yet he, like his pupil, watched anxiously for
the event ; and when, not in one case only, that of Frank himself,
but also of the Earl and my brother Tom, the future which they
hoped to find lovely and fortunate came out gloomy and threaten-
ing, all the signs menacing, Mr. Hilyard became terrified and would
have no more of it, saying that though it was a vain thing, yet to
continue in it might be the sin of tempting Providence, such as that
committed by Saul ; and that as for him, he would ask of the stars
no more. Now if the future they had seen in this mirror of coming
time had been bright and happy, would they have ceased to inquire ?
I think not ; and strange it is that this thing which so many learned
men and philosophers teach us to despise, is yet on occasion believed
in even by themselves.

We had many conversations upon these subjects, which, like the
tales of ghosts, are always curious to people of every age and rank.
Mr. Hilyard, after speaking of the practice among the ancients, one
day discoursed upon the common and vulgar methods practised by
people in all countries and in times ancient and modern.

' Some, for instance,' he said, ' look in a magic ball of glass, when
they see not only the future but also the present, and what is being
done in far countries. Others oil § basin with water, and behold

no DOROTHY FORSTER.

the same as in a mirror. Others read the future by dreams, and
others by cards ; while by the flight and number of birds, the crow-
ing of cocks, the first words heard in the morning, the luck of the
day is determined. Some have placed barley on the letters of the
alphabet, and noted the order in which a fowl will pick up the ears.'

' My maid Jenny,' I said, ' reads fortunes by the hand.'

'It is palmistry,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'and a most curious art,
though, like the rest, it is vain and useless ; while, it hath been
held by some, the Lord hath stamped the future of man upon every
feature, so that, if we could learn it, we might read in the curve of
an eyebrow, the lines of the lips, the turn of the chin, a sure and
certain prognostic of what will happen to us before we die. With
your permission, Miss Dorothy, we will examine the girl in this
matter.'

Jenny was called, and I asked her first to read my hand. She
replied, looking ashamed, that she had read it many times ; but
when I commanded her to tell me what she saw there, she hesitated
and changed colour, and then replied, like a gipsy at a fair when
you cross her hand with a groat, that there was a fair young gentle-
man of a great estate, and that she saw a wedding-ring and happi-
ness as long as a summer day, with beautiful children. But it was
manifest that she said what she thought would please me. Then
Mr. Hilyard bade her look at Mr. Frank's hand, into which she
peered long and with a fitrange curiosity. After a while she
dropped his hand, and turned to Mr. Hilyard, saying :

' Now yours, sir,' and read it glibly as if from a book, saying,
' The line of life is long, but the course of love is crossed. There
is wealth for yon, and honour ; but no wife and no children. No
one hath everything.'

' But mine,' cried Frank, — * what is mine ?'

But she replied not, running away. When afterwards I rebuked
her, she acknowledged that she could not tell him what she read, so
bad and unlucky it was. She also told me that her grandmother, the
old gipsy woman of whom I have spoken, had also told the fortune
of Mr. Frank by cards, and that it came the same as her own telling,
which made me marvel.

' Ask no more,' said Mr. Hilyard ; ' and you, girl, keep these things
to yourself, else the people will get strange notions into their heads.'

The people had already got into their heads strange notions. First
this girl of mine had filled the place with the terror of the ghosts
she saw. Next it was said that she was a witch, and ought to be
thrown into a pond. Perhaps that would have been done, but for
fear of us. Then it was said that she had bewitched a certain young
fellow of the place named Job Oliver, a hind. They told Mr. Hil-
yard that Job would do whatever foolish things Jenny told him to
do ; that he would sometimes rise when she was not in the company,
and say that Jenny called him, and so go to her ; that he looked not
as he was 'wont 'to look, but went about with eyes distracted a»<1
trembling ban.4%

FRANK RADCLJFFE. ill

1 She is a witch,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' just as all women are witches ;
and she hath bewitched this foolish lad. But the only arts, I think,
are those which she practises in common with all her sex, namely,
her eyes and her face. In a word, the fellow is in love.'

I spoke to her on the subject, and she confessed, though she
looked confused, that it was as Mr. Hilyurd said, and that if the
man chose to be in love with her she could not help it ; perhaps he
did and said foolish things, but she could not help that either ; and
he must do what he pleased. The girl was saucy about it, but yet
one could not reprove her, because it makes every woman saucy and
self -conceited, when a man is in love with her. When she crossed
the quadrangle or entered any of their houses, the people looked
askance and put thumb in fingers, but yet were monstrous civil,
because they feared her. Witch or not, she did none of them any
harm (I do not believe that a pig which died at this time was over-
looked by her, though this was charged upon her). As for Job,
after we went away he presently recovered, looked about him,
became once more a cheerful wight, forgot his enchantress, and
married another woman, who made him happy in such sort as rustic*
understand happiness ; that is to say, every year i thumping boy or
girl, and every Sunday a great dish of fat bacon. And as for Jenny
herself, she paid no heed to what was thought, but went about with
an impudent answer for all except her mistress, and a saucy laugh,
and singing as she went, as if there was no such thing in the world
at all as witchcraft, and she had no powers and gifts above those
generally conferred upon young maids — namely, the bewitching of
eyes and face, soft speech, and lovely limbs. Yet all the time a
deceitful hussy. I knew not then, though I learned afterwards, that
she met Frank Radcliffe secretly, and taught him, I believe, her arts
of prediction, and even sent him to see her wicked old grandmother
(who I am quite sure was another Witch of Endor), when the camp
came once to Hexham. What they told him, between them, I know
not ; but in the end it became manifest what a gipsy woman can do
when a young gentleman is foolish enough to listen to her wiles.

Not knowing these things, I begged Frank to give up this pursuit
of his, as a useless, idle, and curious practice. He acknowledged
that the priest gave him similar admonition, but yet that he con-
tinued, though he knew that he was wrong. Religion forbids it,
that is most sure ; if the art were sure and certain, he is foolish,
indeed, who seeks to know the coming misery, or anticipates the
coming happiness. Let us only live in the present, looking forward
with sure and certain hope to the life where there will be no shed-
ding of tears or thought of trouble. Why could not Frank let the
future alone? The present, which ho spoiled by this curiosity,
should have been to him full of happiness, because he had everything
that the world has to give — youth, health, strength, riches, and a
good heart. What more doth God give to any ?

1 Why,' said Frank, ' what am I to do ? There is nothing in thii
Qouutry for a Catholic gentleman to do. We may not tpld

iis DOROTHY FORSTER.

sions in the army ; "we cannot act as magistrates ; ^rc cannot cntel
the Universities ; we cannot go into Parliament ; we can hold no
office, and are cut off from all employment. What wonder if some
of us sit down to drink and hunt, and nothing more ? Why should
the country be afraid of a handful of gentlemen who have kept their
old faith ?

Truly it was a hard case ; yet what to do ? We must not have
the Pope's subjects in our Houses of Parliament.

4 Well,' he went on, ' what am I to do with myself ? I am a
younger son, with a younger son's portion — enough, but not great
riches. You have shut up all the doors ; you treat us with
suspicion and contempt ; you call us Papists. I knew not till we
came home how despised a creature is an English Catholic.'

' Nay,' I said, for the young man had worked himself into a
passion, and the tears were in his eyes, ' you have but to ride
through any village in Northumberland to see the contempt with
which a Radcliffe is regarded. Fie, Master Frank ! you have been
abroad so long that you know not the English heart. It may be,
as you say, that the Catholics are excluded from civil rights. Is it
not because it is believed that you love Pope first and King second ?
But it cannot be that there is nothing for you to do.'

' Oh yes,' he said bitterly, ' there is always something. I may go
i-o Douay, and so presently come back with shaven crown, and even
be made some day, if I am fortunate, a Bishop in partibus.'

All this was true. There were here three brothers rich in gifts
and graces. The eldest should have been a great statesman, the
second a great scholar, and the third a soldier.

Yet because their grandfather chose to remain in the old religion,
when the people were ordered to change for the new (because it is
foolish to suppose that all the country gentlemen and the very
rustics and hinds had wit and learning wherewith to argue for or
against the faith), they were all condemned to idleness. Wherefore
the eldest, who had the estates, the wealth, and the power, resolved
on spending his life in good works, and the advancement of tht!
poor committed to his trust ; and the second became melancholy,
and troubled himself about things hidden from mankind ; and tho
third — he was only a boy as yet — was going to become a beau, and
to follow all the pleasures of the town. Why, what a waste of
gifts was here ! And all for the Mass which stood between.

1 As for my lord,' said Tom, ' he is very well. He rides as
straight as can be expected. His shooting will improve, and no
doubt he will learn to put his money on matches and fights, though
at present he cares little about such sport. And as for Charles, it
is a promising boy and well-plucked. But as for Frank, he does
nothing at all ; he will neither laugh, nor sing, nor drink, nor hunt
— what is to be done with him V Tony, he loves your compaEy,
Can you make nothing of him ? Can you not even make him
drink ?'

' Indeed, sir,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' the English law opens to 9

FRANK RADCL1FFE. 113

young gentleman who is a Papist no opportunity at all for distinc-
tion. He must therefore either be made a priest or remain a
sportsman. He has his choice between a saint and a cock-fighter.
Mr. Frank, though born to be a scholar, has little calling to the
saintly profession, and none at all for cock-fighting. So that unless
he changes his disposition or his creed, he is likely to remain in his
present melancholy.

4 As for the cure of melancholy,' Mr. Hilyard went on, ' there
are many things enumerated by the learned Burton. Borage, for
instance, or bugloss, of which Helena's famous bowl was made,
after drinking which she felt no grief or remorse ; marigold, put
into broth ; hop, which may be infused into ale, and taken by
melancholy men with advantage ; betony, the root of which is
sovereign for the causing of mirth ; penny-royal, wormwood, and
other herbs, any of which may bo taken by Mr. Francis without
fear.'

1 Give him,' said Tom, ' a bowl of punch after a day's hunting ;
make him dance after a pretty woman. A fig for all your herbs,
and broths, and messes, Tony ! Betony for the causing of mirth !
Why, then, to-night, instead of whisky punch you may have a mess
of betony.'

Tiut Frank Radcliffe's case was beyond the reach of herbs, and
not even a bowl of punch would help — partly because he could not
drink punch.

I spoke about him to my lord, who owned that he could do
nothing for his brother.

4 There is among us a strain of melancholy. My uncle, Thomas
Radcliffe, hath it, and cannot be cured, though he wears a chalcedony
in a ring, and hath taken medicines of all kinds, both simple and
mineral, yet none to cure him. I doubt not Frank will be like
him. Yet it is a good sign that he sometimes leaves the library to
come here. The law, of which he justly complains, is hard upon
us all. Yet we cannot alter it by crying. The Jesuit Fathers
made of him a great scholar, and wanted to make him one of them-
selves, and in the end a priest— nay, perhaps a Bishop, or even a
Cardinal. Higher than that one need not look unless one is an
Italian, when the Triple Crown itself of Christ's Vicar on earth is
possible. It is long since we had a Bishop in the family, and a
Cardinal never. But if Frank will not, he must content himself
with having such amusements as he can find for himself which will
please a simple scholar and a private gentleman. He will grow
wiser and merrier in time as he grows older. Meantime, we are
as yet strangers in the country, and have much to learn. For the
people are not like the people whence we have come ; the gentle-
men are not like those at St. Germain's ; the ladies are not like
those my mother (who hath never seen the north) taught me to
expect — namely, hoops and patches and courtesies and fine sayings.
1 of Arcadian shepherdesses, and the charms of Nature— ana
fair Dorothy,

H4 DORO THY FORSTER.

Alas ! To think that the melancholy of this unhappy young
gentleman was caused by so humble and insignificant a person as
my maid Jenny. Yet, strange as it seems, there is, in fact, no
person in the world so humble and so insignificant — not even a
shepherd boy, a hind, a stable-help, a scullion— but he can do
mischief. The story how one was so desirous to achieve fame and
so helpless by himself, being dull of understanding and unlearned,
that he was fain to fire and destroy the noblest temple in Asia
Minor, the ruins of which remain to this day, and have been seen
by travellers, is, I think, an allegory.

CHAPTER XIIL

CHRISTMAS EVE.

Now I come to tell of a fortnight of so much happiness that I can
never forget it, or tire of remembering it. Every day — nay, every
hour of that happy time, lives still in my mind, though it is now
nearly thirty years ago, and I, who was then eighteen, am now
well-nigh fifty, and am no more beautiful. This matters not, and
before long, if it please merciful Heaven, I shall be beautiful again.
This time was so happy to me because it changed an admirer into a
lover, and a woman who waits for love into a woman who has
received love. Call me not an old maid, I pray you, though I am
no wedded wife and mother of a husband's children, because I have
enjoyed the love of a man and exchanged with him those sweet
endearments which are innocent and lawful between a young man
and a maid who love each other. She alone is an old maid who
hath never been wooed ; into whose eyes no lover hath gazed to
rob her of her heart ; whose hands have never been pressed ; whose
ears have never listened to the fond exaggerations with which a
lover pleads his passion, and tries to tell how great and deep it is,
though words fail. But, as for me, I have been loved by many,
and I have loved one— yea, I have loved him— alas! alas ! — with
all my heart and with all my soul ; yet, I hope and pray, with
innocency of heart, so that this my passion may not be laid to my
charge, for though I loved him well, I loved, or tried to love, my
God better. And this, too, I will show you.

The time was Christmas. My lord kept open house at Dilston
for his friends and cousins, as many as chose to come (but he
invited Tom and me) ; his farmers and tenants, and all the poor
people around, even counting those of Hexham, so generous he was.
During all the time from Christmas to Candlemas there was nothing
but the roasting of beef and the eating of it, with the drinking of
ale and everyday amusements such as men of all sorts and conditions
love : as quarterstaff, cudgels, wrestling, fighting with dogs and
eocks, and so forth ; the people of the town flocking to see it — the
gentlemen not ashamed of getting a bloody crown from a rustic
champion ; the rustics proud to prove their mettle before the gen-

CHRISTMAS EVE. 115

tlemen, and pleased to drink to them afterwiirds. A busy and
lively time— the maids running about to see the shows, and more

• eager to witness a wrestling-match than to do the dairy work ; the
grooms talking and playing with the girls, and no one reproaching
them ; no one zealous for work but the cooks and serving-women,
who had a hard time of it, poor souls, continually roasting, boiling,
laying of cloths, bringing of meat, carving it for hungry men,
carrying pails of beer and pouring it out into the brown jugs with
their great heads of foam. Yet none grumbled : the more they
served the merrier they became. Cooks are only happy when they
are at work ; between whiles they are irritable, short of temper,
and grumbling at the hardships of their lots and the shortcomings
of scullions. But when they are bending over stew-pots and
griddles, they are truly happy. Perhaps a sense of the blessings of
plenty at such times is felt by their souls, so that, in a way we
little regard, they may be lifted upward by the contemplation of a
rib or sirloin, with fat and lean in goodly show. I have seen a
cook gaze upon a leg of mutton with tears in her eyes, as one who
hears a sweet strain of music, or considers the picture of a handsome
man.

A girl who goes on a visit to so grand a house as Dilston, among
ladies who have lived in London and gentlemen who know the
splendours of a Court, is naturaUy troubled about her clothes, and
thinks a great deal beforehand of the fine things she has to show.
It would have gone hard with me, whose frocks were all of country-
make and most of rough and cheap material (my petticoats for
daily wear of homespun), but for the late visit of Lady Crewe.
For I had no pin-money of iny own, or any allowance from my
father, who considered that I now belonged to Tom and her lady-
ship. Fortunately I am clever with my needle, and so was my
maid Jenny. Tom, poor fellow, had no money to give, because he
spent it all in his amusements ; all, that is, which he got from
Durham. Besides, most men, though they are careful about their
flowered waistcoats and gold buckles, seem to think that for women
brocade grows wild on every hedge, and satin hangs in rolls from
every tree. Now before she went away Lady Crewe called me to
her room, and then, after causing me to be measured (which showed
that we were both of a height), she brought out a great parcel of
fine things — treasures, they seemed to me — saying kindly :

4 Child, th« granddaughter of Sir William Forster, of Bam-
borough, should be able to go as fine as her neighbours. Since .thy
brother loves to have thee with him, it shall be the care of thy
mother's sister to see thee dressed becomingly on occasion, so that
no one, gentle or simple, may think that a Forster is not as good a
lady as any in the county.'

Had it not been for this munificent gift, which came in pudding-
time, so to speak, I should have gone to Dilston crying instead of
laughing, because my petticoats were so short and my best frock so
ihabby. Alas 1 we grow old, and fin« things, which once set olf

§-2

1 16 DOROTHY FORSTER.

rosy cheeks and bright eyes, only serve now to hide the ravages ol
time.

So that, thanks to the kindness of Lady Crewe, I could reflect
without dismay upon the grand dresses of the ladies Katharine and
Mary ; and though the day on which we rode across the dark moor
to Dilston was so cold, with a driving sleet and a bitter wind, that
my horse was led and my face kept covered with a hood, my heart
was quite warm when I remembered that on one of the pack-horses
behind (I was fain to brave the blast in order to look back and see
that the animal had not been blown away) were safely packed my
silk-quilted petticoat, altered to fit my waist, and none could tell
that it was not new ; my French girdle, very pretty ; my sable
tippet lined with Italian lute-string ; my velvet frock, made for
Lady Crewe in London by a Court dressmaker, and very cunningly
altered for me by Jenny — that girl should have made her fortune
in dressmaking ; my cambric and laced handkerchiefs, laced tuckers
and ruffles, French kid gloves very fine (Tom gave me these, having
bought them at Newcastle one day when he rode and won a match
of twenty pounds a side) ; my satin apron ; my French a-la-mode
hood ; my petticoat and mantua of French brocade ; my cherry-
coloured stays ; and, for morning wear, my frocks of painted lawn,
checkered shade, and watered tabby. As for my head-dress, I had
considered this important subject with Jenny, and resolved that I
would wear (as most suitable for my age and unmarried condi-
tion) a low coiffure, with falling lappets, such as Jenny could easily
arrange, even though the elder ladies should think fit to appear
every day in high commodes. I was also happy in the possession
of an etui, which had been my grandmother's — a vastly pretty
thing, with a gold watch, and places for scissors, knife, pencil, ivory
tablets, box for thimble, another for aromatic vinegar, and a third
for perfume (my favourite was from childhood the same as Lady
Crewe's, namely, bergamot), and a multitude of pretty, old-fashioned
things worked in gold, such as little birdcages, eggs, tiny anchors,
and so forth, and a seal with the family coat of arms and the
Forster legend :

1 Let us dearly then hold

To mind their worthiness,
That which our parents old
Hath left us to possess.'

Enough said of a simple girl's finery, though in trnth it made me
happy at the time to think that I could stand among great ladies
and not be ashamed of my homely dress. Perhaps it makes me
happy still (or rather less sorrowful) to remember the things which
caused my first happiness. Mr. Hilyard (he came with us) says
that a great Italian poet declares that the memory of past gladness
makes more sad the present sorrow. It is presumptuous to set up
an opinion against a poet ; but this is very certain, that there is one
woman to whom all her consolation (besides the hope of the future)
lies in the memory of the past Why is joy, which comes so rarely

CHRIST MA S EVE. 117

and flies so swiftly, given to men except to be a lasting memory
and consolation ? The summer of our North Country is short, and
the winter is long ; yet all the year round we think of the sunshine,
and in the cold winter eat with gratitude the fruits and harvests
of the summer. So should it be with our hours, days, or years of
happiness. In the cold winter which follows — love fled, friends
dead, fortune lost, prido destroyed — our hearts should be warmed
and our pains consoled by the mere thinking upon the vanished
joys, just as I still think upon my stay at Dilston. Shall not an
old man comfort himself with thinking of his former strength, and
an old woman with the thought of her former beauty ? I myself,
being now in middle life and no longer comely, remember with
grateful joy that my beauty once gave pleasure to all who looked
upon it, loveliness in woman being, like the gracious sunshine, a
gift for all alike, even to those who value it least and are insensible
to its delight. To be sure, in those days I knew nothing of the
pleasure which all men feel, rich and poor, young and old alike,
though some are more insensible than others, in the contemplation
of a lovely woman, so that some have beautiful faces painted on
their snuff-boxes, and do gaze upon them constantly, even to the
wasting of their time and the troubling of their heads, as the Greek
gazed upon and fell in love with, and pined for, his statue, until
Venus changed the marble into flesh ; though it hath never been
related that a miracle was wrought with a snuff-box, and one has
never heard that a painted face has been transformed into a beau-
teous damsel.

Well, Dilston was reached at last, after that cold ride ; and you
may be sure that Tom Forster bawled lustily for hot mulled ale.
We found the castle full of the Radcliffes, and all the great house
astir with guests and servants and preparations for the feast.

My expectations proved true. The ladies Katharine and Mary
were richly dressed indeed ; yet with something sombre and nun-
like, as was said to be affected by Madame de Maintenon, the
French King's wife. The gentlemen were dressed in the plain
Northumberland fashion, except the Earl and his two brothers, who,
after the manner in which they were brought up, dressed with
great richness ; even Charles, the youngest — who was not yet at his
full height, and only fifteen years of age, and wore his own hair
tied behind with a crimson ribbon — had a silk coat, a flowered
waistcoat, white silk stockings, and red-heeled shoes. Everybody
was so good as to compliment me on the appearance which I
made. Even the ladies kindly said that though my maid was only
a country girl, she had so dressed my hair as to give it a modish
look, and that no one could have looped my frock better, or shown
a richer petticoat.

4 It is the first Christmas we have spent at home,' said the Earl.
1 We must forget none of the old customs of the country. Besides,
they are all Catholic customs, which is another reason for keeping
them up.'

ii8 ijQPOTHY FORSTER.

1 Mr. Hilyard, my lord,' I said, ' will have it that many of these
are pagan, though transferred to Catholicism, and long ago adopted
by the Church.'

He laughed, and called me an obstinate little Puritan.

The supper was served in the great hall, decked with holly and
mistletoe ; a Yule-log was blazing upon the hearth ; the side-tables
were dazzling with the Radcliffe plate ; and the tables were covered
with Yule-cakes, which are, in the north, shaped like a baby, and
Christmas pies in form of a cradle, not to speak of goose-pies, shrid
or mince pies, caraway-cakes, brawn, sirloins, turkeys, capons, hamg
and gammons, pheasants, partridges, hares, and everything good and
fit for man's delight. When all was ready and the company
assembled, they brought in the boar's head, maids and men follow-
ing, all lustily singing —

'Nowell, Nowell,
Tidings good I have to tell.'

There were but moderate potations at the supper, but some of
the gentlemen made up for it afterwards ; and when supper was
done, the company all left the table together and sat down to cards,
which must never be omitted on Christmas Eve, if you never touch
a card on any other day. There was a basset- table, and a quadrille-
table, and a pool of commerce. I played at the last with my lord,
Charles, and others ; and I won twelve shillings, which made me
tremble to think what I should have done if I had lost so much.
Indeed, I had not so much as twelve shillings in the world. After
the cards we played another game — everybody to say what most he
loved and least he liked. In such a history as this it would be folly
to record how my lord vowed that most he loved Dorothy's smiles,
and most he dreaded Dorothy's frowns. Nevertheless, it must be
owned that these compliments are pretty things ; they keep up the
spirits and courage of a girl, and her good opinion of herself, which
is a great thing. Mr. Errington, of Beaufront, who was one of the
company, said many pleasant things, pretending to be twenty years
younger, and to mistake me for my aunt, the beautiful Dorothy
Forster, whose suitor he had been. Of course I knew that he
flattered me ; but yet I was pleased. To have such pretty things
said by so old a man is like a sweet golden russet of last year in the
month of April. As for Charles Radcliffe, that mad boy swore
loudly that he would be Miss Dorothy's knight, and pranced about
singing, with gestures like a Frenchman, that sweet old song :

1 Charmante Gabrielle,

Perc£ de mille darda,
Quand la gloire m'appelli

A la suite de Mars,
Cruelle d£partie I

Malheureux jour I
Que ne suis je sans rl«

Ou sans amour 1'

CHRISTMAS EVE. 119

1 We are in England, Charles,' said his brother ; ' we are at homa
Let us have no French songs.'

For some of the gentlemen looked dissatisfied. The language of
gallantry and compliment was not greatly to their liking, and Tom
even burst out a-laughing at hearing his sister so praised and com-
plimented. This made me blush fur more than any compliment
One does not expect of a brother the praises and flatteries of a
suitor ; but at least he should not be wholly insensible to a sister's
beauty, or laugh at men who praise it. But then Tom always loved
his gun, his horse, his dog, and his bottle, better than any woman.
Presently he went away, with most of the others, to sit over the
wine, and there were only left my lord and his brothers, the ladies,
Mr. Howard, the old priest, and Mr. Errington ; and these, left to
themselves, sat about the fire and told stories suitable to the time
of year.

Strange, indeed, that men should be so venturesome as to doubt
the truth of what hath been most abundantly proved ! Yet Lord
Denventwater laughed at the stories of the Northumberland ghosts,
for no other reason than that they had no ghosts at St. Germain's.
But Mr. Howard, who had lived in the county before, and knew,
shook his head, and the ladies looked at each other with surprise,
and Mr. Errington solemnly reproved this doubter.

4 My lord,' he said, ' there is not a Northumbrian, man, womai
or child, that believes not in the appearance of apparitions ; nayv
most of us have ourselves seen them. You have spent your youth
in towns and Courts where, to be sure, there is little chance of
meeting fairies. When you have learned the savage wildness of the
moors, the solitude of the woods, and the silence of the long winter
nights, you will speedily be converted, and doubt no more.
Northumberland, without her ghosts and fairies, would be but half
populated.'

4 Truly,' said the Earl, * one ghost, methinks, were as efficacious
as a hundred for the conversion of a doubter.'

He then spread a cushion on the carpet, and sat or lay upon it at
my feet, saying :

4 In France they call them old wives' tales. Let us hear of our
North-country ghosts froai young lips. Tell us some of your most
frightful, Miss Dorothy.'

Thus invited, I was greatly confused ; but with the assistance of
Mr. Errington, who helpr-d me, and suggested one history after the
other, I boldly began upon the stories current among the people, and
substantiated by evidence which cannot be denied : videlicet, that of
the persons who themselves have seen the visions and appearances
described.

The Earl knew nothing. He had been allowed to grow up in a
most astonishing ignorance of the county ghosts. As for his brother
Frank, he already knew something, having perhaps learned it (though
dt this 1 was then ignorant) of Jenny Lee and of others, oeing a
youth of inquiring mind, who asked questions. It was astonishing

1 20 DOROTH y FORSTER.

to think that a Radcliffe should grow to years of manhood without
having heard even of the Laidly Worm of Spindleston Heugh, or
the Seeker of Dunstanburgh, or the fairies brought to Fawdon Hill
by the Crusaders, or of King Arthur at Sewingshields, the Monk of
Blinkburn, Jeannie of Haselrigg, or Meg of Maldon.

' Let us all/ said my lord, ' go seek in Dunstanburgh, and dig into
the earth at Sewingshields. Yet stay, how would King Arthur
agree with the Prince, should both return together? Methinks we
must first consult his Highness. Go on, fair story-teller.'

Then I began to tell of things more certain ; not so ancient, and
witnessed by people still surviving. Then the two old ladies, who
knew better than myself the stories of Northumberland, nodded
their heads, caught each other by the hands, held their breath, shook
forefingers at their nephew, and asked in the pauses between the
stories, * Was there ever before a Radcliffe who had to be taught
these things at one-and- twenty V Pretty it was to see how much
these ladies thought of their nephew, and how their kind eyes rested
upon him with happiness.

Also, while I told my tales, 1 saw how Frank listened, with large
sad eyes, and sighed, as if for the mere pleasure of listening to such
stories, as one who was for ever considering how to converse with
the dwellers of the other world. It was plain that he was ready to
believe— ay ! and even to see — whatever he was told. Of such are
those who most frequently behold spectres, see visions, and have
strange dreams. He breathed quickly ; he sighed ; he looked round
him as if in the dark depths of the great hall, and among the figures
in armour, behind the tapestry, there lurked the very shades and
appearances about which we were speaking. As for old Mr. Erring-
ton, he reminded me of this story and of that, filled up the details,
wagged his head, and, like the Lady Mary, shook his forefinger at
my lord — the Didymus or Unbeliever. There was also Mr. Howard,
the priest — an old man, too, of venerable aspect. He sat with his
chin upon his hand, less occupied with the stories than with gazing
upon the young lord of all, as he lay at my feet, the red light of the
fire playing upon his face, which was upturned to look upon mine.

Simple things, yet terrible, are the omens and appearances in this
haunted county.

I trembled while I told of the ghostly and shadowy hearse which,
especially in the winter nights, rolls slowly and silently — an awful
thing to see — up and down the roads till it comes to the house
where the death is going to happen, and how the farmer once going
home from market saw the hearse stop at his own door, and knew
that one of his family would die. There were six tall sons, each
one strong and brave, and three daughters, each one beautiful ; and
there was his wife. Which would be taken? The rest of that
story is enough to convert the greatest scoffer, as well as to turn
the sinner to repentance. Then there is the wauf , or figure of the
person about to die seen by another person. Surely it is a most
dreadful thing to have the power of seeing the wauf, for if one see§

CHRISTMAS EVE. 121

it, there arises a doubt and difficult question : should the person
who is to die be told of it, or not ? If he be told, he may fall into
despair ; and if not, then a great opportunity of seeking grace for
the soul is lost. There is also the brag, which may assume what-
ever shape it pleases, as a calf, or a bundle of wood, or a hare, or a
rick of hay, or anything which its tricksy and mischievous imagina-
tion may choose to order, to confound and tease a poor man or
woman. And then there are the actual ghosts, whose number is in
our country legion — such as Jethro Burnet, the miser, who walks
to lament the loss of his money-bags ; the wretch who hanged him-
self, and hath since found no rest ; the poor girl who was murdered,
and the man who murdered her — the former beside the pool wherein
she was cast, and the latter by the gibbet, at Amble, where he was
hanged in chains ; Meg of Maldon, who walks of a night between
Maldon and Hartingtou ; the poor wretched woman who wanders on
Hexham Moor at night, shrieking and crying (at Blanchland she
could be heard plainly when the wind was high) because she killed
her child with neglect, and now suffers — one knows not for how
long— this misery. All these things were certainly intended for
our admonition and warning. Again, there are the white figures
which sometimes appear to fly from under the foot of the belated
traveller ; there is the strange and well-authenticated story of Nelly
the Knocker ; that of the Ghost of Silky ; that of the fairy changing
the little dwarf Hobbie ; how a lad going forth one night to walk
with his sweetheart, found her changed into the Devil ; with many
other strange and true stories, showing what may be expected, and
hath already been witnessed in the county.

They listened, as has been told. They looked fearfully about
the room. No one thought that in five short years Dilston Hall
itself would be left to decay, and, in ten years more, another
mournful figure would be added to the troop of Northumberland
ghosts.

' This,' said my lord, when I finished, 4s a fitting North-country
termination of a Christmas feast ; to sit after supper and tell bug-
bear tales. Fair nan-ator ! you have so well done your part, that
henceforth, I promise you, I will accept them all. I doubt no
longer. If I were to meet Silky herself, I bbould not be surprised.
If I heard Nelly the Knocker, or saw Meg of Maldon walking in
the corridor, or the ghost of my great-grandmother '

'Nephew,' said Lady Katharine gently, 'do not mock ; the spirits
of our ancestors may be round us at this moment, with our guardian
angels. Vex them not, lest when we go to join them, they meet us
with angry countenance.'

' Enough of ghosts,' said Mr. Howard. * To-morrow is Christmas.
It is always the time to think about the next world, and sometimes
we may hear these tales, which, true or not, help to keep faith
alive ; and these are times, Master Frank ' — he laid his hand upon
the boy's shoulder — ' when we must rejoice in tho present, feast,
make other people joyful, and be glad ourselvci.'

122 DOROTHY FORSTE&

CHAPTER XIV.

CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT.

THUS began the Christmas, which we kept with such royal state,
It has been stated that this was a political meeting. Nothing sonld
be farther from the truth. There was not, during the whole time,
one word spoken concerning politics. It is true that n>y lord
treated Tom as a private and especial friend, and showed him a
very singular kindness throughout. It is also true that no two
gentlemen could be more unlike each other than these two ; for,
while one was well read and loved books, the other knew little save
what he had been taught, and read nothing but Quincy's ' Dispen-
satory,' and his book on ' Farriery.' Also, one loved the society of
ladies, and the other did not ; one cared nothing for drinking,
which to the other was his chief delight ; one loved poetry and
music, which to the other gave little or no pleasure. One went
habited with due regard to his rank, having a valet to dress him ;
the other was careless of his dress, generally going about, on his
shooting and other business, in great boots and a plain plush coat,
stained with wine and weather.

' Friendship,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' commonly with young men, goes
by opposites. If Jonathan resembled his father, he had nothing of
David's disposition in him ; yet were they friends in youth. The
great Coligny and his malignant enemy, Guise, were once close
friends, each admiring points of unlikeness. Perhaps my lord and
Mr. Forster admire also, each in the other, points of unlikeness.'

Although the party consisted both of Catholics and Protestants,
there were no discussions on that account ; for, in Northumberland,
so many families still belong to the old religion that we can meet
each other without quarrelling. It must not, therefore, be thrown
in Tom's face that he was a secret friend of Papists. This has been
said of him with injustice. In truth, there was never a stouter
Protestant, though his lawful Sovereign belongs, unhappily, to the
opposite faith. Yet so tolerant withal. ' Each,' he would say, ' for
his own religion. Live and let live. But not to meddle with the
endowments of the Church or to suffer Papists and Nonconformists
to enter into the Universities.'

On the evening of Christmas Day there was performed for our
pleasure the old play of ' Alexander and the Egyptian King,' by
village mummers from Hexham and Dilston. The mummers were
dressed up with ribbons and finery in rags and tatters ; on their
heads they wore gilt-paper crowns ; they earned swords, and had a
fiddler with them who played lustily all the time, whether the
speakers were delivering their words or not.

First came the great King Alexander — he was a blacksmith by
trade, and a very big and lusty fellow, who wore a splendid crown
of gilt paper and a rusty breastplate ; he flourished a sword and
marched valiantly, strutting like a game-cock after a fight. Then

CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH KIGHT 123

he pronounced his verges, and brave verses they were, though after-
wards he quite forgot that he had promised to produce for us Dives
and a Doctor. The Doctor came in due course, but we looked in
vain for Dives, and a great moral lesson was lost. Everybody would
like to be rich, yet few know the danger of riches or their own
weakness in temptation. After him came the King of Egypt and
his son Prince George ; the King was stricken in years, and some-
what bent by rheumatism and his trade, that of shoe-mending ; but
the Prince was a lad whom I knew for as famous a hand with cudgel
or quarterstaff as one may hope to see at a country fair. There
was no reason why he should wish to fight Alexander, yet it seemed
natural that they should, immediately on meeting, hurl words of
reproach at each other and fly to arms. A most terrible and bloody
fight it was which followed, the combatants thwacking and hacking
at each other in such earnest as made one tremble, save for the
thought that the swords were but stout ash-t\vigs painted blue, fitter
to raise great weals than make deep cuts. The fiddler, meantime,
ran round the pair, shouting while he played ; and the King, so far
from feeling terror for his son, clapped his hands and applauded, as
we all did. It was arranged that Prince George was to be killed,
but such was his stubborn nature that he refused to lie down until
the great conqueror, a much heavier man than he, had first covered
him from top to toe with blows and bruises. When at length he
lay down, the Doctor was called in. This learned man, who was
the clerk of the parish, impudently asserted his ability to cure all
diseases, and, in proof, restored the Prince to life. Then there waa
another duello between the King and the conqueror : the reason of
which I did not understand, save that it enabled the cobbler to show
under what unhappy conditions one bent with his trade has to fight.
It needs not to say that the cobbler, too, fell beneath great Alex-
ander's sword. They bore away his body, and all was over.

* But where is Dives ?' cried my lord. ' You promised Dives.'
The actors looked at one another, and presently the blacksmith

plucked up courage to explain that there never was any Dives in
the piece at all, though it was true that he was regularly promised
in the prologue or opening verses.

* Well,' said my lord, ' we will excuse the Dives for this once ;
and thank you, actors all, for a merry tragical piece, in which I
know not whether most to admire the skill of Alexander or the
courage of the King who dared to meet him. Stand aside, good
fellows, and let us go on to the next show.'

Then followed the singers and choristers of Hexham, who were
ordered to sing none but true North-country songs, of which we
have many, and our people sing them prettily and in tune, some-
times one taking treble, and another a second, and a third tenor or
bass, and all with justness, according to time and tune very melo-
diously, the like of which, I think, will not be found elsewhere,
save in cathedrals, such as Durham and other places, where anthems
are sung. My lord confessed that he had never heard anything like

124 DOROTHY FORSTER.

this rustic singing in France, where the peasants sing on holidays ;
but not, as our people sing, with gravity and earnestness. First
they sang the song of ' The Knight and the Lady ':

• There was a lady of the North Countrie

(Lay the bent to the bonny broom),
And she had lovely daughters three
(Lay the bent to the bonny broom).'

After that they sang the ' Battle of Otterbourne ' ; then the * Fair
Flower of Northumberland ' ; and then the ballad of ' Jock o' the
Side' ; and, last, the 'Jolly Huntsman's Garland,' beginning :

' I walked o'er the mountains,

Where shepherds feed their flocks ;
I spy'd a troop of gallants

A-hunting of the fox.
With clamour and with hollow

They made the woods to ring ;
The hounds they bravely follow,

Making a merry din.'

All th 5 gentlemen in the company applauded this song loudly,
and with a ' Whoop !' and ' View hollo !'— no talk of fox-hunting,
or song in its praise, is complete without. They knew every verse
out of the thirty or forty, and the histories, some of which were
entertaining, of the gentlemen in honour of whom the song was
written. Nothing is more delightful to one fox-hunter than to talk
or hear of another.

There were other songs, and then all were regaled with a present
in money and a plentiful supper of what they most love at Christ-
mastide — namely, a mighty dish of lobscouse, which is a mess of
beef, potatoes, and onions, strong of smell and of taste, and there-
fore grateful to coarse feeders. After the lobscouse they had plum-
porridge and shrid-pies, with as much strong ale as they could carry,
and more. Yet most of them could cany a great deal : Alexander
the Great went away with a barrel or so within him, a mere cask of
ale ; and the King of Egypt was carried from this field of honour
as from the other.

One thing I must relate in my lord's honour. Among the singers
was a plain man (yet he had a sweet, rich voice), who was pointed
out to him as a Percy by descent. He was but a stone-cutter, yet
a descendant in the direct line from Jocelyn, the fourth Earl ; and
I know not how his forefathers fell so low. Lord Derwentwater
waited until the singing was over, and then stepped forward and
offered his hand to this man as to a gentleman, and sent for a bottle
of wine, which he gave him, with a purse of five guineas, saying
that the Percies and the Radcliffes were cousins. The good man
was much abashed at first, but presently lifted his head, and carried
off his bottle and his purse with resolution and pride. This cir-
cumstance, simple as it may seem, greatly raised the character of
his lordship ; for the common people, many of whom are descend-

CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 135

tuts— even though bye-blows— of the gentlefolk, highly regard and
are extremely jealous of descent ; so that at Hexham it is a great
thing to be a Radcliffe, as in Redesdale it is a great thing to be a
Hall, and as at Bamborough one would be a Forster if one could,
and at Alnwick a Percy. To give a poor man a present because he
is of noble descent is a small thing, certainly ; yet it was done with
so great an ease and kindness that it touched all hearts.

If, on Christmas Day, we amused ourselves after the manner of
the people and were happy in their way, wo were promised, a few
days later, a performance of a quite different and more fashionable
kind. It was through Mr. Hilyard, who always knew everything
that was going on in the neighbourhood — how, one knows not, save
that he was ever talking with carriers, postboys, and gipsies, and
always had a kind word and a crust or a groat for a vagrant, nor
cared to inquire if he were honest or not, but helped him, he said,
because he was a man, and therefore stamped, like his unworthy
self, with the Divine effigies. He reported that there was a com-
pany of players at Newcastle, who could doubtless be persuaded, in
the manner usually found effective among such people, to journey
as far as Dilston Hall. And he sent off without delay a messenger
who was to run the whole way, twenty miles, with a letter from
himself, to bring them, bag and baggage. It was the same company,
though this he told us not (but I remembered their faces), as that
among whom we had seen him, for the first time, play Merry
Andrew ; but the younger actresses were changed, as is, I am told,
a very common occurrence, their beauty and their cleverness getting
them rapid promotion, and, in some cases, good husbands. Why,
Lord Derwent water's grand mother was herself but an actress,
though she made a King fall in love with her.

These strollers were so poor— for the profits of each night's per-
formance are but a few shillings to be divided among all — that they
joyfully acceded to the invitation, and jumped at an offer which
was to them nothing short of beef and beer and lodging for a month
to come, so generous was my lord.

He had never seen an English play. Nor had I myself, or Tom,
or any of the young gentlemen ; though I had often heard my
father speak of Drury Lane and the little theatre in the Haymarket,
the amusements of which he often enjoyed when in London on his
Parliament business.

4 1 have witnessed the playing,' said my lord, 'at the Come*die
Fran^aise, where they play very finely the tragedies of the great
Racine and Corneille and the comedies of Moliere. I have also
attended a performance of Madame de Maintenon's sacred plays
with which she amuses his Majesty ; and I have seen the Italian
troupe, who are full of tricks and merriment, and have a thousand
ingenious arts to divert their company. The play is truly a most
polite form of entertainment, and would be more delightful if the
parterre could be by any means induced to remain quiet, and if the
actors could have the stage to themselves, without the three rows

126 DOROTHY FORSTER.

of gentlemen who interrupt the performance by loud talking, and
encumber the movements of the actors. Mr. Hilyard, I beg that
you will allow no seats upon our stage. We will all sit in front.'

At Dilston, as everywhere, Mr. Hilyard was entrusted with the
management of our amusements.

'I appoint you, sir,' said my lord, 'if I may, omr Master of the
Revels ; and I require but one thing of you — that you please Miss
Dorothy.'

I was so much pleased that never since have I lost the memory
of that fortnight, and dwell upon it with such delight in the recol-
lection as I cannot express in words. Oh ! sad it is (if we do not
apply the thought to our spiritual advantage) that youth and beauty
must fade, that love cannot always follow a smooth and easy course,
and that the things we most desire should so often be snatched
from our grasp just as we think them within our reach ! To
meditate upon the fleeting and momentary nature of earthly happi-
ness is now my lot. The thought of the past would be too much
for me, were it not for the heavenly blessing and divinely given
hope that there is another and a more lasting youth before us.
Why, what is it to pass through a few years of old age and solitary
decay, when there awaits us another life in which I shall meet
again my lord, with that same noble face which I remember so well,
and those kindly eyes which, like the eyes in a portrait on the wall,
follow me still, though they are long since closed in death ! The
face and the eyes will be the same, but oh ! glorified, and in the
living image of God. And as for me, my poor beauty that I loved
so well, yet lost without a sigh when my friends were gone, that,
too, will be given back to me, and more, with such heavenly graces
as are vouchsafed to those who believe. There will be no marrying
nor giving in marriage ; but a pure and innocent love will flow from
one soul to another, so that my lord will meet me again with such a
look in his sweet eyes as he wore in those old days at Dilston Hall.
Therefore, weep no more, poor Doroihy ; but patience, and tell thy
story.

The play which Mr. Hi^rd (host for us was Congreve's
'Mourning Bride.' He had read it to me more than once; but
although the situation, even to one who reads or listens to the poem,
is full of horror, and the unravelling of the plot keeps the mind
agreeably on the stretch of expectation, I was not prepared for the
emotions caused by the actual representation of the piece before my
eyes. Mr. Hilyard arranged for the performance in the great hall,
providing a curtain and footlights as in a real theatre, with scenery
to help the imagination. Thus the scene in the temple or church
was an awful representation of aisles and columns which one waC
easily persuaded to regard as real, though they were nothing in thf
world but rolls of canvas or linen daubed with grey paint. Antf
thus (but I ought to have expected something from Mr. Hilyard'a
vast importance) * Pwat agreeable •orprise awaited us. Not onlj

CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 127

did our Master of the Revels himself pronounce a prologue, begin-

ning -

* Far from the London boards we've travelled here,
] bringing with us, to make you better cheer,
Great Dryden, Congreve, Shakespeare, Farquhar, Eowe,
To raise your mirth and bid your tears to flow ;'

and ending —

' Do thou, my lord,

Fresh from the splendour of a Court, besto\v
(Though all our art be simple, and our hhow
But rustic) gracious audience ; and while
We strive to please, do thou be pleased to ftmilt,
Of ye, O fair ! we ask, but not in vain,
To think 'tis London and in Drury Lane.
See Osmyn hug his chains, and Zara say,
" Blest be the death which whiles for you this night away." '

4 Upon my word,' said my lord, * Mr. Hilyard is a much more
ingenious gentleman than I thought.'

1 He is well enough,' said Toin. * But this verse- writing is mighty
silly skimble-skamble stuff.'

Then the curtain drew up, and the play began. Everybody
knows this most beautiful tragedy, in which Almeria mourns the
bridegroom torn from her at the very hour of her marriage, and
drowned by being wrecked. But — and here is the dramatist's art —
her father is not to know of the marriage, therefore it is supposed
that Almeria was a prisoner in Valentia, and that her husband was
none other than the King of Valentia's son ; but that the town was
taken by Almeria's father, and the King and Prince Alphouso were
forced to fly, and so taken captive or perished in the waves. The
was a young woman of some beauty set off by art. She was
of light complexion, with very fair hair and blue eyes, which I dare
say are common among the Spaniards, and it showed very well
antler her black mourning habits. She spoke her part so naturally,
telling the story of her hasty marriage and the loss of her groom so
movingly, that we were aU in tears from the beginning. And
picture our astonishment when wo discovered in the second scene
that the prisoner, Osmyn, was none other than Mr. Hilyard him-
self ! Instead of a wig, he wore a Moorish turban ; instead of a
coat and waistcoat, a suit of chain-armour (borrowed from the wall
of the very hall where the play was acted). He was fettered with
heavy chains, which he rattled dolefully ; his face was full of stern-
1 resolution (quite unlike the short face and twinkling eyes
of Mr. Hilyard), and his head was thrown back to express his scorn
of his conqueror. I do not know why anyone should scorn a
conqueror, but in Plutarch and the drama they always do so. A
conqueror, methinks, should be admired as the stronger and more
skilful ; if fate permits it, he should be imitated. But perhaps the
Bcorn is intended to show the defiance of virtue, even though vic«
be for the moment victorious.

ii8 DOROTHY FORSTER.

He had little to say in the first act. But in the second, he
showed the greatness of his soul. The scene is in the aisle of a vasi
church. The hearers were awed and terrified by the words of
Almeria :

' It strikes an awe

And terror on my aching sight. The tomb
And monumental caves of death are cold,
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart !'

She finds Osmyn : he is weeping at his father's tomb, for behold,
Osmyn is none other than Alphonso. The raptures of their meet-
ing are interrupted by the arrival of Zara, also one of the captives.
She is in love with Osmyn. (After the performance, T reflected
that it must be a rare thing for prisoners, male and female, thus to
wander unrestrained about a church at midnight. Where were
Osmyn's fetters ?) She upbraids him with his coldness, and offers
liberty for love. He refuses. Then she threatens him, and on the
arrival of the King has him conveyed to prison, with the immediate
prospect of death by rack and whip. Mr. Hilyard (I mean Osmyn)
went to face it with so heroic a countenance that we could not
choose but wonder. Did one ever believe that Mr. Hilyard could
face death and torture with so bold a front ? I declare that, for
one, 1 have ever since considered the courage of this peaceful
scholar as tried and proved ; nor is it any answer to say that an
unshrinking mien may be assumed even by a coward in the presence
of pretended torture. I am perfectly assured that no coward could
assume without betraying so assured and finished a guise of heroism.
In the morning, on reflection, I thought it strange that the King as
well as his prisoners should spend the night in wandering among
the tombs in a church.

In the third act Osmyn is visited in prison by his friend Heli (I
forget whether he was also a prisoner, or merely a wandering friend),
who informs him that there are hopes of a mutiny among the troops,
and that Zara may assist to release him. In fact, Zara comes — she
was a brunette, with speaking eyes, and very finely, as I thought,
played the part of a hapless woinarl who loves where she is not
loved in return. She promises assistance, hoping for reward. She
then retires, apparently to make room for Almeria, but returns to
discover Almeria with the captive. This fires her resentment :

' Heaven haa no rage like love to hatred turn'd,
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.'

In the fourth act things present a most dreadful outlook to
Almeria and her fettered husband ; but in the fifth, all, by a most
fortunate and providential succession of murders, ends well. First,
a mute carrying messages is slain ; the King takes the place of
Osmyn (or Alphonso) in the prison, and is murdered by mistake ;
Zara poisons herself, and throws herself upon the body of the
King, whom she supposes to be Alphonso ; Almeria comes, and
prepares to imitate her rival, when Alpliouso, Yictorious and

CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 1*9

Irinm^hrmt, bursts upon the scene, and saves her just in the nick of
time. To tell how the tragic story filled my heart with pity and
terror while it was acting, how Almeria bewailed her fate, how Zara
raged, how nobly Mr. llilyard (or Alphonso) bore himself, would
be impossible. Suffice it to say that we wiped away our tears and
were happy again, though the stage was strewn with dead bodies,
when Alphonso spoko the last lines :

1 Still in the way of honour persevere,
And not from past or present ills despair,
For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds,
And, though a late, a sure reward succeeds.'

There were others present who enjoyed the play as much as I did,
though my lord said that, in his opinion, and compared with the
majestic work of Racine, it was but a poor piece, and that the situa-
tions were forced, with too much blood. All the servants who chose
to come were allowed to stand at the lower end, and though some of
them gaped and wondered what it all might mean, there were others
who looked on with delight. Among them was my maid Jenny,
whom I discerned standing on a stool at the far end, her face aglow
with a kind of rapture, her great black eyes like coals of fire, her
lips parted, and her body bent forward — things which I remembered
afterwards. This girl (who was, as I have said, clever, sharp, and
faithful) I had taught to read. I am well aware that I am open to
censure for doing this. The possession of this key to learning is
a dangerous thing. It is certainly a question which still remains to
be answered, whether persons in that class should be taught to read :
for, in the first place, a little learning is a dangerous thing. Again,
discontent is easily acquired when one learns how many, from
obscure origins, have become rich. Thirdly, it has been abundantly
proved that there is no villain like a villain who can read and write.
On the other hand, it seems good that a man or woman should be
able to read the Prayer Book, Catechism, and Psalms of David in
the vulgar tongue, and the Bible as well, provided always that the
interpretation of it be modestly left to clergymen of the Established
Church, and not undertaken by private judgment. As for matters
of daily work, such as the farm and the house and medicine, it is
certain that book-learning will never become so good as the teaching
of those who have learned from their fathers and mothers. How-
ever, be it right or wrong, I taught the girl to read ; and Jenny,
though this I knew not, began to read everything she could find at
all times when she was not at work. Among other things she read,
it is supposed, volumes of plays which belonged to Mr. Hilyard.

When the play was over, Jenny, instead of going to bed as a good
girl should have done, must needs wait about (this I learned after*-
wards) until the players went to their supper ; and after supper she
Bat up with them, listening open-mouthed to their talk. It seems
that people of this profession scarce ever go to bed before one or
two o'clock in the morning, because after their great passion and
the excitement of so many emotions they are fain to eit up till late,

Q

130 DOROTH Y FORSTER.

recoT&ring the calmness of spirit necessary for quiet sleep. I know
not what they said to her, or she to them ; but afterwards she was
never the same girl. She had moods and fits ; would cry for
nothing, and laugh at a little ; read more book of plays ; and,
among the other maids, would imitate not only the actresses, but
also the very gentlemen of the company to the life — their voice,
gestures, and manner of bearing themselves. This was a very impu-
dent and disrespectful thing to do. I have also reason to believe —
but as I never charged it upon him, so he never confessed it — that
Mr. Hilyard himself secretly encouraged the girl to learn, and taught
her to declaim with justness of emphasis and proper management
of voice, passages from his books. Great scholar and wit though he
was, he did not sufficiently consider the consequences of his actions.
To teach such a girl to deliver poetry with eloquence was as much
as to give a man who hath no money a taste for the most costly
wines.

This, however, by the way.

In the morning I myself, finding the players preparing to go
away, entered into conversation with one of the women, the one
who played Zara. She was a young woman of genteel carriage and
respectful speech, who, off the stage, although upon it she was so
queenly in her bearing and so full of fire and action, might very
well have passed for a respectable seamstress or milliner. As for
the woman who played Leonora, she was the wife of the King, I
found, and middle-aged, with a baby. First of all, when I spoke to
Zara, I found she was shy, as if afraid that I should despise or
insult her, a thing of which I am told actors are very jealous,
because by statute law they are regarded as rogues and vagabonds.

' In Paris,' my lord told me, ' they once lost in this way their best
actress, an incomparable and most beautiful creature, who was so
enraged by the insults of the parterre, that she returned them with
scorn and indignation. They clapped her in prison for this Use-
majeste • but when she was liberated, she refused ever to act again.'

Well, but 1 did not wish to show contempt for anybody, much
less a virtuous and honest young woman ; and I made haste to com-
pliment her on her rare and wonderful gift of impersonation, adding
that I had learned to respect the art from my tutor, Mr. Hilyard,
whom they had allowed to play Osmyn. Then I asked her about
her way of life, and if she was happy. She replied that, indeed, for
happiness she could not tell, because poor folks are never over-
whelmed with happiness ; that the pay was uncertain, and sometimes
food was scanty, and there were times when to play in a barn for a
supper was counted great gain ; yet (I remembered afterwards that
Jenny stood beside me, and was listening with open mouth) the
delight of acting (' Oh ! Ah !' a gasp and a sigh from Jenny) was so
great as to counterbalance the evils of poverty. That, to be sure,
fine ladies look down upon an actress as mere dirt beneath their
feet ; but what signifies that, since one need never speak with a fine
lady ? That it was a hard life, in which a body hath no time to be
ill or to be wearied, or to have any mood or mind of her own, but

I CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 131

yg ready for a new part and to play a new passion ; yet, that
evil was compensated for by the freedom and variety of the life.
Consider, madam,' she said earnestly, 4if I were not an actress,
ould be a maid in a lady's house, or a common drudge to a
tradesman's wife, or perhaps a dressmaker, or serving- woman to a
coffee-house or a tavern ; or, if I had good looks, perhaps a shop-
girl, to sell gloves, ribbons, and knickknacks, in Cranbourne Alley.
Your ladyship doth not know, I am sure, the rubs and flips which
we poor women have to endure from harsh masters. What is our
character to them, provided fine gentlemen come to the shop and
buy ? and what do they care what becomes of the poor girls ? One
gone, another is easily found. All poor people must be unhappy in
some way, I suppose. Give me my liberty ' — here Jenny choked —
' if I must starve with it. But we all hope for better times, and
perhaps, before we grow old and lose such good looks as the Lord
path given to us, an engagement at York Theatre— or even ' — here
she gasped as one who catcheth at a bunch of grapes too high — ' at
Drury Lane.'

So they packed up their dresses and gilt crowns, their tin swords
and fineries, and went away, well pleased with the generous pay of
my lord. But Mr. Hilyard went about with his chin in the air,
still thinking himself Osmyn, for many days to come.

' Are there,' asked my lord, ' many scholars of Oxford who can
act, and write verses, and play the buffoon, and sing like that strange
man of yours, Miss Dorothy ? In Paris, such a scholar becomes an
abb£ ; he may make as many verses as he pleases, and pay court to
as many patrons, and be lapdog to the fine ladies, but act upon the
-o he may not.'

Yet he congratulated the actor with the kindness which belonged
to his nature, trying to make him feel that his genius and the
variety of his powers were admired and understood. And before
we came away my lord gave him a snuff-box, which Mr. Hilyard
still carries and greatly values. It bears upon the lid a picture of
Danae, believed to be the portrait of Nell Gwynne.

' But as for his acting,' my lord went on, ' I care not who acts
nor what the piece, so long as thou art pleased, fair Daphne. For
to please thee is at present all my thought and my only care. Ah !
blushing, rosy English cheek ! Sure nowhere in the world are the
women so beautiful as in England ; and nowhere so true, and good
as well, as in my own county.'

With such pretty speeches he ended eyery thing. If it were a
ride, it must be whither I pleased ; if we walked, it must be in what
11 1 commanded; when we dined, the dishes were to be to
my liking ; if I ventured to praise anything, it must become my
own— nay, I think that, had I chosen, I could have stripped the
walls even of the family portraits, carried off the treasures which
the house contained, and borne away all the horses from the stable.
My lord possessed that nature \vfc'ch is never truly happy unless it
is devising further happiness and fresh joyful surprises for those he

8-1

DOROTHY S

CHAPTER XT.

NEW YEAR'S DAT.

ON the day of the New Year, which is the day for giving and rs-
ceiving presents, there was so great an exchange of pretty things
that I cannot enumerate them. For everybody gave something, ii
it were only a little trifle worked by hand. Thus, my lord presented
Tom with a hunter, and Tom gave him a fowling-piece which had
belonged to his uncle Ferdinando. Though the general joy at the
master's return was so great that the tables groaned beneath the
presents offered to him, yet I think he gave far more than he
received. That was ever his way— to give more than he received,
whether in friendship, trust, and confidence, or in rich presents, or
in love. It is a happy disposition, showing that its owner is already
half prepared for heaven. As for myself, I was made nothing short
of rich by the many beautiful and costly things that were bestowed
upon me. Tom gave me a pair of gloves, the Lady Mary a small
parcel of point-lace of Yalenciennes, the Lady Katharine a piece of
most beautiful brocade, saying that she was too old for such gauds
and vanities, which became young and beautiful gentlewomen, and
her maid should give me counsel how best to make it up. Mr.
Howard gave me a book from the library containing the 'Medita-
tions ' of Thomas a Kempis. Alas ! I paid little heed at the time
to the wise and comforting words of that precious book, though
now, next to one other, it is my greatest consoler. (I also find
some of the ' Thoughts ' of Monsieur Pascal worthy the attention
of those who would seek comfort from religion.) Frank gave me
a silver chain — it had been his grandmother's — for hanging keys
and what not upon ; and Mr. Errington gave me a pretty little ring
set with an emerald, saying that he had bought it for the first
Dorothy Forster twenty years before, but she would have none of
him or of his gifts.

* Wherefore, my dear,' he said, ' although an emerald speaks of
love returned, let me bestow it upon one beautiful enough to b«
Dorothy's daughter.

"'0 daughter, fairer than thy mother fair,"

as says some poet, but I forget which, because it is thirty years
since I left off reading verses. Yery likely it was Suckling or
Waller.'

* Sir,' said Mr. Hilyard officiously, ( your honour does the Latin
poet Horace the honour to quote him — through an unknown trans-
lation.'

' Gad,' replied Mr. Errington, ( I knew not I was quoting Latin.
I am infinitely obliged to you, sir, for the assistance of your learn-
ing. It shall be Horace, since you say so. But much finer things,
I doubt not, have been said about beautiful women by our English
poets. Can you, sir, who know the poets, as well as everything
else' — Mr. Errington was one of those geoUenie^ v/ho regard

NEW YEAR'S DAY. 133

nlarship w a kind of trade, to be followed by the baser sort, ;-g
l«-c>.i it chiefly is, and as a means of rising — 'can you, sir, help us
something from an English poet with which we may compliment
e beauty of this young lady ?'

' The language of gallantry,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'was not affected
by Shakespeare, our greatest poet ; yet there is one passage which
I submit to your honour. It is in his sonnets, wherein the poet
says :

1 " Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her person." '

* Very good, sir/ said Mr. Errington. * Fair Dorothy, Shakespeare
w;is a prophet.'

Lord Derwentwater alone gave me nothing, which I thought
strange. But presently, when the first business and agitation about
the gifts were over, he begged me to examine with him some of the
treasures and heirlooms of the house.

The hall was full of strange things and treasures brought to-
gether from every part of the world ; by Radcliffes who had
travelled in far countries, even to Constantinople and the Holy
Land ; by Radcliffes who had crossed the ocean, and seen the two
Americas and the savage Indians ; by Radcliffes who had plundered
Scottish castles and Scottish towns in the old times ; by Radciiffes
who had bought beautiful things in Italy, and by those who had
bought them in London. The walls were covered with pictures ;
not only portraits, but also those pictures which men strangely love
to paint, of half -clothed shepherdesses, nymphs, satyrs, and so forth ;
illustrations of stories from Ovid and the ancient poets, some of
which Mr. Hilyard had read to me ; together with other pictures,
to my poor understanding equally foolish — to wit, the martyrdom
and torture of saints, as the shooting of St. Sebastian with arrows ;
the roasting of St. Lawrence upon a gridiron (this was a very fine
and much-praised picture by an Italian master, whose name I have
forgotten ; but it made your flesh creep ever afterwards even to
think of that poor writhing wretch) ; the angels in heaven, all
sitting in a formal circle ; the beheading of St. Peter, and so forth.
I know not why these things should be portrayed, unless, as is
wisely done in Fox's * Book of Martyrs,' in order to show, by lively
pictures of the poor creatures in the flames, what one religion is
capable of doing, and the other of enduring. Besides the pictures,
there were suits of armour, both chain-armour, very beautifully
wrought, and armour of hammered iron, with a whole armoury of
weapons hanging like trophies upon the walls, such as pikes, lances,
spears, bows and arrows, crossbows, guns and firelocks of all kinds,
strange instruments for tearing knights out of their saddles, battle
axes, maces, and swords of every kind. At my request, my lord
once dressed himself in one of the suits of chain-armour, and put
on his head an iron helmet, with side or cheek pieces, and a machine
for protecting the face. With a battle-axe in his hand, he looked
most martial and commanding ; yet I laughed to see the long wig
bulow tb« helmet, flowing over the shoulders and the chain-armour.

134 DOROTHY FORSTER.

To each age its fashions ; since the politeness of the present gene-
ration commands gentlemen no longer to wear their own hair, but
a full wig, whereby the aged may look young, and the young dis-
guise their youth and inexperience, there must seem something
ludicrous when the dress of our ancestors is assumed even for a
moment. It was not, however, to see these things, which stood
exposed to the view of all who came, that I was asked to accompany
my lord. We went to see those treasures which were kept under
lock and key in cabinets and cupboards, and even in secret places
known only to Mrs. Busby, the housekeeper, who came with us,
bearing the keys.

Lady Mary came, too. Her sister, Lady Katharine, the most
gentle and pious of women, was in the chapel, where she spent a
great part of each day in prayer and meditation. Certainly, if ever
there was a saint in the Church of Rome, she was one. Though
we are bound not to accept the doctrine of Purgatory (which seema
to me the least harmful of human inventions, as regards religion),
yet I have always thought, in considering the life of this pious
woman, that there could be no fires of Purgatory for her. Her
sister was as gentle, but not so pious (yet a good woman, and
obedient to the Church).

' My dear,' she said, ' we have many pretty things to show you.
No doubt the Forsters have also got together, both at Bamborough
and Etherston, things as curious and more valuable, for we are not
ignorant that you have been longer in the county. But our collec-
tions are allowed to be very fine.'

They were indeed very fine. We have nothing to compare with
them, either at Etherston or at Bamborough.

There were old brocades, stiff with gold and silver ; gloves set
with pearls ; shoe-buckles with diamonds ; embroidered and jewelled
garters ; damasks, flounced stuffs, rich silks, every kind of woman's
dress from the time of Henry VI., or even older, to the present
day. The housekeeper laid them out with pride, saying, 'This
belonged to Lady Radcliffe, your lordship's grandmother, who was
a daughter of Sir William Fenwick ; and this was part of the bridal
dress of Anne Radcliffe, who married Sir Philip Constable ; and
these were the late Lady Swinburne's gloves '—and so on. She
had, besides, a story to tell of every one ; how this lady was a
widow and a beauty ; and this one ran away, and another was
married against her will, and another a widow almost as soon as
she was a bride : such tales as an old housekeeper loves to gather
together and to store up.

4 Women,' says Mr. Hilyard, ( are the historians, as they are the
guardians, of the household.' .i.j-----i-*

' These,' said the Earl, ' are the ladies' collections. My own
mother ' — his face darkened when he spoke of his mother (at which
I wonder not) — ' hath added nothing ; but my grandmother and
her predecessors have all contributed something of their finery to
make this collection the better. Great pity it is when a family lets
aU be scattered abroad and lost/

I

NEW YEARS DA Y. 135

Then we were shown the cabinets, where were locked up the
trinkets, ornaments, and things in gold. Here were rings of all
kinds— some old and rudely set, but with large stones ; some with
posies and devices ; some with coats of arms ; some with stories
belonging to them and some without. Also there were bracelets
of all kinds — of plain beaten gold, of chains in gold, of rings, of
serpents ; of Saracen, Turkish, Indian, Venetian, and Florentine
work ; also necklaces of silver and of gold — plain and set with
emeralds, diamonds, rubies, opal, sapphires, and all other precious
atones, egrets, eluis, and chains of all kinds, even the thin and
delicate chain of pure soft gold from India— one never saw so
brave a show. Then there were miniatures in gold frames set
with pearls, of the Radcliffe ladies, including my own great-grand-
mother, the heiress of Blanchland. A comely and beautiful raco
they were. Next there were snuff-boxes collected by the late Earl,
who died in the year 1705. There were dozens of these, mostly
with lids beautifully painted, but the pictures such as please not a
woman's eye, being like those on the walls, of half-dressed nymphs
and shepherdesses. Dear me ! A man who wants to take snuff
can surely take it quite as well out of a tin or brass snuff-box, such
as our gentlemen use, as out of a box with a heathen goddess
sprawling outside, dressed as heathen goddesses were accustomed
to dress.

' It is,' said Mr. Hilyard once, talking the nonsense that even
learned men sometimes permit themselves — 'it is an excuse for
painting the ideal model, and fountain of beauty. It has been
held that from Venus — namely, feminine beauty — are born not
only the train of Loves, petulant and wanton, but also the nine
Muses, who are, in fact, Poetry, Music, Dancing, Acting, Gallantry,
Courtesy, Politeness, Courtship, ana Intrigue, and not Thalia and
her sisters at all, unless they can be proved to have those attributes.'

This foolish talk I refused to hear. Did ever a woman wish to
see represented the stalwart form and sturdy calves of her lover ?
How, then, did we get our love for poetry, dancing, and the rest of
it, including coquetry ?

I cannot tell all that was in this cabinet of wonders. But in the
lowest drawers there lay — fans ! Oh, Heaven ! Fans I I never
knew before that there were in the whole wide world so many fans.
They were all painted, and some of them most beautifully. There
were fans v/ith flowers on them, so life-like that you stooped to
breathe the perfume of the rose or the mignonette ; there were
fans with rustic scenes— swains and shepherdesses dancing round a
maypole.

4 Do they dance so in France, my lord ?' I asked.

' Nay,' he replied gravely. * They dance, indeed, but it is to forget
the terrors of to-morrow, and to rejoice over the certainty of to-
day's dinner. There is laughter, but not much joy, in the peasant's
dance.'

So I laid that down, and took up another. Upon it was the tale
of the Sirens and Ulysses. Oh 1 I knew the story, and wonderful

136 DOROTHY FORSTER.

it was to see the oarsmen rowing, silent and careless, neither seeing
nor hearing, wh'le Ulysses, bound to the mast, strained forward to
catch the musio, after which he would fain have followed like a
slave if he could. It was a moral piece, and I looked at it with
admiration. The next — but I cannot run through them all — was
the Judgment of Paris — the shepherd, a very noble youth, with
something of the look of my lord upon him ; while as for the god-
desses, not one of them, to my thinking, deserved an apple so much
as — but we may not judge, and it seemed to please his lordship.
Then there were more swains and shepherdesses, very sweet and
pretty, with grass like velvet, and dresses (though they had been
tending sheep) as clean and neat as if just out of the band-box.

4 Ah ! if one could find such a country,' I said, ' one would wil-
lingly turn milkmaid.'

' And I,' said my lord, ' would even be turned into a shepherd to
be companion to such a milkmaid.'

Then there was a fan of Pierrot, Harlequin, and Columbine. It
brought your heart into your mouth only to see such merry, careless
faces, as if there were no such thing as trouble, or anxiety, or exiled
princes, or rival churches, or wicked people, and all that one had to
do was to tell stories continually, laugh, dance, sing, and make
merry. I never saw before such happiness depicted on simple
white silk. It made me think, somehow, of Mr. Hilyard in the
evening. After this fan, I cared little about the rest, though the
parting of Achilles and Briseis was sad, and the death of Cleopatra
tragic.

' Now,' said my lord, smiling kindly, as was his wont when he
was doing something generous—' now that you have seen our pretty
things, remember that you have not received my etrenne. Will it
please you make a choice ?'

I know not whether by accident or design, but Lady Mary and
the housekeeper were engaged among the silks and old brocades,
and we were alone.

' Oh, my lord !' I said, ' I cannot take any of these beautiful
things. They belong to your house and to your family. They
must not leave you.'

' Take all,' he whispered. ' Oh, Dorothy ! take all ; and yet,
they need not leave me, if in taking them you take me too.'

Alas ! what could a girl say ? I knew not what to say ; for in
the great joy of that moment I remembered not — nay, all this time
I thought not about it, being in a Fool's Paradise— what stood
between us.

' Oh, my lord !' was all I could whisper.

But he stooped and kissed my fingers, and I think that Lady
Mary saw him, for she came back quickly, a little glow upon her
faded cheek and a brightness in her eyes ; but said nothing, only
presently took my hand in hers and pressed it kindly.

Well, there was no help ; she joined her nephew in forcing pro
gents upon me. I chose the fan with Harlequin, Columbine, and
Pierrot upon it. Why, it lies beside me still," with its three onc«

NEW YEAR'S DAY.

1J7

happy, laughing faces. Long ago they too have been driven out of
their* Fool's Paradise, like me. The silk has faded ; the pictured
faces smile no more — they have lost their youth — they are wrinkled
—they have forgotten how to laugh. When I die, I should like
that fan to be buried with me.

Other things they gave me— a ring, a bracelet — what matters
now ?— with kind words, and praise of beauty and sweet looks. A
sensible girl knows very well that this flattery is bestowed out of
goodness of heart, and with the desire of pleasing her ; it does not
turn her head more than the passing sunshine of the moment,
though it makes her cheek to glow, her eyes to brighten, and her
lips to tremble.

' There were never,' whispered the fond young lover, c never, I
swear, finer eyes or sweeter lips.'

In the evening, when I opened my fan, a paper fell out. My
lord picked it up and gave it me. Oh ! it was another set of verses,
and in the same feigned handwriting as the first. He read them,
affecting as much surprise as on the former occasion :

' Learn, nymphs, from wondrous Daphne's art

The uses of the fan,
Designed to play a potent part

When she undoes a man.
' As when the silly trout discerns

The artificial fly,
And rises, bites, and too late learns

The hook that lies hard by ;
1 So man, before whose raptured gaze

The fan in Daphne's arms,
Now spreads, now shuts, and now displays,

And now conceals her charms,
• Falls, like that silly fLh, a prey,

Yet, happier far than he,
Adores the hand outstretched to slay
And dies in ecstasy.'

CHAPTER XVL

A STRANGE THING.

I CANNOT forbear ID mention a thing which happened at this time,
so strange, so contrary to reason and experience, so far removed
from the ordinary stories of apparitions and phantoms, that, had I
not been agitated by a thousand tumultuous joys, I must have been
thrown by it into great apprehensions, and perhaps have felt com-
pelled to lay the matter before the Bishop.

The thing is concerned with my maid Jenny, of course. I have
already explained that she was an active and faithful maid, clever
with her needle, a good hairdresser, modest and respectful in her
behaviour to me, whatever she was to others. With all these
virtues, it is grievous to remember that if ever a woman was a

138 DOROTHY FORSTER.

witch, and had dealings with the devil — why, even Mr. Hilyard,
who is always most cautious in these matters, confesses that the
matter is beyond his comprehension, and he knows not how to
explain it, or what to say of it. Let us remember that at Blanch-
land she saw apparitions (though others saw none), to the terror of
the village ; and there also she was said to lead about a rustic whom
she made do whatever she pleased (this at the time I believed not,
though now I know that it may be true). And at Dilston she acted
parts either of her own invention, or imitated people, or declaimed
what she had heard to such admiration that the men gazed upon
her with open mouths, and the kitchen-maids dropped the dishes,
and the elder women crossed themselves. Gipsy blood will show,
they say ; no doubt these outcasts are in some sort more liable than
the rest of us to diabolical possession, and it is by this, and no
other way, that they are enabled to read the future, predict fortunes,
and above all, to bewitch a man and make him do whatsoever they
please.

It was on the morning after this day of gifts — a gloomy and
cloudy morning, with mist lying over the Devilswater and the
meadow beneath the Hall ; the gentlemen were in the fields shoot-
ing ; Lady Katharine was, I suppose, in the chapel ; Lady Mary
was dozing in her chair ; the maids were all at work below and in
the kitchens. I, having nothing to do, and a heart troubled but
full of joy, began to roam by myself about the great house. First
I went into the library, where few ever sat. Sometimes my lord
went thither to spend an hour ; he was a gentleman of parts, and
possessed as much learning as befits a man of his rank. An earl
must not be a writer of books or a poet by trade, though he may,
as Lord Rochester did, write witty and ingenious verses to be
given to his mistress or to please the Court. Frank Radcliffe was
often there, and sometimes Mr. Howard. To-day when I opened
the door I saw the good old priest sleeping beside a great wood fire,
on his knees a massive volume in calf, with brass clasps— no doubt a
learned work on theology. So, not to disturb him, I shut the door
again quite softly, and went along the passages among the many
old rooms, hung with tapestry, and furnished after an antique style.
Some of them were occupied, but for the most part they were
empty, and I looked curiously into them, half afraid of the deep
ghadows, in which ghosts might linger. If I entered these silent
chambers, I peeped hurriedly into the mirrors, fearful lest, as has
happened to many honest people, I might see a second face iu
addition to my own, or, which is worse than a whole procession of
ghosts, not my own face at all, but quite another one — a strange, a
threatening, and an angry face — or the face of a demon. I have
often prayed to be protected from this form of visitation, of which
I could tell many stories, but refrain, merely saying that it is a sure
indication of great disaster thus to see a strange and angry face in
the mirror instead of your own.

The house being so silent, the air without BO misty, and the
rooms so dark, it is not wonderful that I presently fell into thai

A STRANGE THING. 139

expectant spirit in which nothing seems strange, so that if all my
ancestors on the Radcliffe side had with one consent marched up
the corridor to greet me, I should have taken it as nothing out of
the way or even unexpected. It is a condition of mind into which
it is easy to fall when one is in a reverie.

Now, as I walked along the passage, I became aware of a voice :
it was a low voice, which I knew very well, but did not remember
whose it was (when one's head was full of Lord Derwentwater,
could one remember the voice of a servant-maid?). Without
following or seeking after that voice, I walked by accident straight
to the room whence it came, and the door being open, and I not
thinking one way or the other whether I ought to look or whether
I ought not, I not only looked in at the door, but I walked into the
room. Truly I was as one in a dream.

The thing which I saw awakened me from my dream, and I
started and was seized with a horror the like of which I never felt
before and hope never to feel again ; because I saw with my own
eyes the bewitching of a man by a woman.

It was a large low room without much furniture, and I think it
had once been used for a children's room, for there were little chairs
tfbout, and broken toys. There were only two persons in the room :
one of the two was Frank Radcliffe, and the other was none other,
if you please, than Jenny, my own maid. That Frank should con-
descend to hold conversation at all with this black-eyed gipsy girl
might have filled me with wonder ; yet I was not so young or fco
innocent (what country girl is?) as not to know that young gentle-
men will often stoop to rustic wenches, to their own shame and the
just ruin of the latter. But Frank was not like many of our young
bloods, a mere hunting and shooting creature, born to destroy
vermin for the farmers and provide game for the table. He was a
gentleman of high breeding and polished, nay, delicate manners, no
more capable, one would think, of being led out of himself by the
flashing eyes of a village beauty than my lord himself ; a scholar
too, and man of books. Yet here he was ; and with him, Jenny.
The girl was sitting on a high chair with her back to the door, and
therefore saw me not ; nor did she hear my footsteps. Before her,
like a boy at school before his master, stood the young man. To
think that she should sit, and he be standing ! But oh, heavens I
what ailed him ? His eyes were open, and he gazed straight before
him, so that he looked into my face, but he seemed to see nothing ;
his arms were hanging motionless ; he stood erect, like a soldier
with a pike in waiting for the word of command ; his cheek was
pale : he seemed as one whose soul had fled while his body waits for
its return, or as one entranced, or as one who walks in his sleep.
Yet, for the strange feeling upon me, as if anything might happen
and nothing was wonderful, I stood where I was and looked on in
silence, though what I saw was beyond the power of the mind to
conceive.

Were they play-acting ? But in no play-acting that ever I heard
of does the actor go through his performance with face so motion-

140 DORO THY FORSTER.

less. The play-acting was nothing. Jenny lifted her finger, Frank
did the same. Jenny folded a paper into a kind of narrow tube
and gave it him, muttering something in a low voice. Then he put
the tube to his lips, and made as if he were smoking a pipe.

Then Jenny made another gesture, and he dropped the paper.

' Think next,' she said imperiously, ' of my own people, the
gipsies. I want to know what old granny is doing, and what she is
saying. If she is making a charm, tell me how she makes it.'

' There is a gipsy camp,' he replied slowly, but with no change in
his eyes, ' outside the houses of a village. They have drawn their carts
round an open space, where there is a great fire and a pot upon it.'

* And granny — what is granny doing ?'

' I see an old woman lying upon the boards iii one of the carts.
A young man lies beside her, groaning and twisting about.'
1 What does granny say ?'

* She bids him cheer up ; for what is a simple flogging at the
cart- tail when once 'tis over ? And what is a sore back to the
rheumatism in every bone ?'

' It is my cousin, Pharaoh Lee,' said Jenny. ( Poor Pharaoh ! He
has been stealing poultry, no doubt. The back of him should be of
leather by now, unless backs get the softer for flogging, like a beef-
steak. Well Leave -the camp, and think of my lord, your

brother. So — where is he ?'

' He is walking beside Tom Forster, fowling-piece on shoulder.
But he looks neither to right nor left, and he is not thinking of the
birds.'

' What is he thinking of, then ?'

' He is thinking,' replied Frank, ' of Dorothy. His mind is quite
full of her. He can think of nothing else. He has told her that
he loves her, and before she goes away he will tell her so again.
" Sweet Dorothy !" he says in his mind. " Fair Dorothy ! There
is none like Dorothy Forster." '

Now, when I heard these words it seemed to me as if the things
I saw and heard were ghostly and sent from the other world, where-
fore I fell into the deadly terror which seizes those who behold
such things and receive such messages, and I shrieked aloud and fell
into a swoon, which lasted I know not how long.

When I came to myself, I was sitting in the chair where Jenny
(unless it was a vision) had been exercising her witcheries. She
was kneeling at my feet, beating my palms, and putting a cold wet
towel to my forehead, with a face full of terror and surprise.

' Ah !' she said, ' you are better now, my lady.'

1 What is it, Jenny ?' I cried, clutching her hand and looking
around. ' What is it ? Where is he ?'

1 Where is he ?' she repeated. ' Why— who ?'

' Mr. Francis Radcliff e.'

' Mr. Frank ? Indeed, your ladyship, I know not. I suppose he
may have gone out with the gentlemen shooting, or perhaps, because
he is a studious gentleman, he is in the library, or talking, maybe
to Mr. Hilyard. What should Mr. Frank be doing here ?'

A STRANGE THING.

'Nay— bnt I caw him!'

1 Where did you see him ? Oh, madam ! rest a while. Your
poor head is wandering. You must have had a shock.'

' I saw him, I say — here with you — wicked girl ! with your sor-
ceries.' I pushed her from me ; but she looked astonished and not
guilty at all — which was most strange.

' Alas ! madam, what sorceries ? I know not what you mean. I
was in your own room hard by, putting up the lace for your hair,
which I shall dress by-and-by ' — my own room was close at hand,
but I had forgotten it — 'when I heard a loud cry and a something
fall, and ran to help — and oh dear ! — oh dear ! — it was your ladyship
lying on the floor all by yourself, with a face as white as a sheet'

* But I saw him— and you '

I looked about the room ; there was certainly no Frank Radcliffe
there. Then I started to my feet ; the fascination was quite gone ;
it went away as suddenly as it came. I determined to seek out
Frank and learn the truth at once.

'Stay here, shameless girl!' I cried. 'If.thou hast lied thou
shalt leave me this moment, even if the village folk burn thee for
a witch, as they called thee at Blanchland.'

I hastened along the passages and down the stairs to the library.
Oh, most wonderf ul ! Everything, with one exception, was just as
I had left it half an hour before. Father Howard slept in the quiet
corner beside the fire, his great volume on his knee ; on the hearth
there slowly burned among its white ashes a great log ; the silent
books stood round the walls, and above them hung the portraits of
Radcliffes dead and gone ; through the windows I saw the white
mists hanging over the meadow and the narrow bed of Devilswatcr.
Everything the same, except that at a table before one of the win-
dows sat Frank himself, two or three books before him.

1 Frank !' I cried.

1 Dorothy ! What is it ? Your cheeks are white and your eyes
are frightened — what is it, Dorothy ?'

4 How long have you been here, Frank ?'

* I think all the morning, Dorothy. Why ?'

' I saw — that is, I thought I saw you, but just now, in the north
corridor. Perhaps it was imagination. Yet, I thought — were you
not there, of truth ?'

' Indeed, I have not left the library since breakfast. I must have
been asleep, like Mr. Howard, for I find I have not turned the page
for half an hour and more. Do you think, Dorothy,' he asked
earnestly, ' that you have seen a ghost ? This Dilston, they say, is
full of ghosts. But I have seen none, as yet.'

4 1 know not,' I replied, ' what I have seen — or what it means.
Frank — you have told me the truth ?'

I could not doubt the truth of his straightforward eyes, nor the
sincerity of his assurance. Wherefore, with a beating heart, I re-
turned slowly to my own chamber, and found Jenny in tears. I
thought I must have seemed harsh to her, feeling now certain that
what I had seen was a visicp ^ * a disordered brain. Yet, why should

142 DOROTHY FORSTER.

the brain of a girl newly made happy by the most noble lover in
the woiild be disordered ? Therefore I bestowed upon her a frock,
a hood, and a pair of warm cloth gloves, for a New Year's gift, and
told her that I must have had some dream or seen some vision, and
that I blamed her no longer ; though at heart I felt some suspicion
still, because the dream or vision, if such it had been, remained in
my mind clear and strong, so that I could not choose but think it
real. And yet, that Frank should have been in the library since tha
morning and never once left it !

In the afternoon I told the whole to Mr. Hilyard, and confessed
to him that, although I was now certain that I had been deceived
or that I was under some charm, yet I felt uneasy. He received
my story with great seriousness, and began to consider what it
might mean.

' Truly,' he said, * if this be a vision, and not a cheat by the girl
Jenny— but how could she cheat without the assistance of Mr.
Frank ? — it is a very serious and weighty business. It is a pity
that you did not, before you swooned away, throw your arms about
the effigies or apparition of the girl, as was done by Lord Colchester
about fifty years ago, when he clasped thin air, as Ixion clasped his
cloud. We may not doubt that warnings may take various shapes.
Thus it is related on good authority from Portsmouth that a gentle-
man of that place has been lately troubled by the apparition of a
man who constantly pursues him and reproaches him for some
secret crime ; and Colonel Radcliffe affords another instance, who
is also followed continually by some unseen enemy. There is also
the authentic story of the ghost of Madam Bendish, of East Ham,
near London, who lately appeared to an old gentleman there, and
bade him reprove an obstinate son with Proverbs, one, two, and
three. There was also, only a short time ago, the young gentleman
of All Hallows, Bread Street Parish, who had a vision of a burial,
the cloth held by four maids, which came true of himself. And the
ghost of Thomas Chambers, of Chesham, in Buckinghamshire, was
after his death seen by many, but especially the maid of the house,
leaning, in a melancholy posture, against a tree, attired in the same
cap and dress in which they laid him out. We may no more deny
these appearances than we may deny the existence of the soul or
our immortal hopes. Besides which, if more testimony were wanted,
Plutarch, Apuleius, and all the Roman and Grecian histories are
full of such instances.'

' But, Mr. Hilyard, is there any like my own ?'

' I know not one,' he replied thoughtfully : ' for there is no
threat, nor any call for repentance. You have nothing to do with
gipsies and flogging of backs ; and there remains the friendly and
comfortable assurance, if I may make so bold as to say so, of my
lord's disposition and affection — of which I, for one, have long been
fully certain. So, Miss Dorothy, I would advise and counsel that
nothing more be said or thought about this strange thing, especially
to the girl, lest she be puffed up with conceit and vanity.'

What happened that same day was this, though I heard it i \ot till

A STRANGE THING. 143

long afterwards. Mr. Hilyard, on leaving me, repaired to a quiet
chamber, where he would be undisturbed, and then sent for Jenny
to attend him.

She came in fear and trembling.

' Now,' be said, shaking his fore-finger in a very terrible way,
1 what is this I hear about Mr. Francis and yourself V

' I know nothing, sir,' she began.

1 About the camp, now.'

1 If Miss Dorothy thought she heard Mr. Frank tell me about my
cousin Pharaoh's back, she must have dreamed it.'

* Now, girl, thou art caught. Know that your mistress said not
one word to you of Pharaoh, and his back, which I hope hath been
soundly lashed for his many thieveries. Therefore, since I know it,
because she told me, and since she hath not told you, pray, how do
you know it ? Girl, on your knees and confess, or worse will
happen to thee.'

Upon this she burst into tears, fell upon her knees, and confessed
a most wonderful thing, which made Mr. Hilyard's very wig to
stand on end, so strange it was.

She owned that she possessed, having learned it from her grand-
mother, a strange and mysterious power over certain persons ; that
she amused herself with trying it upon various men ; that there
was a poor fellow at Blanchland whom she could make to fetch and
carry at her will ; but that there was no one over whom she had
greater power than over Mr. Frank.

Being asked if he knew, she denied it, saying that, although it
pleased him to converse with her sometimes, and to learn from her
the secrets of palmistry, and other little things which he persuaded
her to teach him, he had no knowledge of the trance into which she
could throw him at will ; and that, during that period, he could tell
her what people were doing anywhere in the world, and what were
their thoughts ; that she was exercising this gift of sorcery, the
power of which belongs only to the gipsies, and to few among them,
when Miss Dorothy surprised her ; that she hastened to send Mr.
Frank, still unconscious, back to the library, so that, when ho re-
turned to himself, he knew not that anything had happened ; and
thereby she was able to deceive her mistress.

' In the name of Heaven, child !' cried Mr. Hilyard in affright,
( hast thou such a power over me ?'

Jenny swore she had none, nor was like to have if she tried ; and
that she would never try upon him, being afraid of detection ; nor
jpon his honour, Mr. Forster, as in duty bound ; nor upon her
mistress. But that, as to this young gentleman, he forced himself
upon her, coming continually to her, and begging to have the future
revealed, either by cards, or by the lines of his hand, or the shape
of liis head, or the circumstances of his birth ; and then nothing
would satisfy him but to know, and to learn for himself how, and
by what rules and observations, these things were done ; so that he
laid himself directly open, as it were, to the Evil One ; and when
the young witch, for so one must now think her, essayed her art

144 DOROTHY FORSTER.

upon him, he fell a ready victim. Lastly, the girl implored Mr,
Hilyard, with many tears, and on her bended knees, to forgive her,
promising that never again would she speak with Mr. Frank, nor
practise upon him this truly diabolical art, on penalty of being
instantly dismissed the service of Miss Dorothy, and haled before a
Justice of the Peace to be dealt with as a witch.

Well, Mr. Hilyard, as he afterwards confessed, was greatly con-
cerned at this narrative, which surprised as well as terrified him.
First, he endeavoured to convince the girl that she was in the hands
of the Evil One, who would infallibly, unless she repented, bring
her to such sufferings as she could not yet even dream of ; next,
that it was the height of presumption for her to exercise this
dreadful power upon a young gentleman ; thirdly, he promised to
consider what was best to be done, and, if he could, to hide the fact,
on her faithful promise to abstain for the future, to fast once a
week for six months for penance, and to pray night and morning to
be delivered from the Devil. So he dismissed her.

' Next,' he told me afterwards, ' I fell to thinking how dreadful a
thing it must be to possess this power, and how constant a tempta-
tion there would be to use it for one's own advantage, or to gratify
malice, revenge, and private spite : so that, if all possessed it, for
one who would use it for the public good a hundred would use it
for their own selfish ends. Further, that an unfortunate creature
under this power, and compelled by this influence, might commit
the most horrible crimes and know nothing about it. Why, many
a poor wretch may have been hanged for things done by command
of her who had bewitched him. And as for me, I confess (which
shows my unworthiness) that I forgot the wickedness of tempting
the Lord and the sin of Saul, and longed to consult so strange an
oracle on my own account. From this I was protected by Grace.'

For my own part, I resolved to say nothing about it, thinking
that we should leave Dilston in a few days, and that meanwhile I
would watch diligently, and prevent the meeting together in any
place of the girl and Mr. Frank. But she gave me no more trouble,
and I think there was not another meeting before we went away.

CHAPTER XVII

EE LOVES MS.

OF all pleasant things upon the earth, there cometh an end in time.
Nay, the more pleasant are the things, the shorter they are, and the
faster do they hasten away. This is wisely ordained lest we forget
in the present the joys which await us, greater than mind can con-
ceive or tongue can utter, in the world to come. Whereas I, for
my part, by foretaste, and, as it were, by looking through the gates
of Paradise (which I certainly was permitted to do while my lord
bestowed his affections upon me), am privileged above my less
fortunate fellow-creatures to know something of the grateful,
happy, and contented heart of those who wear the golden crown
and play upon the golden harp.

HE LOVES ME. 14?

As the time drew near for us to go, it seemed as if everybody
multiplied ki:i«lness. The two ladies gave me more pretty things
with generous words, and Lady Mary whispered, pressing my hand^
4 My dear, remember that a Radcliffe must always be a Catholic,
and I said * Yes ; that I knew it well,' thinking that she meant only
that her nephew must not be converted to the Church of England
by me. Lady Katharine took both my hands in hers, and kissed
me on the forehead, saying that no doubt I should be led, by plea-
sant ways, to see the beauty and joyfulness of that Fold wherein
alone poor sinful man could find peace and r<2st for his soul. This,
too, I took for little meaning, because she was so good and so pious
a woman that she wished everybody to belong to her own Church.
Nor did I yet understand what was meant by the text which forbids
an unequal yoke. Certainly, we who had been brought up among
so many Catholics, seeing them no worse (if no better) in honour,
loyalty, and virtue than ourselves, were not likely to consider a man
an unbeliever because he attended Mass. To this day, though I have
long pondered upon the matter, I cannot quite persuade myself
that St. Paul, when he set down certain instruction of his command^
was thinking of the Pope and his followers. No ; I was thinking
if I turned my thoughts at all in that direction, which I doubt, that
my lord might go to Dilston Chapel and I to Hexham Church, a
separation painful in the idea, but doubtless it would be made
tolerable in time.

Mr. Phrington, of Beaufront, hinted at the matter more plainly.
He said that he was rejoiced to find that my lord's fancy was so
soon, and so happily, fixed. That the Forsters were fully the equals
of the Radcliffes, though there was not yet an earl or a baion among
them.

4 My dear,' he said, being an old gentleman of a very soft heart,
anxious to make ladies happy when he could — * my dear, I knew
and loved Lady Crewe ten years before she married the Bishop : a
beautiful creature, indeed, she was, and full of great majesty, y.J.
not so beautiful as you, my second Dorothy, believe me. For thou
art as sweet, and gracious withal, as she was dignified. We country
gentlemen were too rude and plain of speech' for her. I blame her
not, and she was born to be a Peeress, as was manifest by her beauty
and the awe with which she surrounded herself, as you, my child,
for your beauty too, and for your sweetness. Hath my lord told you
that your smile is like the sunshine on a field of growing corn?'

' Oh, sir !' I replied, * my lord hath paid me many sweet compli-
ments, and I think my head is half turned.'

4 Nay ; a beautiful woman cannot rejoice too much in her beauty.
See now, Miss Dorothy ; we are all of us pleased that my lord shall
marry a North-country maiden, one of ourselves : the marriage of
liis father was not happy : we desire to keep all Radcliffes to the
north ; moreover, generous as he is, it cannot be denied that hia
lordship does not know our gentlemen and their ways : nor our
people and their ways ; he must put off a little of the Versailles
uiuuucr and descend to plain folk.'

10

I46 DOROTHY FORSTER.

' Oh !' I declared, * one would not wish him altered one jot from
what he is.'

' Nay, keep him as he is ; but make him something more. It is
not enough to give ; he must understand his people. Well, he can
have no kinder schoolmaster. Pretty Dorothy ! Thy blushes become
thee, child, as its bloom becomes the peach. As for the one obstacle,
to my mind it needs not to be named. One religion will take a
man to heaven as well as another, though Mr. Howard would not
acknowledge it ; and I am a Catholic, and should not say so. Let
not pride prevent the removal of that obstacle. A religion held by
so goodly a part of Christendom cannot be wrong ; and you shall
be rewarded with the noblest young lover that exists, I believe, in
the whole world.'

Vhis speech chilled my spirits very considerably. For to change
my religion — what would her ladyship say ? What, my father ?
what, my brother Tom ? what, the Bishop ? Yet what matter
what all together said, if it made my lord happy ? And so, at the
moment, it seemed a small thing and easy to change one's articles
of religion and accept the chains of the Roman Faith.

Next, Mr. Howard sought me and begged a word. He said,
speaking very gravely, that no one could affect ignorance of the
fact that my lord was fully possessed with the idea of a certain
lady ; that the subject was much in his own mind ; that, on the
one hand, it was greatly to be hoped that he would ally himself to
a family of the north, and with a gentlewoman whose good sense
and moderation would prevent him from falling into the snares
always laid for such as his lordship. But these dangers were in-
creased in his case by his ignorance of England and the English
people ; for example, that there was, he believed, great exaggera-
tion as to the strength of the Prince's cause, and therefore great
caution must be observed as to any decisive movement ; that he
believed myself— that certain lady, namely — capable of giving good
and wise counsel, and he earnestly prayed — at this point of his
discourse the tears came into his eyes — that should the thing which
he suspected proceed farther, such a measure of light and grace
might be accorded to that young lady as to lead her to the bosom
of the ancient Church — with more to the same effect, and all with
such earnestness and so much affection towards my lord and his
interests, as moved me, too, to tears ; especially when this venerable
man spake of the fellowship in the Church of Christ, one and in-
divisible, so much was I moved, so deeply did I feel the beauty of
the pictures which he drew, that I verily believe, had he on the
spot offered to receive me — if that offer had been made in the
presence of my lord himself — alas ! one knows not ; woman is at
best a weak creature, easy to be led — but there might have been
one more Catholic in the world ; there might have been a happy
bride : yet, as we may not choose but believe, and as the Bishop
himself has often said, things are directed for us ; we know not for
what reason we are guided ; nor can we tell in the great scheme of
the universe what part even so insignificant a thing as a young

HE LOVES ME. 147

woman (though of good family) may be called upon to play. Hia
li,r<lship was not present ; Mr. Howard did not oiler to take me to
tho chapel ; and so, with tears on both sides, we parted. Yet it
must be confessed that I knelt to receive his blessing as if he had
K-i-a the Bishop of Durham himself. When one converses with
Papists like Mr. Howard, men so gentle, so blameless in life and
conversation, so learned and so benevolent, one wonders about the
hud things said daily of the ancient Church ; one forgets the cruel
fires of Smithfield ; one even forgets the Spanish Inquisition itself.
It is not till afterwards that one asks if it would be possible, even
for the sake of a lover, to belong to a Church which yearly tortures
and strangles and burns men whose only crime is to think for them-
selves. How can these things be ? How can the same Church
produce at once, in the same generation, such a man as Mr. Howard
and such as the Grand Inquisitor ?

Then Frank Radcliffe cam';.

4 1 am right sorry you are going,' he said. ' The place will be
dull without you, Dorothy. My lord will hang his head and mope.
[ shall have no one to talk with. But you will come back soon.
Promise me that, Dorothy. You know very well what I mean.
Come back and make us all happy.'

* Indeed,' said I ; 4 would my coming back make yon all happy ?'

1 First,' he said, ' it would make my brother happy, because he ia
in love with you ; next, me, because I love you too, and just as
well, but a man must give way to his elder brother ; next, because
Charles also loves you, and swears he is your knight till death ; and
next, on account of my aunts, who will be happy if the Earl ia
happy. All of us, fair Dorothy.'

4 But, Frank — it is good of you to say this — but remember that
I know not what my lord may intend ; and if it were as you say,
there would be much to consider.'

4 Oh, the Mass — the Mass !' he replied impatiently. 4 When one
is brought up in the Fold, one troubles one's head little about these
things. To give up the Church would be a great thing, but surely
there can be no trouble about coming back to it.'

This shows how prejudiced the mind may become, when ac-
customed to tjie pretensions of Rome. But I was better brought up.

It cannot bo denied that the contemplation of this amiable family,
all combined in pressing upon me to accept what I most of all things
in the world desired to obtain, was very moving to me ; and when
fjord Derwentwater himself conversed with me on the subject, I
M'as, I now confess, ready to yield unconditional submission. If
men only knew the weakness of women, they could make them say
or do what they please. But perhaps men themselves are not so
strong as they seem to be. Indeed, that must be so.

4 Fair Daphne,' my lover began, 4 it is sad indeed to think that
to-morrow thou must go from us. The sun will shine no more in
Dilston.'

4 Oh, my lord,' I said, * do not talk any more the language pf
gallantry ; you have spoiled me enough. I am but plain

I48 DOROTHY FORSTER.

Former's sister, and in Northumberland we are not accustomed to
your fine French compliments. Let me, however, thank your lord-
Bhip for your very great kindness both to my brother and to myself.'
4 Let there be no longer, then,' he said, and as he spoke his beau-
tiful eyes grew so soft and his voice so sweet that oh ! my heart
melted clean away, and I could have fallen at his feet, even like
Esther at the feet of the great King, and that without shame —
1 let there be no longer compliments between us. You shall be no
more the nymph Daphne ; you shall be, what you are, only Tom
Forster's sister — only the beautiful and incomparable Dorothy,
whom I love.'

* Oh, my lord ! Think — I am no great lady of fashion— you
would be ashamed of your rustic passion in a week.'

4 Ashamed ! Why, Dorothy, with their paint and patches and
powder, there is not, believe me, in all Versailles and Paris, to say
nothing of London, which I know not — there is nowhere, I swear,
a woman fit to hold a candle beside so sweet a face as yours. My
dear, thou art — no, I will not make any more compliments. But,
Dorothy, I love thee.' And with that he fell upon his knee, and
began to kiss my hand, murmuring softly, ' I love thee, my dear — I
love thee with all my heart.'

* Oh, my lord!' I repeated, the fatal words having been spoken,
overwhelmed with a kind of terror and awe and shame, because
why should he love me so much ? ' You love me — you love me —
alas ! how can it be ? What shall I say — what shall I say ?'

' Say only, my dear, that you will love me in return.'

Then there arose in my mind, doubtless sent by Heaven, the
memory of certain words spoken by Mr. Hilyard concerning the
Church of England- — how that it was as ancient as the Church of
Rome, and as safe, and yet unstained by the blood of martyrs.
Also, I seemed to see before me the awful form of the Bishop, tall
and menacing, beckoning me away.

' Speak, Dorothy, my dear— oh, Dorothy, speak ! Why are you
trembling ? Merciful Heaven ! have I said anything to terrify this
tender heart? What troubles my love ?'

4 Oh, Lord Derwentwater, it is — the Mass 1'

He let my hand fall, and for a moment he was silent. Then he
began again, hotly :

4 The Mass I Is it a Mass shall part us ? Why, child, I love thee
so well that I will give up Church and all for thy sweet sake if thou
wilt not give up thy Church for mine. The Mass against thy hand !
Nay, I too will become of the English Church. Thou hast con-
verted me already.'

Was there ever so fond and true a lover ? But I remembered
again what he had said, months before, at Blanchland.

4 No, no,' 1 replied, 'you cannot. Other men, smaller men, may
change their faith, but you must not Remember what you told
me onoo *

4 Doth my sweet Dorothy remember even my idle word* ? All
my words are idle except my last -that I love thee.'

HE LOVES ME. 149

1 Do I remember them, my lord ? — as if I could ever forget thorn \
You said, without knowing then what the words might some day
mean, that I could persuade you to anything except what concerns
your honour, and that your honour is concerned with your faith.
Never — never shall it be said that I sought to turn you aside from
your honour. My lord, if you seriously think of such a thing, put
it out of your mind. Oh ! what is a foolish, worthless girl com-
pared with the career and the history of a great lord like yourself ?'

He would have replied to this in the same hot strain, for there
was now in his eyes the hot flame of love that will not be denied —
the masterful look which frightens women, and compels them (yet
I think he would never have compelled me to accept the sacrifice he
offered) — but Mr. Howard stepped between us. He had, I suppose,
entered unseen, and heard the last words.

' I thank you, young lady,' he said, ' in the name of a greater even
than his lordship ; the Holy Church thanks you. I would that all
her daughters were as noble and as truly great as yourself. My
lord, your passion is honourable, as becomes your rank. You would
neither do yourself, nor ask Miss Dorothy to do, what in her con-
science she would not approve.'

Lord Den\ •^twater answered not.

4 Part here, my children,' Mr. Howard continued ; ' enough has
been said. You, my lord, can afford to wait six months. If your
passion be what you think it to be, six months is a short time indeed
for meditation and endeavour to make yourself worthy of this

Cng lady. And for you, Miss Dorothy, I pray you to read the
ks which I shall give you. Believe me, you have my prayers,
my earnest prayers, and those of the two saintly ladies of this house.
In six months my lord, if he be in the same mind, and unless you
have already sent him away, will look for your reply.'

Lord Derwentwater, without a word, fell on his knee again, and
kissed my fingers. Then he left the room with bowed head.

* Not the chief of the Radcliffes only, but also his wife and his
children and grandchildren must remain in the ancient Catholic
Faith,' said Mr. Howard gravely.

And then I understood, for the first time fully, that the passion
of my lord, however vehement, would never, by those greater than
himself, be allowed to imperil his adherence to the old religion.
Alas ! just as poor Frank had said, ' You play with us, you feast
with us, you sport with us ; but you will not allow us to fight for
you, or to make laws for you, to administer justice to you.' So I
thought bitterly that I might say, as a Protestant, to the Catholics,
4 You play with us, you feast with us, you make love to 110 ; but you
will not marry us.'

CHAPTER XVHL

A CASE OF CONSCIENCE.

So, after a long ride of three days, we arrived again at Bamborongh
— what things had I seen since last we left the Manor House !— and
in the quiet life as of old I hud leisure to read and reflect upon the

ISO DOROTHY FORSTER.

tracts and books given to me by Mr. Howard. In BO far as they
spoke of obedience to authority, then truly I was entirely at one
with his friends, because I had always been brought up to submit
myself dutifully to those in authority, and especially my spiritual
pastors and masters. Yet I was thankful that our own rule was so
light and our yoke so easy to be borne compared with the practices
imposed upon the faithful in that other flock — as fasting throughout
Lent, and on Fridays, and on many other days in the year. But
when the books spoke of Early Fathers, and writings almost sacred,
and Decretals, and so forth, then was I lost ; because if these things
were true, why was not the Lord Bishop converted long since, and
the Yicar of Bamborough ? And if things were not true, as
were therein stated, why was not the Pope himself long since con-
verted ? Ah ! how happy a thing it would be for the whole world
if the Pope could be converted ! There would then be no more
Inquisitions, no more tortures, no more quarrels, no more parting
of lovers. The Bishop of Rome would be but as the Bishop of
Canterbury — and this is a foolish woman's idle dream.

Truly, I was little forwarded for all my reading. I had no one
with whom I could consult, because, as my lord's proposals had not
been made either to Tom or to my father, they were in a manner
secret, at least for six months. Strange that Tom suspected nothing.
Never was there at any time a man whose thoughts ran less upon
love or anything to do with love ; and as he never fell in love him-
self (which in the sequel proved a fortunate circumstance), so he
never thought that any would fall in love with his sister. Still less
would it appear to him possible that this could be the case with so
great and exalted a man as Lord Derwentwater, for whom he enter-
tained a profound veneration in spite of continual assurances, made
to gratify his own vanity, that a Forster was as good as a Radcliffe
(which no one has ever doubted, I believe).

For a time, therefore, I meditated alone upon this important
matter. It would be foolish to deny that I was greatly taken by
the prospect which thus suddenly and unexpectedly opened out
before my eyes. Natural pride in my own family forbade any feel-
ing of inferiority — that James Radcliffe was the third earl was only
owing to his father's marriage with King Charles's daughter, who
must needs have a husband among the Peers. The first baronet of
the House received this title after— not before — the honour of
knighthood was conferred upon Sir Claudius Forster. There was,
therefore, no inequality as to family ; and as for lands, possessions,
and wealth, it may be truly said that these entered little into my
mind. But I acknowledge that my imagination was fired with the
person and the qualities possessed by the owner of this coronet and
these lands ; and never since have I looked upon the like of that
noble gentleman — call him rather a prince — in whom were gathered
together so many virtues without one defect. I felt in some sort
even ashamed that such a man might offer his hand and service to
one simple and inexperienced as I was, a mere gentlewoman with
nothing but my beauty (such 63 that might be) and my virtue and

A CASE Of CONSCIENCE. 151

piety (why, there was the mb) to recommend me. He knew Conrtt,
and the great ladies of Versailles and St. Germain's. Was there one
of them too high for him ? Was there, among the greatest ladies of
the proudest aristocracy in the world, even the Rohans, the Mont-
^norencies, or the Lusignans, any who would not be honoured by
such an offer from James Radcliffe, Earl of Derwentwater ?

To refuse it would seem madness ; yet to accept it would be —
might be— a sin so great that it would never be forgiven. It is
criu-1 when religion is pitted against love, and when a girl has to
choose between her lover and her hopes of heaven.

For who can be converted by merely wishing ? Who, by argu-
ment, reading, or thinking, can put away from his mind the
doctrines in which he hath been brought up from childhood ? A
woman might bring herself to hear Mass, to call herself a Catholic,
to confess, to submit to the Church for the sake of her lover and
her husband ; but with what despair must she look forward to that
day when she must give up the pretence, and confess the falsehood
of her life before an offended Judge ! '

I had from infancy been taught, and i ow firmly held, the
doctrines of the Christian faith as professed by tne Church of
England. By what reasoning could I, unassisted, exchange these
for the Roman Catholic doctrines ? And, even if assisted — say by
Mr. Howard — with what face could I ever afterwards meet the
Bishop, and own to him that the authority of this simple Romish
priest had more weight for me than the authority of himself, the
great and lordly Bishop of Durham ? Or with what reply could I
meet the charge that I had thrown away my religion to get me a
lover ? Oh, shame ! Yet such a lover !

The soul can play all manner of juggling tricks with herself.
Therefore it is not wonderful that a woman should be led away for
a time with cases and arguments which at first looked pretty
enough, yet soon crumbled into dust and ashes. As that Naaman
was allowed to go with his master into the Temple of Rimmon,
though it is nowhere stated that he was to profess the worship of
that idol, whoever he may be. (Mr. Hilyard said it was the Pome-
gvanate and the symbol of fertility ; but who would be so foolish
as to worship a mere fruit? Naaman's master must surely have
been better than a fool.) And again, the example of Henry IV. of
France, which hath misled many. Truly no more wicked speech
could have been made than that of his, in which he spoke of valuing
the crown of France at more than a Mass. Put against this the
noble example of Queen Elizabeth, who, in the reign of Queen
Mary, went daily in peril of her life, yet would not give up the
Protestant religion ; and, if you will, the examples of King James
II. and his son, who gave up three crowns rather than relinquish
the faith which they (wrongly) believed to be true. There is no
help for it, I suppose, but that women brought up in the Roman
Faith must needs abide in it. How much the more, then, that wo,
who belong to the Pure and Reformed branch of the Universal
Church, should cling to it as the only hope of our souls I As fox

I §2 &ORO TH Y FORSTEJl.

controversy, Mr. Hilyard once said well, ' There is nothing more
excellent than religion ; but to raise quarrels over it is to dishonour
it. Why should that which is designed to make us happy in another
world make us miserable in this ? Wherefore it comes to this, that
we shall never all be perfectly happy till we are all agreed upon th&
Thirty-nine Articles of the Faith.'

When that happy event will happen none can predict— perhaps
not till long after the present century — a third part of which is,
while I write these words, already gone ; perhaps not till the nine-
teenth century itself is drawing to a close, and the end of all things
is approaching.

Then I laid the case, but with feigned names and false circum-
etances, before Mr. Hilyard. I inquired of him his opinion as to
change of creed in general, whether there were no cases in which it
would be allowed (always supposing that reason and conscience
went the other way). Thus I put before him (as if the Prince was
in my mind) the case of a sovereign whose conversion, real or pre-
tended, would bring ' iappiness to his country ; or a godly minister
whose obedience to tl e law would secure his services to his helpless
parishioners ; or a bi?.ftop who, by outward conforming, might keep
moderate doctrines in his diocese ; or a gentleman who, by pro-
fessing himself of the Church of England, might obtain a commis-
sion of the Queen, and so rise to great honour ; or a woman who,
by acknowledging a faith in which her conscience forbade her to
engage, might make her lover happy, and perhaps, in the event, lead
him to her own Church.

There never, surely, was a man stronger in the cause of virtue
than Mr. Hilyard. If there were more like him, the wickedness of
the age would long since have wholly vanished. As for the example
of his private life, it becomes not a fellow-sinner to judge. If we
may compare small with great, it cannot be denied that the King
who wrote (by Divine guidance) the most perfect book of rules for
the conduct of life, did by no means set a pattern of self-denial in
his own practice. So with Mr. Hilyard.

I put forward my question with much confusion and many
blushes, because I feared that Mr. Hilyard might guess the cause
and secret purpose of my simulated cases. He answered not for
some moments, looking earnestly into my face. Then he, too,
changed colour, and gave his answer, walking about the room and
in some agitation of manner which surprised me.

'As for the cases advanced,' he said, 'there are none to be for a
moment considered, except the last. The King who sacrificed his
conscience to his ambition laid open a way to greater evils. Heaven
raised up in Henry IV. a champion for the Protestant Faith second
only to that great and god-like man, Coligny. Had he adhered, the
wars might have continued and France might have been partitioned ;
but the Protestants would have won their freedom. The duty of a
minister is clearly indicated in the history and example of Mr.
Gilpin, of Hough ton-le- Spring, who persevered in his Protestant
teaching throughout the reign of Bloody Mary, ever keeping ready

A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 153

a white shirt in which to present a comely appearance at the stake.
Yet, being haled up to London, he broke his leg, which, causing
him to lie in bed, saved his life, because Mary died, and good Queen
Bess succeeded. As for a young gentleman of a Catholic family,
we have,' he said, * many instances around us of those who, for want
of a profession, pass idle and ignoble lives, as if drinking and sport
were the only objects for which man, a rational being, was created.
But as for their consciences, you must please to excuse me. I
doubt much whether the conscience of such a young gentleman
would trouble him so much as his sense of honour ; and once entered
upon the roll of a regiment, there would be mighty little further
question as to religion. The English armies,' he added, ' are Protes-
tant to the backbone. That cannot be denied. Yet how far their
lives and daily conversation are guided by their religion, and how
far their practice is conversant with their profession, I am not
prepared to say. If, therefore, Miss Dorothy, any of his
honour's Catholic friends are minded to renounce the Pope, in
order to bear a pike or carry the colours, encourage them by all
means.'

4 There remains,' he went on to say, ' the last case.' Again he
stopped, and again earnestly gazed upon my face. 'I am not, I
confess, skilled in casuistry ; nor can I advise as to the case. Yet,
were it to arise, I would advise the woman to whom it occurs to
take the matter seriously in hand, and if she have friends and rela-
tions in authority and high places, to lay the decision before them,
as one which affects not her happiness only or the happiness of her
lover, but also her conscience and her soul.' He said this very
seriously, so that his words fell deeply into my heart.

' I know,' he went on, ' that a beautiful woman can persuade a
man who loves her to any course which she desires ; for which
cause Kings are led by their mistresses, and, in Catholic countries,
the mistresses are guided by the priests. We need not go back to
consider the case of Achilles, of Samson, ^Eneas, David, Marc
Antony, and Solomon. There are instances enough of our own
times. Witness our own Charles II., and the Grand Monarque
himself, now a slave to Madame de Maintenan. Truly, Miss
Dorothy, an amorous man is like a weathercock in the hands of the
woman whom he loves. Wherefore the poets have rightly feigned
that love turns one into a boar, and another into an ass, and a third
into a wolf — why, the French King hath been boar, wolf, and a««
in turn. But, you may argue, the virtuous love of one woman and
one man is not to be compared with the fleeting amours of a King.
That is indeed true ; not the less is it true that the woman able to
fix the affections of one who, though a husband, remains a lover,
may lead him whithersoever she pleases. The case, Miss Dorothy,
is too high for me. If I were a Jesuit, I should say, " The end
justifies the means ; lot the maiden confer happiness upon the man,
relying on her strength to lead him into a better way." But I am
an English Churchman, and I doubt. The rule is laid down plain
for all to read, " The lip of truth shall be established forever, but a

1 54 bORO THY FOttSTER.

lying tongue is bnt for a moment." Wherefore let this young
gentlewoman seek counsel of those in authority.'

Mr. Hilyard said this with so much gravity that his words sank
into my heart, and I began to ask myself seriously whether, even
for my lover, I ought to do so grave a thing. For several days
afterwards I observed that he was agitated, and would go a-walking
by himself in the garden, shaking his forefinger as he went, as one
does who is in trouble. I knew very well, poor man, that he was
in trouble about me, and that he had divined my secret.

I followed not his advice, however, in asking the counsel of those
in authority. Kather I put the decision off, as is the custom of
women when in a doubt. Time, accident, authority, would decide.
Again, a woman must not for ever be thinking about her love
affairs. Was there not my brother Tom to think of ? Then came
the spring, and June was upon us, and my lord's visit was to come
within a very little while, and I was no nearer the Altar and the
Mass (yet open to persuasion) than I had been at the New Year.

I know not how Lady Crewe became possessed of my secret, and
therefore I was greatly astonished when I received, only the day
before my lord arrived, the following letter, sent to me all the way
from Durham by special messenger. The letter, wrapped in three
folds of paper, was superscribed : ' These for the private eye of my
niece, Dorothy Forster.' I opened it with such fear and trembling
as always seize the person who receives a letter. And all the more
because I knew from whence it came, and guessed quickly what it
might contain.

4 MY DEAR AND LOVING NIECE,' the letter began,—' It hath been
brought to my knowledge that a young gentleman, whose name
need not be mentioned between us, is desirous of making thee an
offer of his hand and estate. The hand is most honourable and the
estate is goodly. Also the young gentleman is reported to possess
virtues and accomplishments quite uncommon even among those of
exalted rank. For these reasons the Bishop and myself would
be willing to give our approval to the proposal as one likely to lead
to the earthly happiness of both, although the suitor is still a man
in very early manhood. My own happiness, as my niece knows
very well, has been obtained by marriage with a man forty years
my senior, and immeasurably above what any woman can hope in
wisdom, benevolence a * 1 true piety. Yet I say not that happiness
may not be had between persons more nearly of an age— when, that is,
the husband is able to inspire respect, if not awe, and the wife is
filled with the desire of doing her duty according to the submission
enjoined by Apostolic law.

' There is, however, in this case, the difficulty that the young
gentleman is a Catholic, and may not marry any outside the pale of
his own Church. Nor can he, being bound in honour, change the
faith in which he hath been educated. My lord the Bishop hath
very seriously considered the case, and asked himself the question
whether a young woman in such a position may with a good con-

i«»ionpo f

A CASE Of CONSCIENCE. i$$

science embrace the religion of her lover. He bids me now admonish
you that such an act, even with the intention of, perhaps, weaning
her lover from his opinions, cannot be allowed as lawful or permitted
on the ground of expediency. Wherefore, my dear Dorothy, should
this suit be persevered in, we look from thee for such behaviour aa
becomes the dignity of a Forster and the duty of a Churchwoman.
And think not but that thou shalt be rewarded in some way —
how, we know not, yet believe that she who doth righteously shall
receive a crown. Marriage, child, is an honourable condition ; yet
they do well sometimes who are not married ; and truly, I myself
•waited until I was already twenty-seven before I married my
lord.

' I learn, further, that thy brother knoweth nought of this
matter. It is well ; Tom is more generous than prudent ; his
counsels are too much guided by the wine of yesterday. Tell him
nothing unless it be necessary ; let it not be known for vanity's
sake that this alliance was offered to you ; let it be kept a secret,
for the sake of the young gentleman, that you refused him. In all
difficulties, my dear niece, write to me for guidance, resting well
assured that the Bishop is ever ready to give his consideration to
the affairs of his wife's family.

' I hear little or nothing new from London. They talk of letters
between the Prince and his sister ; and that he is now at Bar-le-Duc.
Our friends in London are daily growing more confident, and the
country is reported more impatient ; therefore we hope and pray
daily that when the Queen dies, though this event may not happen
for a great many years, the Prince will quietly return and take His
place without opposition, or any bloodshed.

' I grieve that my nephew Tom doth not yet consider it to be
his duty to marry, so that heirs may be reared for the great estate
which he will some day obtain. The misfortunes of the Forsters
in losing three goodly sons without issue have been so great that I
would fain see another generation arise in whom the line should be
continued. There were nine of us as children — who would desire
more ? — and now but one survives— myself. I learn that the monu-
ment I have ordered for my late brother's memory is nearly ready
for Bamborough Church ; wherefore I purpose this summer, if my
lord's health continues good, to journey northwards, in order to see
that my design hath been faithfully earned out. I am desired by
the Bishop to convey to thee his blessing.

4 Thy loving Aunt,

* DOROTHY CREWE.'

This letter was like a surgeon's knife, so keen was its edge and
so intolerable was its pain, even though it was wholesome for the
soul !

The inclination of a girl is not a thing with which the world is
concerned. Yet I must confers that the pain, the anguish, the
bitterness of losing that dear hope which had made me happy for
six months, were more than i could well bear. Alas ! I know the

156 DOROTHY FORSTER.

pains of love as well as the blessings of love. Oh ! why — why could
they not let me alone ? Why should not I make my lord happy
for a short lifetime, and pretend for his dear sake the belief which
I could not feel ? Happy those who number not a bishop among
their parents and superiors !

So farewell, love ! And now for a time the sun was to be
darkened, the moon was to shed no light ; there would be no
perfume of flowers, sweet breath of wind : the sea should be a
blood-red sheet, and the green fields as a desert of sand, until the
Lord should send a softened heart with resignation to the Heavenly
will.

CHAPTER XIX.

MY DECISION.

JUST as Mr. Forster's visit to Dilston is by some pretended to have
had a political meaning, so Lord Derwentwater's visit to Bamborough
in the following June is also wrongly so described, as will imme-
diately become apparent. In truth, there was in neither any
political or rebellious intentions whatever ; but as at Dilston the
Radcliffe cousins assembled to keep their Christmas and New Year
with the Earl, so at Bamborough the Protestant gentlemen, in-
cluding those who then and afterwards remained well affected to
the Hanover usurpation, gathered together to meet Lord Dervvent-
water. People in the south cannot understand how Protestants
and Catholics can meet in Northumberland without immediately
falling to loggerheads and quarrelling about the Pope. And it
seems the belief of the common sort in London that the appearance
of a Catholic should be the signal for the throwing of brickbats,
dead cats, and stones at his head. This kind of piety we do not
understand. Alas ! it was my unhappiness daring this time of
company, when everyone expected smiles and a face of joy, to feel
that such a reply would have to be given to my lord as would fill
two hearts with unhappiness. I carried Lady Crewe's letter with
me always, not for comfort, but for support, for it afforded me
small consolation to know that I had the permission or license of
the Church to make myself unhappy. Father Howard, on the
other hand, would have given me authority to be happy. I per-
ceived, too, that Mr. Hilyard had fully divined my secret, because
he now sat glum, and looked at me with eyes full of pity, though
he spoke not for a time. This is a grievous thing for a young
woman who hath a great secret, to find that a third person has
guessed it ; for then must she either confess it to that person, in
which case she blabs the secret of another, or she must go on pre-
tending to hide what has already been discovered, like an ostrich
with her eggs, or the pelican who is said to bury her head in the
sand, and so to think that all is concealed. Mr. Hilyard gave no
sign of his discovery save by tell-tale eyes, which, dissimulator of
looks though he was, could not hide from me the truth that he
knew my trouble and sorrow.

A day or two before my lord arrived, he began, Tom being

MY DECISION. 157

present, to nr»eak very briskly about badgers, otters, cub-foxes, s«n-
fowl, and other things with which his lordship might be amused ;
and presently, Tom having withdrawn, he said to me gravely :

4 Miss Dorothy, I would that I could hope to see the roses return
to your cheeks when my lord comes. Believe me, those others who
love you (in thine own station and with the respect due) take it
greatly to heart that they see you thus going in sorrow and trouble.'

At these kind words I began to cry and lament.

4 Nay,' he said, 4 there is, be assured, no man in the world worth
your tears. And there is remedy for those who will find it, as is
shown in the " Remedium Amoris." Cressida forsook Troilus for
Diomede ; Paris left (Enone for Helen ; Helen preferred, to the
tender care of the best of husbands, Paris and the flouts of the
Trojan ladies ; one Cupid is painted contending with another,
because one love driveth out another.'

4 1 know not,' I replied, 4 how there can be two loves in one life.
These are idle words, Mr. Hilyard. What is Helen or Cressida
tome?'

4 It were much to be desired,' said Mr. Hilyard, without replying
to this question, 4that the passion of love could be treated as
copiously and minutely by ingenious women as it hath been by
men, who have written all the love-stories and poems on love, so
that the world may very well learn the miseries caused by that
passion in men, and its incitements, growth, violence, and remedies.
Yet for women there has been nothing (a few fragments by Sappho
excepted) written by themselves to tell of the origin, symptoms,
and strength of the passion, nor how it differs from the correspond-
ing emotion in men. So that, though physicians may very well
understand the existence of the disease (if it be a disease), even
though it exhibit to outward view less violent symptoms than in
men, they are apt to treat it as if it were the same in kind, whereas
(as I conceive and in my poor judgment) it is by no means of the
same kind. This I could make manifest to you, had you the patience
to listen.'

4 Indeed, sir,' I said, 4 1 doubt not that you are a very learned
person ; but suffer me, pray, to know my own heart without your
interpretation.'

4 For the cure of love in young men,' he went on, ' there are
prescribed many things of little service in the case of the other
sex. For instance, fasting, exercise, study, the use of lettuce,
melons, water-lilies, and rue, combined (in obstinate cases) with
flogging. None of these remedies seem convenient or apt for a
woman ; indeed, for a true remedium amoris I think there is
nothing absolutely sovereign for a woman, except the comprehen-
sion or the discovery that the object of her passion, on account of
some vitium or defect which he may possess in mind or body, is
among his fellows contemptible or mean. Others think that •
woman is most easily cured by the knowledge of her lover's in-
fidelity or loss of affection ; but this produces jealousy, and jealousy
incites to revenge, or even madness. Wherefore, Miss Dorqthy, I

1 58 DORO THY FORSTER.

would recommend to all young ladies who are in love that they
should steadily keep before their imaginations the imperfections of
their lovers.'

' Oh, sir,' I cried, 'this talk is trifling ! You have found out my
secret and shamed me. You know that I love a man whom I cannot
marry. Let that be enough. Why tease me with this foolish prating
of lettuce and water-lilies ? My lord may — nay, he must — go away
and find another woman for his wife. This must I bear without
jealousy or revenge, as a Christian woman should, because there ia
no help for it. But that I should think upon his defects, who hath
none ! Fie, Mr. Hilyard ! I thought not you could say anything
so foolish and so cruel.'

' Forgive me,' he replied, seeing that I was now moved to anger.

' Why, after this foolish talk about fickle women (I may not .have
been so beautiful as Helen, but I have certainly been more constant),
and about the symptoms of love (as if any woman who respects
herself would talk to a man about her thoughts and hopes), and
about love's remedies and lettuces (as if what one eats and drinks
could alter the affections of the heart !) — after all this talk, I say,
to advise me that I should fix my mind on my lord's imperfections
— of all men the least imperfect !'

' Forgive me, Miss Dorothy. I know of no defects in his lord-
ship, except that he hath made you unhappy with loving you — a
thing which he could not help, unless he had been the most in-
sensible of men. Yet I would venture on anything if I could only
restore the merry face of my mistress. Did you take counsel with
any— any in authority ?'

Here he blushed and looked shamefaced ; I know not why.

1 Lady Crewe hath written to me, enjoining me, in the name of
the Bishop, to proceed no farther.'

' Yet your happiness is more to me — I mean, to yourself — even
than the order of the Bishop. Wherefore, Miss Dorothy' (he
endeavoured to speak boldly, but failed, and spoke in some con-
fusion, like unto one who first would open up his mind as regards
a horrid crime) — 'wherefore let us consider that case of conscience
which you once laid before me again. It may be that— we shall
see— the Bishop may not thoroughly understand. There are excuses '
(he seemed feeling about for them). * It may very well be argued
that a young gentlewoman, such as you described in your questions,
might be considered as an exceptional case ; for not only her own,
but also her lover's happiness, is concerned. And he a great noble-
man. And though we hold a purer form of faith, yet it cannot be
denied that the Catholics have a most venerable — — '

' Oh, Mr. Hilyard,' I interrupted, ' your arguments come too late !'

1 If you are unhappy,' he replied, * how much more I, who am the
cause !'

* You the cause?'

' Yes,' he hung his head ; ( because— because — well, if I had given
a different reply to that question.'

He sighed again, and Went away ; but looked as if there was

MY DECISION. 159

something still en his mind, if ho dared to say it ont. And still he
was silent, and behaved like one with a burden on his conscience
when in my company. But this did not at all prevent him from
bi-inij in good voice, and with a cheerful countenance, such as be-
comes a man who is happy and of a clear conscience, when Mr.
Forster had visitors and the drinking and singing began. However,
I ha'l long ceased to wonder at the variations in this man, all for
virtue in the morning, with a conscience tender, and converse pious
and sincere. Yet in the evening, virtue forgotten, folly made wel-
conio, and revelry proclaimed with wicked and idle songs.

The month of June is the spring of Northumberland, and a most
beautiful time it is, when every morning yields a new surprise, and
the dullest heart cannot but rejoice in the long days and the warm
sunshine, after the cold east winds of April and May. In June the
very sands upon the shore below the castle show of brighter hue,
while the hedges are gay with flowers, and the trees are all glorious
with their new finery of leaf. Nowhere, Mr. Hilyard assures me,
are the leaves of the trees more large and full, or the flowers of
field, hedge, and ditch more varied, than in this favoured county.
It is in this month that a young lover should woo his mistress ; it
was in this month that Lord Derwentwater came to pay his court
to one who was, alas ! bidden to say him nay.

He came for no other purpose — though it was given out that he
came to stay with Tom Forster, to visit his property in the north
of the county (in right of this the north transept of Bamborough
Church belonging to him), to talk politics, and whatever the people
pleased — he came, I say, with no other object than to see me, and
to remind me that the six months had come to an end.

On the first day, and on the second, and on the third, there was
no opportunity for private discourse between us, because there was
no moment when so honoured a guest was left alone to follow his
own course unattended ; one gentleman after another being pre-
sented to his lordship, and continual amusements (whereof great
men must become wearied) being provided for him. But still he
followed me with eyes full of love, and still I trembled, thinking of
what was to come, and how I should find the courage to say it.

The first day he explored, witL a great company, the dismantled
and ruinous chambers of the great castle, Mr. Hilyard going with
the party in order to discourse upon the history and antiquities of
the place, to describe its sieges, and to enlarge upon the greatness of
the Forsters, so that some gentlemen present of equally good family
wished that they, too, had in their own houses an Oxford scholar
who could keep their accounts, rehearse, as if be were a great
historian, the ancient glories of their line, and in the evening sing,
and act, and play the buffoon for them to laugh. Truly a valuable
servant, a Phoenix of stewards! Lord Derwentwater spoke in
great admiration of this venerable pile, compared with which, he
said, his own ruined castle of Langley was small and insignificant.
He also made some very pertinent remarks about the decay of great
families, and the passage of estates into the female line, and con-

f 60 DORO TH Y FORSTER.

gratulaterl Mr. Forster the Elder (of Etherston) on the happj
circumstances which still preserved this great monument for the
original and parent stock, not knowing the truth, that the place
belonged to none other than Lord Crewe.

In the evening there was a very splendid supper ; not, truly, so
fine as could be given at Dilston, but a banquet to simple gentlemen,
and there was great havoc among the bottles, though as usual his
lordship begged early to be excused, on the ground that though his
heart was Northumbrian, his head was still French, and could not
endure the generous potations of his friends. They would have
been better pleased had he remained toasting and drinking with
them, until all were laid on the floor together. In this manner,
indeed, many of them proved the friendliness with which they
regarded his lordship.

The next day a party was made up to go a-shooting among the
wild birds of the Staples and the Fames, though there is little sport
where the birds are so plentiful and so tame that it is mere slaughter
and butchery. That seems to me true sport when a pheasant is
discerned among the bushes, and presently put up ; or a covey of
partridges rises among the turnips, or a fox is made to stake his
swiftness and cunning against the swiftness of the hounds ; but it
is a poor thing indeed to stand upon a rock and shoot among a
flying crowd of birds who have no fear of man.

On the morning of the fourth day, Lord Derwentwater rose early,
and finding me already up and dressed, surprised me by asking for
a dish of chocolate. The habit of drinking chocolate in the morn-
ing, although it hath found great favour (surely it is a most de-
lightful and wholesome beverage) among the ladies, is as yet little
esteemed by the gentlemen of the north. To these last a tankard
of small-ale is considered better for the composing of the stomach
and the satisfying of thirst.

4 You shall have, my lord,' I said, ' as fine a dish of chocolate as if
you were at St. Germain's itself.'

I begged him to wait a few minutes only, and ran quickly and
called Jenny, my maid, to help me. Then, though my heart was
beating, I made the chocolate with my own hands, strong, hot, and
foaming, while Jenny spread a wtiite cloth and laid the table in the
garden under a walnut-tree. When the chocolate was ready I found
a new scone made of the finest meal, boiled two or three eggs, and
spread all out, with cream and yellow butter from the dairy, and a
dish of last year's honey.

4 Your breakfast is ready, my lord,' I said, like a waiting-maid.
*" But you must take it in the garden, where I have laid it for you.'

He followed me, and protested that he had neither expected nor
deserved so great an honour as to be served by Miss Dorothy.

' I am pleased,' I said, ' and honoured in doing so small a service
for your lordship, if you can eat eggs and honey and drink chocolate,
instead of pressed beef and beer.'

* It is the food of the gods,' he replied, ' or, at least, of Arcadian
shepherds. Dorothy, was there aver in Arcadia auoh a shepherdess ?

MY DECISION. 1 61

knnirs not whut might have been said further had not Mr.
anpi-amJ abruptly, taking tbc early air in a morning-gown
ragged and worn. He would have retired, seeing his lordship, but
I bade him stay.

' Here is another of our shepherds,' I said. * But fie, Mr. Hil-
yard ! Do shepherds in Arcadia wear ragged gowns when they rise
in the morning to see great noblemen?'

' Mr. Hilyard will not allow anyone to forget him,' said his lord-
ship kindly. 'He discourses learnedly by day on history and anti-
quity, and in the evening he displays the powers of the most
accomplished mime. I thank you, sir, for your exertions in both
capacities. Especially, let me say, for the former.'

* My lord,' said Mr. Hilyard, * I am like the nightingale. My pipe
is kept for the evening. By day I am at the commands of Miss
Dorothy.'

4 Then, sir, truly yon ought to be the happiest of men.'

' My lord,' replied Mr. Hilyard gravely, ' 1 have the kindest and
best of mistresses, who hath ever treated me with a consideration I
should be the basest wretch not to feel and acknowledge. In this
house there is not one who doth not daily pray for her happiness,
and I, who am the most unworthy, pray the most continually.'

So saying, he bowed low and left the garden, for which I thanked
him in my heart, knowing why he did so ; and yet trembled, because
I remembered my weakness at Dilston, and that I would need to
keep careful watch over my words, to discipline my inclinations,
and to submit myself and my will wholly to the authority of the
Bishop.

Then were we left alone in the garden, whither in the early
morning none ever came, except sometimes Cue gardener. The
place was well fitted for our talk, being a bower surrounded on two
sides by a hawthorn hedge, now all in blossom and at its sweetest ;
on the third side having an elderberry-tree, just preparing to flower,
and looking upon the bowling-green. Often in the warm evenings
tne gentlemen would take their tobacco after supper in this retreat.

' Will your lordship first eat your breakfast ?' I said, when Mr.
Hilyard left us. 'I hope you will find the chocolate to your liking.
Let me give yon a little more cream ; the eggs are new laid this
corning ; the air should sharpen your appetite ' — talking fast, so
that he might be tempted to go on eating, and forget for a moment
what was in his mind. But he pushed the plate from him.

4 Dorothy,' he cried, ' you think that I can eat when I have found
at last an opportunity to speak with you ? For what reason, think
you, did I come here ? Was it to shoot birds oil the islands ? Was
it to drink the Prince's health ?'

'Alas! my lord, can you not refrain for a little while? Oh, let
me be happy for a short half-hour in serving you ! Let mo talk of
other things — of Dilston. Is your brother, Mr. Frank, well and
cheerful ? Is Mr. Charles still in good spirits ? How is the good
Mr. Howard?'

1 No, Dorothy, I cannot r«f rain. I most toll you — because I came

162 DOROTHY FGRSTER.

here to tell y-m — that I love you more and more. I think upon
your image by day and by night. Five months of meditation have
made me only more thy slave. My dear, give me life, or bid me go
away and die.'

Now, Heaven guard the religion of a poor weak woman !

Then, while he fell upon his knee and kissed my hand as he had
done at Dilston, the same strange weakness fell upon me. like a
swoon or fainting-fit ; my knees trembled as I stood ; my heart
began to beat fast, my eyes swam, and I said nothing. Oh ! so
overwhelming and so strong is this passion in man that it carries
away a woman, too, like a straw in a current. And all this while
his voice fell upon my ear like music.

' Oh, Dorothy, Dorothy ! there is nowhere in this world so divine a
face ; there are no brown e^es like thine, my dear ; there is no voice
BO sweet as thine ; there are no such soft brown curls, no cheeks so
red and white, no lips so rosy. Oh, my dear ! if I was in love with
thee at Christmas, I am ten times more in love at Midsummer.'

Again I felt the pang, but now with tenfold agony, of the
Bishop's injunction — ah! why is virtue always so harsh? Again
was I tempted, so that if he had, in a way, forced me — if he had
only taken me in his arms and sworn never to let me go till I* pro-
mised to be of his religion, I must most certainly have yielded.
He did not — sinner that I am, I have never ceased to be sorry that
he did not — therefore religion triumphed, and I remain a Protestant
to this hour. Yet at that moment I would have thrown all away —
yes, all — obedience to my Bishop, to my aunt, the faith in which I
had been educated, all to go away with this man and cleave unto
him. Never again, never again can I be so tempted ; never again
could there happen to me temptation like unto this. Kind Heaven
will not suffer it more than once in a lifetime.

* Oh ! rise, my lord,' I cried at last. * At least let us talk togethr r
reasonably. I am not a goddess ; I am a poor weak woman, ignorant
and rustic ; I am not worthy of your regard. Leave me to my own
people.'

He obeyed and 'rose, but his eyes were wild and his cheek flushed.
He walked to and fro for a space, swinging his arms, until he grew
composed. Then he came back to me and tried to talk soberly.

He spoke, as he always did, with the greatest modesty about him-
self. He was fully aware, he said, that an education in France,
although it had not made him a Frenchman, very much separated
him from his countrymen ; so that on bis return he found the
customs strange to him, and the language, though he spoke English
from the cradle, difficult.

'Moreover,' he said, 'I know that my manners are not yours. I
have not the frank cordiality of your brother, or the boisterous
jollity of his friends ; I cannot drink with them ; I am not accus-
tomed to their noisy fox-hunting, otter-hunting, badger-baiting ; it*
is strange to me when a gentleman takes a quarterstalf and for half
an hour belabours, and is belaboured by, a rustic ; in my very dresa
I lack the simplicity which distinguishes them.' (Here I could not

MY DECISION.

163

choose but smile, because it was a kind of nature in the Earl to
dress finely ; and if fine clothes are not made for such as Lord
Derwentwater, for whom should they be made ?) * Again, I know
not rightly how to treat my people. In France they are not con-
sidered ; they make the roads, plough the land, find the soldiers,
pay the taxes, but they are not regarded. A French noble is like a
creature of another race, to whom the lower race is born subject.
I hear of the English freedom and independence ; yet when I come
home I am received with ten times the welcome and respect which
the French canaille use towards their betters. Here they do not
hate the noblesse ; on the contrary, they love them. Why, in France
a noble thinks little of kicking, beating, and cuffing any man of the
lower orders, even if he be a scholar or a poet. Here, gentle or
simple, if you strike a man he will return the blow, with the law at
his back and no Bastille to fear. So great a thing is liberty ! And
so hard it is for a gentleman to know how rightly to treat his
people ! Their friend I would fain be ; their equal I cannot be ;
their oppressor I might be, yet would rather die. How to deserve
their love and to retain their respect ? Dorothy, let it be your task
to teach me !'

> Alas ! my lord, there are many better teachers than myself.'

* Nay. I have been walking in the village with Mr. Hilyard, and
speaking with the people. Everywhere it is the same story — the
goodness of Miss Dorothy : how kind she is to the poor ; of what
an open hand and tender heart ! There are more poor on the Rad-
cliffe estates than at Bamborough ; come to them and be their
guardian angel.'

I replied, but with trembling voice, that an angel I could never
be ; and as for going to Dilston, that was impossible, and I must,
alas ! still remain at the Manor House.

' There is so great a difference,' he went on, * between the people
of France and of England. Here they dance not on a Sunday, nor
is there any playing of the pipe ; they do not laugh and sing greatly,
yet they are better fed and better dressed, and are truly more happy ;
they seem sad at first, but they are not sad ; sometimes they seem
surly, yet they may be trusted. Teach me, Dorothy, better to
know this brave folk of Northumberland.'

' Oh, my lord,' I replied, ' you are learning every day ; you will
understand them soon, far better than I could teach you.'

For a reason which you will presently hear, he did not learn to
understand them, and with all his virtues never became quite a
Northumbrian.

'And I am separated from the rest, though there are many
Catholics in this country, by our religion. This one does not
nud Tstand in a Citholic country, where the hatred of the faith
by Protestants is not comprehended. Men such as myself, wjio
would fain know the true temper of the people, are open to great
danger of deceit. Already I perceive that many things currently
reported at St. Germain's were false. In the business of his High-
ness, we are dependent on our messengers, who may have their own

11—2

164 DOROTHY FORSTER.

purposes to serve, and may see with eyes of exaggeration.' IT«
stooped and sighed. ' For all these reasons, Dorothy, take pity
on me.'

' My lord, if pity be of any use, from my very heart would I
give you that pity.'

' If you give it, show it, Dorothy ; give me, as well, your hand.'

I made no answer. It was too much for me to bear, that he,
so noble and so good, should sue thus humbly for so small a thing.

' Let me see with those sweet English eyes,' he said. ' Let me be
taught by that voice, which is all the music I care to hear.'

' Oh, my lord, it cannot be ! Nay, do not force a poor girl against
her conscience. First, I am a simple gentlewoman, and know not
the manners of the Court. What would her ladyship, your mother,
say of such a match ?'

' It needs not,' he answered, * to consider my mother's objections,
if she have any. She is now with her third husband, and has no
longer any right to be consulted. That is not your reason, Dorothy.'

Like all women, I played round the point, as if I would escape it.

'Next, my lord, you want one who in manner and appearance
would adorn the high place to which you raise your Countess.'

Here, indeed, he vehemently protested that there never had been,
and never would be, one more beautiful, more gracious, more
worthy of the highest rank than the fair Dorothy.

' And yet,' he said, ' these are not your reasons. Why, for your
sake would I give up rank and dignities, with all my possessions —
happy with you if I had to go to the plantations of Virginia, or the
savage wilds of New England.'

' No, my lord ; those are not my reasons. Alas ! I have but one
reason. Father Howard instructed me six months ago what that
reason would be.'

' Dorothy, have you not listened to his arguments ?'

1 Indeed, my lord, I have read them all, and with a heart willing
to be convinced, Heaven knows ! Why, what should I have to
reply when a scholar tells me this and that ? How can a poor
woman do more than obey authority and trust in the Lord ? Yet
just as your own honour keeps you to the faith in which you were
trained, so does mine forbid me to leave my own save by permission
and authority of those who are my natural pastors and masters.
For if I did, I believe I should have no more, as long as I live, any
rest or comfort in my conscience.'

He made no reply at first to this.

'It is your honour, my lord, as you have yourself told me.
Would it be to my honour, if I, being too igno'rant to decide on
these grave questions, were to abandon the faith of my people, pre-
sumptuously give them the lie, and assure so great a scholar as the
Lord Bishop of Durham that he is wrong ? Can I do this thing,
my lord, even for your sake ?'

' Is this, then,' he asked sadly, ' the only thing which standa
between us? Good Godl that we should part because priesti
cannot agree I'

AfY DECISION. 165

1 Yes,' I said ; ( there is nothing else, believe me. Can your lord-
ship think that I am insensible to the offer of so much nobleness—
BO far greater than any merit of mine ? But yet it is an obstacle
which cannot be overcome.'

4 Nay ; but for my sake, Dorothy, listen to Mr. Howard. He will
place before you, so plainly that there shall be no manner of doubt
possible, reasons which shall compel you, without thinking of me
at all, to come into the true Church. I would have no pretended
convert. I do not ask you to listen to any arguments of mine ; for,
indeed, I am not a Doctor of Divinity — I know not how to defend
the Church. There are others who pray daily at the altar for thy
conversion. When I came from Dilston, my aunt, whose heart you
have won — I mean the Lady Mary — whispered to me, " Bring her
back with you ; Mr. Howard is ready to resolve her doubts, and I
will pray for her."

I shook my head. There was more than a Mass between us. If
it had been only a Mass, Mr. Howard might easily have removed all
scruples with ease, because Love would have gone before to clear
the way. There was, besides, the tall and venerable form of the
Lord Bishop. He seemed at this moment to stand before me,
upright as a dart, warning me with a frown, which made me tremble,
not to sell my conscience for a wedding-ring.

4 Shall we say,' Lord Derwentwater went on, * that your learning
and reason are more than a match for Mr. Howard and all the
Church ? If it be so, then come and convert him and all of us.
Only come and listen to him.'

4 Oh, I must not !' I replied. ' My lord, I have my own people
to consider, as well as my own conscience. I doubt not — I am a
very weak woman — that the reasons of Mr. Howard, and the
prayers of Lady Mary, and my own inclination, would speedily
effect the conversion which you desire. Yet I am strictly ad-
monished by the Bishop, Lord Crewe, that I already belong to a
Church with authority, and that it is the Church of my father and
mother.'

* Dorothy, it is for love ! By Heaven, if you love me as I love
you, no priest, be he bishop or not, shall stand between us ! Keep
your own religion then, my dear ; worship how you please. It
must surely be a true religion which such an angel would profess.
Go to your own Church— have your own priest ; I will never inter-
fere. Only suffer me to have mine.'

Then, indeed, was I for a moment overwhelmed, and felt as if,
after all my doubts, heaven itself were opening to me. Each to
keep his own religion ! Why, what could be a happier settlement ?
And love to remain ! Ah, happy ending !

Yet I know now full well that, had I yielded, there would have
been worse trouble before me, and the misery of being torn from
my lover's arms when I thought myself folded securely there for
ever. No one, on either side, would have allowed the marriage ;
either I must be received into the Catholic religion, which the
Bishojr and Lady Crewe, to say nothing of my father and Tom,

1 66 DOROTHy FORSTER.

would never permit, or Lord Derwentwater must come over to th«
Protestants — a thing which his people would, with all their powers,
oppose.

I was saved by timely, nay, providential, reason. I thought of
the dismal condition of parents who agree not in religion, and would
each fain bring up the children in different ways, which must be
intolerable to a mother ; and of the dreadful thing to live with a
man whom you fondly love, but concerning whose soul and ultimate
fate you tremble continually ; and to see your innocent children
torn from the true Fold, and brought up in the way of superstition
and error. All this I thought upon quickly, and without time to
give it words ; and then I strengthened my courage (though heart
beat and lips were dry, and hands trembled and knees were sinking),
and begged my lord, humbly, to go away and leave me, because I
could bear the vehemence of his pleadings no longer. But, I added,
I should never — no, not if my days were prolonged far beyond the
earthly span — never forget the honour he had done me, and would
pray for him night and morning, that he might obtain a wife
worthy of him, and children brave and strong, with a long and
happy life, and all the best and most precious gifts — yea, and more
— that the Lord hath ever vouchsafed to man. Then, being an
honourable gentleman, although so torn and distracted by hia
passion, he desisted, doing and saying no more than to stoop and
kiss me upon my forehead, with a —

' Farewell, sweet Dorothy ! Now must I go — whither, and what
to do, I know not, and care no longer.'

So I was left alone, and, sitting down, could weep and cry to my
heart's content.

How long I sat there I know not ; but presently I heard a step
in the garden, and Mr. Hilyard returned.

' I met my lord,' he said. 'Distraction was in his look : he hath
mounted his horse and ridden away. Oh ! Miss Dorothy, my poor
mistress, forgive me ! it is my fault — my doing — all.'

He threw himself upon his knees.

4 Drive me away,' he said ; ' I deserve nothing less. For it was
none but I who wrote to Lady Crewe and told her of my lord's
passion and your doubt. Had it not been for that letter, the
Bishop would have known nothing, and long before he could
interfere you might have been received in Dilston Chapel. You
have been my friend and benefactress, and this is my gratitude.
Let me call him back. Why, we need not go to Mr. Howard ; I
know all his arguments. In half an hour I will convert you myself.
In a quarter of an hour I will convince you. I will even ask to be
received with you, so as to remain in your service. Be it on my
head ! It is the least that I can do.'

I bade him be silent, and leave me alone. Yet he was so re-
pentant, and so strangely moved, that I gave him my hand in token
of forgiveness, and told him that there was nothing to forgive.

Sometimes, since, I have blamed him for meddling. But, had he
not informed Lady Crewe, the thing must have been told her by

I

LADYSHIPS LETTER. 167

another, and, sooner or later, the whole business must be opened
before her. Besides, he was but doing his duty to his mistress.
Yet I have often wondered why, when my lord had me, so to
sp^ik, in a melting mood— when my heart was torn to pieces with
pity and with love — he did not carry me away straight to the altar,
when I might have been converted, received, baptized, confessed,
and even married all in an hour, and before there was time to
remember the Bishop at all.

CHAPTER XX.

HER LADYSHIP'S LETTER.

NOTHING of all this was told by me to Tom or to my father, though
afterwards they learned it from Lady Crewe. I saw my lord once
more before he went away, but not alone. Nevertheless he whis-
pered, * Dorothy ! you have chosen rightly ; all that you do is well
done. Farewell !' And so he went away, and I lost the noblest
lover that ever wooed a maid. Shortly after I received from Lady
Crcwe a letter, which I copy out for the consolation of other girls
who may be parted from their lovers for conscience or religion's
sake. The letter was not brought by the postboy, but one of the
Bishop's running footmen, who also carried with him a great parcel
of fine things sent to me by her ladyship, kindly hoping thus to
cheer my spirits by the contemplation of black and silver fringe,
Geneva velvet, Brussels lace, Italian silk, soft Indian stuffs, white
sarsnet, blue and gold atlas, flowered damask, and so forth. It is
certainly a great solace to a woman in all the misfortunes of life to
have such things to look at, and I dare say many a sad heart may
have been comforted by such a present as was thus made to me.

'MY DEAR AND LOVING NIECE,' her ladyship wrote, — 'I hear
from a sure hand that the admonition and advice of the Bishop in
this grave affair between Lord Derwentwater and yourself have
been duly considered by you, and have borne fruit in your decision,
which I pity and am sorry for, while I cannot but approve. It is
a grievous thing, indeed, for a woman to send away any gallant
gentleman who offers his hand and his affections (yet have I sent
away many) ; much more grievous is it when that gentleman is
such an one as my Lord of Derwentwater, a man born, I am per-
suaded, to be loved by all, a young gentleman of excellent parts
and great sweetness, not to speak of his exalted rank and his near-
ness to the throne. Among the many offers which I received and
refused, there was not one so important as this. Indeed, my dear,
the conquest of this admirable young gentleman, though it surprises
me not, since the beauty of the women in our family hath ever
been coupled with that most excellent gift, the power of attraction,
yet it should greatly raise you in the estimation of all. There ia
not (believe me) a young woman in all England who would not
long to have so brave a lover at her feet, and it will be all your life
t subject of gratitude and thankfulness that this has happened tc

i68 DOROTHY FORSTER.

you. But if I admire your fortune, child, in this affair, I admire
your behaviour more in letting him go. Grievous it is, without
doubt, and my heart bleeds for your sorrow. Yet, my dear, on the
other hand, consider, I pray, how much more grievous would it b6
to have taken him. For, just as he can never change the religion
in which he was brought up, which is that of his father, of his
mother, of his grandfather King Charles, and of his cousin the
Prince ; so you, for your part, can never change your own, which
is that of all the living Forsters, whether of Etherston or of Barn-
borough, and that of your illustrious uncle, the Bishop of this
diocese. Picture to yourself a distracted household in which the
father is a Papist and the mother a Protestant ; the children in-
clining now this way, now that, as they are swayed by their father's
or their mother's influence ; imagine the unfortunate parents, fearful
each for the future lot of the other, and trembling continually for
fear whether Heaven can be assured for those who hold to this or
to that belief. My dear, thou hast saved thyself from such a fate
in the decision which you have taken. Wherefore, learn to look
upon the Earl as a friend who cannot possibly become a husband
any more than if he were thy brother, and let thy heart be free to
listen to the persuasions of other and more fortunate men. Mean-
time, forget not to take comfort in the thought that thou hast
obeyed the admonition of thy Bishop — a thing much more pleasing
to Almighty God than the mere following of the inclinations and
temptations of the heart. This, in after years and upon thy death-
bed, will afford thee such satisfaction and comfort as the memory
of a short period of passion could never secure. Wherefore, my
dear niece, I leave thee to thy resignation as a Christian, to thy
obedience as a daughter of the Church of England, to thy pride as
a Forster, to bring thee quickly to a cheerful and contented mind.
Of this matter, for the present, enough.

' My lord, I am thankful therefor, continues in such health and
strength as is surprising in a man of his years. To him belongs the
blessing of long continuance in the land. We hear good news con-
cerning the temper of the country, which promises to assume a
settled resolution of loyalty. I know very well on which side my
niece will be found. Rest assured, therefore, that thou hast in me
always the same affection and desire for thy welfare.

' Thy loving Aunt,

'DOROTHY CREWE.'

In this way, therefore, did my love-story end. Because my
lover was so gallant and comely a man, all other men have since
appeared small compared with him. Nor have I ever been able to
endure the thought of a second lover ; though many have offered
themselves, including that faithful pair who would never take nay
for an answer, Peregrine Widdrington and Ned Swinburne. Thus
it is that, though an unmarried woman, I have learned to distinguish
and to understand very clearly the symptoms of love, which are
various, and differ with every man. one becoming melancholy and

HER LADYSHIPS LETTER.

169

another joyful, one hanging his head and another dancing, one
afraid and another confident ; but always the same hungry look in
every eye — the same look as I had seen in my lord's eyes, though
in him much more noble and dignified. But never again, towards
any other man, did I feel the same glow in my own heart, the same
yearning — almost too strong to be endured — to see that look again.
Therefore, I think that, though a woman may perhaps make a good
wife even to a man who ha.^ never touched her heart, we are all so
constituted by nature that we can love but one man. This is that
high and sacred mystery of wedded life, ordained by Heaven for
the mutual support and comfort of man and woman. I have missed
that chief blessing, it is true ; but I have not missed the gift of a
man's love.

It would be foolish to relate how dull were the days and how
tedious the duties of the house after my lord left me. A girl
crossed in love is ever a sorrowful creature ; all such do I pity from
my heart, remembering the pain and anguish which at that time I
endured. In such a juncture and at the outset there is no comfort
in anything — not even in lace and silks ; nor any joy in the day,
nor any rest at night. For the morning brings the thought that
there will be no happiness in the day, and the sun uprising only
renews the pain of yesterday ; in the night, the face of him who is
lost comes back in dreams, and hangs about the pillow like the face
of a ghost. I saw that ghost by night and had those memories by
day. When Mr. Hilyard read to me, I heard not ; when he played
sad music to me, I sat in my chair and listened not ; when he talked
to me, I heeded not. Yet he never wearied in reading, talking, and
playing to me, and was a most patient, thoughtful creature. At
such time the things which happen pass before our eyes as in a
dream, and we see them not, and think nothing strange. Why, I
remember now that Jenny Lee came to me one day, and after say-
ing that she could not bear to see her mistress thus go still in sorrow,
telling me she knew how to get from her grandmother a love- potion,
which, if I pleased, she would send by a sure and secret hand to
Dilston Hall, to bring back my lord, so that, nilly-willy, he should
not choose but come. Instead of rebuking the girl, and soundly
boxing her ears, I only shook my head and said nothing. Yet this
is passing strange — that a servant-maid should offer to practise
iorcery, and her mistress should not reprove her.

Let all this pass : time brings patience and understanding. What
had been done was for conscience and fair Religion's sake. After-
wards, but not for a year or two, Lady Crewe told my brother Tom
what had happened, and it was counted as an honour to us all that
my lord had proposed and I had refused.

At this time my father, being now somewhat advanced in years —
namely, between fifty and sixty — was aweary of the long journey to
London and back, and therefore resolved to retire from the House
of Commons. I know not what passed between Lady Crewe and
Tom on the subject of living in London, but I suppose that she
agreed to boar his charges, so that he should make an appearance in

i?o DOROTHY FOKST&&

the great town worthy of his position in the county and bis place ftl
a Knight of the Shire. Certain it is that he was elected, being the
seventh Forster in unbroken line who thus represented his county
in Parliament.

When Tom was away, which was now for a great while in the
year, I led for the most part a retired life at the Manor House, Mr.
Hilyard managing all her affairs for Lady Crewe, though I confess
that so great a scholar would have been better occupied in a library.
We continued to read together, and in the winter evenings we had
music, chiefly of a grave and serious kind, which elevates the soul
and leads it heavenward. It seemed as if he was contented, when
there was no feasting or fooling, to lead this quiet life. Often, also,
my father would sit with us, especially in the summer evenings, and
take a pipe of Virginia with a mug of ale. But as for play-acting,
singing choruses, and the like, there was none of it. Nor was there
much whisper of what was doing in the world, save for a news-letter
which sometimes reached us. Nothing more astonished me when I
went to London than the multiplication of news and the swiftness
with which the latest intelligence is received and scattered abroad.
Again, Mr. Hilyard had often told me that we lived in an age
remarkable, even like that of Augustus, for wit, poetry, genius, and
learning. Yet of all these wits — of Addison and Steele and the
rest — I should have known nothing, except at second hand, had not
Mr. Hilyard, by great good fortune, lighted on a complete set of the
papers called the Spectator and the Tatler. It was in the year 1713.
and at Alnwick, whither few books find their way. Certainly, I
may truly say that I have never received greater pleasure than from
the reading of these delightful works. Too often the wits of the
age lend their powers to bringing virtue in contempt, so that a
gentlewoman cannot so much as look upon their poems ; and if she
ventures to the theatre, must, for shame' sake, put on a mask.
There is comfort in the thought that such writers receive their
reward in the oblivion into which they speedily fall. Neglect, says
Mr. Hilyard, is the certain fate of those who impiously seek to
make virtue ridiculous.

Each year, when Tom came home, the house was nlled again.
Once more the cellar was opened ; there was feasting, and, in the
evening, singing and drinking, with Mr. Hilyard to keep the com-
pany marry. Pleasant it was to see Tom, happy, as of old, with
every k<itd of sport, never tired of the things which always amused
him, calling for the old songs and the old stories. But there
appeared latterly many strange faces, at sight of whom Mr. Hilyard
looked glum. They were nonjurors, malcontents, and restless men,
who were not satisfied, as most of us in the north, to wait, but must'
needs be for ever pushing and plotting.

As for Tom's way of living in London, it was this — apart from
his Parliament duties. After a mug or two of small-beer in the
morning, he commonly took his dinner at Lovett's, by Charing
Gross, a place much frequented by Members of Parliament and
country gentlemen. Dinner despatchedj he would presently walk

HER LADYSHIPS LETTER. 171

to White's Coffee House, in St. James's Street, where no Whig dare
so much as show his face. Here would he take a dish of coffee or
chocolate, with a pipe of tobacco, and, perhaps, if the weather were
raw, a dram of ratafia or Nantz. In tke evening he went to the
October Club. He was never seen in the Park, or the theatre, or
any of the places where ladies resort ; and while, on the one hand,
he escaped the destruction which the ladies of London sometimes
bring upon country gentlemen, on the other, there was no question
as to marrying an heiress. An easy man, everybody's friend, and to
all the world Tom Forster.

When I asked Mr. Hilyard where the October Club met, he said
he did not know, but certainly as far as possible from Will's. I
know that Will's is the resort of wits and poets, and it was easy to
understand that Mr. Hilyard meant to imply that Tom's friends
were not remarkable for learning and ingenuity. I dare say this
may be so, if only for the reason that most of the Tories are gentle-
men by birth ; now there is no reason at all why one already illus-
trious by his descent should seek glory in the contest of wit, in
which he may be outdone by some smart Templar, or even the son
of a London vintner, like Mr. Hilyard. On the other hand, there
are many great wits and scholars on our side, and I hope that Bishop
Atterbury, or Lord Bolingbroke, may he acknowledged at least the
equal of Addison or Steele. But, perhaps, after all, Mr. Hilyard
only desired to say a smart thing. There is practised among scholars
the art of describing men and things in sharp sentences, mostly ill-
natured. They call this art wit or satire, but it is, to my thinking,
mostly ill-nature or spitefulness.

' If I were in London, which I fear ' — here Mr. Hilyard sighed
heavily — * I shall never see again, I would go to the coffee-houses of
both sides, and then '

4 What then?'

* 1 should learn all that can be said against either side. Believe
me, Miss Dorothy, there would be no greater safeguard for your
Tory gentleman than to hear the Whig argument.'

'Nay,' I said, 'a Forster must be loyal.'

4 Let him be as loyal as you will. But if there is to be fighting
let others begin. Her ladyship is much concerned at the continual
presence of these nonjurors.'

In the early spring of the year 1712, my maid Jenny Lee ran
away from me. I am not able to charge myself with the least
harshness towards the girl, whom I treated with kindness from the
beginning, although I could not forget the strange things I had
myself seen, or else thought I had seen, when at Dilston Hall. But
Bhe was quiet and well behaved, and gave me no trouble at all
except on that account; and always dutiful, affectionate, and
respectful, clever with her fingers, and knowing how to restrain her
tongue. I had already designed her in my own mind to marry,
when my brother should have no more need of his services, his own
man, Thomas Lee (not of the gipsy Lees), a handy and honest
fellow, not more given to drink than most, and never drunk until

ITS DOROTHY FORSTER.

his master was first seen safe to bed. But the end was otherwise^
for one day, hearing that the strolling players were at Wooler, only
ten miles away, she could not be restrained, but packed up all she
had — in truth, a sorry bundle — threw it over her shoulder, and
marched off, leaving a saucy message to Mr. Hilyard, that he only
was to blame, because he it was who first showed her how to act ;
and a crying message to me that indeed I had been a kind mistress
to her, and that she begged my forgiveness, but she must needs
become a player, and no other way of life was tolerable to her.

In the autumn of the same year, that is, in the year 1712, we
heard of Lord Derwentwater's marriage. He was married on July
the 10th, to Anna, daughter of Sir John Webb, Baronet, of Can-
ford, in Dorsetshire. His wife's family were Catholics, so that,
happily, there was no question of religion between them. She had
been educated in a convent at Paris, and I believe that my lord
made her acquaintance before he returned to England. By her
mother's side she was also of good blood, being granddaughter of
Lord Worlaby, and great-granddaughter to the Marquis of Win-
chester. He wrote two or three days after his marriage to his
cousin, Lady Swinburne, of Capheaton, from a place called Hallen-
hope, in Gloucestershire, where he lived for two years with his wife,
and where his son was born. His letter, which Lady Swinburne
showed me, was full of joy, for which I thanked God, praying that
his earthly happiness might be continued to him for a long life.
We also learned that my lord had further agreed to spend two years
in the south of England, among his wife's relations. I know not
for what reason this article was asked for, or insisted upon, but I
think with the design of protecting the young Earl from the designs
and conspiracies of the more violent among his party. If that were
the case, then I would to Heaven that they had made the agreement
for three years and a half, at least, when all the trouble might have
been averted. I am very certain that there would have been no
disturbance in Northumberland, whatever they might do in Scot-
land, but for the certainty that the great families in the county, and
especially the Radcliffes, would be drawn in.

I have never charged my lord, either secretly or openly, with
inconstancy, yet I confess that, at the first moment, when I heard
of his marriage, I felt a pang, which I believe was natural, though
it hath since been repented. Such a charge would be most unreason-
able, on every ground — that of his rank, because a man in his exalted
rank must marry for the sake of heirs ; and because, if one woman
says nay, there are plenty as good as she in the world — ay, and a
good deal better. Then, again, a man may love many women in
his life, I suppose, though that we cannot understand. Lastly, his
choice was wise, and his wife beautiful, virtuous, and in every way
worthy of her rank, and of her husband.

I have told all that concerns the early life of my brother until
the time when he became Knight of the Shire. You have seen how
be was trained, and how fitted for the part he was fated to play ;
that is, he was fonder of the country than of town; he never

HER LADYSHIPS LETTER. 173

nnlearned his country «nor. \\ .n-l munnt-r , he \v-is lovr-d by .ill ; he
was of easy temper ; ho was but little conversant with books or
men ; he was readily persuaded ; he was honourable and loyal, true
to his word, and to his friends.

In the sequel, it may seem to some that I presume to treat of
matters beyond a woman's reach. Though I may be excused if I
touch sometimes on these things, I would not, certainly, seem
desirous of writing history. The Rising in the North will, I hope,
be fitly treated by Mr. Hilyard, who promises to make such a book
concerning it as Sallust made concerning the Conspiracy of Catiline
(though not comparing its leaders with that bloodthirsty parricide).
In this way he will do justice to the actors, and confer immortality
upon himself. Sad it would be if so much learning were to be
rewarded by no other monument than a tomb in Durham Cathedral.

CHAPTER XXI.
MR. HILYARD'S DREAM

IT was late in the summer of 1714 that Lord Derwentwater brought
the Coumtess home. Such was his eagerness to return, and hers to
make acquaintance with her husband's cousins, that is to say, with
all the gentry of the county, that he started for the north on the
very day that his two years expired, namely, on the 10th of July ;
and, though he travelled with a great company of servants, baggage,
and pack-horses, and stopped on the way to see York races, he
arrived at Dilston Hall in the first week of August, to the joy and
content of his friends and tenants.

As for his brothers, Frank and Charles, they were both in London,
but not, I understood, living together, and Charles spending at a
great rate, that is to say, above his income; his uncle, Colonel
Thomas Radcliffe, was at Douay, where I hope the poor man forgot
his imaginary pursuer ; the Lady Mary was gone to Durham, where
she had a house ; and Lady Katharine to live in a convent at St.
Germain's — honoured no more by the Court of the Prince, who was
at Bar-le-Duc. Some of the Swinburnes were there to meet the
Countess, and Mr. Errington, of Beaufront. Mr. Hilyard also, who
was at Blanchland on Lady Crewe's business, went to Dilston to
pay his respects. Tom was still in London, and I was at Bam-
Dorough, thirty miles away.

When, however, Mr. Hilyard returned, he informed me of every
particular, even of her ladyship's dress, of which, for a man, he was
observant, and made me understand that the Countess had taste, and
dressed in th» mode.

1 As fo" my lord,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' he looks certainly older and
is Duller in the cheeks than three years ago ; but his carriage is the
same. Sure there is no other nobleman in the world like unto hi*-
He was so good as to inquire of my welfare, after asking after your
own health and his honour's.'

'And the Countess?' I asked.

1 She is little of stature, but vivaciona in speech ; her age if

174 DOROTHY FORSTER.

twenty ; her eyes are dark and bright, and she laughs readily. Shi
has the manners of the town, and will prove, I doubt not, remark-
able for her ready sallies ; and for a lively temper rather than for
the dignity which is so conspicuous in some great ladies — in Lady
Crewe, for example. Her own people all declare that she is kind-
hearted and generous, though quick of speech.'

' Did my lord seem happy ?' I asked.

' There was no outward sign of anything but of happiness,' he
told me. ' They are reported to be lovers still, though they have
been married two years and more. All testify that never was a
couple more truly fitted for each other, and yet '

He stopped short, but I knew very well what was in his mind.

* And yet, three years ago,' I said, ' he was content to look for
happiness with another woman. Young men sometimes mistake
their hearts. Let us be thankful that, this time, my lord hath made
no mistake. Those who remain lovers after two years are certainly
married as Heaven intended, and will continue lovers to the end.'

And yet, for my own part, I had never forgotten his image, which
was graven on my heart. But he had forgotten ; he could show
every outward sign of happiness. This, I say, being a feeble woman,
I could not choose but feel. Afterwards I learned that a man may
be happy, and yet not forget tender passages of old. We women
are for ever saying, ' A man does this, and a man does that,' making
comparisons of ourselves with the other sex, only to find out our
own weakness and their strength. 4 A wise man,' quoth King
Solomon, ' is strong.' He doth not say that a strong man is wise.
Yet methinks a man, because he is strong, may attain unto and
reach that Wisdom, which is to the soul (also in the words of
Solomon) like honey and the honeycomb, more easily than a woman.

* I hear also,' said Mr. Hilyard, 4 that the Countess is red-hot for
the Prince ; and am sorry to hear it.'

' Why,' I replied, ' surely you would not have her on the other
Bide?' "

' Nay ; I would have her on the side of safety. Loyalty, faith,
and kinship call the Earl into a certain path which is beset with
danger. Let Prudence walk beside him, if only to hold him back.'

Of late Mr. Hilyard often spoke thus, showing, though I knew it
not, a spirit prophetic. Thus can learning make men foretell the
storm, and see clouds to come even in a sky without a cloud. In
affairs of State who would have looked for foresight from a simple
Oxford scholar of lowly birth ? Yet the storm was at hand. The
first sign of it came the very next day, namely, the 7th of August,
in the year of grace 1714 ; Mr. Hilyard being in the forenoon on
the high-road from which Bamborough lieth distant a mile and a
half, or thereabouts, presently saw, making what speed he could
along the way (which here is rough and full of furrows, so that to
gallop is not easy), a messenger on horseback, who blew a horn aa
he went, and cried out with a loud voice unto any he met or passed,
or saw working in the fields or in the cottage gardens, or at opea
door, or iu farmyards by the wayside, saying :

AfR HILYAR&S

173

1 The Queen is dead, good people. Queen Anne is dead !'

With this news in his mouth Mr. Hilyard hastened to tell me.

' Queen Anne is dead !' he said, for the fiftieth time. * What will
they do ? Nay, what have they already done ? It is a week and
more that the Queen is dead. Have they proclaimed the Prince ?
Is he already sent for? Did the Queen acknowledge him for her
successor ? Oh that we could hear more ! If we knew what they
have already done ! Why, anything may happen now — a peaceful
succession, a civil war, a rebellion — what* do we know ? And here
sit I with folded arms, and can do nothing.'

' You could do nothing,' I said, ' if you were in London, except
shout in the streets and get knocked on the head.'

It is a strange delusion of every man that the course of events
lieth in his own hand, and that if he alone were in the right place
to order and direct, all would go well.

4 Nay,' he replied, 4 to shout in the street would be something.
Besides, where pamphlets and verses and lampoons are flying, there
could I be of use. At such times, a poet makes others shout.'

Then we began again to guess and to wonder what was going to
happen. If the Prince had been acknowledged by his sister for her
successor, he would probably have been proclaimed on the day of her
death. How did London take it ? If that were so, it would fare ill with
the great Whig lords, like the Duke of Argyll and others, supporters
of King \Villiam, Queen Anne, and the Protestant Succession. But
as for families like ourselves, who had remained staunch supporters
of the rightful heir, there would be a time of fatness.

* His honour/ said Mr. Hilyard, ' cannot expect anything short of
an earldom. That is the least that can be given to him.'

4 But,' I asked, ' how if the Prince surrounds himself with priests ?'
1 Why,' said Mr. Hilyard, * that would not be endured by the City,

and a remedy must be found. Else ' he looked so resolute that

I trembled for his Highness.

* And what will the Nonconformists say ?'

* As for them,' he replied, ' they must sit down and be content.
Loyal they will never be. If they are not content, let them follow
their grandfathers to America.'

And so on. We made no manner of doubt, after much talking,
that the Prince was already proclaimed, and Tom ruffling with the
best on the victorious side.

'Heavens !' cried Mr. Hilyard, 'what a sight must it be ! The
theatres resounding with loyal songs ; the houses illuminated ; all
the brave soldiers drunk ; every sour and surly Whig made to put
a candle in his windows or have them broken ; fighting at every
corner ; bonfires in every street ; oxen roasted whole ; conduits
running with wine ; the City Companies holding high banquet ; the
universal feasting, singing, and drinking ! Not a glum face outside
the conventicle. Heigho I What would I not give to be there
among them all !'

He then went on to construct the future history of Great Britain
and Ireland, in wMch he allowed the Prince to remain a Catholic,

176 . DOROTHY FORSTER.

but exicted of him a pledge that his children should be brought np
in the bosom of the English Church; he would also be suffered to
have about him such priests as ware necessary for himself alone,
Catholics being excluded from any share in Government, and the
Ministry being Protestants ; Lord Derwentwatei was to be made a
Duke ; Tom to receive the rank and title of Earl of Bamborough :
he himself was to be a permanent Under-Secretary, but I forget of
what department — I think, however, it was of the Navy, because,
like all Englishmen, ne loved ships, and was ready at any time to
prove that the English fleets were being ruined. As for me, I was
to be advanced to the rank of Earl's daughter, and to be styled the
Lady Dorothy Forster. An unheard-of prosperity was to reward
the whole country for its return to loyalty. Thus, we were to drive
the French out of North America, which, from the Gulf of Mexico
to the North Pole, was to belong to the English ; we were to estab-
lish new trading forts along the coast of India, and oust the French
from their settlements in the East. We were to turn the Dutch out
of the Cape of Good Hope; to extend our trade to China; to
occupy the islands newly discovered in the great Pacific Ocean.

' Why,' I said, ' it is a dream of universal conquest.'

' It is more,' he went on. ' We shall establish wherever we go the
teaching of the pure Gospel and the Articles of the Church of
England ; we shall even convert to Protestantism the Irish people,
so that they, too, like the rest of the United Kingdom, shall become
contented and loyal.'

A thousand other prophecies, projects, and designs he had which
I forget or cannot write down, because it makes my head swim
only to think of them. Mr. Hilyard's head was always filled with
such inventions, fancies, and imaginations.

Unfortunately, all this beautiful structure of history proved to
be only what the French call a Chateau en Espagne, that is to say,
a castle in the air, a child's tower built of cards, a dream of the
morning. For in a day or two we heard the choking news that the
Elector of Hanover had been proclaimed King without opposition.
There were no bonfires for the Prince, no illuminations, no shouting
of a loyal mob. The ' Jacks,' we heard, were downcast and despair-
ing. At White's Coffee House the gentlemen looked at eacL other
with blank faces ; the Whigs cocked their hats and went with
sprightly mien. As for poor Queen Anne, no one, so far as we
could hear, seemed to pity her. It is the fate of Kings. In their
lifetime they are the idols (if they believe all they are told) of
their subjects ; they are models of virtue and piety ; they are en-
dowed by Heaven with genius incomparable ; yet when they die no
one laments ; and the praise is transferred to the successor. Queen
Anne is dead. Wherefore, without so much as a ' Poor Queen Anne !'
throw up caps and shout for the pious and virtuous Prince who is
^rossing the sea in the Peregrine yacht, no doubt full of love towards
his loving subjects.

' Alas !' cried Mr. Hilyard, when he had somewhat recovered the
blow. ' To the wise man who hath read history and reflects, the

MR. HILYARVS DREAM. 177

rocks resound with the clashing of arms, and the rivers rnr. with
blood.' He added, one after the other, half a dozen passages from
the Latin poets, all of which fortified him in his gloomy opinion.

After this it seemed as if there was no more peace or quietness
for us, but for ever disquieting rumours. Mr. Hilyard would ride
as far as Alnwick for news, or even to Newcastle. Sometimes
Lady Crewe would send me a London letter. In this way we
heard that London was greatly disturbed, but the City firm for the
Protestant Succession ; that men were constantly flogged, flung into
prison, and fined for loyalty to the Prince : the air was full of
rumours. In the General Election of 1714, Tom was returned
again without opposition : he also visited Lady Crewe and the
Bishop ; I have reason to believe that they advised him again to
move with caution and have nothing to do with plots. Alas! he
was already drawn in, and now too far gone to recede. Besides,
under his frank and easy nature there lay, as we all knew, a loyalty
towards his friends which nothing could shake. This was showu
in the end, when others held back and he led the way.

' There is,' said Mr. Hilyard, speaking of this time, long after-
wards, ' a point in the history of all conspiracies at which a man,
who has gone so far, cannot retire. His honour is at stake — more,
his very safety demands that he continue ; he is involved in the
common ruin or the common triumph. In this respect the history
of all conspiracies is the same.'

As for this one, which was hatching, as one may say, for fifteen
years, how should I know it, except from such shreds and scraps as
Mr. Hilyard hath got for me and pieced together after a fashion ?
The chief leaders who were known, su<*h as Bishop Atterbury, the
Duke of Ormond, and Lord Bolinj/oroke, had with them men of
equal rank with themselves. With them were associated a great
number of gentlemen : some of them Irish adventurers, some
younger sons, some clergymen, who served as messengers— it was
designed by means of these messengers to ensure risings on or
about the same day in various parts of the kingdom. Commands
were formed ; Tom, for instance, was to lead the Prince's forces in
the north, assisted (because he knew nothing of the art of war) by
Colonel Oxbrough ; honours were to be bestowed and places given
to those who faithfully served the Prince. His Royal Highness
would himself join the insurgents : at the first considerable success,
it was confidently reckoned that the troops would break away and
come over to us. As for the Highlanders, they were already safe ;
our side would give them pay. The Established Church would be
left undisturbed : and as for the Dissenters — why, in the opinion
of most of these Tories, there were few punishments too bad for a
Dissenter.

* As for me, Tony,' said Tom, partly unfolding this design— but
he knew very well that he could trust his man — ' as for me, I ani
assured of a peerage. That, with a grant of land — some of the
confiscated estates — and a post in the Ministry, will satisfy m«. I
am not greedy. Hang it, man — (this bottle is finish? a : open

12

i;8 DOROTHY FORSTER.

t'other) — prate not to me of prudence ! there are too many of us
embarked not to make it a safe job. Besides, think you, Tony,
that I like being my lady's pensioner ? What assurance have I
that, in the end, she does not throw me over ; or that my lord hath
devised the Bamborough estates to her, or to me after her death ?
And then, am I to fall back upon Etherston, where my father is
already so crippled that the most he can do is to keep himself, with
his wife and children and my brother Jack ? What will it be
when madam's jointure has to be added? Why, half the gentle-
men in Northumberland want such a windfall as a successful rising
to put them on their legs again. We will burn all the papers, Tony,
and hang up the rascal lawyers, who are Whigs to a man, and would
turn honest people out of their own, because they owe a parcel of
debt.'

He presently went back to London, and we waited, being pretty
sure that the attempt would not be far off.

' Oh !' I cried, ' they are strong men and brave men, and the
country is with them ! and yet they wait and wait, and the time it
passeth by.'

' Nay,' said Mr. Hilyard gently ; * but this business of rebellion
and civil war is a most dreadful thing, as well for the right as for
the wrong. Certain I am that not without grievous bloodshed, and
perhaps a religious war as great and terrible as that in France a
hundred and fifty years ago, will the Prince come to his own. Con-
sider, I pray you, the sufferings of the wounded, the agonies of
widows and orphans, the ruined homes — alas ! the pity of it.'

He stopped, being greatly moved — indeed, since he understood
the measure of the danger and the certainty of the design, he had
been much cast down — and presently fetched down a great volume,
in the reading of which he erer took great delight.

' Let me,' he said, ' read to you something on this subject by the
learned Burton, in his " Anatomy of Melancholic." '

He read a chapter concerning war and its dreadful evils. At the
reading I was filled with shame that I should desire so grievous a
thing. And yet, what to do, since the right cause must prevail, and
there lies but one way ?

' The right cause,' said Mr. Hilyard. * Yes ; the right cause,
truly. Yet the trouble remains, in all human affairs, to find out
the right cause. For, except to women, who are ever certain and
sure that they possess the Truth absolute, there is always so much
to say, first on this side, then on the other, and that without being
a rhetorician or chopper of logic ; so that even I, for my own part,
do not always discern which is the right. Truly, I think that, in
all our human institutions, there is so much of error in the founda-
tion that it infects the whole. For, as to the Divine Right of Kings,
how know we who first made the first king ? Was it, perchance,
some tall and strong man, such as Mr. Stokoe, who elected himself ?
And have not, in all ages, kings supported themselves by wars —
that is. by strength ? Would it not have been better to have had
no kings? Borne was never so happy as under a Republic^ no*

MR. HILYARD' S DREAM. 174

Athens as under her Archons ; the greatness of Sparta compareth
not with that of Athens. Yet, again, is the ignorant and greasy
mob to rule all, being swayed by brutal passions and ungoverned
desires ?'

* Do you mean, Mr. Hilyard, that the Prince's cause is not a holy
and righteous cause ?'

4 1 mean, Miss Dorothy, that the cause embraced by his honour,
my patron and benefactor, arid by you, whose humble servant I am,
is also mine, whether it be right or wrong.'

He bowed his head, and his eye glittered. Never before, save
when he personated the Prince in the village inn, had I seen a more
noble look in his face. He was, it is true, only my lady's steward,
and a poor scholar, who had been Tom's tutor, notorious throughout
the county for his buffooneries and his singing ; yet our gentlemen
would have done well had they taken his counsel before they trusted
their own.

All this time Lord Derwentwater made no sign, and though an
attempt has been made to prove that he was privy to the design
from the beginning, it is not true. I say not that he suspected
nothing. He would have been a stock and stone, and a fool to
boot, not to know very well that serious things were contemplated.
But, for his part, he was not consulted ; that is most certain. He
wished for nothing but peace and quiet, and the society of wife
and children. Yet the men who projected the rebellion knew very
well that they were sure of him. It was not only that he was the
grandson of King Charles — other sons and grandsons, such as the
Dukes of Richmond and St. Alban's, were not ashamed, any more
than the Lady Dorchester, once the mistress of King James him-
self, to attend King George's coronation — it was because he had
been the playfellow of the Prince, and was known to be of the
highest honour and courage.

Early in the year 1715—1 think in March— the Houses of Par-
liament were opened by the King, who called the attention of both
Houses to the assistance which the Prince was expecting to receive.
Then we heard that Lord Bolingbroke had fled. Then other
rumours reached us ; as that search for treasonable papers had
been conducted in the barracks ; that all officers had been ordered
to return to their regiments at once ; that the Prince had left
Lorraine ; that the Earl of Mar had gone into Scotland — what does
it matter to set down all the things we heard and talked in those
days?

4 How can I tell,' asked Mr. Hilyard, * which way London doth
now incline ? In my young days we were all for King William
and the Protestant religion ; nor can I understand how the better
sort — the Lord Mayor, the Aldermen, Common Council, and grave
citizens — can have changed, unless it be that the stories we hear are
true, and that there is not a man about the new Court who is a
good Churchman, or even a staunch Dissenter. Indifference and
unbelief the City will not endure any more than Popery.'

Then we heard that there was a general flight from London of

I8o DOROTHY FORSTER.

all the Roman Catholics. This was followed by a proclamation
ordering Papists to withdraw to at least ten miles from London ; a
clergyman in Edinburgh begged the prayers of the congregation for
a young gentleman that either was, or would soon be, at sea ; riots
were reported from Oxford, Birmingham, and other places ; and
yet the houses and the shipping on the Thames were illuminated
when King George went up and down the river ; and a camp was
formed in Hyde Park

One day in August I received a letter from Lady Crewe, super-
scribed, 'Haste! Post Haste!' She had, she said, heavy news to
communicate about Tom. She had heard from a safe quarter that
the Ministry had resolved upon seizing the persons of all the
principal Jacobite gentlemen of the north and elsewhere. Among
them she knew was included Mr. Thomas Forster the younger.

'I know not,' she added, 'what correspondence (if any) my
nephew hath had with the Prince and his friends, or what papers
he hath in his possession. Do thou, however, Dorothy, enjoin him
strictly from me, if he be riding north (which seems likely, since I
have had no late tidings of him), that he burn all his papers, and
then surrender himself, lest worse follow, unto the nearest magistrate,
until the storm be past. In this counsel the Bishop joins heartily.
One must be, he says, in such times as these either the reed or the
oak. Tom is not strong enough to be the oak. Let him be the
reed, and meet the tempest with bowed head. This for thy private
eye.'

We read and discussed this letter all the day. We knew nothing
— whether Tom was still in London, or whether we could write to
him. Mr. Hilyard was of opinion that, the times being clearly
perilous, the safest place for a Tory gentleman was the Tower, and
for safety's sake the more of them there the better.

' Because,' he said, * they will not hang them all, and they dare
not hang one.'

It was soon after dark in the evening, the day being the 28th of
August, the people of the village being all abed, and the place
quiet, that we heard a clattering of hoofs in the road outside,
stopping at the gate of the Manor House ; and Mr. Hilyard went
outside, curious and perhaps disquieted, as one is always before the
arrival of misfortune. He returned immediately, bringing with
him no other than Tom. himself. His shoulders were bent, his face
pale, his eyes anxious, his clothes covered with dust and mud.

* Quick, Dorothy !' he said ; ' a drink. Let it be October. Quick !
He drained about a quart of ale, and then sat down the mug with

a sigh.

* Why — so — that makes a man of me again. I have been in the
saddle for fifteen hours, and am well-nigh spent. There hath been
as yet no messenger or officers after me ?'

'None, Tom.'

4 Well, I can lie here, I think, one night. To-morrow I must be
up, and away again/

THE FUGITIVE. 181

CHAPTER XXII.

THE FUGITIVE.

AFTF.R he had taken some supper and was refreshed, Tom began to
tell us more.

4 Everything,' he said, was discovered — I know not by whit
treachery. The King, who seems anxious not to offend the House,
asked permission to arrest six of the members, of whom I was one,
BO that there was time for warning ; and for my own part, whatever
the others did, I saddled my horse and rode away, and, I dare say,
the messenger after me. But I think he hath not travelled quite so
fast, and I may be safe here for one night at least.'

He laughed, but uneasily. In his eyes there was the look of a
hunted creature, and he started at the least sound. Presently, how-
ever, he became so heavy with sleep and weariness that he must
needs go to bed, and so, messenger or no messenger, threw himself
upon his bed and fell asleep.

We sat up late, thinking how best to hide him ; yet not so late
but that before five in the morning I was up, expecting no less than
to find the messenger at the door. But there was no one. Presently,
Tom came, awakened by Mr. Hilyard, and grumbling that he could
not have his sleep out. But there was no time to lose, for the
village was already stirring.

The garden of the Manor House is separated from the sands only
by a field of coarse grass. By crossing this field, which can generally
be done without being seen by any of the villagers, one can gain
access to the castle by the old postern. It was thus that we hurried
Tom to his first place of concealment — a chamber known to no one
but Mr. Hilyard and myself. It is below the level of the inner
bailly, but yet not underground, because its window is above the
rock, and looks out across the sand and the sea. The chamber was
perhaps once used for a place of confinement, though the window
is larger than one commonly finds in such gloomy places. It is
approached by certain vaults now ruinous and partly fallen in, the
entrance to which is itself half hidden by broken stones and briars,
so that it looks like a broken hole in the wall. Here we thought he
might lie hidden as long as he pleased.

At first Tom was as pleased as a child with a new toy. As soon,
however, as he felt himself safe from pursuit, he began to reflect
that a cell might be secure but yet uncomfortable. So anxious
were we about the main point that we gave no thought to anything
else, and considered not the wretchedness of waiting all day long in
a stone chamber whose window has no glass, and where there is
neither chair, bed, nor table, nor any convenience at all for comfort.
The conveyance of these things to the chamber without observation
or suspicion gave me the first of many lessons in the difficulty of
being secret ; anybody may easily keep a secret, but no one knows,
except those who have unhappily been forced to tiy, how hard it is
to do a thing secretly, so as neither to be seen nor Suspected. In a

iga DOROTHY FORSTER.

few days, the history of the warrant and Tom's flight might be
known even in this remote village : the messengers would certainly
come here in search of him ; it was, therefore, of vital importance
that his presence should be suspected by no one. How, therefore,
all that day I conveyed small pieces of furniture to the end of the
garden and dropped them over the wall for Mr. Hilyard to pick up
and carry them across to the castle ; how, with his own hands, that
ingenious man, as ready with a carpenter's tools as with a Latin
poem, constructed and fitted first a window-shutter and afterwards
a rude kind of window-sash ; how he earned blankets, candles, wine,
tobacco, and provisions, to the cell, need not be related. No one,
from the mere fact of seeing us go up to the castle, would have
suspected anything, because it was my daily resort.

At nightfall we carried a goodly supply of supper and whisky to
the cell, and there I left Mr. Hilyard, who came not away until
Tom was so much fortified by strong drink that he was in a condi-
tion not to fear the ghosts of the castle, and was, in fact, already
asleep upon the hard bed we had made up for him with blankets
and pillows strewn on the stones.

Thus our charge began. As early in the morning as was possible
without causing any who saw to ask why, I went to the castle,
carrying breakfast under my cloak. All the morning I sat with
Tom. At one o'clock I took him dinner ; in the evening Mr. Hilyard
brought supper and sat with him.

After a time our prisoner grew peevish, and hard to please. He
was anxious to change his quarters, and had it not been for a scare
that we had would perhaps have gone off to seek shelter elsewhere.
Of this I will speak presently.

He laughed scornfully at Lady Crewe's counsel. It would be
safe, he said, for him to surrender when the Prince himself could
safely surrender, and not before. There was enough against him
to hang a dozen men, if hanging was to begin ; and he had left all
his papers behind to be seized by the officers.

' When th3 ship is sinking,' he said, * a man cares first to get off
alive. I knew not when the warrant would arrive, so mounted and
rode away without waiting for anyone. Why, what matters ? If
they had not taken my papers, they would have taken some other's.'

It was a grave business, indeed ; and graver than we looked for
at first, when we thought he was to be arrested only on account of
his opinions.

' So it is, however, Dorothy,' he said, * and nothing is left but to
push on the Prince's interest. Fear not, child ! Why, all is ready ;
the country is with us ; the train is laid. Yet a week or two and
thou shalt see an explosion will startle all England. Fortune and
rank are before us when we have succeeded.'

' And if we fail ?' Mr. Hilyard muttered with serious face.

* Tony,' said Tom, ' 1 take that for a most peevish, ill-natured
speech. " If we fail," he says ! Why, do you ask a sailor when he
embarks what he will do if the ship be wrecked ? or a soldier before
a battle, how if he be shot ? Hark ye, brother— there is one Qom-

I

THE FUGITIVE. 183

fort for me if wo fail. I risk my neck, but not my estates, for I
have none. So talk no more of failure, Tony, if you love me.'

Whenever I think of this time, and consider that we were engaged
upon so dangerous a piece of work, much I wonder that we carried
it through with success. Yet we did, thanks to the extraordinary
precautions taken by Mr. Hilyard. For, first, he would have none
in the secret at all — no, not even Tom's old companions, Ned Swin-
burne and Perry Widdrington, though they rode over a dozen times
for news of their friend.

To them Mr. Hilyard replied that he had good assurance of his
honour's safety, but that until Mr. Forster chose to reveal his
whereabouts it would be better for his friends not to inquire. Nor
would he suffer any of the people in the village to be informed, nor
the maids in the house, saying that these would be the first to be
suspected, and, if they were arrested, would certainly, from sheer
terror and dread of the whipping-post, tell all they knew. ' Pinch
a rat,' he said, ' and he will squeak.' As for the additional food
required, we both pretended great and uncommon appetite. Mr.
Hilyard, for his part generally a small eater, though valiant with a
bottle, assumed the guise of a desperate trencherman, comparing him-
self with the Grand Monarque himself, who is said to devour daily
enough to maintain ten ordinary people (I mean not in the rhetori-
cal sense, in which he hath devoured — that is, impoverished — hia
whole country, but in the literal sense). Then, after nightfall, he
would steal out, carrying a great basket laden with next day's pro-
visions, to the chamber in the castle, where Tom would take hia
supper, and they would talk, drink, and smoke tobacco till the pri-
soner was sleepy. This we did during the whole of the month of
August, and half-way through September, Tom all the time expect-
ing every day to hear of a rising over the whole country. No newa
coming to us, he chafed and wondered by what mischance the pro-
ject was hindered. I cannot doubt that what Tom told me waa
true, and that so many noblemen and gentlemen all over the country
should be in the plot, should have given solemn promises, and should
be looking for the business to begin, fills me now with amazement
that the result was so meagre. Alas ! it costs more than promises
to make a Rebellion become a Revolution.

As for the scare of which I have spoken, it was caused by the
visit of Mr. Ridley, Justice of the Peace, with three or four messen-
gers, armed with a warrant to search for Tom. With him was my
father, grave and anxious, my brother Jack, and my half-brother
Ralph, now a lad of thirteen or fourteen.

* Dorothy,' whispered my father, * surely thou hast not been so
foolish as to hide Tom in the Manor House ?'

* Nay, sir,' I replied truthfully, and aloud. ' Tom u not here.
Mr. Ridley might like, perhaps, to content himself.'

Mr. Ridley told us that he was charged to look for and to arrest
Mr. Thomas Forster the younger ; that he had been traced north as
far as Newcastle ; and that it was believed he had taken refuge in
this, his own house. I assured him that he was not there. At £rst

18* DOROTHY FORSTER.

he wa=? for taking my word, but his officer- murmured. Therefore
he said that he must, with my permission, visit the house. This h«
did in a civil and discreet manner, being a gentleman of as old a
family as our own, and by no means desirous of finding Tom.
They went into all the rooms, one after the other ; first my own,
with the maids' room beside it ; Tom's room next, with his bed
ready made, but no sign of its having been used, and Mr. Hilyard's
last.

Then the officers whispered together again, and, with Mr. Ridley,
rode up to the castle- wall, where all dismounted, and went into the
ruins, my father and I following.

* I ask not where he is, Dorothy,' said my father. ( Sure I am
that he would tell thee. But is he safe ? Mr. Ridley tells me that
there is as much against him as against the Duke of Ormond.'

* I believe, sir,' I replied, ' that he is perfectly safe.'

They searched the great keep from top to bottom ; they peered
down the well ; they climbed the broken stairs ; they looked into
the open and roofless rooms, along the broken walls ; and they found
nobody. But they did not know of the ruined vaults, where the
ground slopes northwards to the postern-gate, nor did they know
that in a chamber beneath their feet, looking across the sands, sat
at that moment Mr. Forster himself, with Mr. Hilyard, a tankard
of ale between them, and each with a pipe of tobacco in his mouth,
as if they had been at White's in St. James's Street.

Then they went away, and so we were quiet, except for our scare.
For my own part, I confess that I was pale with terror, and my
heart beat, but chiefly on account of the boy Ralph, who still kept
running here and there, as if, like the foolish and ignorant lad that
he was, he wished to discover his brother's hiding-place ; and I was
ashamed of myself for being so bad an actor, because my cheeks and
eyes made it manifest to some that I was in fear, which made the
men continue the search more narrowly.

* Humph !' said my father at length, when the officers desisted
from the search, and left the castle. ' Send me Mr. Hilyard to-
mor~ow morning.'

B it Mr. Hilyard told him nothing, and so discreetly conducted
himrelf that he left my father in ignorance whether or no he knew
whei*e Tom was hidden.

O le officer remained in the village. He knew nothing concerning
Mr. Hilyard, but thought that if he followed me about he should
certainly learn something. Wherefore, I made feigned expeditions,
and led him many a pretty dance to Belford, Lucker, Beal, and
North Sunderland, and would have taken him farther afield (because
he had tender feet), but that my own legs would carry me no
farther. While I was thus tramping across the fields, Mr. Hilyard
was sitting with the fugitive in his retreat, keeping him cheerful.

And presently the officer went away too, and we heard that they
were looking for Tom in the houses of his friends.

' Let them search everywhere,' said Mr. Hilyard. ' I fear nothing
but fcis own impatience,'

THE FUGITIVE. 185

Tom could not, in fact, endure the confinement of bis cell ; once
or twice he broke loose, and I surprised him walking about in the
inner court of the castle by day, as if secure that no one would
enter : it is irksome for an active man to be kept all day long in a
little chamber half underground. Then he railed at poor Mr. Hil-
yard for not taking his friends into confidence ; for not bringing
him more beer; because his food n.ust needs be cold ; because he
would not sit with him all day long ; and was as unreasonable as a
child, taking the service and patience of this faithful creature as if
it were a thing to which he was entitled. At night, with his punch
and his tobacco, he was easier, and told, over and over again, how
he became a conspirator : chiefly because he hoped for wealth, and
could not bear to think that he was, save for the small inheritance
of Etherston, a dependent on the bounty of his aunt. I think that
if Lady Crewe had given him some part of the estate which she
designed for him it might have been better. Yet who would assure
her that this part, too, would not go the same way as it had gone
before ? After all, it is the way of the county ; Tom was not the
only Northumberland gentleman who loved a lavish way of life ; he
was not the only man vho cast in his fortunes (after they were
ruined) with those of tne Prince (whiuh, I now perceive, were
desperate), in the hope of winning back all, and more. But if he
had owned something he might have been content to wait.

Other news Mr. Hilyard got together; as that Lord Derwent-
water remained perfectly quiet ; Tom declared that he was never in
any conspiracy or plot whatever ,- his house at Dilston harboured
none of the secret messengers ; to all appearance he was entirely
occupied in the management of his estates, and in the new house
which he proposed to build, and, indeed, had already begun, but
had no time to finish. I have seen a letter written by him in this
very month of August, in which he expressed his earnest prayer for
peace and quiet, ' of which,' he added, k we have had so little as yet.'
Ah ! had this most amiable of men been born in a lowlier station !
Could he, without reproach, have spent his life careless of princes
and politics, how happy would he have been ! Some of us seem
especially born for happiness ; they evidently desire it both for
themselves and for those they love ; they are by nature benevolent,
generous, active in relieving those who suffer : such an one was my
lord, born to be himself happy and to make others happy.

It was, I remember, on September the 15th, being Friday (a most
ominous and unlucky day of the week), that Mr. Hilyara came
running home with a face greatly agitated.

'They have begun!' he cried. Then he sat down and looked
.•ound him as one who is trying to understand the meaning of
4 ings. 'They have begun! Alas! It needed not a prophet to
fo -etell, when the Queen died, the blood which should flow.'

• Who have begun, Mr. Hilyard ? Tell me— quick !'

• Let us go tell his honour. He was right ; they have begun, and
no man can tell the end. It is easy to talk of rebellion ; but to play
at it— there, indeed ! But let us to the castfe an.d tell his honour.'

186 DOROTHY FORSTER.

He rose, and shook his head dolefully.

4 What hath been begun ?' I repeated.

'The Scots have begun. Four days ago they proclaimed the
Prince at Kirk Michael. I have it from the gipsies, some of whom
were there and saw it done. They are reported to be already 5,000
strong.'

This was news indeed. Should we be kept back when the Scots
had led the way? Why, in a moment, all the things I bad heard
since I was a child rushed to my brain. The rising was always to
begin in Scotland ; it was to be supported by the Highlanders ; it
was to be followed by risings in Ireland, the West, the Ncith, and
the Midland Counties. The project was always the same. And
now, after many years, we were to see the great design carried out.
The thing was so great, that to think of it actually as begun made
one's head to reel.

' Yes,' said Mr. Hilyard gravely, ' his honour will have his chance
at last. It is an Earl's coronet — promised by the Chief of a House
which is famous, as everybody knows, for 'keeping promises — the
gratitude of the Prince on the one side ; on the other — what ? At
the best, flight in France ; at the worst — nay, Miss Dorothy, look
not so pale. In war, even in civil war, which is fiercer and more
sanguinary, there are a thousand chances. What! The Prince
may be successful ; the army, as they hope, may join him ; the
sailors, as they desire, may mutiny ; the people, as they trust, may
love Divine Right more than they fear the fires of Smithfield ; they
may love the comely face of a young Prince more than they dread
the Inquisition. What do I know ? Even London — all is possible ;
all — believe me. Wherefore, courage! we are embarked upon an
enterprise full of uncertainty. But courage ! all may yet go well,
though one may still fear the worst.'

With such despondency did Mr. Hilyard receive the news which
filled my foolish heart with joy. But he was never a Tory at heart,
being so jealous for the Protestant religion, that he could never
believe the Church safe under a Catholic King. He went off, there-
fore, hanging his head, to carry the news to the castle.

Tom received the news with so much joy, that at first he was for
throwing off all concealment, and at once proclaiming the Prince on
the steps of Bamborough Castle. Then he would ride about openly
and resist the authority of the warrant ; or he would take up his
residence at the Manor House ; or he would enlist as many men aa
possible, and go across the Border to join the Scots. All these steps
Mr. Hilyard combated, pointing out that the pursuit and search
after him would be the hotter for the Scotch news ; that to resist
the warrant would be madness, unless he were assured of his friends'
backing ; and that no Northumberland men would cross the Border
to fight beside the Scots.

4 However,' said Tom, * one thing I am resolved — I will leave this
cursed doghole, and that at once. Where else canst thon stow a
man, Tony?'

* Why, indeed,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' there is no place so snug 49

THE FUGITIVE. 187

this. But, if proper precautions are used, I see not why Fame
Island — but that when all else fails — or Blanchland, or there are dry
holes up Devilstone Water, or there are the miners' huts at Allen-
dale, or, if the worst comes to the worst, there are the gipsies, who
would take your honour across the Cheviots by a safe path, and so
to Lord Mar himself, if you are assured '

* Assured, man ! I am assured of nothing, save that it is my only
ehance. But first let me talk with some of my friends.'

He was so restless that, to keep him quiet, we agreed to ride with
him to Blanchland, where he might confer with Lord Derwentwater.
We rode by night for greater safety, resting at the house of a friend
who shall be nameless— of friends there were plenty — in the day.
There was to be one more night journey for me with Tom, but of
that I knew not then, and rode beside him proud and joyful that
the long suspense was to be ended and the battle fought. The God
of War is worshipped, I am sure, with as much faith by women as
by men. To me, thinking while we rode silently in the light of the
moon upon the open moor or in the black shade of the woods, my
heart glowed within me, and it seemed as if we were only doing at
last what ought to have been done long ago : since the right was
with us, the Lord was with us.

' Yes,' said Mr. Hilyard, when I told him this. * But still I say,
happy the man who joins the last, when he is quite sure the Lord
is with the cause, and hath proved His favour by manifesting His
might. How know we that, if Heaven intends to interfere, the
time for interference hath yet arrived ?'

Thus it is with men who exhort each other to be strong, to have
faith, to rejoice in right and justice, and to make poor women feel
certain. Yet, when the time comes, there are so many doubts and
hesitations that one looks on in amaze, and asks where faith hath
gone.

No messengers had come to Blanchland, nor, we found, had any
knowledge of the business reached to that place at all. We rested
there one night, and the next morning I rose early, and, leaving
Tom in this lonely retreat, rode across the moor with Mr. Hilyard,
to Dilston, not without some misgivings of my meeting with the
Earl (which were unworthy of him as well as of myself).

CHAPTER XXIII.

WHAT WILL HE DO?

WHEN last I saw Dilston it was in the dead of winter ; the woods
were bare of leaves, and the dark Devilstone Water poured through
its narrow rocky banks in a broad stream ; now the rocks were
hidden with trees and brambles, alder, wych-elm, and rowan, and
bright with summer flowers ; while, as one stood upon the little
bridge, the shrunken water was like a little thread of silver running
among great mossy stones.

The courtyard of the castle was full of people— some old men and
women waiting for the doles which were freely given every day 3

1 88 DOROTHY FORSTER.

some farmers wanting to have speech with m}7 lord ; some stable-
boys, grooms, and men with guns and dogs. As we went up the
steps which lead to the great hall, he came out himself and met us.

' Why, Mr. Hilyard !' he said, laughing ; ' my lusty Tony ! how
goes it with Mr. Forster ?' And here I threw back my hood and he
recognised me. ' Dorothy !' he cried, his kind eyes softening ; ' my
cousin Dorothy !' He gave me both his hands. ' It is four yeara
since we met — and then — you are well and happy, cousin ?'

* Quite well, my lord ; and as happy as Tom's affairs will let
me be.'

* Come, let me take you to the Countess.

Happiness makes young mothers beautiful. Who could be more
beautiful than the woman who rose to meet me, tossing her little
boy in her arms, while his saucy hands pulled and tangled her hair
rolled back from her forehead ? She was small of stature, and
possessed bright eyes, and such a quickness of expression as I have
never since seen in any other woman. She looked at me so curiously
that I perceived she knew something of what had passed between
my lord and me. Then &he made me sit down, took off my hood
with her own hands, and gave me a cup of chocolate, begging me to
rest after my ride across the moor.

1 And where is Tom ?' asked the Earl.

* He is now at Blanchland, where he much desires to see your
lordship. You have not learned, perhaps, that the Scots are in arms.'

* The Scots have risen ?' he cried, with change of colour. ' This
is great news indeed !'

' The Scots have risen ?' cried the Countess, clasping his arm with
her little fingers. ' This is good news indeed !'

' I heard it from some gipsies,' said Mr. Hilyard. ' There was a
hunting-party, where the Prince was proclaimed ; and they are said
to be already many thousands strong. Mr. Forster, on hearing the
news, left his hiding-place in the castle, and hath ridden to Blanch-
land, where he desires the honour of a conference with your lordship.'

' I will ride over this morning,' said the Earl thoughtfully.

' But Dorothy will stay with me,' said his wife ; ' we will have
our conference while you have yours.'

He left us. As he rode away with Mr. Hilyard, he met outside
the castle Mr. Errington, of Beaufront, to whom he told the news,
and asked for counsel.

4 My lord,' said Mr. Errington gravely, * look around you. To
whom do all these fair lands belong ?'

' Why, truly,' he replied, ' to myself.'

4 Then, my lord, do not, I charge you, risk so goodly an inheri-
tance, save at the sure and certain call of honour.'

I know not what passed between him and Tom, but I believe
that Tom was all for action and the Earl for prudence. Meanwhile,
we women sat conversing of the children, and of household things,
and of my lord's habits and tastes. By many little gentle touches
and hints the Countess made me feel that she had heard of me, and
how once her husband loved me, and gave me to understand that -"

WHAT WILL HE DOt 189

was not jealous of any woman, because she knew that she possessed
his whole heart (which was, indeed, the case, yet I hope I should
never have given her cause for the least jealousy).

My lord came back the same day, and after supper we had a long
and grave discourse, during which I discovered that he was truly
much in love with his wife, and uneasy at the mere thought of
exposing her and her children to the sorrow and unhappiness which
would attend a failure ; that he now regarded the cause of the
Prince as becomes one who hath so great a stake to lose ; that the
Countess was far more eager than himself (as knowing less of the
danger) ; and that he looked upon the news with distrust and sus-
picion.

' Let us wait,' he said, 'for the English people to give their voice.
Without the will of the people the Prince can never return.'

* It rests,' said the Countess, * with the natural leaders of the people
to guide them.'

My lord laughed gently.

' My dear,' he said, ' a Catholic in this country cannot be a leader.
Let us wait. Now, cousin, tell us of yourself and of the hearts you
have broken since you conquered mine, but kindly gave it back to
me for future us«t'

The news of the Scottish rising made the Government more
anxious than ever to secure the leaders of the plot in England.
Therefore Tom w.as quickly warned that he must quit Blanchland
and seek safety elsewhere. First, he stayed a short while at the
house of Mr. Patten, the Vicar of Allendale, and next — but it is a
tedious task to tell of all his hiding-places ; for wherever he went,
presently, by some treachery, the messengers in search of him got
upon his track, and he had to change his quarters. Mr. John Fen-
wick, of Bywcll, kept him for awhile, and here he would certainly
have been caught, but that the messenger stayed half a mile from
the house to get the aid of a constable, so that Tom had just time
to escape, leaving his bed warm, so to speak. This Mr. Fenwick
was expected to have joined the rising, but hung back, no doubt to
his own great satisfaction, when he found how things were going.
For this I neither praise nor blame him ; on the one hand, a man is
right to hesitate when so great a thing as his estate and the fortunes
of his children are at stake ; on the other, he ought not to raise
vain expectations in the minds of hia friends. Had all gone out
who were expected or promised, there might have been seen a dif-
ferent ending.

As for me, I remained at Dilston, and for a fortnight more wo
expected news, but heard little. Mr. Hilyard went backwards and
forwards between Newcastle and Hexham, bringing in such intelli-
gence as he could learn. The Scottish rebels, it was certain, num-
bered 12,000 men. The Prince was expected daily ; they were
masters of all Fife, with the seaboard ; Colonel Oxbrough, Captain
Ga&coigne, and Mr. Talbot had arrived at Newcastle to stir up tho
north, and remind loyal gentlemen of their pledges ; the "WVjjs at

190 DOROTHY FORSTER.

Newcastle wore In-sfin in" Minnvi-lvt -s ; mm worn lookii.'ij at enoh
other and rxperl.injr a civil w:ir ; hut London was reported firm for
ilio Protestant Succession, and Mm Prince, :iml Princess of Wales
e\ ery d:i \ "oi ii" \\iMiniil, |V:i ;• ;i DION" (lie people. And, alas! Lady
<!rewr, from anxirly for her nephew's safety, h:i.d fallen into c.oii-
xnhions, or lil.M of ,',omc other kind, and was l>iii«< on ln-.r hod
grievously ill.

I II. ink it wasahont I he '.'Ml I, ,,f Srpl mil..-!- 1 1, at, ( Diaries HaoY.lilTo
broii'dit us MM- news of Mir warrant i surd against, Lord Drrwcnt-
de all Mir way from London to warn his brother; Mio
ed wiMi his arresl wa.s a heady ul, I )nrliain.

d my lord. 'What have I aont t-hal, they should

ice's companion and a cousin,' replied his
iiiou-di? They think they will stnke tho

, smiling. "I'liey know not Inn
k I lironidi aiioMier.'

lrlliveiirr, my lord nut for a
ini wailed palieiiMy to liriir his
ie^'an lo walk tip and down tlio
i ill with never a word,
on any counsel for thy htisl)and ?'
first. lint iio kissed her LeiuU;i ly, and
her ,-;|>eak what W;IH in hur mind.
'J know,' nho said, taking his hand and kissing it, 'your j^rrnt
lovn for your c.hildn-n artd your wife. You would not rashly do
aught to imporil those you love. This I know full well, ana am

thankful thnvfor. lint oh, my lord! rnneinl er thr days whrn
\ve were lit lie a. I, St. (Jri-main's, and yon wrrr a p: <^i of tin; Prince,
and J, with my schoolfellows, did all that womoi can — prayed for
him daily. Should it he said that Lord Drrwri twalrr, whrn Mm
chanco camr to hi in<r tho Kitii? to his own again, hung back, and
left to others Mm honour? Nay, my lord' (shn fhn-w hrrsrlf
upon his iierk ) ' I know: it is thy life, as well as thy fortnmi,
that lianas upon this chance. Thy life — oh, my dear lord ! iny dear
lord ! and mini) with it.'

4 Hweothoart 1' — my lord folded her tenderly in his arms — ' wore
there a clrtnee, helieve me, Derwcntwater would he the first. Yet,
I doubt — I doubt whether tin) chance be not a forlorn hope. It is
already u fortnijdtt and morn since we had tidings of the insurrec-
tion, and asi yet nothing hath boon done, so far as we can tell.
.Patience, therefore. Let not thy quick woman's wit jump to tho
conclusion that the business is done before wo know if it be well

lie'Mlli.'

Thon he turned to me and said, with his swoot smile, in which
pre ,rnt friendship was combined with tho memory of the past :

1 l«'air Dorothy, we have had many talks in the formor timo over
this ami other matters : give me thy couu < 1 '
4 Oh, my lord 1* I said, moved to toaw by tho si^ht of this tender.

WHAT WILL HE DOt

191

ness, 'what have 1 to say whicn her ladyship hath not already
better said ? Yet I pray your lordship to do nothing rashly, and to
think always of your wife and tender children.'

And at that moment the nurse opened the door and brought them
in — two little creatures with fair curling locks and blue eyes. The
elder, who could walk, broke from his nurse's arms and ran across
the floor with outstretched hands, crying to his father. The Earl
caught him up and kissed him fondly. When he set the boy down
again, his eyes were filled with tears.

4 My mind,' he said, ' is made up. I am to be arrested, who have
no knowledge of any plot at all. I will surrender.'

He looked at his wife ; but she cast down her eyes, and ho left
the room.

4 He will surrender !' said Charles. ' What, without a blow ?'

4 He will surrender,' said the Countess, 4 and I, who looked to see
him riding gallantly at the head of his regiment '

I have since that day often considered the case. I think, now,
that he was right. For, if he surrendered, it was only one man the
less (because he would never force his own people into the service) ;
and, if he did not surrender, he would have to become, like Tom, a
wanderer and fugitive, until he was forced, as Tom was forced, into
taking up arms.

But in this, as in everything else, fate was too strong for him.

He repaired that same day to the house of Mr. B n, Justice of

the Peace (I repress his name for pitv, because his repentance
must since surely have been as great as nis fault was astonishing).
This magistrate, after hearing what his lordship had to say, refused
(illegally) to accept his surrender (whereby he brought my lord to
his death), and persuaded him to return to his own house again.
This my lord did in great heaviness.

4 The stars,' he said, 4 in their courses fight against me. All are
of one mind. They say my death is sought. They will not suffer
me to surrender. What next — ah ! Dorothy, what next ?'

One thing was certain, that, if he did not surrender and would
not be caught, he must go into hiding. And this he did. And for
nearly three weeks the Earl of Derwentwater became a fugitive,
living I know not exactly how or where, but in hiding always.
And for us who remained behind there was nothing left but to
pray and to hope. If we women were Jacobites before, judge what
we were now, when all our hopes depended on success 1 Charles
stayed with us, waiting. He was full of courage and of heart, yet
even he confessed that London was strong for the Protestant Suc-
cession— but London would come round. As for our armies ! They
should drive King George's troops before them like cattle ; why,
Lord Mar had with him already 12,000 men, and still they came
flocking in — it did one good, at such a time, to have so gallant and
brave a lad as Charles Radcliffe with us.

He knew, as well, that the three secret messengers who usually
travelled in the north had arrived at Newcastle, viz. : Mr. John
Bhafto (who was afterwards shot a* Preston) ; Captain Robert

T9* DOROTHY FOR$i£R.

Talbot, a Roman Catholic, formerly in the French service (ho irai
executed for high treason) ; and Captain John Hunter (hanged at
Liverpool). With them were Colonel Oxbrough, who had served
under King James II. ; the two Wogans, Nicolas and Charles ; and
Mr. James Talbot (who afterwards escaped from Newgate, but
being retaken was executed). Other messengers there were, but I
forget their names.

I must not forget that one day, when we were talking about
other things, I asked him for news of his brother Frank.

He shook his head.

1 Frank,' he said, 4 is troubled with a grievous cough, which keeps
him much at home. Yet would he have ridden with me north, but
was prevented.'

He then went on to tell me that he was held and bound captive
by love, and that with an actress.

' She was in his lodging,' he said, ' when last I saw Frank, and
sprang at me like a tigress when I asked him to come with me.
" He go a- fighting ?" she cried. " Never ! for any Prince or King
among them all. Go tell my lord that I have got his brother, and
am keeping him safe." Strange ! Frank is bewitched.'

I thought no more about the matter at the time, but afterwards
I remembered it.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE MEETING AT GREENRIG.

THERE are many stories told of Lord Der went water's hiding-
places ; as, for instance, that he was obliged to conceal himself in
the Queen's Cave, where Queen Margaret and her son were kept in
safety. It is true he met his wife in Deepden, because it is a retired
spot not likely to be disturbed : indeed, there was no need for such
hiding in caves, for he had made by his benevolence and generosity
friends enough among his tenants and the poor people, who would
have died rather than give him up. It was, however, intolerable
that a man of his exalted rank should be in hiding at all, and before
long there began to be spread abroad in whisper that a council of
some kind was to be held.

No one knew whose turn might come next. The case of Lord
Derweutwater might be that of any gentleman in the county.
When the meeting was held at which action was resolved upon,
there was hardly a man present who did not expect his own arrest.
It was at a place called Greenrig, upon the open moor, near
Bweethope Lough. Five years before the same company met
together, but then for friendship and for feasting. Then all faces
were gay ; now all were gloomy. Even with those who were young
and those who had nothing to lose, it is a serious thing to draw the
sword. My lord's eyes were anxious, and his forehead lined ; Tom
was grave, his look suspicious, as if a messenger might lurk in
every clump of heather. I know not how all wtre called together,
bat there cams Lord Widdrington ; Sir William Swinburne and

THE MEETING AT GREENRIG. 193

two brothers ; Mr. Clavering, of Callalee ; Mr. Fenwick, of Bywell ;
Mr. Errington, of Beauf ront ; Mr. Shaf to ; Mr. Stokoe ; and a few
others. Charles Radcliffe was there — we all knew what was in the
heart of that gallant boy. The Countess was present, her cheek
flushed and angry, her eyes flashing. There came with Tom (besides
Mr. Hilyard) his friend, who became afterwards his chief adviser in
the field, Colonel Oxbrough, whom now I met (for the Countess
and I rode across the moor with Charles) for the first time. I may
not speak of the dead with blame, but sure and certain I am that if
Tom had not fallen in with this gentleman he might have been now
lord of the great Bamborough estates, and these free and unen-
cumbered, as Lady Crewe intended. Colonel Oxbrough was born
to a good estate (perhaps he ran through it in the manner common
to many Irish landlords) : he served under King James : he was a
Catholic : in manner, he was unlike any of the other Irishmen en-
gaged in this business, not loud in talk and hectoring like Captain
Gascoigne, nor boastful like Captain Wogan, but of a calm, cold
way of speech which had more effect than loud and boastful talk ;
in appearance he was tall and thin, with bright eyes, aquiline nose,
and firm lips : in manner he was courtly, and in demeanour mild
and thoughtful, always showing great regard to the opinions of the
man with whom he conversed. Yet of all the rebels, this man was
the most determined ; he had made up his mind that for Ireland
(for he cared nothing about England or Scotland) it was necessary
that the King should be a Catholic : with that object he would go
to the death willingly, but, further, I think he cared little.

The servants held the horses at a convenient distance, and the
gentlemen gathered together, some lying on the turf and some
standing. The moor, purple with heather and ling, stretched away
on every side ; there was no chance of interruption. As for the
Countess, with whom I came, she stood beside her husband, her
hands laid upon his left arm, her cheeks flushed and angry, her eyes
flashing, gazing into his face as if she would read his thoughts. As
for hers, I knew them.

Then Lord Derwentwater spoke, slowly and seriously. No one,
he said, had the interests of the Prince, his lawful King and
Sovereign, more at heart than himself. This was so well known,
that a warrant was issued, as they all knew, for his arrest ; no
doubt his fate was determined before he had a chance of striking
a blow. He desired at this meeting to take his friends' opinion
whether the time had truly arrived for rising in the name of the
Prince. For himself, he could not pretend to know the feeling of
the country ; he had lived in it but five years, and never in London
at all. But he was fully assured, he said, that nothing should be
attempted in England, whatever the Scots might do, until it was
clear, first, that the voice of the whole country was in favour of
the Prince ; next, that a rising in one county would be immediately
followed by others in all parts ; and lastly, that the temper of the
army and the fleet should be favourable. * For, gentlemen,' he
continued, ' let us consider, I pray you, not only ourselves, who

13

194 DOROTHY FORSTER.

have a stake in the country which you hazard in this chance and
fortune of uncertain war ; not only our own lives, which the
common soldier risks for sixpence a day, and every sailor who goes
afloat ; but also our wives and children, who will be ruined with us
if we fail. Eemember the many grievous cases after the late un-
happy Civil War, when English noblemen and gentlemen were
almost begging their bread in France and the Low Countries. Also
let us consider those poor faithful creatures, who will take pike and
firelock and follow our fortunes. Therefore, I say, unless the way
is made plain to me, I will not so far weaken the Prince's cause as
to throw away foolishly my fortune and my life.'

At these words there was a murmur of approbation ; but the
Countess clutched at my hand, murmuring, * Oh ! he knows not his
own strength. He has but to declare himself !' Then the gentle-
men looked upon each other, and then upon Tom, who presently
spoke. What he said was simple and in plain words, for he was no
speaker, to the effect that his own part and share in the design was
so great, and his name so fully involved, that there was no hope
left for him, save in the success of the undertaking ; that he was
resolved to live no longer the life of a fox in a hole, but should,
unless something was determined at this meeting, ride straightway
across the Border and join the force of Lord Mar. As regarded
the other gentlemen, each knew for himself how far he had gone,
and whether it was safe to go back or go on, and he should not say
one word to persuade anyone into an enterprise which might lead
to fortune or might lead to death. Every man had his own life in
his hands, and sometimes it was necessary to stake that life in the
game. And so on, speaking, as it seemed to me, very sensibly and
to the point, concluding by saying that he, for one, would draw and
persuade no one to follow him.

* He is not a man of books,' whispered Mr. Hilyard ; ' but
Demosthenes could not have pleaded the cause of the Prince more
artfully.'

Lord Widdrington followed. I knew little of his lordship, except
from hearsay, and therefore I refrain from speaking about him.
He was a Catholic, and at this time about thirty- eight or forty
years of age, married to the daughter and heiress of Sir Thomas
Tempest, of Stella ; he was also the grandson of Lord Fairfax, and
therefore a cousin of my own. His family were lords of Wid-
drington even in the reign of Henry I. ; one of them was killed in
an engagement with General Lilburne during the Civil Wars ;
another fell at the Battle of the Boyne ; the present lord is brother-
in-law to Lord Langdale, whom his sister married, and to Mr.
Townley, of Townley, who joined the Rebellion, but was acquitted.
Other connections his lordship had which proved fortunate for him
in the end, when all those who had interest, save one or two,
managed to get a pardon. Lord Widdrington said, briefly, that it
was clearly the duty of loyal gentlemen to take every opportunity
of pressing forward the cause of the lawful Sovereign, and that he,
for one, should be pleased if *fee gentlemen present should think

THE MEETING AT GREEN RIG. 195

the time opportune, and the hope of success BO reasonable as to
justify them in taking up arms. * But,' he added ' I applaud the
maxim of Lord Derwentwater, that for the Prince's friends to get
killed, and their property confiscated, would be a poor way of help-
ing his Highness.' And with that he ended.

Sir William Swinburne spoke next to the same effect ; and then
Colonel Oxbrough, seeing that no other gentleman had anything to
say, took off his hat and begged to be allowed speech. He said,
speaking without any passion, and in a low voice and slowly, that,
in his serious opinion, the times were never more ripe for action ;
that since the death of the late Queen men had been looking at each
other in wonder that nothing was done ; yet he, for one, would be
slow to accuse the loyalists of England of indifference, since he was
persuaded that nothing was wanting except a leader and an example.
4 Why, gentlemen,' he went on, ' here is before our eyes an example
which is better than myriads of words. The Earl of Mar began
with a thousand men, and hath now with him fully twelve thousand.
His army is like a ball of snow, gathering strength as it rolls on-
ward. Do you wish for a better example ? Ireland is waiting for
the signal ; in the west of England they are also waiting ; Cumber-
land and Lancashire are full of loyal men ; London counts thou-
sands of the Prince's friends ; his Highness is even now preparing
to cross over and take the field in person. What better opportunity
can you have ? What more can you desire ? If any other con-
sideration were wanting, there is the fact that you are all very well
known for the Prince's friends. What private promises you may
each have made I know not, but would have you remember that
treachery hath already been at work ; I doubt not that in a few
days you will be secured and clapped into separate prisons, or hurried
away to London, where you will be severally examined, and none
will know what the others will answer ; so that for very fear of
betraying one another you may verily do it. This, gentlemen, is a
disagreeable thing to contemplate. Yet there seems, in my humble
opinion, only one way to prevent it.'

Well, still they looked at one another, for no one would be the
first to propose so grave a step. Colonel Oxbrough stood silent,
with grave composed look, and made no sign of impatience. But
then the Countess herself sprang into the middle of the circle, and
with the air and manner of a queen, flung her fan upon the ground
before them all, crying, ' Take my fan, then, gentlemen, and give
me your swords 1'

My lord's face flushed crimson, as ho picked it up and restored it
to her.

' Gentlemen,' he said quietly, ' enough talking.'

He took off his hat, and drew his sword, crying, * God save King
James !' All their swords flashed, and every man tossed up his hat,
crying, ' God rave King James 1'

4 Why,' said Colonel Oxbrough quietly, ' I knew there could be
but one end. Madam' — he bowed low to the Countess, who stood
with clasped hands, panting breast, flushed cheek, and parted lips

13—2

196 DOROTHY FORSTER.

gazing upon her hnsband — ' Madam, as it was said of Qneen Eliza*
beth, so shall it be said of your ladyship — "Dux foemina facti.'"

Mr. Hilyard, who stood behind me, and had no sword to draw,
groaned and sighed, but nobody heard him except myself.

4 Alas !' he said, whispering, ' Colonel Oxbrough is a dangerous
man : he knows that with many the surest spur to courage is fear.
That is why, in the ancient temples, Fear is represented and painted
with a lion's head. It is fear which drives them all. His honour
is afraid because he knows not how much hath been reported of hia
sayings, meetings and conspiracies in London ; yet sire I am he
would have done better to give himself up, and so have obtained a
pardon after reasonable delay. As is Mr. Forster, so are the other
gentlemen, who are all afraid, and with reason. I except my Lord
Derwentwater, who would have had us wait — but his hand was
forced. Pray Heaven there be hereafter no cause for repentance !'

After the shouting there was much talking together and discus-
sion, in which Lord Derwentwater took little part, standing silent
and contemplative. When everyone had had his say, mostly in a
confused babble, there was silence, and Colonel Oxbrough was heard
recommending or suggesting. At last all was resolved upon. On
the following morning they were all to repair to the G-reenrig Burn,
there openly to band together in the name of King James.

So they parted ; Lord Derwentwater with the Countess, Mr.
Errington, Sir William Swinburne (it was lucky for Sir William
that he was persuaded by his lordship to go home, and to stay there
awhile), his two brothers, Lord Widdrington with his two brothers,
and two or three more, rode back to Dilston ; Tom, flushed and
excited, to Blanchland, with the rest of his friends, among whom, I
forgot to mention, was Mr. Patten.

' Sir,' said this worthy minister, ' I now venture to ask a favour
of your honour.'

* What is it ?' asked Tom ; ' I think this is a time for action, not
for asking favours.'

' It is, sir, that your honour, who, I hear, will receive the King's
commission to command his Majesty's forces in England, will be
graciously pleased ' — here he bowed down to the ground — ' to confer
upon me, unworthy as I am, the office of chaplain to your honour.'

'Why,' said Tom, ' if that be all, my chaplain shalt thou be. And
you, Tony, don't look glum. Think you that there shall be no
more feasting and drinking? Wait, man, till we have got the
Prince to St. James's, and then will we make a night of it !'

' At such a juncture,' said Mr. Patten severely, ' Mr. Hilyard can
surely think of something besides drinking and playing the fool.'

'I think, besides,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'of Rehobcam and his coun-
sellors.'

' Dare you maintain, sir '

' Hark ye, sir !' Mr. Hilyard replied ; * meddle not with me, chap-
lain or no chaplain. The only favour I ask of his honour is that I
may follow him and serve him in the field as I have served him at
home. I dare say I shall be able to carry a musket as well as any
ploughboy in the ranks.'

THE MELT I KG AT GREEN RIG. \<j7

1 You to fight ! Oh, Mr. Hilyard !' I exclaimed.

' Nay, sister,' said Tom, ' all shall go who will. Yet I drag none
against his inclination. Tony, give me thy hand, honest friend.
Fight beside me, or stay at home with Dorothy, as thou wilt. If
we come well out of this, old friend, of which I make no donbt,
thou shalt see I am not ungrateful. My poverty thou knowest, but
not my wish to reward thee for all these years of service.'

The tears came into Mr. Hilyard's eyes ; he looked as if he would
have spoken, but refrained.

They had a merry evening, after all, with shouting enough for
the whole of the great army they were going to raise, and Mr. Hil-
yard singing as if he was the most red-hot Jacobite among them all.
Perhaps at the moment, with the whisky punch before him, and
amid the shouts and applause of his friends, he thought he was.

It is not for my feeble pen to write a history of the events which
followed. What do I know of armies and of battles ? I stayed at
Blanchland alone, except for my maid and the rustics of that retired
place, seeing no one save from time to time when I rode across the
moor to Dilston, and learned all that the Countess could tell me,
which was little. Had we been able to look into the future, which
is mercifully withheld from us, we should have been wretched
indeed. Women can only believe what they are told. Did not
Colonel Oxbrough promise a general rising ? We were strong in
hope, having little fear for the issue, but only for the chances of
battle. Victory was certain, but brave men must die before the
trumpets of the victors blow.

In the morning early the gentlemen were in the saddle.

1 Courage, Dorothy !' said Tom ; ' we are going to certain victory.
Farewell, dear lass.'

So he bent from his saddle and kissed me, and then clattered
away under the old arch, and rode off gaily with his friends. The
next time I saw Tom he was again with his friends, but, alas I in
different guise.

The last to go was Mr. Hilyard, equipped for the first time in his
life with a musket and a sword, and two great horse-pistols stuck
in his holsters ; but he showed little confidence in these weapons.

' So, Miss Dorothy,' he said, ' I go a-fighting. For myself, I have
little stomach for the sport. I think we be all fools together.
Heaven send us safe home again ! Phew ! I am sick already of
bullets, as well as of marching and shouting. Farewell, sweet
mistress. Alas ! shall I ever come back to be your servant again ?'

CHAPTEll XXV

THE FIRST DAYS.

NF.F.DS must that I say somewhat concerning the first days of this
unlucky Rebellion, because many things foolish and false have been
said and written concerning its early beginning. And first, it ii
most true that not one gentleman joined (except, perhaps, the Burl)
who was not possessed beforehand of a general knowledge (I say

I98 DOROTti* FORSTER.

general, not full and particular) of the design, and had pledged hifl
honour to carry it out when called upon. Yet nothing was decided
upon until the meeting, wherefore all spoke truth in saying at their
trials that the business was not premeditated. This being so, I
hope that no one will repeat the idle accusation which has been
brought against my brother that he drew them all in. In truth,
there came but two who can be fairly charged upon him. One of
these was Mr. Craster of Craster, and the other his cousin, Tom
Forster, afterwards hanged at Liverpool. Lastly, I declare that not
one among them all would have moved but for the things they were
told by the secret messengers, such as Oxbrough, Gascoigne, and
Talbot — I mean such things as have been already repeated concern-
ing the temper of the country. Never was a company of honourable
gentlemen (as I have since fully learned) so vilely deceived and
betrayed to their own destruction as these unfortunate gentlemen
of Northumberland. Had I known then what now I know, I would
myself have stabbed Colonel Oxbrough to the heart with my scissors.
For there was no rising in the West of England at all, and only a
riot or two in the Midland Counties ; nor any rising in Ireland,
where most we expected and looked for one ; and as for the great
promises which we had, it will be seen presently to how much they
amounted. Yet the poor gentleman may himself have been deceived,
and in the end he met his death with great fortitude.

There were about twenty gentlemen who rode out with Tom.
They were, if I remember rightly, Mr. William Clavering, of Calla-
lee, and his brother John ; Mr. George Collingwood ; four Shaf toes
— namely, Mr. William Shaf to, of Bavington, and three others ; Mr.
George Gibson ; Dick Stokoe ; Mr. George Sanderson, of Highlee,
and Mr. William Sanderson ; Mr. Will Charleton the younger, of
the Tower ; Mr. John Hunter ; Mr. William Craster ; my cousin,
Thomas Forster; Mr. Thomas Lisle; Mr. Thomas Kiddle the
younger, of Swinburne Castle ; Mr. John Crofts, of Wooler ; Mr.
John Beaumont ; Mr. Robert Cotton, and Mr. John Cotton, his
son. With them rode Mr. Patten and Mr. Hilyard, the former
swelling like a bishop (as he already thought himself), in a new
cassock and great wig, and the latter riding last, with anxious face.
Some of them rode out from Blanchland, but most came from
toe North.

They made no stay at Greenrig, but, thinking the place incon
venient, they rode on to the top of an adjacent hill, called the
Waterfalls, whence they presently discerned Lord Derwentwater
approaching with his friends. It hath been reported, and I have
never heard to the contrary, that on the evening before he left the
home to which he was to return no more, and in the grounds of hig
house, the Earl met a ghost, or spirit, who spoke to him, and pro-
mised (being one of those spirits who are permitted to tell the truth
with intent to lead astray) that he should never fall in battle. I
know not how this may be : I saw and spoke with my lord but once
Again, and he made no mention of this circumstance. But I am
well assured that all night long his favourite dog howled and cried •

THE FIRST DA YS. 199

and, when he mounted his horse in the morning, the creatnre reared
and backed, and could not be persuaded to advance ; which makes
me think that a friendly spirit barred the way, as was done un o
Balaam a long time ago — only, in this case, the angel became not
visible ; and, when one of the grooms led the horse forward, he fell
to trembling, and became covered with sweat and foam. Moreover,
my lord found, soon after starting, that the ring which he always
wore (it had been his grandmother's gift to him) was lost or left
behind. In spite of these ill omens and manifest warnings, he bore
himself with a cheerful countenance ; and, if he had misgivings,
communicated none of them to those around him, who were, indeed,
a joyful company, laughing and racing as they rode. He had with
him his brother Charles ; Lord Widdrington and his two brothers ;
Mr. Edward Howard, brother of the Duke of Norfolk ; Mr. Walter
Tancred, brother of Sir Thomas ; Sir William Swinburne's two
brothers, Ned and Charles ; Lord Widdrington's brother-in-law,
Mr. Richard Townley ; Mr. Errington, of Beaufront ; Mr. Philip
Hudson, uncle to Lord Widdrington ; and one or two others. The
numbers of the gentlemen thus joined together amounted in all to
about sixty horsemen, of whom twenty were servants. This was
not, to be sure, a large force with which to take the field against
King George's armies. But they expected no more at the beginning,
and rode north that day to Rothbury, the news of what was doing
spreading like wildfire through the country. At Rothbury their
numbers were much increased ; though, for the present, they would
enlist none of the country people, only bade them sit down and
wait, for their time should come before long. Now this, Mr. Hil-
yard hath always maintained, was their first and capital error ; for
they should have listed all who came that were able to carry pike
and firelock, and not to have refused any. Then, whether their
army were well or ill-equipped, the fame and rumour of the great
numbers flocking to them would have been spread abroad, and so
many thousands encouraged to enlist. Besides, those who would
have joined, on seeing the gallant show of gentlemen and their
mighty following, lost heart, or became cold, when they had passed
by, and remembered only the danger, when their offers to join might
have been accepted with joy. However, this was only one of the
many mistakes made, Colonel Oxbrough, the principal adviser, being
one who knew not the country, and vainly imagined that the rustics
of Northumberland are as hostile to the Go eerninent, and as full of
hatred, as are the wild kernes of Ireland, which was a great mistake
to make.

Next day, being Saturday, the 7th of October, they marched npon
Warkworth ; and there, at the gates of the old castle, the General
(no other than Tom), wearing a mask — but why, I know not, be-
cause all the world knew him — proclaimed King James III. of Great
Britain. It was done with trumpet and drum, and one acting as
herald (I suspect, Mr. Hilyard ; but he hath never avowed the fact).
On the next day, being Sunday, the General sent orders to Mr. Ion,
vicar of the parish, that he should pray for King James ; and, on

loo DOROTHY FORSTER.

his refusing, commanded Mr. Buxton, Chaplain of the Forces (LSr»
Patten being, as it were, Domestic Chaplain to the General), to read
the service, which was done, and a very stirring sermon was preached,
full of exhortations to be manful to the cause, and to fight valiantly.
On Monday, the 10th, they rode to Morpeth, and there received
seventy gentlemen from over the Border. They were now 300
strong, and all gentlemen. Had they taken all who offered, they
might have been 3,000 strong. Here they were all rejoiced by the
news that Mr. Launcelot Errington, with half a dozen companions,
had boldly captured the castle on Holy Island. They did not hold
it long ; but it is by such feats of bravery that the hearts of others
are uplifted. If they could keep the place, they could signal friends
at sea, who were expected daily, with supplies of arms and officers.
At Morpeth they again proclaimed the Chevalier. Here they
were joined by a good many other gentlemen ; but still they re-
fused the common people. Now, considering that foot soldiers
are the greatest and most important part of an army, it seems
madness not to have taken them. ' A dozen times,' Mr. Hilyard
hath said since, ' was I tempted to proffer my humble counsel to the
General ; but refrained, seeing that I was the lowest of the gentle-
men volunteers, and he now surrounded by noblemen and officers.
Yet I would to Heaven I had had but a single .hour with him alone
over a pipe, as in the old days, when he would honour me by asking
my mind !'

Another dreadful mistake, though one which was afterwards
pleaded in excuse, was that the gentlemen did not bring with them
every man that could be raised. Lord Derwentwater, for example,
could have raised and armed well-nigh a thousand men ; yet ha
brought none with him, except half-a-dozen servants.

' They were struck,' said Mr. Hilyard afterwards in London, 'with
that kind of madness, in virtue of which men do nothing right, but
pee everything as through a distorted glass, and so commit one fault
after another, and do all wrong. It is not a phrensy, ecstasy, or the
fury which comes from love, study, or religious fury, but one which
deprives the reason of judgment, the body being sound and well ; and
is, I doubt not, a demoniacal possession, permitted for high purposes
by Heaven itself, against which we ought to pray. Who but mad-
men would have refused to enlist the common sort? Who but
madmen would have left behind them their own people, who were
an army ready to hand ? Who but such would have gone into a
campaign without arms, ammunition, ordnance, provisions, or any
thought for supplying them ?'

Their first design was to get possession of Newcastle, of which
town they had great hopes ; and they sent Charles Radcliffe forward
with a troop of horse to take and hold Felton Bridge, which was
done with great valour.

And here they met with their first disappointment, expecting that
Newcastle would open its gates to them, whereas, on the contrary,
the gates of that city were closed tight, and the citizens and keelmen
and tbe friend" Q£ the Prince bad to lie snug and

I

THE FIRST DA K5. 301

There is oo donbt that they were promised the town would receive
them, and a great accession to their strength it would have been,
being strongly fortified, rich, populous, and inhabited by a sturdy
and valiant race of men, most of whom would have followed the
rising tide of success. However, this failed, and on the 18th of
October the town was occupied by General Carpenter with Hotham'g
Regiment of Foot, and Cobham's, Molesworth's, and Churchill's
Dragoons. Meantime, therefore, the insurgents withdrew to Hex-
ham, where they stayed three days, the men billeted upon the
inhabitants, but all well-behaved and among friends, though the
vicar refused, like Mr. Ion of Warkworth, to pray for King James.
Here the joyful news came that Lord Kenmure, with the Earls of
Nithsdale, Carnwath, and Wintoun had taken arms in the south of
Scotland, and l:nJ set up the King's standard (worked by Lady
Kenmure, very handsome in blue silk, with white pennants) in the
town of Moffat. After a little marching and enlisting they crossed
over the Cheviots, Lord Kenmure commanding, and came to Roth •
bury, whence they sent a message to General Forster to know his
mind. The latter replied that he would join them, and accordingly
the English forces marched north and joined the Scotch ; after
which they crossed the Border again and went to Kelso, where, on
the Sunday, Mr. Patten preached a veiy stirring sermon from the
text, ' The right of the firstborn is his,' handling the subject, as Mr.
Hilyard assures me, most masterly.

On the Monday the men were drawn up in the market-place,
where, the colours flying, the drums beating, and the bagpipes play-
ing, the King was solemnly proclaimed, and the Earl of Mar's
manifesto read aloud. Their army consisted now of about 1,500
foot and 700 horse, to oppose whom General Carpenter had no more
than 900 men, horse and foot, and these raw soldiers for the most
part. There were, therefore, two courses open to them — I mean
sensible courses — either they might march northwards and attack
the Duke of Argyll's army in the rear, which would greatly strengthen
the Earl of Mar and embolden his followers ; or they might cross
the Border again and fall upon General Carpenter before he got any
reinforcements. Thus would they strike a most telling blow, and
one that would encourage the whole party in England. But, alas !
counsels were divided ; there were jealousies between Scots and
English ; the Scottish officers refused to enter England, while the
English would not enter Scotland. They therefore marched with-
out purpose or aim, except, as it seemed to friends and foes alike,
with intent to escape General Carpenter, along the northern slopes
of the Cheviots, until they came to Langholm in Eskdale, where it
was resolved, against the opinion of Lord Derwentwater, to invade
Lancashire, most of the gentlemen believing (on the faith of pro-
mises and the assurances of the Irish officers) that in this Catholic
county 20,000 men would rise and join them. The sequel shows
how much reliance could be placed on these assurances. On the
way south a good many of the Scots deserted and went home ; on
FeU they encountered, being then about 1,700 strong, the

202 DOROTH Y FORSTER.

whole body of militia, called together and arrayed by the sheriff,
armed with pitchforks, pikes, and all kinds of rustic weapons. They
numbered 10,000, but at sight of the insurgents they turned and ran
without a blow being struck. It was a bloodless victory, and ought
to have raised the spirits of our men ; but it did not, because the
leaders were already dashed (and showed it in their bearing) by the
smallness of their numbers and their own dissensions. The only
men among them all, Mr. Hilyard tells me, who kept their cheerful-
ness were Charles Radcliffe, Colonel Oxbrough, whose courage and
calmness no misfortunes could depress, and Mr. Patten, who, until
the end came, could not believe that an army in which were so many
noblemen and gentlemen could fail to be victorious. After occupy-
ing Appleby, and obtaining a good number of horses, also saddles,
firelocks, and other useful things, they were joined by some of the
Catholic families of Lancashire, together with a few Protestants ;
but as for the 20,000 men who were to rally round them, they were
nowhere visible. At Appleby about 500 Scotsmen deserted the
camp, and marched homewards again, selling their guns as they
went for food. Among them were sixteen or seventeen gentlemen
of Teviotdale, who liked not the prospect. I would to Heaven that
every man had deserted, and the whole army had melted away !
From Appleby they marched to Kendal, where Tom's godmother,
Mrs. Bellingham, was living ; but she refused to see her godson,
being all for the Protestant Succession. From Kendal they made
for Lancaster, which they entered on the 7th of November, and
there, indeed, they expected great additions, but I cannot hear that
many came in. They stayed at Lancaster for three days, and were
hospitably received by the ladies, who dressed themselves in their
bravest, and invited the gentlemen to drink tea with them. On
the 10th of November they reached Preston — which was to prove
the end of their invasion. Here they were joined by nearly a
thousand Catholics and their followers. And, as I have enumerated
most of the Northumberland gentlemen, let me also set down some
of these Lancashire names who, to their honour, were so loyal to their
Prince. They were Mr. Richard Chorley, of Chorley, and his son
Charles (the father shot at Liverpool, and the son died in gaol) ;
Mr. Ralph Standish (pardoned) ; Mr. Francis Anderton (sentenced,
but pardoned, though I believe he lost his estate of £2,000 a year) ;
Mr. John Dalton and Mr. Edward Tildesly (both pardoned) ; Mr.
Richard Butler, of Raclif e (died in Newgate), and Mr. John Beau-
mont (escaped) ; Mr. Hodgson, of Leighton Hall ; Mr. Dalton, of
Thurnham ; Mr. Hilton, of Cartmel ; Mr. Butler, of Rowcliffi ; and
others whose names I have been told, but have forgotten. I must
not omit the unfortunate Mr. William Paul, clerk, Master of Arts,
of St. John's College, Cambridge. This poor man, the Vicar of
Horton-on-the-Hill, Leicestershire, gave up his living, and trudged

friend Tom Forster, who was kind to him when be was a poor scholar

THE FIRST DA YS. 203

of St. John's College, Cambridge, was General. Hejnotonly joined
the army, but he did excellent service in bringing news of General
Carpenter's strength and movements.

At Preston great hopes were raised, so many coming in, whose
rebellion of a day or two cost them dear. Reports were brought
from Manchester that the leading people in the town were well-
disposed towards the Prince. Lord Derwentwater himself went
thither secretly, and held a meeting with some of the gentlemen
there in order to arrange for a rising, but I have not heard with
what success. Then it was expected that the Duke of Ormond
would have joined them with at least 3,000 men. I know not, nor
have ever been able to learn, why nothing was done in Ireland or
in the West of England. Opportunities lost never return, and
although I am convinced that never in the history of the world
were gentlemen more deceived, yet I cannot understand why, the
cause itself being so righteous, the end was not more successful.
All might havo gone well. Alas ! where was the prudence ? The
English General (my poor brother) had no military knowledge, and,
though he was advised by Colonel Oxbrongh, the lords and gentle-
men of the council were too proud to be led by him, and Tom was
not strong enough to command. How could ho command his old
friends and fellows against their will ?

Meantime, while they were considering whether they should
advance on Liverpool, General Wills had joined General Carpenter,
and was marching on Preston, resolved to attack the rebels with
such forces as he had. Look now ! King George's troops were but
1,000 in all, or 1,200 at the most, and the insurgents had nigh upon
3,000 ! Doth it not make one's blood boil to think how, being more
than twice their enemy in number, brave men's lives were thrown
away, and a righteous cause destroyed? But to enumerate the
mistakes made by our people makes me sure that the blessing of
Heaven was withheld from the very first, we know not why, and it
is well not to inquire too closely. Weak human wit cannot discover
why the Right doth not always triumph, or why, for the sins of
princes, the people should be punished.

' I know not,' said Mr. Hilyard, * what was said and proposed at
the councils of war, save that Mr. Charles Radcliffe came from
them always in a rage, and the Earl hanging his head, and the
General troubled and perplexed. I think that if Colonel Oxbrough's
advice had been taken, things would have put on a different face.
A quiet and resolute gentleman, who at the worst never showed the
least resentment when his advice was not taken, nor any indignation
when Scots and English quarrelled, nor spoke an evil word against
those who broke their promises, but took all as part of the day's
work, and went to the gallows as calmly cs be went on parade.
This it if, me thinks, to b« a soldier !'

*<U DOROTHY FORSTER.

CHAPTER XXVI.

MR. HILYARD RETURNS.

THEN, from the day of Tom's departure, for the space of six weeks,
I heard nothing save when I rode to Dilston, and heard what my
lord, who found means to send a letter every week, told the
Countess. As I know now with what misgivings he entered upon
the Rebellion ; how quickly he perceived, but could not remedy,
the eiTors committed during its conduct ; and how there fell upon
him, very soon after the beginning, a heaviness and despondency
which grew daily deeper — ah ! noble heart ! — I have never ceased
to wonder how he could sustain the pretence of light heart, hope,
and cheerfulness which he presented in those beautiful letters of
his. There was nothing — no, not one word — in them which might
lead his wife to suppose that all was not going well. They were
on the Border ; they were with Lord Kenmure and the Scots ; they
were already so many strong ; they were coming back, and would
gather in the recruits so freely offered at the outset ; they would
soon be 20,000 strong— with more to the same effect, and the whole
so set and ornamented with terms of endearment for his wife, and
of tender messages of love to the innocent children, that the heart
of her who read them was led aside from the contemplation of the
danger to think only of the honour and glory of the expedition.

* That my lord should be foremost,' said the fond wife, ' in bring-
ing the Prince to his own is not wonderful ; nay, it is his duty.
But it surprises me that the gentlemen of England have not long
ago resolved to accomplish so easy a task. Why, it will be but a
ride through the country, from Northumberland to London.'

It was, truly, to end in a ride through the country ; but not such
a ride as her ladyship pictured to herself.

Then we pleased ourselves in wondering how the Prince would
be received by London ; when the coronation would take place ; by
what safeguards and concessions the liberties of the Church of
England would be secured ; how great a thing it would be once
more to have a Court, with a young King and Queen (but a wife
must be found for his Majesty, and who should she be ?), to which
Catholic gentlefolk might resort ; and how charming, after the quiet
country life, to enjoy the pleasures of the town — with many other
speculations equally pleasant and profitable.

In those days the Countess talked with me a great deal concerning
her childhood, when first she made the acquaintance of her future
lord. They were together at St. Germain's, she being in the
Ursuline Convent, with one or two of her sisters (she was the
eldest of five daughters), and he a page and companion of the
Prince. The English children at St. Germain's had more liberty
than, it seems, is accorded to the French, and they all knew each
other.

* My dear,' she said, in her quick and candid manner of speech,
*I blusb not to own tfcat J loved &TU frpnj tfee first, wbeo fee was

I

MR. HILYARD RETURNS. 205

Ohly a beautiful boy, dressed up like a soldier to please the Prince,
with his brown hair in a ribbon, and a little sword by his side ; I
loved him then, and I have loved him ever since, though little did
I think I should ever get my heart's desire. For supposing we
played together, and were friends, he would go away and forget
me ; or he would meet with more beautiful women, and fall in love
with them ; or with flattering and designing women, who would
want his wealth and rank — I care nothing about either, Heaven
knows, and would love him just as much if he were a simple gen-
tleman like his cousins of the county. Why, as for love, did he not
fall in love with you, who would have none of him for religion's
sake ? Ah !' — here she sighed — * 'tis well I was not so tempted.
Religion and all I think I would have thrown away for his dear
sake. Yet how he should love me after your lovely face, Cousin
Dorothy, passeth my understanding. Well, as for what is before, I
know not, but pray for the best, and am thankful that we have had
three years of happiness, although I have sometimes vexed him with
my tongue, which at times, alas ! is sharp. Yet he hath never re-
proached me with this my infirmity, knowing that afterwards I
still repent and am sorry.'

She had many admirable qualities, not the least of them being
that she was wise enough to know how good and great a man was
her husband. Some women there are who, if a man love them,
cannot, perhaps for that very reason (knowing how small they are
compared with him), believe that he can be in any way great. It
is as much as to say that the man who loves a foolish woman must
be himself a fool. Such women know not what now I know, and
am glad to know, because it makes me understand many things ;
namely, that no man doth love a foolish woman, but rather the
divine and perfect image of a woman which he pictures to himself,
instead of the real woman. Not that the Countess was a foolish
woman at all, but quite the contrary, being, in every respect but
one, wise and prudent. She checked her husband's profusion
(which was his only fault) ; she set bounds to his generosity in the
matter of giving money constantly to his brother Charles, who was
always wanting more ; she possessed great dignity of carriage,
although little of stature ; and she was only foolish where all the
other women of her party are foolish, in thinking that because
loyalty is a righteous and good thing, the Prince's cause would be
easily won. Therefore she could not brook the shilly-shally delays
of the gentlemen, and long before arms were resolved upon was
impatient ID this I blamed her not then, nor do I blame her now ;
because we only believed what we were told to believe, and could
not know — which we had not been told — the true strength of the
feeling among all classes as regards a Protestant succession. In
Northumberland one had at least the advantage of knowing that a
man may be a Papist, and yet may adorn himself with as many
personal graces and virtues as any Protestant among us all. Where
could be found a man of more unblemished life, more universal
benevolence, greater simplicity, temperance, modesty, and honour

206 DOROTHY FORSTER.

than Lord Derwentwater himself ? Therefore, 1 say, I blame not
the Countess for her zeal, though it precipitated the ruin of her
house. Nay, I was as zealous as herself, and thought the throwing
down of her fan a fine and courageous action.

Let me say nothing but what is good of this unhappy woman,
whose afflictions were greater than she could bear. Why I, who
never ceased to love Lord Derwentwater, nor ever shall, and am
not ashamed to own it, have long confessed to myself, that, with
my rustic ways, I could never have hoped to fix his affections after
the first strong tide of passion, and to keep them for life as this
clever quick-witted creature, as changeable in her moods as the sky
in June, and as sweet to look upon.

It is now sixteen years since she died, and was buried among the
English nuns at Louvain ; but her spirit hath returned to England,
and wanders sadly at night among the woods and ruined gardens at
Dilston. Alas ! that one born to be so happy should die so
wretched.

Enough, for this time, of the talk and thoughts of two fond
women. We waited thus : I at Blanchland, and the Countess at
Dilston, with none about her but old men and women-servants,
from the 6th of October to the 15th of November.

On the evening of that day (which was Wednesday) I was sitting
beside the fire, a book in my hand, but my thoughts far away.
Certain prognostics of the disaster were already in my mind,
though, as always happens, I thought little of them until later ;
that is to say, my sleep had been disturbed the night before by
dreadful and disquieting dreams, but when I awoke in the morning
there was left nothing but a confused image as of some horrid
monster. Thus the messenger of Heaven came to warn Nebuchad-
nezzar, but he forgot in the morning everything, save that a strange
and terrible dream had come to him. Thus, all day long, strange
sounds disquieted me. There were omens of bad luck, such as salt-
spilling, hearing unlucky words early in the morning, and so forth,
which I afterwards remembered. On Sunday, I had a strange
roaring sound in my ears (which may have been the noise of the
cannonade at Preston, but I hardly think that possible). On the
same day, I opened the Bible at haphazard, and lighted on these
terrifying words in the Book of Psalms, which manifestly referred
to the overthrow of those who were doing the Lord's work for the
rightful Sovereign : ' The zeal of thine house hath even eaten me,
and the rebukes of them that rebuked thee hath fallen upon me.'
On Monday and Tuesday I was agitated by strange terrors, and on
Wednesday morning these returned to me in greater force. In the
evening, the house then being quiet and the maids gone to bed, I
sat thinking about many things ; and first, as we are all selfish
creatures, of my hard lot in losing the only man I could ever love,
and the melancholy lives of women wh> miss the happiness of
husband and children ; next of the strange and tragical fate which
still seemed to pursue the Forsters of Bamborough, so that my
brother Tom, the last man of the race (not counting poor rustic

MR. H1LYARD RETURNS.

20?

Jack), was now a fugitive and a rebel who would be exiled, or
worse, should the enterprise fail. Surely, I thought, it was limo
for a change in fortune ; the triumph of the business in hand
would bring us dignities and rank once more. Next, I remembered
the grievous illness of Lady Crewe, of the issue of which I had no
knowledge. Here was food enough for sad thoughts.

Now, while I sat, I became aware of footsteps outside, and there
penile knock at the window. I was never greatly afraid of
robbers and such as break into houses, therefore I hastened to take
a candle, and presently unlocked the door and looked out. It had
been snowing all day, and the drif ts lay deep in the old quadrangle.
There was no one in the porch.

' Who is there?' I cried loudly.

' Thank Heaven !' replied a voice I knew full well. 4 It is Miss
Dorothy.'

There stood before me Mr. Hilyard himself.

' Who is within,' he asked, ' besides yourself ?'

I told him no one except the maids, and they were all abed, for it
was past nine already.

Still he hesitated, hanging his head, till I bade him sharply shake
off the snow from his coat and come in. Cold as it was, he had no
cloak or muffler. He obeyed, and with a trembling hand quickly
shut and barred the door behind him.

Then I knew, indeed, that something dreadful had happened, and
thought of all the forebodings and omens of the last few days.

He followed me into the kitchen, where there was still a good
fire burning. Here he threw himself into a chair, and looked at me
with white face and quivering lips.

4 Miss Dorothy,' he began, but burst into sobbing and crying.

4 Where is my brother Tom ?' I cried. * Is he killed ?'

4 No,' he replied. ' No ; he is not dead. Better, perhaps, if he
had been killed in battle.'

* Where is my lord ? Is he dead ?'
1 No ; he is not dead.'

He was so white in the cheeks and trembled so much in every
limb that I feared he was going to swoon.

* Are you in want of food ?' I asked him.

4 1 had some bread last night,' he said. * Since then I have eaten
nothing.'

4 Since Tom and Lord Derwentwater are alive,' I said, ' tell me
no more till you have eaten.'

When he had devoured some bread and meat and taken a good
draught of ale, he stood up and said solemnly a grace after meat.

4 Never yet had I felt till to-day the force of the prayer, " Give
us this day our daily bread." Alas ! what pangs are endured by
those who starve ! Save a little bread, finished last night, have I
tasted nothing since I escaped from Preston on Monday evening.'

4 How ? Escaped ?'

4 Miss Dorothy'— his eyes filled with tears — 'alas! my kind sweet
mistress, be brave, for the worst hath happened, ilia honour.

2os DOROTHY

General Forster, Lord Derwentwater, Lord Widdrington, all tbl
other gentlemen, and the whole of the insurgent army, have surren-
dered, and are prisoners of General Willes. The Rebellion, unless
the Scots fare better than the English, is at an end. As for his
Highness, who hath brought us to this strait, I wish to Heaven he
were a prisoner as well !'

* Prisoners ? Tell me more.'

4 1 will tell you,' he said, ' from the beginning, that is from last
Saturday. We were at Preston, and in higher spirits than we had
been for some time, having received a great accession of the Catholic
gentlemen of Lancashire, and their followers. I pretend not to
know what was the General's purpose, but it was understood
amongst us that we were to march on Saturday morning upon
Manchester, his honour being assured that none of the enemy were
within forty miles. You may judge, therefore, of our astonishment
when we received orders to prepare for action, for General Willes
was upon us, in what force and whether provided with cannon we
knew not, so badly were we served by our messengers. And yet I
am informed by Mr. Patten, who hath had the ear of his honour
throughout, that he spared neither pains nor cost to be acquainted
with all the movements of General Carpenter, knowing nothing of
General Willes, who was marching upon us from Wigan, having
with him, some say, less than a thousand men, but I know not what
his numbers may have been. He was so close to the town, that
when the General rode out beyond the bridge with a party of horse
he discovered the vanguard of the Dragoons, and had to ride back
hastily. And then — I know not how. save by some judicial blind-
ness sent by Heaven — oh ! had I been of the council ! There is a
passage in Livy — but let that pass. Suffice it that the greatest, the
most fatal mistake was made— oh ! how could it escape them all ?'

I ask<vd who made the mistake.

4 His honour himself. That is to say, none but the General can
be praised or blamed for the conduct of a campaign ; but yet I
know, having heard it for a truth from Mr. Patten, who hath been
mighty civil to me since we started, that in every operation hia
honour has been first guided and directed by Colonel Oxbrough,
and then thwarted by gentlemen who shall be nameless. I cannot
doubt that in the matter of the bridge, he— that is, Colonel Ox-
brough—was overruled ; nor can I believe that a man who has
studied campaigns and been on active service could have neglected
so simple an advantage. Know then, Miss Dorothy, that before
the town there runs a deep river which must be forded ; over the
river a bridge ; and this side the bridge a deep and narrow lane : k
is like the Pass of Thermopylae ; it may be defended by a hundred
men against an army — nay, by means of this pass we might have
destroyed all the force that General Willes had been able to bring
against us. Yet we neglected to defend this bridge. Some say the
Brigadier Macintosh refused to obey the General ; I know not if it
be true ; certainly there is no love between the Scotch and the
English officers. It matters not by whose fault ; the bridge was

MR. II1LYARD RETURNS. 209

left undefended, and the enemy crossed over at their ease, and so
came up to the town and prepared for an attack.'

Ho stopped and sighed.

' I never thought,' he went on, ' that I, a plain Oxford scholar, a
man of peace, and of obscure birth, should take my part in a battle,
fighting among gentlemen ; nor did I look to feel the madness of
Mars in my blood. Yet this day shall I never forget, nor the " joy
of battle " spoken of by Homer, and now understood by me. We
formed four chief barricadoes, or barriers, behind which we received
the enemy. As for me, I had the honour to be placed among the
gentlemen volunteers who defended the barrier below the church,
under Brigadier Macintosh. We were commanded by the Lords
Derwentwater, Kenmure, Wintoun, and Nithsdale. As for my lord
and his brother, Mr. Charles, I dare maintain that they set an
example to all of us of courage and coolness under fire, being
stripped to the waistcoat, and encouraging the men to work at the
barriers and to give a warm reception to the enemy. A warm re-
ception we gave them, indeed, and killed, I believe, as many as 120
of them at the first attack. The battle lasted from three o'clock in
the afternoon till long into the night. Twice I saw the General —
Mr. Tom, I mean— riding up to the barricade, encouraging us to
stand firm and fire with precision, freely exposing himself to the
enemy's fire. When the night fell the enemy set fire to two or
three houses, partly with the design to burn down the whole town,
and partly to terrify and dislodge us, and had there been the least
wind, no doubt their horrid project had succeeded. At midnight
the enemy withdrew, leaving 300 and more dead upon the field,
while we for our part had lost but 17 killed and about 40 wounded.
As for me, I had never a scratch. Yet, in spite of this signal ad-
vantage, and the joy of our men, you shall hear how we were all
presently undone.'

He stopped and fetched another sigh.

* Undone, did I say ? Yea ; ruined and lost beyond hope. Yet
*re were 3,000 strong, and fellows as stout as a general would wish
to command.

* All that night the houses blazed and fell, one by one, with a
most dreadful roaring of flames, and I think that few of us got
much sleep. For my own part I sat, firelock in hand, behind our
barrier, wishing that the morning would come, and longing to be at
'em again. This I say not with boastf ulness, but to show how
quickly even a man of peace may become a man of war. Yet is the
man of peace a madman thus to follow the drum. It hath been
truly said by Seneca in his book '

'Never mind Seneca, Mr. Hilyard. For Heaven's sake go on
with the story. What happened next ?'

' Since you know that we were all taken prisoners, you know,
Miss Dorothy, pretty nearly as much as I know myself. For, of a
truth, I cannot tell with certainty why we laid down our arms. We
took a few prisoners, and from one of them, an officer, I learned the
strength of the enemy, and that General Carpenter was marching

5io DOROTHY FORSTER.

upon us, having with him three regiments of Dragoons. But still
we should greatly outnumber them. "Gentlemen," cried one of
the prisoners, as he was led through our ranks, " I am your prisoner
to-day, but you will all be ours to-morrow." At which some of us
laughed, but I, thinking how the bridge had been neglected, began
to consider seriously what this might mean. I say again that I
blame not his honour. Neither as man nor boy hath he ever cared
for things military, to study the conduct of a siege nor the history
of a campaign. But I marvel that Colonel Oxbrough, who should
have known better, or that Lord Widdrington, who should have
been made to hold his tongue, or that Brigadier Macintosh — but,
indeed, there is small profit in wondering.

' Now, in the morning, when we expected, although it was Sun-
flay, that the enemy would either attack us again, or that we should
sally forth and attack them, which would have been more to our
humour and the purpose, the blood of the men being up, and every-
body in good spirits at the yesterday's fighting and heavy losses we
had inflicted upon the enemy, no orders came, and we continued at
our posts all that morning. There was some firing upon us, but
not much, from two or three houses occupied by the enemy. I
think it must have been ten of the clock that a rumour began among
us that General Carpenter had arrived, and that the town was in-
vested, and we entirely surrounded. At first that seemed to matter
little, because we had beaten them once, and could beat them again
were they twice as strong. Next it was whispered that we were
short of powder as well as provisions. What kind of officers are
those who lead their men into a fight with no more ammunition
than is enough for a single day's fighting, and no more provisions
than from day to day can be gathered on the^ march ? Now when
I understood this I began to tremble indeed, because it became
quite plain to me that we must now either surrender (though nearly
three to one, and full of heart), or fight our way out with bayonet, pike,
and sword against musket and cannon. I confess, moreover, that I
was tempted to follow the example of some of our men, who, on
the first suspicion of this desperate position of affairs, scoured off,
and made good their escape by a w>iy where as yet none of the
Dragoons were posted. It was by a street called Fishergate, which
leads to a meadow beside the river, where are two good fords. I
know not how many got away, but by one way or another, hiding
in the houses and escaping by night, there must have been more
than a thousand, because sure I am that not half of those who were
with us the day before the fight were those who laid down their
arms the day after. A happy escape to them ! As for those who
ire taken, what can they look for ? Courage, Miss Dorothy ! there
is time, and something may yet be done. We must not despair.
First, there is open always to poor mortals in their worst extremity
their appeal to Heaven ; it is not fortune alone which destroys
armies. Next, it must be admitted a noble madness at the worst,
which compelled so many gentlemen to go forth on this forlorn
hope, so that tjjeir speedy discomfiture ought to be a punishment

MR. HILYARD RETURNS. an

sufficient onto them. Besides, there is the famous passage of
Boethius '

4 Oh! .Mr. Hilyard, let us not look to Boethius for help. Tell
me all, and then let us think what remains to be done.'

' Alas ! little is left to tell, and that is bad. On Sunday morning
there was held a council, of which I have heard the substance,
though, of course, I was not present. When the time shall come
when scholars shall be consulted on every subject, as the oracles
were consulted of old, there will be a school or college of scholars
whose sole business it shall be to advise Ministers, contrive measures,
be consulted by Generals, and lay down plans for the general good
of the nation. Happy would it have been — I say it not boastfully,
but with sorrow — f or us all had our commander sought the counsel
of the only scholar who was with them. But they knew not — they
know not, and do not in their ignorance suspect— that a man who
hath read Tacitus, Livy, and Thucydides, to say nothing of Caesar
his Commentaries, Sallust his history, the great military writer
Vegetius (in the Leyden edition), and the late campaigns, with such
help as was within his reach, of the illustrious Marlborough, a
greater than Hannibal, could lead their army better than all of
them put together. No ammunition, no powder, no provisions ;
not a map of the country ; no spies — and that bridge left unde-
fended ! Why, I should have sallied forth to meet the enemy, and
struck a blow, before that bridge was abandoned, as would have
rung through all England ; General Carpenter's turn should have
followed next ; and then — then — unless the City of London de-
clared for the Prince I should '

He stopped, gasping, carried away with the imaginary glory of
the campaign directed by himself.

' What would you have done then, Mr. Hilyard ?'

( I should have dictated terms to King George, and in return for
disbanding my forces and sending all home again, I woi^U have left
him on the throne and accepted a general amnesty.'

4 What, and desert the Prince ?'

* Nothing is of any lasting help for the Prince,' he said, 'until he
hath first turned Protestant. Although they did not consult me,
however, I learned that the council was divided, and no agreement
possible ; for some thought that, considering our number, which
was still greater than that of the enemy, it would be shameful to
surrender without another fight, while others thought that enough
blood had been shed, and that terms had better be made — such
terms as could be obtained. If there was neither ammunition nor
provision, how could a sally be attempted, to say nothing of an
escape ? And how could we sit down to oe starved ? Then the
town was invested : we were all caught like rats in a trap ; if we
attempted to fight our way out, we should be shot down as we ran:
with other arguments which savoured as much of cowardice as or
prudence. His honour, who presided, listened to all, and looked
from om; to the other to ask his opinion. The Earl of Derwent-
with 14s brother and the Highland officers, were hot for •

2 1 2 DORO TH Y FORS TER.

sally, and for fighting the way out with sword and bayonet when
all the powder was gone. " What !" they cried, " are we to abandon
the enterprise because wo are merely threatened ? We are invested
— that is true ; we have little powder — that is true ; let us reserve
all wo have to protect the rear, and cut our way in the darkness
through them." Lord Widdrington, for his part, was strong for
capitulation ; tho rising, ho said, was hopeless ; the English gentle-
men held aloof, or were hostile ; the Earl of Carlisle, Lord Lumley,
and a great many gentlemen of the north were with General Car-
penter ; they had been deceived with promises of support, not only
Ron men who at the moment of action refused to come out, but
also from the messengers who came and went between London and
the north — here he looked at Colonel Oxbrough. Things were bad,
but they might be made worse ; the business of the Prince could
not be advanced by the carnage of his followers ; wherefore he was
for a capitulation on honourable terms. Thaa Lord Derwentwater
spoke again. He said that he partly agreed with Lord Widdring-
ton ; their affairs were hopeless ; divided counsels, as well as mis-
representation, had brought them to this pass ; yet he, for one,
could not think they should capitulate while they still had their
swords left. His vote, therefore, was again for cutting a way
through. Finally, all looked to Colonel Oxbrough, who, in his
calm and quiet way, said that as regards misrepresentation, he knew
of none, all the business of the Prince being carried on faithfully,
as is proper among gentlemen ; that he had himself been a ines-
Bengtrj :m«l proved his own loyalty by casting in his lot with them ;
that, as to the failure in the south and west, and the silence as re-
gards Ireland, he knew no more than anyone present ; but, as to
the present juncture, he was a soldier, and knew how to obey,
though against his own judgment ; therefore, whatever the opinion
of the council, he was ready to obey again, whether it should be
decided to fight or to capitulate. If to fight, many would doubtless
meet with the death of a soldier ; if to surrender, some would pro-
bably be hanged, some beheaded, and some pardoned, and their
estates confiscated. " But," he added, " those who die will die for
the King, and those who are ruined will be ruined for his sake."

'Outside, and among us of the rank and file, there was now
(seeing that the way of escape by Fishergate Street was at last
closed by the Dragoons) only one feeling — namely, that we should
fight our way out ; and hard things were said of our leaders, who
had got us into this trap, out of which there was no escape, although
BO many roads, so that we were like crabs and lobsters in their
wicker-work cages, whereinto they can creep with ease, but cannot
get out again. Nevertheless, despair and determination would have
made a way, I doubt not, for who would not fight if it were certain
death to remain and probable death to advance ? I know not what
may be the clemency of King George, on which they now build so
many hopes, but kings .do not use to be merciful towards rebels.
However, we were all resolved to fight, and when at length Colonel Ox-
brough was sent to treat of surrender, tto common soldiers were told,

MR. HILYARD RETURNS. 213

to keep them qniet, that General Willes had offered hononrable termi
if we would lay down our arms. The terms which he brought back
were, indeed, nothing but what we had a right to expect — namely, that
we were to surrender at discretion. This, one must own, was choking
to us all, after a victory such as ours. The Colonel brought back thU
reply, and a second message was sent by Captain Dalzell begging
for time, which was granted — namely, until seven o'clock on Mon-
day morning, provided that no more entrenchments were thrown
up and that hostages were sent. It was with a heavy heart, indeed,
that I saw my Lord Derwentwater, with grave and serious counte-
nance, ride forth with Colonel Macintosh, as our hostages. For I
understood very well that this was but the beginning of the end,
and that our vaunted rising, which was to have been followed by
the general voice of the whole nation, had come to a sudden and
shameful end. I could not but think of all that this brave young
gentleman staked upon the issue of the enterprise r his vast estates,
his rank and dignity — even his life : for, though the clemency of
<he King be extended to all else, can it ever include the Prince's
cousin, his playfellow, and his most intimate friend ? Alas ! I fear
that noontide sun of splendour is veiled and eclipsed already ! It
is reported that when Lord Derwentwater entered the General's
tent, he sat down and said, with a sigh, that he would rather trust
himself to the clemency of King George than return to an army
where there was neither wisdom, agreement, obedience, nor honesty
(thinking of the mischievous jealousies between Englishman and
Scot). For clemency, we know not ; the smaller folk may hope,
but for my lord, I dare prophesy that he will smile no more upon
this earth. And as for the rest of his days, they will be few indeed
and full of sorrow. I know not in what reflections my comrades
passed Sunday night ; but for myself, I meditated continually on
the nearness of death, seeing nothing but probable destruction
whichever way was chosen. Why, I asked myself, did I make or
meddle with the matter ? For, though bound in duty to follow his
honour did he order it, I was not bound to volunteer my life in the
cause. Again, I said to myself, though I hoped to show gratitude
by being of service, I should have known that as a common soldier
I could have no say in the council — not even private intercourse
with the General. Perhaps there were others such as myself ;
though most seemed insensible to danger, and lay sleeping like logs
all the night, and in the morning would have gone forth to fight aa
cheerfully as to play a bout at quarterstaff. Truly I think that
most of our vaunted courage doth proceed from insensibility and
lack of imagination, so that the brave soldier who marches straight
to the cannon's mouth does so because he cannot think, or picture
the future, and would draw back and flinch if he could foresee the
agony of his wound and the dreadful pain in which he must die.
However this may be, when it became known in the morning that,
after all, we were to surrender, and that after what had seemed to
be a most glorious and successful action, in which they lost ten
times as many men as we, and had at last to retire, the rage and

214 DOROTHY FORSTER.

disappointment of the men were terrible to witness. They ran
about the streets, calling upon each other to sally forth and force a
way out. Had they been led in this attempt, I am very certain that
we should have got away, though with heavy loss, and perhaps have
gotten in the end much advantage to the cause. But our officers
were too tender for us (if not for themselves), therefore we must
needs be hanged, as will doubtless happen to most, or sent to the
Plantations, or die of gaol-fever — though with regard to his honour,
Miss Dorothy, we must hope for better things. The unfortunate
Mr. Patten, poor wretch, will have but short shrift, I fear. I love
not the man, yet I confess that his courage in coming out with us,
his bravery in the action, and his present constancy under misfor-
tune, have caused me to forgive the past.

' The soldiers ran, I say, this way and that, distracted, and with-
out a leader, for the officers and gentlemen, even those who were
loudest to sally forth, kept within, and ventured not out to meet
that roaring, maddened mob. One there was among us who ven-
tured to use the word " surrender." Him they shot. As for me,
having designs of my own, I bellowed with the rest, and so kept a
whole skin.

'Miss Dorothy,' he interrupted himself, crying out as if violently
moved, ' I maintain and declare that the whole business was con-
ducted so feebly from the very beginning, when they refused to
enlist the men who volunteered, to the end, when they would not
even keep the bridge or sally forth and attack the enemy, whom we
outnumbered by three to one, that his honour the General was right
to bring it to a close. Yes, we might have made a sortie ; there
were still a few rounds of powder left ; we might (some of us) have
escaped, and the lives lost would have been counted by hundreds ;
and afterwards what would have been our lot, but wandering among
"khe mountains and starving on the moors, with death for those taken
prisoner, and few indeed winning their way to the Scottish army ?
Whereas, now, the Government may show themselves merciful.
One knows not, to be sure, the fate of Lord Mar ; if he be success-
ful for a time — for he cannot, I am sure, in the long run — our
prisoners may meet with leniency ; if Lord Mar be already defeated,
which much I fear, then the fate of the prisoners may be hard.
Let us not forget that their leaders gave themselves up, in the hope
that the common sort might escape unharmed and free.'

It was Tom's good heart and compassionate nature made him
listen to the counsels of Lord Widdrington. He gave up himself
and his friends to save the poor fellows who had followed them ;
there was to be no unnecessary bloodshed. I know now that this
is not the way in which campaigns should be conducted. Does a
Maryborough when he meditates a Blenheim think with pity of the
soldiers who will die in carrying out his plans ? Tom was not a
Marlborough, nor ought he to have been a general. Yet as for his
courage, that was abundantly proved ; as for his honesty, that wag
never doubted ; as for his military genius, we must look for it in
the plans proposed by Colonel Oxbiough, and if we find it not in

H1LYARD RETURNS. 115

the history of the campaign, we must remember that discord pre-
vailed in every council, where every man regarded himself as equal
to the General-in-Chief. The leaders, when there was no hope hut
in a great carnage, gave themselves up to save the rest. It was
nobly done by them. As for King George's clemency, we must
look to the heads on Temple Bar, the scaffolds on Tower Hill, the
shootings and hangings at Liverpool, Warrington, and Preston ;
the deaths in prison, the confiscated estates, and the long lines of
wretches put on board the ships at Liverpool, and sent out to work
for the rest of their days, torn from their homes, in the Plantations
of Virginia and Jamaica.

Mr. Hilyard went on to finish his narrative.

'In the midst of the confusion, one Mr. Alexander Murray
Lieutenant in Strathmore's Regiment, being a hot-headed youth,
and full of indignation against the surrender, made his way to
General Forster's quarters, where his honour sat, in melancholy
mood, as may be imagined, and with him one or two gentlemen,
and Mr. Patten, his chaplain. Mr. Murray carried in his hand a
pistol, which no one had noticed until he burst into their midst,
and crying " Traitor !" levelled it at Mr. Forster's head, and would
most certainly have killed him, but that Mr. Patten struck up the
pistol, and the shot went into the ceiling.

' Quite early in the morning, almost before daylight, the Dragoons
rode in. A trumpet was blown, and, all being presently drawn up
in the market-place, the men were told to lay down their arms,
which they did with very rueful faces, and only because they haa
no more ammunition, and there was no one to lead them. Thus
ended our great and glorious Rebellion. I have left at Preston near
500 English gentlemen and followers and soldiers (where are all the
rest — those who promised, but came not ; and those who came, but
ran away ?), and 1,000 Scots, of whom 150 are noblemen and gen-
tlemen (but at least 1,000 must have got away, or gone away, before
the fighting began). What they will do with all I know not. My
greatest hope is that, seeing they have so many in the net, they may
pardon all ; but my greatest fear is that, seeing they have both small
and great, they may punish all the great while they suffer the small
to go free.'

4 Then, how is it,' I asked, * that you, too, are not a prisoner ?'

He laughed, and took another draught of the October.

'When I perceived,' he said, 'how things were likely to go, I
reflected that a free man is certainly more useful than a prisoner ;
and that, if I could be of any service to his honour (as the mouse
was once of service to the lion), it could only be if I was free.
Wherefore, I cast about in my mind for a way of escape. Happily,
I remembered that the man in whose house I was billeted, an
apothecary by trade, had already professed some kind of friendship
for me because of certain recipes, secrets, and ancient mixtures,
which, out of my reading in Celsus, and other learned authors, I
had been able to impart to him. Therefore, before the proclama-
tion for aJl to repair to the market- place was issued, I had already

st« DOROTHY FORSTER.

awakened my friend from sleep, and communicated to him my
plan. It was nothing more than this, that, having first shaved my
head and chin (one of the marks of our men being a bristly chin),
he should give me an old second-hand full-bottomed wig, such as is
worn by those apothecaries who wish to pass for learned physicians,
and a blue apron, and should put me behind his own counter. This
obliging man, for whom I will most certainly transcribe the Roman
cure for podagra as soon as (if ever) I reach home — that is, the
Manor House — again, most generously gave me all 1 wanted. Nota
bene, he is a bachelor, which made the thing easier, there being no
woman in his house to pry and talk, except a deaf old crone, I,
therefore, became for the day his apprentice, assistant, or journey-
man, serving drugs, mixing medicines, and preparing lotions, emetics,
plaisters, and other things for the sick men and wounded. You may
think that all this time I kept my face so screwed up, that no one,
even of our own men (but they were under ward) should know me.
Another service the apothecary did for me. Lord Widdrington was
ill with the gout ; my (supposed) master had to prescribe for him.
This would give him, I thought, the chance of speaking a word to
his honour.

' The good man told me that he found his honour at the Mitre
Tavern, where were also all the lords and some other of the gentle-
men, the whole company greatly cast down ; that, after giving
Lord Widdrington his medicine, he whispered in Mr. Forster's ear
(but there were no sentinels in the room to watch or guard the
prisoners) that I was in his house, safely bestowed and disguised
for the present, and designed to escape on the first opportunity, and
that I desired to know if I could be of service to him. To this
Mr. Forster replied that he knew not what could be done. " But,"
he said, " bid Mr. Hilyard, as soon as he safely may, go to Lady
Crewe, and inform her exactly of all the circumstances. And tell
him to take care of Mistress Dorothy, my sister." '

Thus in the hour of his greatest humiliation did my brother find
a kind thought for me.

' When the night fell,' Mr. Hilyard went on, * I made haste to
depart, all the more quickly because my benefactor, the apothecary,
began to be uneasy lest any of the townsfolk should accuse him of
harbouring a rebel. By this time the search in the houses was
over, and the streets swept clear of our unlucky insurgents, who
were all under lock and key, except those fortunate enough to get
off, like myself. As for the Highlanders and common soldiers, they
were all clapped into the parish church. But because the Dragoons
were riding up and down stopping and questioning all passengers,
I filled a basket with some bottles of physic, and put a little biscuit
into my pocket. Thus prepared, and with my apron still tied round
me, I sallied forth. Now all the roads were blocked with patrols,
but I knew a way, could I reach it, where a lane led to a meadow,
and beyond the meadow was a ford over the river, and beyond the
ford open fields. The night was dark, with sleet and rain, which
helped me to pass unpen-ceived, though in A 'great quaking, for,

MR. HHYARD RETURNS. 317

believe me, I had no great confidence in my apron should I be
questioned. In a word, I got in safety to my lane, ran across the
meadow, and through the river, up to the middle in the freezing
water, and so into the open country. All that night I walked or
ran, and towards morning found a barn, where I lay on soft straw,
and slept the day through. And so I made my way here, and am
once more, Miss Dorothy, if I be not taken prisoner, hopeful to
serve you again.'

This was the story which Mr. Hilyard brought to me. When I
had heard it throughout I sat awhile as one who is stunned with a
blow upon the head, saying nothing, while Mr. Hilyard began to
comfort me and himself with illustrations, taken from sacred and
ancient history, of misfortunes and reverses to kings and princes,
instancing Crassus, Croesus, Polyeuctes, Cato, Brutus, Cassius, Han-
nibal, and many other notable cases, in which fortune proved fickle.
Alas ! what did the violent death of Cato signify to me, who was
in terror for a brother ? Presently he ceased talking, and his eyes
closed. He was asleep. This did not show want of feeling, for I
remembered that the poor man had been walking for two nights,
and was tired out.

I left him sleeping, and went to my own room, where I lay awake
all night, thinking what should be done. To all my thinking there
came but one gleam of hope. There was the King's clemency.
Had I known or suspected the vengeance that would be wreaked
upon these unfortunate prisoners there would have been no hope
left at all.

CHAPTER XXVII.

TO LONDON.

' IT is certain,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' that the lords and the chiefs will
be taken to London, there to be tried for high treason. I heard that
it was already decided from two King's officers, who came to the
shop for a plaister on Monday afternoon.'

This made me think that, if one were to help Tom, it must be in
London, and I presently resolved that somehow I would get me
thither. To be sure, it was a great journey for a woman to under-
take, and that in winter. But it must be done. Mr. Hilyard was
going to Stene. I would go with him so far ; after that by myself,
if necessary, or under such charge as Lady Crewe would assign to
me, and to such a house as she would recommend to me. On this I
quickly resolved, and was determined. As for Lord Crewe's help,
on that I built little, because it needed not a politician to perceive
that one of his lordship's history and known opinions would have
small interest in a Whig Court. Yet when a man is so highly placed
he must have friends, cousins, and old acquaintances on both sides.
4 Add to this,' said Mr. Hilyard, * that to-day my turn ; to-morrow
yours ! The great Whig Lords are not too certain of their seats.'
When, however, I told Mr. Hilyard that I was resolved to go, I
d the greatest trouble with him. For, first, he maintained stiffly

2i8 DOROTHY FORSTER.

that it would be impossible to take me with him on account of the
weather, it being already the middle of November, the days growing
short, and the roads so heavy that no one could expect the coach or
any waggons would run. Moreover, there had already fallen so
great a depth of snow as I have never seen since, insomuch that
Hexham Moor was four or five feet deep in it, and in the drifts
much deeper. No one, he said, ought to travel in such weather but
those who are young, strong, and fear not the cold. I replied that
I was both strong and young, and fearless of cold. Next, as to other
dangers, he was himself well known in these parts as having been
in the service of Mr. Forster, both the elder and the younger, for
fifteen years ; during that time having met with many people and
made many acquaintances. It also was very well known that he
went out with his patron. This being so, what if he were arrested
and imprisoned, and I left alone on the road ? I replied that such
a thing would be most dreadful, and must therefore be guarded
against by some disguise, the nature of which I would leave to his
invention. ' Why,' he said, smiling, ' as to that, I doubt not that I
could dress up so as to defy them all ; but there is also yourself.
Will it be wise, think you, men's minds being in a tumult, to pro-
claim aloud that Miss Dorothy Forster, sister of General Forster, is
going to London in order to get off her brother, if she can in any
way prevail ? There must be disguise for you, as well as for me, if
you will go.'

* Indeed I shall go,' I replied ; ' nothing else will content me.
And I trust to you to bring me safe to town ; disguise me as you
will. Why, Mr. Hilyard, who is there to work for Tom but myself ?'

* There is Lady Crewe,' he said. * And, truly, I know not what
you could do in London.'

' Yes, Mr. Hilyard ; by your leave I could be doing something.
I could see Tom, and do what is told me. Surely he has friends in
London.'

' Surely he has ; but I fear that they are all on the wrong side,
like Lady Crewe herself. Have you no cousins among the Whigs ?'

Cousins I had, plenty as blackberries, but all were honest Tories.
Stay, there was one ; but I had never seen her. She was Mary
Clavering, who made a great match, and married Lord Cowper.

'Lord Cowper? Lord Cowper?' cried Mr. Hilyard. 'Why, he
is Lord Chancellor. If Lady Cowper is your cousin, the business is
as good as done. But yet, I know not. She cannot ask for many ;
and there is Mr. Clavering of Callalee a prisoner. Still, there is one
friend at Court for us. If he only had the money (but perhaps his
honour's friends in London will find that) to grease a few palms, I
should not despair. Miss Dorothy, if you are brave, and feel strong
enough, come to London with me, in the name of God.'

Then he began to plan. disguises ; and first he thought he would
become a clergyman, and I his daughter — then he walked about,
puffing his cheeks and smacking his protruded lips, like one of those
reverend gentlemen who think too much of the fleshpots and the
flask. (While thus acting, he looked for all the world as if he wore

TO LONDON. 219

1 cassock.; Bnt that plan pleased him not, on consideration, be-
raii-r lie remembered that it is a long way to London, that accidents
nnirht happen on the road, and he be called upon to read the service
appointed for the sick, to console and fortify the dying, even to
adininisliT the Holy Sacrament, which would be a most dreadful
and unpardonable sin ; and yet, if he refused, he must needs confess
the cheat, and so be haled to prison, or whipped out of the town as
a rogue, and very likely I with him. No ; that would not do.
Then he thought that he would be a physician, and his face became
long, and he carried his nose in the air, and one seemed to perceive
the smell of drugs, as is generally the case with these gentry.

* Why,' he said, * truly, I am already somewhat skilled in medicine,
having once, when young, read for curiosity the works of Celsus,
Galen, and Avicenna, and could easily pass for a physician until I
fell in with a brother of the mystery, when, for lack of the current
coin of speech and the jargon of the trade, every craft having its
own manner of speech, I should certainly be discovered.'

Then he laughed, for a new idea occurred to him, and he begged
me to excuse him for a few minutes. So he left the room. Presently
a step outside and a knock at the door. Wonderful is the power of
a mime ! It is needless to say that I knew Mr. Hilyard under his
disguise, but I also knew, which is much more to the point, for
whom he wished to be taken. There is in the village of Bamborough
an honest blacksmith named John Purdy, of as old a family as our
own, because if we have been Forsters of Etherston from time im-
memorial, the Purdys have been village blacksmiths for as long (one
of them joined the insurgents at Kendal for no other reason than
because Mr. Tom was the General, and afterwards for his trouble
got sent to Virginia, where he presently was set free, and is now
doing well). John Purdy was a man of forty, short and square
built, who went lame by reason of an accident in his 'prentice days.
He wore a handkerchief tied round his head, and over that a great
flapping hat, and in his hand always a stout ashen staff. Such as
he was, so was Mr. Hilyard — a simple tradesman, honest to look at,
and not ashamed of himself, knowing his duty to his betters. Why,
Mr. Hilyard looked almost too much of a village blacksmith. He
had no occasion to carry a hammer ; there was across his face a
grimy stain of oil or grease ; his hands were rusty with iron stains ;
his napping hat was over the red handkerchief ; his neck was wrapped
in wool.

4 Will this do. Miss Dorothy?' he asked with pride; and as he
spoke his face became square like the face of John Purdy, his mouth
eet firm, and his nose long and straight. * Will this do ? I am now
a North-country blacksmith ; I am going to Durham to seek for
work with my sister, who is a handy girl, knows her place, and is
respectful to her betters. At Durham we shall be going to Newcastle,
at Newcastle to York, and at York to London. It is a truly admirable
disu'uisc. I am safe, unless they ask me to make a horseshoe.'

His spirit, which had been desponding, rallied again at the
prospect of riding to London and play-acting all the wa*.

220 DOROTHY FORSTER.

I asked him when the prisoners might be expected to arrive in
London.

4 Justice,' he said, ' is not only blind, but lame. That is why she
goeth so slowly. But I see no reason why the prisoners should be
kept at Preston. They will ride by easy stages, perhaps ten or
twelve miles a day ; and it is three hundred miles or so. If I were
his honour or Lord Derwentwater, I would try whether a clean pair
of heels would not be more to the purpose than Court influence.'

* But suppose they are too well guarded.'
He laughed.

' You cannot,' he said, * guard a man who resolves to escape, and
hath the wit. Oh Lord ! everything is possible to him who hath
the wit.'

* Then, Mr. Hilyard, why have not you become a rich man ?'

He might have replied that it was partly out of his fidelity to me
and to mine ; otherwise, had so ingenious a gentleman gone to
London, he must, surely, have acquired great fame and riches.

We set off on our journey the next morning, in a terrible gale of
wind and snow, through which nothing could have kept me up but
a terror worse than that of a driving wind across a bleak moor. I
had with me in my pocket all the money that I could find, amount-
ing in all to no more than twenty- four guineas. I also tied up, in
as small a parcel as I could make it, some of my fine things which I
might want in London. These Mr. Hilyard made into a pack. He
was dressed in a long brown coat of frieze, with long sleeves, which
covered his hands as well as gloves might have done, and was,
besides, muffled up about the neck and chin, so that certainly no
one, with his flapping hat and his limp, would have recognised him.
As for me, I was dressed like any plain village girl, with a hood and
thick flannel petticoats. We were to ride the same horse (but that
a good stout nag, easily able to carry both), I on pillion behind Mr.
Hilyard ; but the way was so bad, and the snow so deep, that I do
not think the poor man rode fifty miles out of all the way between
Blanchland and London. Often we both walked, one each side the
poor creature, who picked his way slowly in the deep snow, and sank
sometimes up to the girth.

'If we may believe in the intervention of Heaven,' said Mr.
Hilyard, ' we might own that the wrath of the Lord is poured out
upon us for our Rebellion against the Protestant Succession, in
snow and sleet, storm and rain ?'

'And yet,' I replied, 'there be many thousands in England who
have not joined in the Rebellion : and for them, too, are the storm
and snow.'

' Yes ; and David alone counted the people, yet the people
perished.'

Every day, and all day long, Sundays included, we continued our
journey in such a winter as I hope never to see again. On the road
we were in little danger : footpads would not attack a pair of poor
country people : no one was likely to recognise either of us : the
danger and th« inconvenience were in the evening, when we had to

TO LONDON. 22I

find the rudest lodgings, avoiding the inns, nnless we were compelled
to go to them ; and then Mr. Hilyard would be in terror lest some
one should offer a rudeness to me, whereby he would have to fight
and create a disturbance, and be taken before a justice ; and I in
terror lest he should be carried away by his vanity, and begin to
sing and to show his gifts and parts. But neither of these things
happened. For myself, as soon as I had a bed, or a part of a bed,
given to me (which was always among the maids and servants, as
suited my pretended condition), I would go there and sit down, and
to bed early, while the rest, men and women together, sat round the
fire, my blacksmith being thought a surly fellow, who spoke little,
though he was willing to drink with any who offered.

Once the night fell before we found a resting-house, and we lost
our way. Then, indeed, my brave companion and trusty friend,
who had kept me in heart by his own courage, seemed to lose his
courage suddenly.

1 Alas !' he said, when I reproved him gently, * I know of dangers
whereof you know nothing. We are now warm and not yet hungry,
but we shall presently become chilled with the terrible wind, and
we shall grow hungry, and we shall yawn and feel a desire to fall
asleep. But, mark you, if we fall asleep we shall die. Wherefore,
if you see me growing sleepy or heavy, prick me sharply with a
pin ; and if you so much as yawn, think it not strange if I shake
you by the shoulders. It is related in Olaus Magnus how a company
of sailors, going a-fishing about the North Cape (where live the
little Lapps, and there are terrible sorcerers and magicians), were
overtaken by a storm of wind and snow, and so lost their way, and
presently fell a-yawning and so all to sleep save one, who kept him-
self awake with deep stabs and cuts of a knife, causing sore pains ;
so that if his eyelids fell, for mere smart he was sure to open them
again — and so was at last picked up and recovered. But his com-
panions sleep still, where they lie covered with snow and ice, and
so will lie till the Day of Judgment. Miss Dorothy, 'tis an awful
tale ! Prick me sharply, I pray you, if I so much as offer to yawn.'

The wind blew too cold in our faces for me, at least, to feel
sleepy, or to think of yawning. But it was late, and the road grew
worse, and I knew not whither we might be going.

The poor tired nag was stumbling now, and both of ns at hia
head. There seemed no vestige of a road. The landscape on either
hand, for it was a champaign country, lay stretched out white,
covered with snow. The clouds had cleared away, and the moon
was out ; but not a barn, or a farmhouse, or a cottage in which we
could seek for so much as a shelter in the straw. We plodded on,
the horse lifting his feet with difficulty, and Mr. Hilyard, now in a
kind of despair, begging me from time to time not to yawn, and to
have a long pin readv.

Suddenly we saw before as a light, or lights.

1 Is it a Will-o'-the-wisp ?' I said. « Or it may be a fairy light.
Sure nothing human could be out on such a night, except our-
selves,'

322 DOROTHY FORSTER.

1 1 know not what it is,' he said ; ' but I have two loaded pistols
in the holsters, and, by your leave, I will have them in readiness :
and there is also my cudgel, but I hope I shall not have to use at.
Miss Dorothy, forgive me for letting you come with me on this
wild-goose chase. I have lost my patron, who will most surely be
hanged, and drawn, and quartered ; and now I have lost my mistress
too. Robbed and murdered shall we surely be ; but not you, believe
me — not before they have first killed me.'

He was cold and faint for want of food, which made him afraid ;
but yet he was resolved to sell our lives dear. We cautiously ad-
vanced in the direction of the lights, which were not flickering,
like goblin fires, but steady. I walked beside him, leading the horse.
When, presently, we came to the spot, we discovered that the lights
came from three or four great covered carts, such as gipsies use.
Mr. Hilyard shouted aloud for joy.

4 We are safe now,' he said ; ' these people are true Romany.'

It is truly wonderful to relate that these outcasts, whom the
world regards with so much scorn, who have no knowledge at all of
religion, duty, or morals, who live by pilfering and plundering,
who, when caught loitering in a town, are whipped and clapped in
the stocks, received us with the greatest kindness as soon as they
discovered that Mr. Hilyard could talk to them in their own lan-
guage.

The women took off my cold and wet stockings and shoes, bathed
my feet in hot water, brought me a pannikin of hot broth made
with I know not what meats, but comforting ; and then, because I
was no longer able to hold up my head, they made me a bed of
blankets on the floor of a cart, and so I slept till morning. Mr.
Hilyard, I learned afterwards, was not so weary but he could sit up
and feast and drink whisky with them, and talk to them in their
own tongue, so that they took him for one of themselves, only dis-
guised for sinful purposes of his own.

We parted from these humble friends with gratitude. I have
never seen them since, but for their sake I regard this unhappy
race of wanderers with compassion, and never see a caravan or a
camp without giving something to the women, and a word of
counsel, which I doubt is thrown away, unto the men.

' I have heard news,' said Mr. Hilyard. ' These people were, it
seems, following the army when, like a mad dog which hath no
purpose, we marched up and down the Border. They picked up all
the things which we threw away or left behind, and now have
stored up, against the time when they can find a market, a great
quantity of guns and pikes gathered on the ground after each day's
camp. Some of them came into Preston with us, but scoured,
like me, after the surrender ; some stayed with the enemy. One of
them was sent by Lord Derwentwater to Dilston. The Countess
instantly put together all the papers she could find, and gave them
in charge to one of the cottagers whom she can trust. Then, with
her children, she started for London.'

Alas ! those tender children I

TO LONDON. 223

Nithsdale,' he went on, ' is also upon the road. Heavens I
it makes one's heart to bleed only to think of the anxious ladies
who are toiling along this dreadful road amid these pitiless snows ;
and of the innocent children who will be robbed of their inherit-
ance—and for what — for what ? Will there ever come a time when
mankind will cease to bring ruin, death, and misery upon their
heads for the sake of princes — yea, and of princes who deserve
nothing at their hands but contempt and deposition ?'

He then began to harangue upon the wickedness, the tyranny,
and the cruelty of kings from Nero to Louis le Grand ; I think
that his discourse lasted the whole day, and that he omitted no par-
ticulars of royal crimes. As to his charges against kings and sovereign
princes I have nothing to say, except that we must take into account
the fact that they are but men, and exposed to great temptations.
Perhaps some day the world may happen upon a race of virtuous
princes, in answer to the prayers which loyal people so continually
send up to the Throne. But to rail at kings as if we could do
without them is to rail at a Divinely-appointed institution, and, there-
fore, hath in it something of blasphemy, for which I rebuked this too
daring speaker. But he laughed, asking what I knew of Divine
Right. Now, when you ask a woman concerning the foundations
of her faith, you put a question which she cannot answer, because
she must needs believe what she has been taught. But if there
were to be no kings, what would become of the virtue of loyalty,
and for what purpose was it implanted in the heart of man ? Strange
that so good a Tory as Mr. Hilyard had always been in Northum-
berland, should become every day, the nearer we got to London,
more of a Whig !

I think, however, that Mr. Hilyard's peevishness about kings
sprang from the bitter weather, which made his nose so blue and
his hands so cold that he must needs find vent in ill-temper against
something. Surely there never was so cold a winter or such dread-
ful weather for those poor ladies who, like myself, were travelling
up to London on behalf of the prisoners. When we reached York,
after six days of the greatest hardships that I ever endured, I was
fain get to bed, and stayed there from Saturday afternoon till
Monday morning. Here Mr. Hilyard resolved to put aside the
Northumbrian way of speech, and became a Yorkshireman. No
one, however, suspected us or asked any questions ; nor was any
insult offered to me, as Mr. Hilyard feared might happe^ I think,
for my own part, that the common sort of English, everywhere, as
well as in Northumberland, though rude and rough, do not insult
women. This savage vice is reserved for gentlemen ; not the
meaner sort of men, but those who scour the streets at night, and
intercept solitary passengers in unfrequented parts.

At York Mr. Hilyard cast about for a waggon which might be
going to London, but there was none ; the weather being so bad
that no cart or waggon could take the road. While we were there
Mr. Hilyard learned that the unfortunate Countess of Nithsdalo,
going up to London on the same errand «s ourselves, would not

234 DOROTHY POPSTER.

stay for the weather to break, and a coach to start, but iras riding
on with all speed.

' She is a great lady,' said Mr. Hilyard, * daughter of Lord Powis,
whom King James at St. Germain's made a duke ; one of her sisters
is the wife of Lord Montague ; she hath cousins on both sides, yet
I doubt if they will avail her aught.'

' If she have so many cousins,' I said, ' and yet cannot wait for
the weather to break, how much more should I push on, who have
so few to help !'

He made no objection to this, and we left York the next morn-
ing, though the snow was still so deep that not only the stage, but
even the post was stopped. But there was one happiness, that the
road grows easier and smoother with every mile that one gets
nearer London, and there are many more inns of all kinds, especially
of those frequented by cattle- drovers, waggoners, carters, carriers,
and handicraftsmen going from town to town upon the way ; there-
fore suitable for a blacksmith going to London looking for work,
with his sister looking for respectable service. These places were
rough, and the food was coarse, like the talk ; yet they were safe
for us. Now I remarked, not once or twice, but everywhere along
the road, that the common people, who talked about nothing but
the Rebellion, were one and all hot for the Protestant Succession.
I heard it everywhere declared that the intention of the Prince was
to introduce the Pope and the Roman religion, with the Inquisition,
the rack, stake, thumbscrew, and all the tortures of which they had
heard. As soon as he was firmly on the throne all good Protestants
would be sent to the flames, after having their limbs cruelly racked
and twisted. I know not what may have been the opinions of the
country gentlefolk, but as regards the common country people there
could be no doubt whatever on this point. Nothing could be held
in greater abhorrence by them than a Popish sovereign. I shuddered,
too, at their bloodthirstiness. The gallows was too good for such
traitors and villains as Lord Derwentwater and General Forster ;
the most exquisite tortures should be prepared for them, every
man loudly expressing his willingness to administer them, so that it
was shocking to hear them talk. And then most pious ejaculations
for the safety of Mother Church interlarded with the most des-
perately profane oaths ! Mr. Hilyard seemed to take a pleasure in
encouraging this cruel and sanguinary talk ; and, when I reproached
him with it, excused himself partly on the ground that he dared
not even be suspected of Jacobite principles, lest all should be dis-
covered, and therefore he fell in with their mood ; and next, that
many of those who were loudest in their talk were, he thought,
secretly on the Prince's side, but afraid of betraying themselves,
and that it amused him to watch their anxiety to seem on the safe
Bide. * But,' he said, ' doth not this show the madness of our late
attempt ? What is it like — and on which side — the voice of the
country of which we have heard so much ? Where are those hearts
which were said to be beating for the Prince ?'

He could not contain his indignation and wrath at the folly which

TO LONDON.

2-5

had plunged us all in such misery, but inveighed without ceasing at
the cruelty and recklessness of those in London who caused the
whole business. But when he perceived that his words Rank so
deep in my heart, that I was falling into a kind of melancholy or
despair, he changed the talk, and would speak no more in this
gloomy way of the rising or its consequences. On the contrary, he
assumed the bearing and manner of one who is on a pleasant journey.
Though each step was in three feet of snow, and we made no more,
but sometimes much less, than two miles in an hour, he laughed
and sang as he went, insomuch that I should have thought °him
wanting in sensibility had I not perceived that he was playing a
part in order to divert my thoughts. And always— can I ever be
sufficiently grateful to him, or pray earnestly enough for his spiri-
tual and temporal good ? — careful for such comfort and alleviation
as he could procure for me, bargaining when we stopped for a good
bed for me, and if possible a bed in a room by myself with no other
women, because these were sometimes rough and rude ; and at
York he bought a great soft rug, which he tied upon the saddle in
such a way that he could fold it over and wrap my feet, which
before had been almost frozen. He carried with him always a
bottle of cordial, or strong waters, with which to refresh me (and
himself also) when I was faint. A a for the fatigue of the journey,
that had to be borne with patience, but the suffering — nay, the
torture — he endured for himself without repining, though he re-
lieved it for me ! Truth to say, it was a fearful journey ; for the
sun never once showed his face, nor did the snow cease falling, or
the frost cease to continue, or the cold wind of the north to change.
All the towns were alike, and every village a copy of the village we
passed two hours before — covered up with deep drifts of snow ; so
that not only did it seem to me as if I must spend the rest of my
life in plodding through the snow, but as if I had never done any-
thing eke, the former part of it having been a dream. Further, I
could not but feel, which Mr. Hilyard had put into my mind, as if
Heaven itself was showing its displeasure at our enterprise. Could
the Lord, after all, be on the side of a Usurper ? If so, trhere
was the Right Divine of which we had been told so much ?

' It is by travelling,' said Mr. Hilyard cheerfully, diverting iny
thoughts, and pretending to enjoy the journey, ' that we learn the
world and watch the manners of men. I have always envied the
great travellers of whom we read : Herodotus, Ulysses, Marcus
Polus Venetus, Christopher Columbus, Sir Francis Drake, and
others, though none of them, I think, had worse weather and worse
roads than we. Therefore it is the greater merit to bear up cheer-
fully and keep a brave heart as you do, Miss Dorothy ' — here I
lifted my head and pushed back my hood a little. Alas ! the same

tant islands, and resolve the many doubts which beset those who
ould construct Mie inuppa wuiiili. Perhaps upon the way I should

225 DOR01HY FORSTER.

encounter Ellas Artif ex, the Wandering Jew, who most be by thii
time an accomplished geographer. Then I would learn whether
there be a high rock of loadstone, or whether it be the pole star
which causeth the compass to point one way ; where is the king-
dom of Prester John ; whether the story of the great bird Rucke
in Madagascar is true, and if he can of a verity carry an elephant ;
what is the cause of the Nile's annual rising, what of the currents
in the Atlantic ; what is the outlet of the Caspian Sea ; whether
Mount Caucasus be higher than the Pico of Teneriffe ; whither go
the birds in winter, and if it be true that in Muscovy is a race of
men who sleep all the winter like dormice ; where was the site of
the earthly Paradise — with many other great and important ques-
tions not to be solved except by travelling to those places.'

And so on, talking continually, and forcing me to listen, lest per-
chance I might fall into that kind of stupor of which during those
days he was very much afraid.

In a word, it was the most frightful journey ever woman under-
took. Even now, I dream of it sometimes — and in my waking
moments it seems to have been a dream — and always along that
white, silent and terrible road, there was present before my eyes
the vision of a scaffold and a block, with the glittering steel of the
axe, and in my mind the story of that Israeli tish woman who spread
sackcloth upon the rock, and watched there day and night, so that
neither the beasts of the field nor the fowls of the air should touch
the hanging corpses of her sons.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

LORD CREWE.

|5o, at last, we came to Stene, Lord Crewe's place in Northampton-
shire.

Now, while we drew near to the park-gates, and were thinking
how best to convey a message to her ladyship, there passed out a
gentleman of grave and reverend appearance, in cassock and full
wig, whom I judged might be in the Bishop's service. So I stopped
him, and asked him civilly if he was perchance his lordship's chap-
lain.

' I am,' he replied, in some surprise at the question. ' Why, my
good girl ?'

* Tell him, Mr. Hilyard,' I said. ' Tell him all.'

' Sir,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' this young lady i^ not what she seems.
She is Miss Dorothy Forster, sister of Mr. Thomas Forster the
younger, who lately commanded the rebel army, and niece of Lady
Crewe. We are on our way to London ; but first she would have
speech, if it may be, with her ladyship.'

'What!' cried the clergyman. 'Have you not heard? Good
Heaven ! Her ladyship hath been dead these six weeks and more !'

Dead ! Lady Crewe was dead ! Then was I friendless indeed.

4 She died,' he went on, 'of a fit or convulsion, caused, we are
Assured, by her anxiety on learning that $ warrant was out for ths

LORD CREWE. 227

tpprc-hension of her nephew. She never learned the news of hia
which was kept from her by order of my lord, for fear of
greater anxiety. She died on the 16th day of October.'

4 The stars in their courses fight against us,' said Mr. Hilyard, in
consternation. ' Terror ubique tremor, timor uudique et undique
terror.'

* Who are you, sir, pray ?' asked the chaplain, astonished to hear
Latin from the mouth of a blacksmith.

k I was formerly Mr. Forster's tutor, and have since been hia
steward. I am in disguise, partly because I also was with the in-
surgents, and am not desirous of being taken. But, sir, could we
speak with his lordship ?'

4 My lord is much broken by the death of her ladyship. Yet, I
doubt not that he will receive her niece.'

He took us into the park, and so into the hall of the house (a
great and stately house it was, though not so fine as that of Bishops
Auckland or the Castle of Durham), and begged me to wait a few
moments while he sought his lordship.

Lord Crewe was sitting in his library in a high-backed armchair,
a book on the table beside him, and a great coal-fire burning.

4 Come, child !' he said, holding out both hands ; * come, kiss
me for thy dear aunt's sake ! Thou hast heard my irreparable
loss.'

* I have just learned it, my lord, to my infinite sorrow. For, oh !
I have lost her to whom I looked for help at this moment, and she
is gone ; and I may now lose my brother, who is a prisoner, and on
his way to London to be tried.' And so, weeping and sobbing, I
fell at his lordship's knees.

'Ay,' he said, laying his hand upon my head, 'weep and cry,
child ! Youth hath tears ; age hath none. Life hath nothing left
for me : I have lost all, my dear. Thou art strangely like her when
she was young. Stay with me awhile, and let me comfort myself
by merely looking upon thy face. Nay, I have heard of thy mis-
fortunes. Tom is a prisoner. Fools all ! fools all ! Yet I warned
him ; I admonished him. This it is not to listen to the counsel of
au old man. What would you do for him ?'

4 With permission, my lord, we would go to London and try to
save him,' Mr. Hilyard replied.

4 Who are you, sir ?' he asked. ' Oh, I remember now. It is the
Terrae Filius. And how, sir, doth so great and powerful a man as
you propose to tear these rebels from the grasp of Justice ?'

* As yet, my lord, we know not ; but we hope that a way will be
opened. There are, first, the chances in our favour. The Court
may take a lenient view, seeing that so many are involved ; or there
is the clemency of the King.'

4 Pass on to the next chance,' said the Bishop. 4 Build not on the
clemency of Kings.'

4 Why, my lord, if he is to be tried? there is not much more to be
said. But perhaps he may not be tried at all. A pardon might b$
procured by friends in high place.'

22« DOROTHY FORSTER.

* In this matter, sir, look not to me for help. I am now old. All
my friends, if I have any left, are on the other side.'

' Then, my lord, saving your presence, there are juries to be in-
fluenced '

* They will not be so foolish as to try them by a jury.'

' Next, there are, my lord, asking your pardon, guards to be cor-
rupted, as has been done in many famous examples.'

' Tush — tush ! tell me not of these secrets. You will want money,
sir, and much money. Man, let me look at you full in the face.
Your eyes seem honest. In these times, and in such a service, the
scarcity of honest men is lamentably felt. Yet you seem honest,
and you have proved faithful. Suppose, Dorothy, child, I were to
find you the money — doth Tom trust this man ? To be sure, he
would trust any man who offered. It is their easy temper, not their
ill-fate, which hath ruined the Forsters.'

4 We have trusted him, my lord, for fifteen years.'

' Look ye, sirrah !' his lordship shook his long and lean forefinger
in the face of Mr. Hilyard. ' Look ye, if you now betray the trust,
the malediction of the Church itself shall follow you to your death
— and after,' he added solemnly. Then he paused. ( To do these
things,' he presently went on, ' may require much money. He must

be defended if he be brought to trial : if he never come to trial

How much money have you ?'

'We had twenty-four guineas when we left Blanchland. We
have spent six on the road. There are eighteen guineas left It is
all our stock.'

' Eighteen guineas !' my lord laughed. ' It is a goodly stock.
Now, sir, I will give you a letter to my agent and factor in London.
He will provide you with all you want — understand, all ! Do not
be afraid to ask. My wife, the most beautiful and the most faithful
woman in the world, is dead : alas ! I, too, shall follow soon ; my
days will be few, and full of sorrow. I am old — I am eighty-two
years of age — my work is done — I have now nothing left but medi-
tation and prayer.' He went on in this way so that I thought his
mind was wandering with age and trouble ; but he did not forget
what he designed to say. ' Therefore, because she would have
wished it, her nephew, who hath proved a fool and a companion of
fools, shall not suffer, if I can help it, the just consequence of his
folly. Go, then, to this man of business, and let him know who thou
art ; give him my letter, and, when the time comes, ask boldly for
as much as will be wanted — nay, if it cost ten or twenty thousand
pounds he will give it thee.'

' Oh, my lord !' Mr. Hilyard fairly burst into tears. ' This is
princely generosity. I hoped for nothing more than a help to main-
tain my mistress in London. Why, with such help as this, his
honour is as good as free already.' He knelt and kissed his lord-
ship's hand.

' Go, fellow,' said the Bishop, not unmoved. * But remember lest
they say, as was said to Peter, " Thou also art one of them." Keep
thine own neck out of the halter, if thou wouldst save Tom For-

LORD CREW&. i<o

tier's. And, as regards the money, waste not : yet spare not.
Enough said. And now, Dorothy, if thou wilt stay awhile in my
poor house, let me have thee clad in habits more suitable than
these *

'I thank you, my lord, for all your kindness ; but I cannot rest
day or night until I am in London.'

So we took our letter, with a full purse of money besides, and
receiving the Bishop's blessing, went on our way. My aunt was
dead ; but her affection for her own family survived in the remem-
brance of her husband.

I never saw so great a change in any man as was wrought in Mr.
Hilyard by the prospect of this money. He capered and leaped, he
danced and sang upon the heavy road.

* Why,' he said, ' we are made men now ! Let us rejoice. Let us
concert our plans.'

He devised a thousand plans, but none of them suited, and he
began again every hour with a new one. Most, indeed, seemed to
me as unreal and improbable as the intrigue of a comedy or the
plot of a tragedy. He seemed to multiply difficulties in order to
get rid of them by sudden surprises. Nevertheless it pleased him,
and it beguiled the journey, which continued as cold as before, but
was not so miserable, because we now had money and could dwell
upon the future with a little hope. Indeed, it passed all under-
standing to think that I started on this long and costly journey with
such an end in view, and no more in money than twenty-four
guineas ! But then I only knew, concerning money, that, in
Northumberland, with a guinea one can keep a household for nigh
upon a month. As for money of my own, I never had any.

'With money,' went on Mr. Hilyard, 'dungeons are opened,
prison-bars removed, and captives set free. With money, justice
may be bought, as well as injustice. With money, good may be
accomplished as well as evil. Why, the history of the world is the
history of bribing. I could nan-ate endless examples '

He did ; and during several days he instructed me in the part
which bribes had played in the progress of the world. So that in
the end it seemed to me as if nothing, good or bad, had ever been
accomplished without a bribe and a pretence. But such knowledge
doth not tend to edification.

It was on the 9th day of December that we drew near to London.
Now, as we walked along the road we became aware of a great stir
and bustle, many men and women hastening southward, the same
way as we were going, as if impelled by desire to see some wonderful
show. The road was also covered with waggons, carts, and horsemen.

4 This,' said Mr. Hilyard, with pride, 'is what happeneth daily in
the great roads which lead to London.'

' Yes,' I said. ' But why do all the people wear favours ?'

This he did not know ; but he asked one, and presently came back

to me with perturbed countenance. ' Miss Dorothy ' he whispered,

we are none too soon. This day th^ prisoners will be marched into

130 DOROTHY FORSTER.

It was the very day when the procession of prisoners arrived.
We were to see them pass, willy-nilly ; for there was no turning
back without exciting distrust, and the people were very fierce and
angry. Mr. Hilyard even bought a favour for himself and another
for me, to avert suspicion. Thus decorated, we followed with the
stream of country people who nocked along the road. They were
all going, we learned, to a place called Highgate, where there is a
lofty hill from which London may be viewed (they say Whittington,
while sitting here upon the grass, heard the bells of Bow calling him
back) ; and they were nocking to see the most wonderful show for
many a long year, namely, three hundred English gentlemen led in
triumph along the way for the mob to jeer at and insult. Truly a
magnanimous thing for a victor and a Christian King to command !

If the country people came to Highgate in their smocks, the town
people came out in their greasy coats ; there were thousands on the
hill and on the slopes ; where the road sloped downward through
hedges and trees, now white and heavy with snow, we saw the
mighty multitude rolling to and fro like waves near the shore, and
heard them roaring like the waves that beat upon the rocks. Some
standing near us said aloud that the prisoners would never reach
the town, but be torn to pieces upon the road.

* Take courage,' said Mr. Hilyard. * Look ! there is a detachment
of Guards to convoy them safe, let the mob roar as loud as they
please.'

Presently I perceived the melancholy procession slowly coming
towards us. Alas ! alas ! Was this the end ? Was it for this that
my lady flung down her fan, and I with joyful heart applauded and
approved the deed ? They defiled slowly past us, riding two abreast,
and divided into four detachments or companies. The arms of every
man were pinioned behind him ; his horse was led by a foot soldier
carrying a musket with fixed bayonet ; each division was preceded
by a troop of horse with drawn swords, their drums insulting the
unhappy prisoners by beating a triumphal march in derision.

As this miserable procession marched past the people crowded in
on every side, crying out the most frightful imprecations, of which
' Papists ! Bloody Catholics and murderers !' were the least injurious.
Most of the gentlemen thus insulted rode by proudly with head
erect, as if they were in a triumphal procession. Was it possible, I
asked myself, that Englishmen could thus come out to insult the
fallen ?

In the last division rode the English noblemen, and with them
my unhappy brother. He sat with hanging head, his hands tied
behind him, his cheek pale. Alas ! poor Tom ! What were his
thoughts ? * He knows not,' whispered Mr. Hilyard, ' of the letter
in my pocket.' Beside him rode Mr. Patten, his chaplain. He, for
his part, seemed proud of his position ; he looked about him cheer-
fully, and nodded his head to the crowd, which assailed him with
the vilest language. * He is a brave man,' said Mr. Hilyard. ' It
repents me that I called him Creeping Bob. I have forgiven him
his Oxford business.' As for Lord Derwentwater, he sat upright—

LORD CREWE. 13,

his eyes bright, his cheek flashed, looking neither to the right no*
to the left.

* Draw your hood closer,' Mr. Hilyard whispered ; ' this rabble
must not see your tears.'

When the last of the Dragoons who brought up the rear had
gone, the mob crowded in and ran along the road behind. There
were left only the decent sort. One of those, dressed soberly in a
brown coat, said to me, gravely :

* Young woman, this is a sorry sight, but yet a joyful for honest
folk. Remember that these men are the enemies of freedom. I
desire not the blood of any man ; but I pray above all things for
continuance of liberty, especially of conscience and opinion. Keep
thy tears, then, for a better cause.'

1 Alas, sir !' I could not ref rain from saying, ( what if a woman
have friends — a brother, even — among them ?'

* Madam ' — he took off his hat — ' I ask your pardon, and I pray
for a happy deliverance for your friend — or brother.'

lie went away, but this imprudence frightened Mr. Hilyard
mightily, and he hastened to push on down the hill.

CHAPTER XXDL

IN LONDON.

IN this way we came to town, where my first night was full of
dreadful dreams, and my sleep troubled with the sight of the poor
prisoners marching along the road amid the derision and the hoot-
ings of the mob. But at the end of the road there was a black
scaffold and a gibbet beside it, with hanging ropes ; a block, and a
man with an axe : and beside me stood no other than my maid,
Jenny Lee, saying, as she pointed to Tom, * Great name ; great
blame,' as she had said on the Eve of St. John.

The place where I was lodged was in a street near Drary Lane,
called Great Wyld Street, at the house of one John Purdy, a cousin
of John Purdy, the Bamborough blacksmith, himself born at Lucker,
but come to London to seek his fortune in that trade, and knowing
me very well when I was little. He was married to a buxom young
London woman, and had a family of four or five children, being a
thriving tradesman. His wife, a decent, kind-hearted body, though
a stickler for the Protestant Succession, and of the Independent
sect, was curious at first to look upon the sister of the General
Forster of whose doings everyone had lately heard so much (the
people, I know not why, called him the c Man under the Rose,' and
he was popularly supposed to be the chief mover and agent in the
whole affair).

'Sometimes,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'popular beliefs make history.
Can it be that Catiline was only an instrument, and Spartacus a
tool ? Will his honour, the dupe of crafty and designing men, go
down to posterity as the fabricator of the whole business ?'

In the morning the good woman made a hundred excuses to come
into my room : she had a log of ship-timber fresh come op from

232 DOROTHY FORSTER.

Deptf ord ; she would ask my pleasure concerning dinner and supper \
she could get me some fine fresh fish — and always with something
about the prisoners. ' They were followed with shouting and
curses,' she said, in her desire to comfort me, * all through the town
and as far as the Tower, where they have placed the lords ; they
sang songs running along beside them, and dangled warming-pans
out of the windows. As for Lord Derwentwater, they say he is as
handsome as the day, and never lowered his head or made the least
sign that he heard a word ; he might have been going to his wedding
instead of his death, the poor young gentleman ! As for the gen-
tlemen, some of them are in Newgate. 'Tis a pity ! Mercy, they
say, will be shown to none, but all will be hanged. Oh dear ! Yes,
hanged, drawn, and quartered, and their legs and heads set up on
Temple Bar. A thousand pities, to be sure !'

It was cold comfort, indeed, that this good woman gave me. Her
husband, however, was better. He came to offer me his best services,
and if there was anything he could do for his honour or for me, to
let him know ; he said that, of course, he recognised Mr. Hilyard in
his disguise as a countryman, for which he supposed there was good
reason ; but he was a North-countryman, and knew the respect due
to the Forsters, and how to keep a quiet tongue in his head, especially
where his wife was concerned.

Early next morning Mr. Hilyard himself came to see me. He
was now transformed again, feeling as much pleasure in this, his
second disguise, as a child feels in a new toy. He was, if you
please, a physician, with an immense great wig, a black coat, and
sword — very grave, but with nose in the air ; he rode in a hackney-
coach, because, he said, no one regardeth a physician who walks ;
besides, it was sixteen years and more since he had sat in a glass-
coach. I do not know that there was any necessity for this careful
disguise, seeing that no one in London knew him, and that all who
were with him in the rebel army were dispersed or prisoners. But
he thought so, and it gave him confidence. Besides, he felt himself
a secret agent or officer of Lord Crewe, and therefore bound, I
suppose, to spend his money.

* My Lord Bishop,' he said, ' will approve of this disguise when
he hears of it. Money cannot be better laid out than in artifices
which prevent suspicion. Until our plan is completed and we are
ready for action, we must lie quiet and snug, and take care to give
no occasion for talk.'

He then sat down and proceeded with his news. But first I
remarked in him a great vivacity and air of enjoyment. He said
that it was the noise of the London streets and the smell of the
London air which raised and exhilarated his spirits, so that he felt
an uncommon lightness of heart, although the circumstances of this
return to his native air were so unhappy.

' And now,' he said, ' I must tell you that his honour is lodged in
Newgate, with seventy or eighty of the gentlemen, and the rest are
in the Fleet and Marshalsea, except the lords, who are all in the
Tower. So much I learned in the coffee-house on Ludgate Hill,

/AT LONDON. 233

whither I repaired after buying these clothes at second-hand in tho
Minories. The talk is of nothing but the rebels and tho prisoners.
It is sixteen years and more since last I smelt the tobacco aixl the
colIVe. I hope you like this wig ; it cost me three guineas, and was
the property of a great physician now deceased. All the talk, I say,
is of the prisoners. They say the insultsof the mob were inciv.lihh-.
The mob is now fired with a noble zeal for the Protestant Succes-
sion, and hath grown mighty pious. It is a religious fervour which
is too hot to last, but may yet prove disastrous to our friends. I
have found a lodging in Great Queen Street, not far from here and
convenient for Drury Lane Theatre, where I can lie snug. I have
told the landlady, who is a respectable widow woman, that I am a
physician from the country, come to town on business. I have paid
her a fortnight in advance to prevent questions being asked. And
now comes another piece of news which will indeed astonish you.
Last night I went to the theatre to divert myself.'

' To divert yourself 1 Oh, Mr. Hilyard ! did you come to London
to divert yourself ?'

'Nay — nay — but, believe me, when nothing can be done, it is
good to relieve the mind. We must not think of one thing only,
or we might presently fall into a melancholy, a lethargy, and so be
able to effect nothing. O nsider, pray, how long and painful hath
been the journey to I/1 idon, and with what sad thoughts and
gloomy forebodings we lengthened the miles. Believe me, Miss
Dorothy, not for the pleasure of the acting did I go, but as medicine
or physic to the soul.'

He spoke so earnestly that one could not but forgive him. Besides,
it was sixteen years since the poor man had seen the theatre.

' The piece was the " Cobbler of Preston." But never mind the
piece, although it was, for that matter, admirably played. Yet more
fire might have been expressed by him who played — but, I forget ;
my news has nothing to do with the play. I would you had been
in the house to see the brave show, the beaux and the modish ladies.
I could have wept to think of the old times when I used to go there
whenever I could find a sixpence for the gallery, or a shilling for
the pit. The house quite full, and the talk about nothing but tho
brave bearing of the prisoners. Mostly my Lord Derwentwater waa
commended, because of all he seems to have the poorest chance of
escape. They have already begun to hang them ia Liverpool, it ia
said.'

4 But your news— your news, Mr. Hilyard !'

' It is that the principal female character was played— yon will
never guess ! It was played — you were never so surprised in all
your life— and played with so great a fire, such justness of gesture
and looks, such perfect command of the part and knowledge of the
lines as astonished me — by none other, if you please, than your own
m;iid — Jenny Lee !'

1 Why,' I said, ' I heard that she had joined the players. There ia
no reason, that I see, for surprise. She was * clever girl, aud I
hope she has remained good.'

334 DOROTHY FORSTER.

1 Oh r he said. ' Are yon not surprised ? Should you wonder if
I, beginning as a humble curate, were to become Archbishop of
Canterbury? Or if a lad who sweeps out the chambers of a barrister
were to become Lord Chancellor ? Or if a drummer-boy should
grow to command the army ? Yet, believe me, this is what Jenny
Lee has done. Among actresses she is a Bishop, a General, a Lord
Chancellor. Indeed she deserves her good fortune, if ever woman
did.'

' By reason of her good conduct.'

1 Nay ; what matter her conduct, good or bad ? On the stage she
is Calista, Almeria, Celinda, what you will ; off the stage we have
nothing to say or think of her, any more than of any other woman.
I mean that she hath become a most accomplished and wonderful
actress. But this is not all. After the play was over I went to the
stage-door, and begged that a letter might be taken to Mistress Lee
from an old friend. It was but a line that I wrote, asking that an
old friend from Northumberland might see her. Now be prepared
for a new surprise. She came down in a few minutes, but knew me
not, so that I had to whisper my name ; and then, without saying a
word, she took my hand and led me to her own coach. " Come," she
said, " and have supper with me, and teU me all." '
' Her own coach ? Jenny Lee's coach /'

' Why, I said, did I not, that she is a qu 'en among actresses ? Of
course she has her coach, and coachman too. She lives in Red Lion
Square, a very convenient and fashionable part of town, though
somewhat far from the theatre. I found in her lodgings no other
person than Mr. Frank Radcliffe.'

' I think,' I said, ' that a gentleman of his birth might be more
choice in his company. Did he, too, go to the theatre, or to sup with
a play-actress, to divert his mind ?'

' But,' he repeated, ' she is a very great actress indeed. However,
there is not much diversion for Mr. Frank. To begin with, I saw
clearly that the poor young gentleman is melancholy mad in love
with Jenny. She can do with him what she pleases. You remember
the strange thing you saw at Dilston. She orders and he obeys.
Yet he looks little like a lover, and is so worn and thin that you
would not know him. He says that had he known of the rising he
would have hurried to the north to join his brother, but he had no
hint or suspicion of it. The poor young gentleman, with his hacking
cough, would have been killed in a week. I told him, that, so far
as I could learn, the Earl had no hint or suspicion of it either, and
that, for his own sake, his friends were well pleased that he had not
joined that unfortunate enterprise. I then explained the cause of
my coming to London, and the manner, which greatly affected Jenny
(whose heart, I am sure is good, though she be an actress). She shed
tears, and inquired if in any way she might help us in our business.'
'Why.' I said, 'the Forsters must be sunk low indeed, if they
must stoop to seek the aid of an actress who was once a servant-
maid.'

Mr. Ililyard replied nothing.

AV LONDON. 335

' To be sure,' I went on, * you yourself seem infatuated with the
girl. Is it not intolerable that she should steal away the senses
of a young gentleman with her sorceries ? And you would have me,
her former mistress, go to her for counsel and aid ?'

' Forgive me,' he replied humbly. ' As for her sorceries, I doubt
if they are now, whatever they were once, other than any woman
can exercise with black eyes and pretty face, and such a wit as Jenny
hath. Tis true she was your maid ; but she is so no longer. All
things must have a beginning. Why, I was myself but the son of a
vintner, and have, if the truth be told, sat at the spigot when a boy
and filled the measures. Yet was I thought worthy to be enrolled
among the gentlemen volunteers, and to fight beside Lord Derwent-
water himself at Preston. Jenny was once your maid ; but she is
now a great and wonderful actress.'

' Say no more of her, Mr. Hilyard,' I replied.

' Alas !' he said, * will the day ever come when ladies will look
upon actors as they have long since looked upon painters and poets,
and hold them in equal honour ? But fear not, Miss Dorothy ;
Jenny, poor girl, shall not, as she desires, pay her respects to you.
Yet she wept, thinking of your kindness towards her.'

He forbore at the time to tell me more, but afterwards I learned
what passed. It seems that, like Mrs. Bracegirdle, Mrs. Oldfield,
and other great actresses, Jenny was continually besieged by troops
of lovers and gallants, who swarmed after her like flies in August.
I do not know what magic charm there is in her profession and
calling which causeth men to run after an actress ; but this I am
assured is the case with all of them who are young and pretty.
Among Jenny's courtiers were some of rank and high in office,
whose names (though I learned them) must not be mentioned here.
But she would have nothing to say to any of them, being resolved
upon nothing less than marrying Frank Radcliffe, who loved her
with a kind of madness, and on keeping her reputation unspotted
for his sake. Because she was an actress, there were stories told
about her, and if these were true (but they were not) she must
have been the worst of women. She promised Mr. Hilyard at that
supper that she would consider, from her knowledge of the town,
what was best to be done, and how she should work among those
great gentlemen who dangled after her, for Mr. Forster. As for
the Earl, he, she said, was altogether game too high for her : he
would command a host of friends, and it depended on nothing but
the King's clemency or his revenge. But, as for a plain country
gentleman, why, perhaps — she could not say— and he was the
General, which made it difficult— but she would consult with a
certain great man about the Court. All this from an actress and a
gipsy girl, who had been my maid ! But strange things happen
still in London ! All this she would do, and more if she could, tor
Miss Dorothy's sake, and for no other's ; unless it might be for Mr.
Hilyard himself, who first taught her to act.

'Her supper was noble,' Mr. Hilyard continued. 'After the
meals wo have taken on the road, it was a feast of Belshamr. Bat

236 DOROTHY FORSfER.

Mr. Frank touched nothing, coughing grievously. After supper wt
had whisky punch, the first I have tasted since we left the north.
Alas ! shall I ever drink it again with his honour in the Manor
House ?' Here his eyes overflowed. ' It cannot be but we will
somehow get him off — either by interest or else by the golden key.'

I confess that I was at first humiliated and shamed at the thought
of owing anything to the backstairs influence of Jenny Lee, and I
rejoice still to think that in the end it was not needed. I do not
share Mr. Hilyard's admiration of the actor's art, nor do I find
anything admirable, unless shamelessness be admirable, in standing
up before a thousand people to recite verses, dressed up in a gilt
crown and a silk gown. But I was sorry to hear the bad news con-
cerning Frank Radcliffe, whom I resolved upon seeing as soon as
possible. Meantime, for a few days, nothing could be done, Mr.
Hilyard said, except to seek out such friends as might help us.
Now, so unhappy were we, that of all our friends and cousins —
who are legion— there was not one who was on the other side, ex-
cepting only Lady Cowper.

In the afternoon of that day, Mr. Hilyard took me abroad, to see
some of the sights of London. First, he led me to Drury Lane,
where he pointed out the great theatre, the house where Nell
Gwynne lived, the place where Lord Craven, who married Princess
Elizabeth, had his palace, and many other curious places. Through
by-lanes and narrow passages filled with shops and people he next
led me into the Strand, which is truly a wonderful thoroughfare,
with, on the south side, Somerset House and the site of the old
Savoy (now in ruins), Buckingham House, Northumberland House,
and many others. The day was very cold, but the ladies were
abroad, some in coaches and some walking, the latter mostly
attended by gentlemen. Then Mr. Hilyard showed me the Park
and Spring Gardens, but I cannot understand how any can call
them beautiful. Perhaps, when the leaves are on the trees, the
long straight alleys may look well.

'You should see them,' said my guide, 'in June, when the trees
are green, and beneath the trees the fine ladies and the beaux.
That is, indeed, a sight to make one dream of heaven.'

From the Park he led me to Westminster Abbey. Here, as the
day was growing dark, we wandered in the dim and awful twilight
among the monuments, while our footsteps echoed in the lofty
roof, and our voices resounded overhead in gentle thunder.

'It is a place for prayer and meditation,' I said. ' Surely in so
great a city there must be many unhappy.'

' I doubt it not,' replied Mr. Hilyird. ' The city hath thousands
of poor wretches.'

' Do they come here.' I asked, ' to pray and repent ?'

He shook his head.

'The Church of England,' he replied, 'keeps these great cathe-
drals for the spiritual benefit of the better sort. For the baser
kind, and to further and encourage their prayers and repentance,
there are mercifully provided the whipping-post, the pillory, Bride-

IN LO*\DOX. 237

well, where the lash is not spared, and Newgate, with its gaol -fever,
its chains, its greedy warders, and the Reverend Ordinary, who also
goeth in the cart to Tyburn with those who are to be hanged.'

Let me here set down a strange thing, which I thought a freak
of Mr. Hilyard's ; yet to which I consented, because one would not
throw away a chance : and in the long-run, it helped me much, and
perhaps assured me safety, as you will hear.

He was always full of mystery about his plans, sometimes
throwing out hints of an armed rescue by means of a Jacobite
mob ; and at other times dwelling on the necessity of caution, and
secret corruption of persons in trust. Once, I remember, he pro-
posed seriously a forged pardon and order from the King to let Mr.
Forster go free.

* If,' he said, ' it was a tragedy we were writing, I should say
that no better plot could be devised than the escape of the prisoner,
on the morning of his execution, by means of a forged pardon.
But I doubt whether the difficulty of deceiving the Governor, and
the uncertainty as to the proper form of signature— whether paper
or parchment, how to be worded, how sent to the prison— would not
prove fatal to the design.'

And so with many other notable designs.

One day, however, he informed me that he had considered the
subject carefully, and was of opinion that steps should be taken to
throw suspicion, after the escape, in a false direction ; that he had
already learned, from a certain source, of a sea captain of Wapping
reported to be an extraordinary villain and most treacherous dog,
making it his practice to bargain with gentlemen, highwaymen, cut-
throats, and others, who might desire to change their native air for
that of France, for their conveyance across the water ; and, having
gotten their money, to betray them for more pay — if he could get
it — to the messengers and officers.

'What,' I asked, 'have we to do with such a desperate villain as
this?'

* Why,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' remember that we know not when we
may make our attempt. We will go to him, the first thing ; we
will open the business, naming no names ; we will prepare him,
beforehand, to expect a great personage.'

I could not understand why. If the mam was a villain, why not
go to an honest man, who would truly serve us ?

4 As for my plans,' he went on, 'they are not perfected ; nor can
they be until I have seen his honour and inspected the ground.
But we cannot begin too soon, nor can we neglect the least precaution.'

I knew nothing, as yet, of his plans ; because, as I have already
said, what he had opened to me seemed like the foolish story of a
play. However, I listened to him in the matter of this Wapping
journey (which, although such as would only be thought of by one
who had read many playi, turned out, in the long-run, useful), and
we rode thither in a glass-coach. I dressed in my best, concerning
which Mr. Hilyard was very particular, wishing the fellow we had
to do with to take me for a lady of the highest quality.

238 DOROTHY FORSTER.

We came, after a long drive through streets more crowded and
noisy, and with more tumult, fighting, and blasphemy, than I could
have believed possible, to the river-bank, to a place called Wapping
Old Stairs, where we left the coach and took boat (if the people in
the streets swore horribly, those on the river swore much worse),
and were rowed to a small vessel moored in the middle of the
stream. The captain, who was on deck, had a chair rigged to a
yard and lowered for me, while Mr. Hilyard clambered up the
ladder. A most sinister and evil-looking villain he was, with a
great scar across his face ; but he bowed, and tried to smile and to
look loyal and faithful. Judas himself, or Mr. Patten, had not a
more sinister countenance.

' Here is the lady, captain,' said Mr. Hilyard ; ' and not to boat
about the bush, seeing that we are all honest people here, and of
the right sort—- — '

' Truly,' said the captain, with a most forbidding grin, ' of the
right sort.'

' Let us come to the point. We will say that her ladyship hath
a husband, brother, father, or lover, anxious, for reasons of his own,
to change the air. As for his lordship's — I mean his honour's —
name, it matters not. The question is, first, for how much you will
take this gentleman abroad and land him on the coast of France.'

' I will take him, because of his opinions,' said the honourable
captain, ' for a hundred and fifty guineas.'

Heavens ! what a price for taking a gentleman across the
Channel !

' Captain/ said Mr. Hilyard, * your hand upon it. It is a cheap
bargain. This, your ladyship,' turning to me, ' is a man of honour.
Of that I am informed by friends in whom I can trust. We may
rely upon him. He is a man of honour. It may be a month, or
even more, before we are ready. But here is our man. Lucky we
are to find a man of honour ready to our hand.'

The captain protested that all the world knew him for a man of
honour ; but that, as for waiting, he should require ten guineas a
week for keeping the hoy in readiness.

'You shall have it, captain,' said Mr. Hilyard readily. 'You
shall have it. A moderate sum, indeed, for such a man as yourself.
But you must bt always aboard, for we may 'drop down at any hour
of the day or night.'

1 He is Judas Iscariot the Second, or perhaps his great-grandson,'
said Mr. Hilyard, when we were ashore. ' We can go home again,
remembering that this villain will presently make another bargain
for his own advantage, by which he hopes, when he has secured his
money from the escaping prisoner, to get a second and perhaps a
higher price.'

* How will it serve us ?'

'In this way, that they will first look for his honour, when wa
Jjare got; him out, at Wapping, which will give us time.'

This seeaj^ yerv ingenious • but meanwjjjje, fcow was he to bs

LADY COW PER. 339

got out? And here Mr. Ililyard could only talk about his plans,
which wore as yet, he said, only half-hatched ; but he thought of
nothing else day or night, and went each evening, in order to seek
inspiration, to the theatre. I blamed him not. It was my brother,
not he, who was in Newgate ; and surely no one could have been
more generous and faithful than he during all that long and terrible
ride to London.

CHAPTER XXX.

LADY COWPER.

LORD COWPER'S great town-house was in Lincoln's Inn Fields, at
the north-west corner. I went in the mor.iing, hoping to find there
my cousin (who was now a Lady of the Chamber to the Princess
of Wales) free from visitors, and more open to hear my case ; and
by the advice of Mr. Hilyard, who accompanied me, we hired a
glass-coach for the visit, so that the knpudent lacqueys and footmen
should not fail to pay us the respect which they withhold whenever
the outward appearance of a visitor doth not proclaim his quality
and rank. Certainly, I think these London varlets are a disgrace
to the manners of the City. It matters little what such gentry
think of one ; but it was of great importance not to be thrust aside
and kept waiting in the hall among the jeers and ribaldry of this
people, who are thus badly behaved because their masters do not
correct them as they should. Never were any stable-boys, for in-
stance, better mannered than Tom's, because he always went among
them, as he went among his dogs, whip in hand.

There was a little crowd about the door, consisting partly of
tradesmen waiting to see the housekeeper or her ladyship, partly
of footmen in livery, and partly of persons, perhaps gentlemen,
looking for the most part anxious and decayed, waiting to present
petitions, or to have audience of the Lord Chancellor. Mr. Hilyard
left me in the coach, and conversed for a few minutes with a great,
insolent-looking fellow in my lord's livery. I saw him put money
(it was a whole guinea) into the man's hand.

1 Tell my lady,' he said, ' her cousin desires to have speech with
her.'

Upon this the man went away, but presently returned, and Mr.
Ililyard informed me that her ladyship would see her cousin.

It was still so early that Lady Cowper was sitting in her break-
fast-room, three children playing round her on the floor. I desire
before everything else to testify that, though my cousin, Lady
Cowper, was the wife of a great Whig Lord and Minister of State,
nothing could have been kinder than her reception of me, whose
brother she could not but regard as a principal cause of all the
trouble, and nothing more friendly than her continued interest in
my case, and thoughtful advice. At this time she was about thirty
years of age, having been born at Chipwell, in Durham, in the year
1685, and was married in 1706 to Lord Cowper, then Keeper of the
Great Seals (she died seven yeai* later of » broken heart,

240 DOROTHY FORSTER.

months after her husband, and is now, I cannot doubt, having been
so good a woman, far happier than she ever hoped to be). This
virtuous and amiable woman showed in her lovely face the virtues
and graces with which she was so bountifully endowed. Her
features were straight and regular ; her eyes full and soft — my own
still shed tears, even to think of her. When I entered the room she
rose and came to meet me.

' Cousin !' she said, giving me both her hands, 'I have not learned
your name, but I give you welcome. Sit down and tell me what is
your trouble — you have great trouble written on your face, my
dear — and how I can best help you.'

But at these kind words — almost the first I had heard since the
trouble began — my courage gave way, and I fell into a passion of
crying and sobbing. Yet I had not cried once, except with my
Lord Crewe, since Mr. Hilyard brought me the dreadful news. She
took my hands in hers and kissed me, crying with me, I think.

' Tell me, my dear,' she said presently, ' tell me, if you can, who
you are.'

' Alas !' I replied, ' I am Dorothy Forster.'

' What ?' she said, her eyes full of compassion. * You are my
beautiful cousin Dorothy ? My dear, I have heard of you : like
poor Lady Crewe, whom this trouble has killed, you could find no
one good enough for you in the north, and must needs wait for a
Prince. My poor child ! I cannot say that I am glad to see you,
for, indeed, this is a most grievous and terrible business. Yet, try
to keep up your heart while we consider what may be done. In the
first place, there is no hurry, we have time before us : my lord says
that the trials of the Peers are certain to come first, but we cannot
tell when they will come on. As for your brother Tom— I have
seen him, and I wished him to come here often, but he would never
pay his court to ladies, and preferred his Jacobite coffee-house — if
he were tried to-day or to-morrow, in the present temper of the
Court and the town, there can be no doubt of the sentence. You
will gain by waiting. But, oh ! my dear, consider his offence. He
was the General of the English forces. He is not an ordinary rebel.
He is as bad as the Earl of Mar or Lord Kenmure. Do not suffer
him to be hopeful, but rather let him prepare for the worst. And
do you, Dorothy, work your best for him meanwhile.'

Then she asked me where I was lodging, and promised to procure
for me, if she could, an order to see Tom in Newgate. All visitors,
except such as had permission, were as yet refused admission ; but
this restriction was speedily broken through in favour of those who
had money wherewith to bribe the officers of the prison.

' I know not,' she went on, ' what may be the mind of the King,
but I am very sure that the Ministers will desire that the examples
shall be as few as possible. Why, why did not Tom Forster follow
the example of so many others, and escape by the way ?'

I knew not that any escaped on the way.

'I suppose,' I replied, ' that his honour was concerned. Otheri
might run away, but not the General who surrendered.'

LADY COWPER.

241

'Nay, but the King's honour is not concerned in granting a
pardon to the leaders. Yet it is early to talk of these things.
Now, child, come to see me often : this week I am in waiting : I
have told the Princess already that poor Tom is my cousin : but of
course she can do nothing— yet. My dear, he should have escaped.
Oh ! they should all have escaped ! I have no patience with the
punctilio of men who led so crazy an enterprise. Why, if the
threatened end were not so terrible, they would all be the laughing-
stock of the country. Dorothy, my dear Dorothy, why did you let
them do it ?'

4 Indeed,' I said, ' we believed what we were told : and, alas ! the
women were worse than the men. We were told— Colonel Oxbrough
and Captain Gascoigne said so — that the whole country was with
us : the army would mutiny : the people would rally round us —
what did they not say ?'

4 As for these agitators, at least,' said Lady Cowper gravely, ' I
trust that full justice will be done.'

' Yet all the way to London,' I told her, ' we heard nothing but
curses on the Prince and all his party, and the Pope. Not once in
all that long ride did we find a man who prayed for his return.'

Then she asked me how I came to London, and when she heard
that it was on horseback, through all the dreadful weather, she
threw up her hands in wonder.

* Is there any,' she cried, ' but a brave Northumberland girl who
would take such a ride ? But who came with you, Dorothy ?'

Should I tell ? Yet I knew she would not betray me.

4 My brother's steward ; formerly his tutor — Mr. Hilyard. Oh !
Lady Cowper, hush ! let me whisper. He, too, was with them, but
he escaped. To bring me to London he dressed himself like a
blacksmith, and me like a country-wench. Now he waits for me at
your door, disguised as a grave physician. I have placed his life in
your hands ! But, without him, I am helpless indeed.'

4 His life is safe with me, my child ; but I would willingly converse
with a rebel who thus puts his head in the lion's mouth.'

She rang a hand-bell, and ordered a footman to bring to her the
gentleman who was waiting for me.

Mr. Hilyard came, wearing a face of the greatest importance and
learning.

4 Pray, sir,' said Lady Cowper, ' pardon me. I am anxious con-
cerning my cousin's health. She hath suffered great weariness of
body and trouble of mind of late. Your learned counsel, I trust,
will not be wanting in the case. You are doubtless a member of
the College of Physicians.'

4 1 had the honour of studying medicine, my lady, at the renowned
University of Leyden,' he replied, without a blush, though the
falsehood was so great.

4 Would you be willing to take counsel with my own physician ?
I find my cousin's cheek pale, and her colour cornea and goes.
These are signs which should not be neglected.'

'Most willingly, madam, will I consult with your physician.

16

242 DOROTHY FORSTER.

But your ladyship need be under no pain in Miss Dorothy's case.
She suffers from that complaint for which the ancients did worship
Angerona Dea, videlicet, Fear : but in her case it is fear on account
of others. It is a disorder which affects the brains only of the
more noble (the Muses, for example, are said to be melancholy
because their followers are poor). For the remedy of this disorder
there is, first, the removal of the cause, so that the liberation of his
honour, Mr. Thomas Forster the younger, and that of the Earl of
Derwentwater, will, I pledge my professional skill, leave this lady
as comely of face and as cheerful of aspect as before. But if that
may not yet be done, I would prescribe hope, the promise of her
friends to help, daily prayer, and certain precepts of philosophy,
with the use of herbs, such as betony, a sprig of marigold always in
her broth, and the flowers of Carduus benedictus. Other simples
there are, with which I will not weary your ladyship/

'Indeed, sir, my cousin is fortunate in having so learned a
physician.'

She smiled as she said this, but Mr. Hilyard bowed low, puffing
out his cheeks, and looking so learned and skilful a physician that
even I was almost deceived.

Then she dismissed me, promising faithfully to keep my case in
mind, and to say what she could to help.

' Do not forget, however,' she added, * that I have the chief of
my own family, Mr. Clavering of Callalee, in Newgate, with many
other friends and cousins. To think that the poor old gentleman,
now over seventy, should have thought to take up arms ! Yet, like
Tom Forster and all the rest, his estates are almost ruined by free
hospitality and feasting. Yes, I know, Lady Crewe would have
given all back to Tom, and so the Forsters of Bamborough might
have begun again in greater we-alth and state than before. It was
her dream, poor lady ; and foolish Tom must needs break it to
pieces and kill the dreamer. Why, I know not, except that he
hoped to repair his fortunes by another and quicker way, yet full
of danger. Well ; drink, feasting, horse-racing and sport, have
ruined more Northumberland gentlemen of late than all the Scots
across the Border in the good old days. Farewell, brave child !
We must do our besi to remove the cause, most learned sir, of my
cousin's sick looks, and then we shall want neither betony, nor
marigold, nor — nor the other remedy — what was it ?'

' That most noble and sovereign herb, my lady, called Carduus
lenedictw.'

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE UNFORTUNATE MR. PAUL.

IN three or four days .Lady Cowper sent for me again to visit her
in the morning. She had to tell me that I might now visit my
brother in Newgate, for they suffered as many as pleased to visit
the prisoners. But that as for the physician, my friend — ' Child,'
she said, smiling, ' you ought not to have told me. Pray forget

THE UNFORTUNATE MR. PAUL. 243

that I have the man's secret. Yet was I glad to have seen and
conversed with a creature so honest and so faithful. Doth he ask
no reward for his services ?'

How could he, seeing I had nothing in the world to give him,
nor had Tom neither ? And the upshot of the whole business to
him would be little short of ruin, seeing that his occupation was
gone. Lady Crewe dead ; Tom, if pardoned or reprieved, probably
without any means ; I powerless to help ; his own youth gone (he
was now at least thirty-seven) — what would the poor man do in
this hard world to get him a living ?

'Nay,' said Lady Cowper ; 'a gentleman of his gifts can never
starve, though it be long before he finds another patron like Tom,
and another place to suit his genius so well as the one now in
jeopardy. But, my dear, caution him carefully that he go not near
Newgate yet, permission or not. Listen : it is whispered that the
evidence against the prisoners will be found in the prison itself — I
mean, cousin, that wherever there are conspirators there are traitors ;
and when it comes to danger for the neck, honour and faith have
but a poor chance. Ask me no questions, my dear. None of the
gentlemen, our cousins, we may be sure, would consent to save their
lives by such villainy. I only warn thee. There may be informers
to turn King's evidence. This physician — T whoever he may be —
lord ! I have no memory — if you even told me, I have clean and
altogether forgotten where he comes from— Leyden was it, or
Muscovy ? — let him not venture within those walls ; and, if he
value his learned neck, bid him go no more abroad in the streets
than is necessary, and if he can disguise his face, let him do so.
Informers have one fault : they will still be showing zeal ; and,
perhaps, to secure a rebel at large might be thought by them more
praiseworthy than to convict a rebel in prison. As for Tom/ she
went on, 'if he is tried, make him plead guilty. It is his only
chance — since he missed the chance of running away on the road.
My dear, if Lady Crewe were living, he certainly would never be
tried at all.'

She said this with so much meaning, that one could not bat
understand her.

'Perhaps/ I said, 'Lord Crewe might be willing to do for
his wife's nephew what hie wife would have done, had she
lived.'

She smiled, and looked as if she would like to know more. Then
she said :

' If that is so, cousin, keep thy secret carefully. Tell me no more ;
or if you do tell me, forget that you have told me. But best not.
Has anything yet been done? But do not tell me. A woman
whose husband is the Lord Chancellor must not know these things.
Yet my memory is very short. Oh ! cousin, tell me or not, as seema
you best ; but, my dear, be prudent. Do not hurry, yet waste no
time.'

I told her then, after reminding her that my brother's life
depended on her secrecy, tnat nothing was yet done, but that w«

16-2

244 DORO THY FORSTER.

had command of a vast great sum of money, and Mr. Hilyard was
engaged in devising a plan which should be safe and expeditious.

' Mr. Hilyard,' she said, ' may be an ingenious man ; but in such
a case as this an ounce of woman's wit, I take it, is worth a pound
of man's. No doubt he could tell us how men have broken prison
since the first prison-house was erected by some Greek king ; that
is the way men cheat us, and because they know history, they think
they can do everything ; here, however, is no case for the boring of
holes through the wall. Eemember, my dear, the old story of
Jupiter when he was in love, and how he got into the tower of the
nymph. You know the pretty, naughty fable ? By a shower of
gold, my dear. Take your shower of gold in your own hand and
try. Alas ! how one's tongue carries one away ! What has the wife
of the Lord Chancellor to do with showers of gold and Greek
damsels ? Yet, my cousin, I would to heaven that Tom was gotten
clean away ! I told the Princess of your long march to London
through the snow and frost, and she wept. Do you think your
Prince would have wept ?'

Now this talk set me a- thinking. For Mr. Hilyard was all in the
clouds with his great plans, and talked sometimes as if he was about
to raise an army, or to besiege Newgate ; and at other times as if
he was inventing the plot of some mighty drama, in which the right
people always came on the stage at the right time. Yet these vast
projects were, I suppose, but the preliminaries to some more prac-
tical scheme. As for what I thought and what I attempted, you
shall hear presently.

When I repeated to Mr. Hilyard some of this conversation, and
especially that part of it which related to King's evidence, he fell
into so violent a wrath that I thought he would have had some sort
of fit. For, surely, he declared, there can be no more dreadful
wickedness than thus to betray the men with whom you have sworn
fidelity. We wrote out lists, so far as we knew them, of all the
prisoners brought to London, and we could think of none capable
of playing so mean, so treacherous, so contemptible a part. Yet we
could not choose but take Lady Cowper's warning seriously, and
Mr. Hilyard, with grave face, promised to run no risks that he
could avoid.

In spite of his promise he presently fell into so great a danger
that he got a terrible fright, and for some time lost confidence in
his disguise, and would not venture abroad until nightfall. The
way of it was this. Some prisoners being brought to London from
Scotland, he must needs, being assured, in his own conceit, against
recognition, go stand with the crowd outside the gates of Newgate
to see them enter. It was mostly a Jacobite crowd, collected to
cheer the unhappy men, but there were Whigs among them. Now,
as Mr. Hilyard, in his sober physician's dress, stood among the rest,
some one tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned and saw that
it was no other than the Reverend Mr. William Paul, the clergyman
who joined the rebels in Lancashire, and escaped through having
been sent away with letters. Ha had put oS his cassock, and now,

THE UNFORTUNATE MR. PAUL. 245

dressed like a plain citizen of London, was come to see the dismal
show.

' Ho ! brother,' he whispered. * Do you not know me ? Let us
go drink a glass together.'

' What !' said Mr. Hilyard. ' It is Mr. Paul ! Did you recognise
me in this disguise ?'

4 Recognise you ? Of course I did, for all your great wig and
your sober looks.'

While they were thus conversing there stepped from the doors of
the prison an officer armed with a truncheon, who laid his hand
upon the unfortunate Mr. Paul's shoulder.

'In the King's name!' he said, 'I have a warrant to arrest the
body of the Reverend William Paul.'

So saying, though the crowd pushed to and fro, and groaned,
none dared attempt a rescue, and in a moment the poor man was
haled within the prison-doors. (He was one of those afterwards
executed.) You may be sure that Mr. Hilyard was not long in re-
treating, and for a few days he did not dare so much as to come to
my lodgings.

I thought continually of Lady Cowper's words concerning
woman's wit, but came not for a long while into any reasonable
way of following her advice, for no other cause, I verily believe,
than that I could not at all understand how to spend the twenty
thousand pounds which Lord Crewe was ready to give us. When,
however, I began to go to Newgate (of which I will tell immedi-
ately), I distinguished a turnkey or officer who belonged especially
to the Governor's house ; and, partly at first in the hope that to
conciliate this fellow might soften Tom's lot in prison, I began to
give him money.

He was a cunning-looking rascal, about fifty- five years of age,
with a foxy face and red twinkling eyes, which from the first fol-
lowed me about as if I seemed likely to offer bribes. His fingers
were curly from the taking of fees, while as for pity towards the
poor unfortunate people in ward, his heart, I am sure, was nothing
in the world but a lump of stone ; he looked on every prisoner as
worth so many guineas, and lamented the execution of a profitable
criminal much as a physician laments the death of a profitable
patient. Finding how greedy he was, and keen after money. I
began to consider if I could not use him for some more considerable
purpose than a careful attention to Tom, for whom, as he had his
own man with him, he could do but little, even if he desired.
Therefore I increased my gifts, dropping each day something hand-
pome into his palm, and pretending to be grateful for his (supposed)
kindness to my brother.

1 Such goodness,' I said to him, * deserves a better reward, which
it shall certainly obtain if the General steps out of prison. To be
sure, if one were to find a willing and a friendly heart, that were
easy. Ah ! how gladly would one reward such a person I Think
of it, Mr. Jonas !' That was his name.

He grinned and nodded, and said be tshould not forget what I

246 DOROTHY FORSTER.

had said. Then every day that he saw me he would look at me in-
quiringly, as if to wonder why I did not use his services ; and if he
got a chance of speaking to me unheard, he would whisper :

1 A friendly and a willing heart, your ladyship.'

This was all my secret. While Mr. Hilyard was concocting great
schemes and plots, I was simply trying whether a common servant
of the gaol would not do the business for us just as well as if we
were to set agoing the whole machinery of a five-act comedy with
Spanish intrigues and French surprises.

And as for this fellow, it was perfectly plain to me that, though
perhaps he might play me false in the end, he was willing to open
his ears wide at the mere mention of the words 'reward' or 'bribe.'
Therefore I kept him on and off, saying nothing more at the time,
but waiting for a favourable opportunity.

The time was not yet ripe, for outside, not only in London, but
over the whole country, there was such an uproar that one would
have thought it was nothing less than the defeat of the Spanish
Armada, instead of a handful of their own misguided countrymen
rising inopportunely in a righteous cause. The bells of the City
churches were kept a-clanging ; bands of men paraded the streets
with favours, shouting and challenging the Jacks to come forth and
show themselves ; there was fighting, drinking, profane swearing,
lighting of bonfires, and brandishing of warming-pans all day long,
and, I dare say, all night as well. As for me, I saw little of it ;
but once, going to the prison in a coach, we were stopped by a
dozen half -drunken men, who pressed round the doors, swearing
that I must drink King George's health, or kiss them all. So I
drank to the King, wishing in secret that it might choke his
Majesty, and they laughed and bade the coachman drive on. Why,
what a poor cause that must be which wants such swaggerers and
drunken reprobates to defend it ! The hatred of the people against
us was kept up, and aggravated as well, by the sermons of the
London clergymen, especially in Nonconformist chapels ; and,
above all, by the Whig papers, which continually hurled dirt at the
unfortunate prisoners and the cause for which they suffered. Lady
Cowper bade me pay no heed to these things, because, she said,
nobody regards what the journals say. Yet it was dreadful to read
the things that were written about the wives and friends of the
prisoners. We were assailed as tigresses —but, indeed, I cannot
repeat what they said ; they also pleased themselves by enumerating
the possessions and country seats of the rebels, which they confis-
cated, sold, and distributed long before the prisoners were tried at
all. And they would not so much as listen to a word of mercy.

The first time I went to Newgate, it was expecting nothing short
of underground dungeons, chains, gloom, and misery. Yet when I
was admitted, the warden (no other than this same Jonas), after
taking my name, and telling me that the General was lying in the
Governor's house with a few other gentlemen, led the way to a
large and comfortable room on the first floor, which was hia

THE UNFORTUNATE MR. PAUL 247

chamber. The only inconvenience about the room w«, that it
F.Tvc-1 us bedroom, dining-room, and parlour all in one. There was
no clank of chains, and nothing to remind one that it was a prison,
pave the feeling that between the house and the street was an ante-
room, with turnkeys and a strong door.

It was in the forenoon ; Tom was sitting beside a bright coal-fire,
his wig and hat lying on the bed, and his head in a warm linen
nightcap. Opposite to him sat Mr. Patten, pnd both were smoking
tobacco, early as it was. But they were silent, and they looked sad.
As for the chaplain, who had made so brave a show riding among
the prisoners, he was now pale of cheek and heavy of eye.

'Dorothy!' cried Tom, springing to his feet. 'Why, I knew
that she would come to London after me ! Did I not say so, parson ?
'Tis a brave girl. Kiss me, lass. So — now what news ? What
will Lady Crewe do ? What doth her ladyship say ? Will she
among her friends - '

'Alas, Tom !' I said ; 'Lady Crewe is dead. She died two months
ago, after a kind of fit, or convulsion, for fear that you would b«
taken. Tom, 'twas pure love for you that killed her.'

At this dreadful intelligence Tom turned quite white, and fell
back into his chair.

' Lady Crewe dend ? Then,' he looked round him helplessly,
1 what will become of us all ?'

' Nay, Tom,' I replied. ' We know not yet. But keep up heart,
brother. There is time enough yet to consider ; and all are agreed
that, where so many are concerned, mercy must be shown. For
shame's sake they cannot but pardon some of these gentlemen.'

' Why,' said Tom, ' some they mny. ^ut I was their General.
What do you say to that, Dorothy? X)i»Iess they pardon all, I
doubt if the General will escape.'

' And I,' said Mr. Patten, shaking his head gloomily, ' was, alas !
his honour's chaplain. I doubt they will make an example of me
for the encouragement of my cloth. What do they say outside
about me, Miss Dorothy ?'

' Indeed, Mr. Patten,' I told him, 'I know little of what they say,
for as yet I havo seen no one but my cousin, Lady Cowper.'

' Miss Dorothy,' he said earnestly, ' pray, you that art so tender
of heart, when you speak of his honour to her ladyship, couple my
name with his. Say the General and his chaplain. Do not suffer
them to be separated. The General with his chaplain. If we have
piirned together — nay, I deny not that I exhorted him continually
that he was on the Lord's side — we have been taken together. Why,
vour honour, Lady Cowper is the wife of the Chancellor — no less.
If sho pleases she can set us free. But it would cut your generous
heart to the quick, I know it, if I were left to hang while you
marched out free.'

' It would,' said Tom. ' Fear not, friend ; we shall go out
together.'

' As yet,' I told them, ' Lady Cowper can do nothing. Nobody
can say a word. What she will be able to do afterwards, I know not.

248 DORO THY FORSTER.

Remember that she is a great lady at Court, and a Lady of th«
Bed- Chamber to the Princess of Wales, and must not seem to
screen his Highness's friends too much.'

Mr. Patten was, it was plain, in a great scare, now that he actually
found himself in prison with a prospect of being hanged. I have
always been truly thankful that I said nothing at the time of what
the Bishop was willing to do ; else Mr. Patten (the villain) would
have heard and blabbed, and so all been spoiled. Perhaps Tom in
his cups might have blurted it out. So I asked Tom only if he was
comfortable, and if I could do aught for him.

' Why,' said Tom, ' as for comfort, I suppose whatever you give
him, a bird in a cage, or a rat in a trap, is never so comfortable as a
bird in the air or a rat in the ditch. For those who have money
there is some comfort, as you see ; a quiet place at least, where one
can take a pipe of tobacco in peace. As for my money, 'tis almost
at an end ; look you to it, Dorothy, if you can.'

I told him that I could find money for him, but that at present
he must not ask from whom it came, because I wished him not as
yet to know that it came from Lord Crewe.

4 So long as it comes,' he said, ' I care not where it comes from.
They made me pay twenty-five guineas for privilege not to wear
irons — they are making great fortunes out of us, these turnkeys and
wardens — twenty-five guineas, and as much for Mr. Patten here —
else would his legs be clinking as he went ' — Mr. Patten shook his
head and sighed. ' Ten guineas I paid not to be put in the common
side ; and as much for Mr. Patten — else he would be among the
poor devils who have got no money, and pig together like sows in a
sty — now he hath accommodation with no more than two or three
at most in a bed, and the Press Yard to walk in with the gentlemen,
and the Ordinary to converse with.'

' A worthy man,' said Mr. Patten, ' but obstinate on the vice of
rebellion, and perhaps over-hot for the Protestant Succession.'

' Five pounds a week they make us pay for lodging in the
Governor's house, and another five pounds for a room to myself ;
and what with garniture here, garniture there, fees everywhere —
hang me if the wealth of London would stand a whole winter in
this place ! But perhaps they won't keep us here the whole winter '

Mr. Patten groaned aloud.

* As for company,' Tom went on, ' there are all our old friends.
Charles Radclille, Ned Swinburne and his brother Charles, Perry
Widdrington, Jack Hall, Dick Stokoe, and all we used to drink
with ; we can drink and sing together as much as ever, but there
does not seem much stomach for it, because, Dorothy, we can no
longer ride together : and as for other company, the prison is always
full of it.'

He then went on to tell me how these friends of ours were
treated. The prison consists, first, of what is called the ' Common
Side,' with the * Lions' Den ' and the ' Middle Dark,' where the
baser sort are confined. I know not what must be the sufferings of
t&e poor creatures who, for lack of money, are thrust into

THE UNFORTUNATE MR. PAUL. 249

£

m-

dreadful places, which are, to begin with, filled with men and
worn, n of the vilest kind, creatures without (as it would seem) one
spark left of virtue, religion, or decency. Some of those who were
in that dreadful place were my own friends, the gallant lads I had
known from childhood. They stayed not long ; if the Jacobites of
London would not fight, they could, and did, find money, and
before long every gentleman in the gaol found such accommodation
as was possible to be obtained in the place. For those who had
money might buy the right of using the Press Yard by day, with
beds in the rooms round it belonging to the Governor. As for
scenes of despair, I know not what they might suffer on the Common
Side, but in the Press Yard into which I looked, there seemed
nothing but jollity, drinking, and mirth. Is it possible, I asked
myself, that men who are in peril of being sentenced to death can face
the danger with hearts so callous ? Why, here was a knot of men in

drinking-box as unconcerned as if they were mere visitors, or the
lace was a common tavern. Some were playing cards, some were
talking vehemently, some quarrelling, some playing tennis, some
smoking tobacco, some lounging against doorposts ; but as for any
decent, God-fearing behaviour, that I think one might look for in
vain. All day long they spent in the Press Yard, unless at meals ;
at ten o'clock they were locked in their rooms, where sometimes
two or three had to sleep on the same bed, until eight in the morn-
ing.

4 It is a wretched place,' said Tom ; * and an insult to a gentleman
to send him here. Why, I expected at least such a respect due to
my position as to be sent to the Tower. But no ; here I am, as you
eee, shut up with the rank and file, as one may say.'

* Yet you are in good company,' I said ; ' since all your old f liends
are with you.'

4 Why am I not with the lords in the Tower ?' he repeated.
1 Surely the General of the army might be treated with as much
consideration as any nobleman in his command. I take it ill,
Dorothy, I assure you. Some private enemy hath interposed to .rob
me of the honour due to me.'

I thought that when it came to getting him out, I would rather
he was in Newgate than in the Tower ; but I did not say so.

' As for my trial,' he said, ' I care not when it comes on ; I am
assured that I have friends enough to pack a jury. As for that,
they will find it difficult to get any jury to convict. I do not fear,
Dorothy. Then it will be our turn next, and we will let these
gentlemen have a taste of the Press Yard.'

I believe that his friends were right in so advising him ; no jury
could have been found to agree in a verdict, unless it was made up
of Nonconformists. But his face and the faces of all lengthened
when they found that they would not be tried by a jury at all.
When the Government went back to trial by jury, the verdict in
the cases of Ferguson and Innes, Tildesley and Towneley, in which
the evidence was plain, and yet the prisoners were acquitted, showed
Uow much a jury could be trusted.

250 DOROTHY FORSTER.

' And where,' asked Tom, ' is honest Tony ?'

( Ah !' said Mr. Patten, ' hath our good Antony escaped ? or \ras
he among those taken to Liverpool ?'

He looked, although Mr. Hilyard bore such testimony to his
friendliness, as if he would rather hear that he was among the
prisoners in the north. I could never believe of this man that he
wished Mr. Hilyard well.

' He is safe,' I replied ; ' and I hope we shall hear of his doing a
good stroke for us as soon as he can get about without fear.'

Here again I rejoiced, afterwards, that I did not let Mr. Patten
know where his enemy was to be found.

'I would he were with me,' said Tom. ' I miss him more than
enough. Without Tony a bowl of whisky punch seems only half
complete. But one would not have him taken neither ; while as for
singiag — I doubt if I shall ever hear another song again.'

' Nay, sir,' said his chaplain, ' cheer up. The small and unimpor-
tant persons, such as myself and Mr. Hilyard, if he be caught, will
certainly be hanged, drawn, and quartered. We can expect no less.
But for the quality, who have friends and influence in high places,
why, you may be sure to expect favour. As for us — well, let us be
thankful that we have done our duty in the world. He who dies
for his country '

' Pshaw !' said Tom. ' Thou must for ever be talking about
dying. Hang it, Mr. Patten, canst thou not drink about like a
Christian, and leave dying till thou art sentenced ?'

' Ah !' he replied, with a deep sigh. ' Mr. Hilyard is a happy
man. Will he not, Miss Dorothy, who can play so many parts, fit
upon himself a disguise and visit his old friends ?'

' Nay,' I said, ' Mr. Hilyard is safest without these walls.'

' You did not say,' he went on, l where he is now in hiding.'

I do not know whether he was already contemplating his great
villainy, but I mistrusted the man, and so made no reply.

' All the way to London,' Tom went on, ' we were cheered by the
whisper that we should be rescued on the road. Why, where were
all the loyal gentlemen TYC had heard so much of V A hundred
gallant fellows with sword and pistol could have done it. Yet they
sat still. To-day it was to be in the evening ; in the evening, next
day ; so they cheated us. At last we were to be rescued in the very
London streets ; yet there was not a voice in our favour, but curses
upon us all the way, as if we had not a friend in the City.'

They rose on the assurance that there were thousands to join
them ; they rode contentedly south, looking daily for a rescue by
their friends ; even in London streets they reckoned on escape.
Ah ! what a Fool's Paradise was this, in which we had all lived so
long ! And how wise was I become after my journey among the
common sort of England, and all the talk I had heard of Pope and
of Pretender ! Methinks, though the voice of the people b» fickle
Wid variable, they reckon foolishly who reckon without it.

A NOBLE PROJECT, 251

CHAPTER XXXII.

A NOBLE PROJECT.

I HAVE now to tell of a project, daring and yet most simple, which
was set on foot at this time, and unknown to any of those most
concerned in it — Lady Derwentwater went to her dying day in
ignorance of it. True it is that by the act and overruling will of
Providence the design was frustrated, but I firmly believe it would
have succeeded save for this misfortune.

It was not hatched and invented by Mr. Hilyard, whose designs
were truly ingenious, but magnificent, as becomes one who hath read
the tragic pieces of Greece and Rome, and knows what a plot should
be ; crooked also, full of surprises, dangers, and demanding the
assistance of a great number of people, as is the case always with
high tragedy. A simple contrivance was not, in so great a matter,
worthy of consideration. The design of which I speak was due to
Jenny Lee alone, who must have all the credit, though, in her
present condition, the poor creature cannot, I am sure, feel any
glory in this, or in any other scheme. You shall presently hear
what it was.

Mr. Hilyard, partly with a view of giving me what he called a
just view of the noble art of acting, partly that he might lead me to
regard Jenny with favour, and partly hoping to divert my mind
from the continual contemplation of misfortune, persuaded me one
evening to let him carry me to the play. A country-bred woman,
who hath seen but one London theatre in her life, may without
shame confess that it seemed to her like an enchanted island, and
that, though the house was full of finely-dressed women and gallant
gentlemen, she had no eyes for them, or for anything else, so long
as the actors were on the stage. The piece performed was a very
fine tragedy, namely, Dryden's ' Conquest of Granada,' in which,
Mr. Hilyard told me, ftelly Gwynne, the mother of the Duke of
St. Albans, formerly played the part now given to Jenny. I con-
fess, further, that I was astonished beyond measure to see this girl,
only a short while since a mere slip of a lady's-maid, with a curtsey
to the ladies and a smile to the gentlemen who chucked her under
the chin (as is a familiar though reprehensible custom in Northum-
berland), and humble to all, should be transformed into a Princess
moving with majesty and heroic courage among the most frightful
scenes of war and death. 'Twas truly wonderful !

' There were many,' said Mr. Hilyard, when we came away, ' who
could not listen to the play for looking at the lovely Incognita who
was in the boxes ' — he meant me. ' Thus will beauty prevail eveo
over the splendour of the stage. And when the beaux flocked out
and made a lane to see you pass, you looked neither to the right
nor to the left, bat passed through them all as cold and as
as Diana.'

252 DOROTHY FORSTER.

' "Why,* I said, ' I was not thinking of them. How should 1 1
My thoughts were with the unlucky Mahomet Boabdilen, the last
King of Granada — and with Jenny — I mean '

' Ah ! Miss Dorothy, you will make poor Jenny happy only to
let me tell her that she was able to turn your thoughts aside from
the crowded house.'

I said that if so small a thing could make her happy, she was very
welcome to her happiness.

' But it is not all,' he persisted. ' Jenny humbly desires to pay
her respects to you. To the rest of the world she is the Tragedy
Queen or the Comic Muse, but to you she bids me say she is, and
will always be, your faithful servant.'

' Bring her to me, then,' I replied, ' in Heaven's name !'

So he left me at my lodging and went away, I suppose to sup
with the actress among her friends.

But next day, about ten in the forenoon, comes, if you please,
Jenny herself, not in her own coach, because, I suppose, she did not
desire to show off her newly-acquired splendour, but walking, and
dressed, not richly, but plainly, though of good materials, and as a
wealthy gentlewoman would desire to go abroad.

She made me a deep reverence, and hoped I was in health, and
that his honour my brother was as well as the unfortunate posture
of his affairs admitted. In the old times she stood while she
answered my questions ; but I could not think of allowing a person
who could assume the splendid manners I had seen last night to
stand, whatever her past history, wherefore I bade her take a chair
and be welcome, and congratulated her on her success.

* I thank your ladyship,' she replied ; ' I have succeeded far
beyond my hopes. For at first I thought only to act in a barn, or
at a fair, like the people I ran away with ; it was grand to put on
fine clothes and to speak fine verses ; and it seemed delightful to be
free and have no masters (yet now 1 have ten thousand). More
than this I never thought to do. Yet you see me now at Drury
Lane.'

4 Well, Jenny,' I said, ' Mr. Hilyard is never tired of singing thy
praises ; truly, for myself, I understand not acting ; yet I saw thee
last night, and, believe me, child, T marvelled greatly at thy clever-
ness, thy quickness, and thy courage. Enough said about Drury
Lane ; tell me now, Jenny, about Mr. Frank Radcliffe.'

She blushed a little — but one cannot expect many blushes of an
actress !

' It is true,' she said, ' that I have always had power over Frank
Radcliffe, and that of a kind which, except to those of my own
people, must appear strange. Nay, I humbly confess that I deceived
your ladyship at Dilston Hall when you surprised me exercising
that power, because I was ashamed and afraid. Since then, how-
ever, I practise upon him in this way no more. It needs not —
Frank is in love with me, and will marry me, when he gets better
of his cough.'

1 But Jenny, child, Mr. Frank Eadcliffe is a gentleman.'

A NOBLE PROJECT. 253

1 It is true, madam, and I am only an actress. But he will marry
ae as soon as he gets better.'

4 And then he is a Papist ; and yon are '

' I am a gipsy, madam. But he will marry me as soon as he gets
letter. At present he is troubled with a hacking cough that gives
him no rest night or day. But this will pass when the warm
weather comes. And so, your ladyship, if you please there need be
no more said on this head. For Fran1.: will marry me, Papist or
Protestant, lady or gipsy, daughter of an earl or plain actress.'

She looked so resolute and spoke with such decision, that I now
perceived quite clearly my old Jenny vvas gone, and this girl before
me was quite another kind of person. But that I had already
suspected.

4 Wherefore, my lady,' she went on confidently, though in the
old humble manner of speech, ' my respects paid and these things
explained, I desire to lay before you, for your counsel, a project or
design of mine own, whereby, if all goes well, we may effect my
lord's escape.'

' Oh, Jenny ! know you what your words mean ?'

* Quite well, madam. I am happy to see that your ladyship hath
still something of the same interest in my lord as of old.'

4 Jenny,' I said, ' I know not if you are in earnest ; but of this
be assured. My interest in Lord Derwentwater's welfare is as great
as ever ; nor could it possibly be greater. If you have any rational
project for his deliverance, in Heaven's name let me hear it ! If it
be a secret, be sure that I would rather die a hundred deaths than
reveal the thing. Tell me, Jenny, what it is.'

Then, with many entreaties for secrecy, because the pit of Drury
Lane was all for the Protestant Succession, and she would be hissed
off the stage if the thing were known or even suspected to have
come from her, she revealed her design.

First, she assured me, and I readily believed her, that Frank
Radcliffe would do anything she told him to do, being madly in
love with her ; next, that the thing she wanted him to do was per-
fectly easy, without much danger, and such a thing as would make
the ears of those that heard it to tingle ; thirdly, that Frr.nk had
never ceased to lament his lot as an English gentleman who yet, for
his religion's sake, was not allowed to take any part in the affairs
of the nation, and condemned to a private and inglorious life ; and
then, after this preamble, she opened her design to me. It was, in
fact, nothing less than this.

Frank Radcliffe, as everybody knows, was so much like his
brother, save that he was somewhat taller of stature and thinner,
that in the dusk, and among those who knew his brother imperfectly,
he might very well pass for him. Jenny, therefore, proposed that,
disguised by herself with a little painting of eyebrows and face, and
some artful touches about nose and mouth, Frank should go with
her, under some other name, to see his brother in the Tower.
There was at this time little difficulty about the admission of visitors ;
Everybody was passed in who pleased ; they might CA e.i -o into th«

254 DOROTHY FORSTER.

Bell Tower among the common people admitted by the warden^
and so by a small bribe, or by entreaty, or by pretence of som«
kind or other, obtain admission.

'Now hearken. Once in my lord's chamber,' said Jenny, 'I
whip out my hare's foot and my sponge ; I quickly rub out the
make-up of Frank and transfer it to my lord, giving him dark eye-
brows, lips turned down, eyes longer than natural, and a mouth a
little turned to one side (which disguises most wonderfully). I
shorten his chin by a line of chalk ; I give his nose the least touch
of red ; and I paint his cheek with a touch or two of colour which
now it lacks. This done, they exchange perruques and coats.
Frank takes my lord's long wig and scarlet coat, and he Frank's
brown drugget and plain curled wig of black horsehair. Then we
go away crying — I can cry so as to move all hearts ; but I am not
certain yet what I will be, whether his nurse or his aunt, Lady
Mary, or even his; mother. My lord will come after me, wagging
his head as they do on the stage — so — to show sympathy and
sorrow, and Frank will be left behind. Then for a moment he will
show his noble face at the door just to disarm suspicion, and so
back again quickly, and sit down quiet till time hath passed suffi-
cient for us to get out of the Tower and away — whither, we must
settle when we have effected our escape.'

This was truly a notable project. Did Frank know of it ?

* That,' said Jenny, * is the trouble for us. At present he knows
nothing, but is low in his spirits, thinking of his brother a prisoner,
and himself little better, since his cough is so bad. I fear as yet to
tell him, lest it make him feverish and anxious to be up and about,
whereas he ought at present to be resting and getting well.'

So for the present we said no more upon that head, except that
Frank was not to be told until his cough was better.

' As for that,' said Jenny, ' the physicians do no good with him,
and an hour of my art is worth fifty of theirs. If I were with him
always I could cure him of his cough, or of anything. Alas ! Miss
Dorothy, you know not what this power of mine can do for him.'

'Jenny,' I asked earnestly, 'is it by possession of the devil?
Tell me, for the sake of thine eternal soul.'

She laughed at this.

' I have never seen the devil,' she said ; { and I know nought of
him. Truly, my grandmother might tell you more ; but she
teaches, the poor old woman, only what her mother taught her.
As for the devil, we gipsies know nothing of any devil. Yet I
think that if our art were known, all the world would flock to us to
be healed, instead of to physicians. If I were to tell your ladyship
what things I have seen and what pains allayed — all in a moment —
but you would never believe me *

* Yet — oh, Jenny ! — can it be right to use a magic power ?'

* Magic — magic ?' she repeated ; ' what is magic ? My people
have secrets, and I know something of them. Why ' — she sprang to
her feet and flung out her arms — 4 1 am a gipsy, and I have been
your ladyship's servant ; and I am an actress, and hundreds of fine

I

IN THE TOWER. 255

gentlemen love me — in the way of fine gentlemen ; and one man
loves me so well that he "would take me away and make me his wife,
uch as I am. What can I do for that gentleman ? Oh, Miss
Dorothy ! if my art were indeed as you think it, of the devil, I
would still practise it daily, if thus I could restore my Frauk to
health.'

CHAPTER XXXIII.

IN THE TOWER.

BY this time all the friends of the prisoners had hurried up to town.
Lady Derwentwater, poor creature, with her two children, was stay-
ing with the Duchess of Cleveland; the Dowager Countess, with
her third husband, Mr. Rooke, was come to save her son, if that
was possible : already the Court, and everybody about the Court,
the Ministers, and all who were thought to have any influence with
them, were besieged with petitions and entreaties for pardon. What
bribes were offered and taken, I know not ; but a good many who were
no worse than those executed got free pardons. Lady Cowper told
me afterwards that her husband was offered £60,000 to procure
the pardon of Lord Derwentwater. They tried to bribe the wrong
man ; the hands of those far lower in rank should have been
touched with gold. But you shall see. It made my heart bleed,
sad as I was on my own account, to hear Lady Cowper's tales of the
poor women who came to her daily, because she was of the North
Country, to beg her influence, and fell at her feet and wept. She
was so tender and compassionate a woman, that I am sure she used
her influence as she could, and perhaps got off many more besides
her cousins, Mr. Clavering and his son.

The Countess placed her whole hope in her husband's powerful
friends and connections. The Dukes of Richmond and St. Albans,
his cousins, were on the other side ; would they allow their kinsman's
head to fall without an effort ! Alas ! her hope proved a broken
reed ; these noble lords begged for a pardon, but they begged in
vain, and I doubt whether they begged in the only way which was
able to touch the King's heart, namely, by threats. Lord Derwent-
water was their kinsman, true ; but unfortunately he was not their
friend. Among tho Peers he had no friends. Why, Lord Nairn
got off because he had an old schoolfellow among the Ministers ;
but there was no one who had known Lord Derwentwater as a boy.
Truly, to be a Roman Catholic in this realm of England is to be
placed at a great disadvantage. One would not, surely, wish it
otherwise ; but for my lord's sake it must needs be lamented. There
were seven lords in the Tower ; in the end five got off. Why did they
execute the other two ? Were they more criminal than the rest ?
Alas ! no ; but they were more friendless, and one of them was near
by blood to the Prince.

I sought the Countess as soon as I learned where she was. She
ieemed, at first, full of hope — even of confidence. The King would
not dare to displeasure so many great lords who would implore his

2$6 DG80THY FORSTER.

pardon for her husband ; his own seat was not so secure as ta
warrant the throwing away of powerful friends ; his cause would
be best served by clemency. She repeated these arguments
so often, and with so many interjections, pauses, catching of her
babes to her breast, that I could very well perceive the secret terror
in her heart. Her cheeks were wan ; her eyes were hollow ; she
was consumed by her anxiety as by a fever. She owned to me
presently that at night she could not sleep, but passed the hours on
her knees, offering herself, her children, her all to the "Virgin, in
return for the life — only the life — of her husband.

' Alas !' she cried, ' Heaven is not deaf ; the Lord is very merciful.
I have by letters asked the Augustine Sisters in Paris to pray for
me ; day and ni.ght there is a taper burning before the Virgin in
their chapel ; the good Sisters pray for me without ceasing. Or
when I am not praying I importune some great man or some great
lady to do something for my lord. They tell me the law must have
its course ; there must be a trial — I care not what they say or do at
the trial, if he be pardoned after it ; I must expect — yes, I look —
to hear that he is sentenced to execution — but that matters nothing
if they mean to let him go. Why, if he be but suffered to live, I

Eromise that not he only, but his son after him, shall sit quiet at
ome even if the Prince with his forces be marching through
England from victory to victory.'

Then she went on, now assuring herself of his safety, and now
confessing her fears, and it was dreadful sorrow and pain only to
hear her. She saw her husband almost daily, and in his presence, I
am told, she controlled herself and was calm, as both the brave souls
were, for fear of making each other more unhappy. Sometimes I
asked myself whether she ever repented of throwing down her fan
on the day of the meeting. I think she did not, because I, who was
as vehement as herself, have not and never shall repent of my
earnestness. For if the cause was just, and the time was ripe, why
should we delay the blow ? Let the blame lie on those wicked and
mischievous men who persuaded us that the time was really ripe for
action and the hour come, not on those who believed and were
deceived to their own destruction.

In the midst of his own trouble my lord found time to think of
me. One day about the New Year the Countess gave me a letter
from him.

* MY DEAR COUSIN DOROTHY,' it said,

' I hear that you are in London about Tom's unhappy busi-
ness. It would comfort me greatly if I could see you, and I doubt
not, if you can come here, they will admit you to see me. God send
us all a happy deliverance ! Though for myself I dare not hope, yet
as for Tom, whose only fault was his easy temper, by which design-
ing persons led him (and us) to confusion, I hope and believe that
be will escape. Comfort my dear wife, and keep up your own heart,
' Your loving Cousin and Friend,

DEEWENTWATEII.

/N THE TOWER. 257

1 Go to see him, Dorothy/ said the Countess; ' if only because ho
hath always loved you well and taken pleasure in your conversation.
Besides, he desires to send some message to your brother about I
know not what.'

I rejoice now, though then it seemed a terrible thing to do, that
I had courage to visit my lord in that gloomy place, the Tower, tho
Very name of which fills the heart with terror. I have him always
in my mind with that proud bearing and steadfast eye with which
he encountered the insults of the mob. It is well also to think of
him as he was when he sat in his prison, endeavouring to be resigned
to his untimely fate, yet not without hope ; cheerful, as becomes a
Christian ; ;vnd brave, as becomes a gentleman.

I rode to the Tower through the City in a hackney-coach, having
my landlady, Purdy's wife, with me for guide or protector. Tho
day was so cold and the streets so frozen, that our coachman went
but slowly, and the good woman with me had time to point out all
the places along which we passed. First, St. Sepulchre's Church ;
then Newgate Prison (which I already knew so well) ; then through
the gate with the effigy of Dick Whittington and his cat upon it ; the
narrow and evil-smelling Newgate Street, its bulwarks covered with
meat, the gutters running blood, and greasy butchers carrying car-
cases upon their shoulders ; and after Newgate Street St. Paul's
Cathedral (truly a great and wonderful building), and then crowded
streets without number (but among them the tall Monument) ; and
presently a wide, open space, with, on the right hand, a broad river
and a forest of masts, and before me a great white castle, which is
none other than the Tower of London, where so many unfortunate
lords have been confined.

When our coachman drew up before a kind of wicket, I observed
first that the gate was guarded by a dozen or twenty men, in scarlet
jerkins, and caps of some old fashion ; these are the buffetiers.
Beyond them, in a courtyard, was a troop of foot-soldiers, some on
guard, some standing about in the door, some within the guard-
room, sitting beside a great fire. Outside the gate there was a little
crowd of men and women, some of them belonging to the better
sort. As I stood and looked at them, one stepped forward and
flourished his hat.

* We hope,' he said, 'that your ladyship is on the right side— that
is to say, the side for which the lords within are prisoners.'

Thns bold with their opinions were the Jacobites of London.
Alas ! had they been as bold with their swords !

And the rest of the crowd murmured approval, and the women
cried, 'God help the poor prisoners !' and the men said, ' Lord blesa
the lady's pretty face, whoever she is.'

' My friends,' I said, ' I am going to see my cousin, Lord Der-
wentwater ; and I am the sister of General Forster, now in New-
gate.'

Then they all bowed, and made way for me with great re-
spect.

When I came out, they were waiting for me ; and after I got into

2*8 DOROTHY FORSTER.

my coach, they walked beside me in a kind of procession as far as
Tower Street, where they cheered me loudly and left me.

Two of the prisoners, namely, Lords Derwentwater and Niths-
dale, were confined in what they call the Bell Tower. It is close
to the entrance, and is the only part of the great gloomy building
which I saw. They were placed in two chambers on the seconc
story which lead out of a large room called the Council Chamber,
the same in which Guy Fawkes was tortured and examined. When
I was conducted to this room I found it filled not only with guards
and wardens on duty, but also with people, chiefly women, who
had been suffered to come here by these men, or paid for admission,
in order to look upon those who visited the prisoners. This, be-
cause they gazed so earnestly upon me, and asked each other aloud
who I might be, I thought at the time was cruel and unfeeling ; but
now one blesses the happy chance, because it was the presence of
such a crowd which enabled Lady Nithsdale to get off her husband.
However, they kept me waiting for a few moments, and then ad-
mitted me to his lordship.

It was a small chamber, but decently furnished. My lord, who
was writing at the table, rose to welcome me with his ready smile.

' Why, Cousin Dorothy,' he said, ' it is kind to brave the mob on
so cold a day as this in order to visit a poor prisoner. Oh ! as to
my health, that matters nothing now, and my comfort very little.
As I have made my bed, so must I lie upon it. Nay, Dorothy, do
not cry. If a man stakes his all upon a hopeless chance, he must
look to lose. Perhaps, before I die, I may bring myself to forgive
those whose lies and treacheries brought us to this pass. Were it
not, indeed, for my wife and hapless babies '

He turned his head and was silent.

' My lord,' I said, trying to bring him hope, ' you do yourself an
injustice. You are not yet even tried ; you have many friends —
more than you know of. Great ladies and gentlemen, men of
exalted rank there are, who will leave no stone unturned for you.'

'If all England were my friend, Dorothy, it would avail me
nothing so long as I have one enemy — and he the King.'

And to this he returned again presently, declaring always that the
King himself was resolved upon his destruction. And that he
knew for certain that the King regarded the Prince and all his per-
sonal friends with peculiar hatred and malice.

' Besides,' he said, * if any are to be sentenced, shall the leaders
escape and the followers suffer ? Would that be justice ?'

' Since the power of this new King,' I said, ' is now proved by the
failure of the Rebellion, which has established him on a firmer
footing and therefore done him all the good possible, why can he
not pardon all ?'

4 Because history is not made up of pardons, but of sentences and
executions. However, in this place,' he said, ' we have, at least,
time for meditation ; and if I were to write a narrative of the Re-
bellion I should call it " The History of a Hundred Fools and Half-
a-dozen Knaves." The knaves, I trust, will at least receive tne

IN THE TOWER. 259

Mme punishment as the fools. As for us, I know not which should
be considered the greatest fool of any, but I think it must be myself,
unless it were Tom Forster.'

He then told me that he had strong reason to believe there would
be found among the prisoners one or two to give King's evidence in
order to save themselves. This was what Lady Cowper hinted.

' I trust,' Le said, ' that among my own friends there is not one
who would play so base a part ; and I think, nay, I am sure, that
there is plenty of evidence to hang most of us without such assist-
ance. Go to Tom, however, and tell him so much from me, that he
and his friends may be warned against traitors in the camp.'

He put aside this matter, and began first calmly and reasonably
to consider the mistakes which had been made in their short cam-
paign ; especially their neglect in not enlisting as many as offered ;
in not providing ammunition and provisions ; and in entering
England so ill prepared. And next he told me he was already
thinking of his defence, and that he was careful not to say aught
tbat might implicate my brother any deeper in the business.

' I am told,' he added, ' that an attempt will be made to prove my
cousin, Tom Forster, the author of the whole design — whereas he
was but an instrument — and as the man who drew us all in. There-
fore I shall maintain the clean contrary. I rose for my lawful
Sovereign, first, because it was my duty when the time came ; next,
because I was assured, being myself ignorant of the feeling of the
people, that every gentleman in the country would rise with us.
Tell Tom this also, from me, cousin. And tell him, moreover, that
though many blame him for the Preston surrender, I do not. The
case was hopeless ; more would have been killed trying to cut their
way through than will now, probably, be beheaded or hanged. Yet
I still wish we had run the chance. So let us think kindly of each
other ; if both die, let us meet in heaven as brothers ; and if I only,
let him remember me with sorrow and kindness.'

* And if neither, my lord ?'

* Why, then ' he laughed gently. ' But 'tis impossible, the

King being such as he is. Yet if neither, then, Dorothy, I promise
to oblige Tom by sitting with him as far as t'other bottle.'

Then he was silent awhile, gazing before him as one who sees in
fancy a pageant of the past.

'Dorothy,' he said softly, 'you remember the time, five years
ago, when I used to ride across the moor to Blanchland to walk and
talk with the sweetest girl in Northumberland.'

' Oh ! my lord, you must not say that any more ; you must not
even think such a thing. But as for me, can I ever forget that
season ?'

' Why, I am married since then, and have a wife whom I dearly
love, and she hath made me the happiesjb of men ; yet withal, by
your leave, Dorothy, fair cousin, I do still remember that time, and
the sweet looks and gentle smiles of her who refused me for
conscience' sake. I say it in all honesty, my cousin.'

* My lord, you can say nothing but in honesty.'

17—2

zoo DOROTHY FORSTER.

'It was from yonr lips, consin, that I learned what in St. Ger-
main's I could not learn, what should be the conduct of a true
English gentleman, and what his duty to those who depend upon
him. Why, I was not half an Englishman. How ignorant I was
in those days no one but yourself has ever known. It was your
kind heart that taught me to desire the love of the people. In
France we regard them not, and care neither for their affection nor
their hatred. It comforts me, now, to think that, thanks to your
noble teaching, my people will grieve for me when I am dead.
Well, it is over ; you and I will never walk and talk together any
more ; yet we have been happy. And now I am tied up in the
slaughter-house, waiting for the man with the knife. And Charles,
poor lad ! is in Newgate. And Frank — where is Frank ?'

' Frank is in London, but he is grievously sick with a cough which
leaves him not day or night, so that he cannot quit his chamber.
And much I fear that he will never go abroad again.'

I did not tell him — because why should he be vexed ? — that Frank
was also held in bondage by his strange and vehement passion.

4 Poor Frank ! he sighed. * This it is to inherit the unlucky
blood of the Stuarts. The Radcliffes did very well until— poor
Frank ! Charles told me something of an actress — but I forget
what. Tell him if you see him, Dorothy, that I can give him my
prayers for the short time left me in life, but nothing more. Two
of us in grievous jeopardy of the scaffold, and one like to die of a
cough. 'Tis an excellent and a hopeful beginning of the New
Year!'

It was growing dark, and time for me to go. So in the twilight
of that too dismal New Year's Day, and in that gloomy place, we
stood to say farewell, face to face. He held both my hands in his.

' Farewell, sweet cousin — dear sister, whom I have always loved.
If we meet no more, farewell.'

He kissed me on the forehead and lips, and so I left him, and —
alas ! alas 1 — I looked upon his noble face no more.

CHAPTER XXXIV.
MR. HILYARD'S FREEDOM.

A DAY or two after this Mr. Hilyard appeared no longer in the dis-
guise of a physician, but dressed as a sober and grave citizen ; that is
to say, in no disguise at all, having bartered his physician's wig for
a full wig such as that worn by the better sort, and his black clothes
for a plum-coloured coat and waistcoat of the same.

* What is this new disguise ?' I asked.

' No disguise at all,' he replied. ' I am now a free man, and need
not hide my head at all. There is no warrant out for me ; and if
there were, I am assured of my pardon.'

I asked him how this was.

4 Miss Dorothy,' he replied, smiling, * the son of a vintner need
not be too proud to take favours from a gipsy, or even an actress.'

' Is this, then, Jenny Lee's doing ?'

. HILYARD'S FREEDOM. i5l

'I will tell you in a few words. Know, then, that Jenny loves
to entertain her friends, after the theatre, to supper at her own
lodging, and has been so good as to invite me to make one whenever
I please. Many gentlemen — wits, Templars, poets, and the like, go
there, and some are men of rank. Jenny cares not who they are, so
long as they amuse her and make her laugh, which is all she loves/

I had already, as I have said, seen Jenny on the stage (at Mr.
Hilyard's urgent entreaty, but from no desire of my own), and a
very moving spectacle I confess it was. Her part was so full of
noble sentiments that I began to understand Mr. Hilyard's admira-
tion for acting. Why, if all actresses and actors are thus full of
virtuous and lofty discourse there can be no question that theirs ie
truly a great and wonderful profession, and worthy of all honour.
But now Mr. Hilyard told me that laughter was all she cared for.
Yet she seemed in her part possessed of the finest and most exqui-
site sensibility. How, after this, can Mr. Hilyard persist that acting
is an art which hath in it something of the divine ? To care for
nothing but laughing !

4 Among her friends/ Mr. Hilyard went on, * who come to sup
with her after the play is a certain great Whig lord — yes, a very
great and powerful lord indeed— and yet his name need not be men-
tioned between us, because, perhaps, he is one of those humble Chris-
tians who love not their good deeds to be made public ; or, perhaps,
because all the world need not know that he goeth to sup with Jenny
Lee. Well, last night, after supper, there was singing and laughing.
Among the others, I performed for the amusement of the company
some of those small arts of mine by which I have often, of old,
beguiled the evening for his honour and his friends.'

I 1 know them well, Mr. Hilyard.'

* Yes — I sang and played my best. But who can call anything
acting when Jenny Lee is present ? Yet they laughed and were
amused ; my lord was so good as to distinguish me particularly, and
presently I heard him whisper Jenny, and ask what was my name
and condition. " Indeed, my lord," said she, in her pretty, roguish
way, " I shall not tell your lordship unless you promise to grant me
the next favour I ask." " The least favour from your hands, fair
Jenny," he replied, " even to answer so simple a question, is richly
repaid by the greatest from mine." But I think be did not guess
what she was about to ask him. " My lord," she said, whispering,
" he is a most harmless, affectionate creature ; he hath come up to
London from the north ; it is dangerous for him to venture abroad
for the present, because he was with the rebels. Nay ; but he went
only because his patron went, as in duty bound, and for no Popish
reasons. No one is in search of him ; no one wants to arrest him ;
but if he be by any accident discovered and clapped in ward, then
will his neck be twisted and his song spoiled. Wherefore, my lord,
make this poor man safe, and give him assurance of safety, and you

shall have " " What, fair Jenny ?" " My gratitude, my lord.

Can you ask for more ? He is my earliest friend. He first taught
me how to act ; he who helps Mr. Hilyard, helps me,"

262 DOROTHY FORSTER.

' Well, he hesitated ; told her she was a witch, and a baggage,
and a saucy rogue, and kissed her hands. Then he lugged out his
tablets, wrote down my name, and beckoned to me. " Sir," he said,
" you owe to this lady your safety. I will take care that you are
not molested ; go where you please — go even into Newgate if you
will." You may be sure I hastened to thank him with my best leg,
and to assure his lordship that I was his most humble servant to
command, and that for the future, after praying for his lordship, I
should cry, " God save King George 1" '

The first day he came away from the prison, Mr. Hilyard was
pensive and melancholy.

' Truly,' he said, 'it grieves me to the soul to see these poor
fellows, once so merry and gallant, now mewed up together in that
gloomy place, where, ruffle and hector and swear as they may, every
man feels as if the gallows was already in sight. The aspect of
Mr. Edward Swinburne pleases me not, for he hangs his head and
will hardly speak, but sitteth as much alone as may be. The minds
of generous men are easily moved to shame for public disgrace ; yet
the part which this young gentleman took in the Rebellion was not
so conspicuous that his shame should enter into his soul. He is not,
like Cleopatra, reserved for the chief place in the triumph ; nor like
Antony, who aimed at the empire of the inhabitable world ard lost
it. Yet he is as one fallen into melancholy with the shame of the
defeat. Some, like Mr. Stokoe, bite their nails and walk gloomily
to and fro ; some, like poor Mr. Paul, caught by so cursed a mis-
chance, weep and wring their hands ; some swear that a man can
die but once, and what odds then ? Some drink to forget their
anxiety ; one or two alone, like Mr. Charles Radcliffe and Colonel
Oxbrough, preserve an intrepid spirit, and show a resolute coun-
tenance to whatever happens.

' Most of all,' he went on, ' I pity Mr. Patten ; who, now that he
finds himself fairly in for his trial, and no one likely to hale him
out of prison, is falling into a dejection which may work harm to
his honour, with whom he sits too much.'

In fact, although Mr. Patten continually plied poor Tom with
flatteries (more from habit than from any hope of further patronage),
and assured him (contrary to the fact) that he was covered with
military glory for his conduct in the campaign, his conversation
was so full of gibbets, drawing, and quartering, with so many re-
flections on the pain and misery of quitting the world while in the
very prime and heyday of manhood and happiness, that Tom grew
daily more melancholy and less disposed for resignation. Every
day, also, Mr. Patten found occasion to compare the happy lot of
Mr. Hilyard and his freedom with their captivity.

* Some,' he said, ' are born to this kind of fortune, that they may
get over the wall with impunity, while others are hanged for no
more than peeping over it. Others, again, keep in the background
secret friends for their own use, and so procure enlargement — I
would I knew of such ! Some even go so far, I h?,ve heard, a.s to

MR. HILYAR&S FREEDOM. 263

I

procnrc their own pardon at the price of giving evidence
their frit-iids— a most monstrous treachery, indeed! Yet Mr.
Hihard, I think it right to let you know that this is whispered
airainst you in the Press Yard, and some there are who speak of
braining the man who would thus - '

* Zounds, sir !' cried Mr. Hilyard ; 'dare you — or any — insinuate
that I go at large in order that they may suffer ?'

* Not I, sir— not I, certainly. I tell them that the General could
not repose his confidence in you so fully unless he had first proved
your loyalty. Oh ! not I, indeed, sir — believe me !'

But the mere suspicion of the thing made Mr. Hilyard so angry
that he had no peace until he had conferred with Charles Radclilfe,
and been assured by him that not one of the gentlemen, his old
friends, believed him capable of so base an action.

I suppose it was about this time that Mr. Patten began to groan
with repentance, and to accuse himself of being a great sinner.

' I fear, sir,' he told Tom, ' that my sin, which now weighs heavily
upon my soul, may lead me to show my remorse and repentance in
a way which some of my friends may not approve. Yet I am con-
vinced that your honour, knowing the tenderness of my conscience,
will approve what I shall do.'

' Why, Mr. Patten,' Mr. Hilyard said, answering for Tom, who
only stared, so strange was it to hear Mr. Patten talk in this way,
' as for your sins, it is not for anyone to contradict you, since you
assert the fact, and doubtless you are, like the rest of us, a miserable
sinner ; nor are we your father confessors to ask for further par-
ticulars ; while as for what you are going to do, repentance for sin
can never be disapproved by his honour, who is a Christian man.'

'Repentance with atonement, brother sinner,' said Mr. Patten,
groaning. ' Repentance must ever be followed by atonement. Oh
that you could feel like me !'

However, they presently had a bowl of punch, and made merry.
Mr. Patten, in spite of his sins, drinking about with the rest.

The next day he came not to Tom's chamber, and they knew not
what kept him. But on the morrow the strange news was carried
abroad that Mr. Patten had received enlargement, and was now in
custody of a messenger. But still they knew not, and suspected
not, why.

Two or three days after this (the impeachment of the lords taking
place in the meantime) Mr. Hilyard came to me in such a wrath
and passion of rage as I had never witnessed in him before.

' Oh !' he cried, flinging his arms about, and jumping round the
room ; ' oh ! was there ever since history began so great, so un-
exampled a villain ? Did the world ever know so deep a hypocrite ?
Is there anywhere a record of so canting, sneaking a creature ?'

' What is it ?' I asked. ' Who is the villain ?'

For a while I could not get him to tell me anything, so angry he
was, and so much occupied in searching for hard words to throw at
this new enemy.

' What has be done ?' he said at lost * Ho has turned King't

264 DOROTHY FOR3TER.

evidence. To save his own fat neck, which might have been
tightened, and no one a penny the worse, he has turned King's
evidence. For his own worthless carcase he will put all these brave
fellows1 heads into the noose '

' But who is it — who ?'

* Who should it be but Creeping Bob — the Reverend Robert
Patten, Artium Magister ! He it is ; and Quartermaster Calderwood
with him. Mr. Stokoe also pretended that he was ready to give
evidence too, and got enlargement under custody ; but it was a flam,
and he hath escaped. Now, indeed, there is consternation in the
prison, and every man among them feels already a catching of the
breath, as if he were troubled with a tightness of the neck. This
was the meaning of the sin which lay upon the hypocrite's soul, and
demanded repentance and atonement. I make no doubt but he will
hasten to inform against me. Ah ! double villain ! But I dread
him not. And to say that he hoped to preserve the good opinion
of his honour, against whom he will give evidence ! Would that
he would venture, but for five minutes only, his ugly face in tho
Press Yard ! No ox ever was carried from the shambles more done
to death than he would be. As for his honour, I have never known
him more cast down and sunk in his spirits sines first he was
locked up.'

Thus, then, was explained the warning of Lady Cowper, though
I have never known how long the preliminaries had been entered
upon by this reverend hypocrite.

' Why, while he talked with us and drank his honour's punch,'
Mr. Hilyard went on, ' he was already determined to betray us, and
revolving in his mind how best to do it. Repentance ! Remorse !
Atonement 1 These are sacred words ; but I shall never again be
able to use them, for fear of awakening the spirit of revenge against
Mr. Patten ; and so while lamenting one sin (and that, perhaps,
a venial one) I may be committing another, and that a deadly sin.
Never before did I so long, yea, so ardently desire to compass the
death of any man, though, I own with surprise, my soul took fierce
delight in letting fly among General Wille3's Dragoons. But that
was in battle, where one may lawfully kill and slay ; while this
would be stark murder. And who so eager for the rising ? Who
so active to enlist recruits ? Who so keen to preach the plain duty
of loyal men, and tlie manifold justice of Divine Right ? Who so
clear to see the finger of the Lord pointing out the way ? Who so
strong for the return of the Prince ? If there was a man among us
all who should take the consequences, it is — Creeping Bob ; if any-
one who should go to his death with resignation, it is — Creeping
Bob. Oh, villain ! villain !'

This was after the impeachment of the lords, in which my brother
was named as a confederate, and it made us very desirous to push
on our plans, seeing that now there was no hope of insufficient
evidence, and every man was doomed, unless the King should
pardon him. I heard from Lady Cowper that the trial of the con-
federates would be taken immediately after tfce case of the lords

AIR. lilLYARD'S FREEDOM. zf$

was disposed of, which wonld be, she thought, in a few weeks. Her
husband was Lord High Steward of the Commission. Mr. Hilyard'8
plan was this : he would bribe Mr. Pitts, the Governor, with a large
sum for allowing a door to remain open. Then he would have to
bribe certain warders and turnkeys to keep out of the way ; next, to
choose a favourable time ; and, lastly, to devise a means of crossing
the water. He had already, it seems, sounded Mr. Pitts cautiously
on the subject, and, judging from the virtuous abhorrence which
the Governor expressed as regards those who betray their trust for
money, and the indignation with which he put the thing from him,
yet returned to its discussion, Mr. Hilyard thought there would be
no difficulty with him other than the arrangement of the price. To
be sure, the Governor was reaping a golden harvest at this time,
and was not disposed to be moderate in his demands. I thought my
own plan better, and likely to be cheaper and as effective ; therefore
I resolved on first trying my friendly warder.

With this view I enjoined Mr. Hilyard not to pursue the business
farther, for the moment, with Mr. Pitts, but to apply himself to
finding some safe and trustworthy means of getting a man to France.
I never knew, nor did I even ask, by what secret means Mr. Hilyard
ha 1 information, as well in London as in the country ; but presently
he told me that he knew of such a captain as we wanted. (He was
not our Wapping friend.) He was one who had run many across,
and though he asked a large sum for his work, he was reported
honest and trustworthy. Mr. Hilyard bargained with him that he
should be in readiness against the time we should want him. But
this, owing to various hindrances, and especially the jealous and
hostile temper of London, was deferred until the trial of the lords
should be finished, the dreadful thirst for blood somewhat appeased,
and the pulpits and journals be preaching counsels of moderation.
In other words, we might have got Tom away within a month of
his arrival at Newgate ; but, when every strange rider along the
road was being arrested on suspicion, and every harmless passenger
in the street liable to be haled before the nearest justice, we judged
it better to wait.

I knew now that during this time the friends of all the prisoners
were not only moving in every direction for interest in high places
with which to get a pardon, but were also already devising means
and ways, and secretly trying gaolers, guards, and wardens, to see if
they were open to corruption, and preparing money for the time
when an escape might be conveniently attempted. For the present
that time was not yet come. In the end, beside Lord Nithsdale,
whose wife got him out, and Lord Wintoun, who sawed his way out,
and Tom, whom I got out, by the help of Heaven, there were a
great many who escaped, as well as those who were reprieved or
pardoned, and those who were tried and acquitted. Thus Charles
Radcliffe escaped in a very bold and daring manner; Captain
Charles Wogan, one of the Irish messengers, but a brave fellow,
made a safe escape ; the Brigadier Macintosh, Mr. Hunter of
Callalee, and Mr. Budden, the London upholsterer, escaped, with ft

266 DOROTHY FORSTER.

good many others. 'Twas said that the Government rejoiced at
hearing of their breaking gaol, because it saved them from the
odium of many executions, and the seeming cruelty of many
pardons. In the end, although many were executed in Lancashire,
there were only four who suffered in London, besides the two
unhappy lords — namely, the unfortunate Mr. John Hall, of Otter-
bourne, the Reverend William Paul, Colonel Oxbrough, and Captain
Gascoigne. As regards the two last, I have no pity for them, be-
cause it was on their statements that our people took up arms, and
firmly believing that if they led, thousands would follow. If any
suffered, they should suffer ; if the blood of the poor fellows who
lost their lives at Preston and Sheriffmuir was on the head of any,
it was on theirs. Yet why should Mr. Hall (except that he was
ever unlucky after the murder of my uncle Ferdinando) be hanged,
and Mr. Clavering, of Callalee, go free ? Why should poor Mr.
Paul, who took no part in the fighting, be executed, and others re-
ceive a pardon ? I blame not the King for pardoning any, but I
blame them because they pardoned some, and executed others who
were no more guilty.

CHAPTER XXXV.

JENNY'S SCHEME.

THIS project of Jenny's contrivance was so simple, and seemed so
easy, that it completely took possession of my mind, and for a time
I could think scarce of anything else. For to liberate my lord
would be so great and wonderful a thing. Why, these people who
act can assume, and make others assume, any appearance they
please ; had I not seen Mr. Hilyard under a dozen disguises ? It
would be nothing for Jenny to make up first Frank, and then the
Earl, into another person altogether.

' Nay,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' but you forget that when I have de-
ceived you, it is first through your imagination the cheat is wrought,
so that I made you think of a physician first, before I assumed the
bearing and guise of one ; and of the blacksmith, John Purdy, be-
fore I became that man. And so with the stage. Before Jenny
steps across the boards — majesty in her face, sovereignty in her
eyes, authority in her carriage — you have been prepared to expect a
Queen ; and, lo ! she stands before you. But without this prepara-
tion and talk disguise is not so easy, and Jenny's scheme will want,
methinks, the help of twilight. Then, indeed, it might be safely
tried, Mr. Frank's resemblance to his brother being so great that he
might, by candle-light even, pass very well for the Earl. But he
gets daily worse instead of better.'

We began then to consider the strange nature of Jenny's power
over him, so that what she should command, that he would straight-
way do ; and, whereas at Dilston it was in a trance that he did
these things, now it was with all his wits awake, and of his own
free will — a mere slave to the will of a woman.

'In this respect,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'he only follows many illus-
trious examples of antiquity — Solomon among others.'

BENNY'S SCHEAfE. 267

1 Did she give him a love-potion ? or did she by some other magic
and witch-like art steal his affections ?'

' Nay, Miss Dorothy,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' you understand not the
strength of love nor the power of Jenny's beauty.' She had bright
black eyes, red lips, and a rosy cheek, with black curls and a tall,
good figure ; and, in a word, the girl was well enough, and might
have pleased some honest fellow of her own rank and birth. ' She
is,' continued Mr. Hilyard, ' a most beautiful and bewitching crea-
ture ; witty and roguish. You must not suppose because a gentle-
woman seldom or never loves a man below her own degree (yet
Venus, the great goddess, loved Adonis, the shepherd boy), that
therefore a gentleman cannot love a woman of inferior birth. Why,
Boaz, a great prince, as one may suppose, loved Ruth, who seemed
to him a simple leasing-maid, and King Cophetua loved a beggar-
maid. There are other examples too many to enumerate. As for
Jenny's witcheries, I believe not in them any more than consists in
her bright eyes and smiles.'

' But, oh 1 Mr. Hilyard,' I exclaimed, 'remember what she did at
Dilston and what I saw, although she deceived me, lying without
shame.'

* Truly,' he said, ' I forget not. It is strange to think upon.
There was once, as is related, a learned scholar of Oxford who fell
into a kind of melancholy, and conceived a disgust at the company
of his fellows. Wherefore he presently left his college and his
companions, and, going away into the fields, fell in with a band of
gipsies, and continued with them all his life, asking for nothing
more than they could give him — namely, to dwell in the open air,
to sleep in tents, to endure the extremes of weather, to live hard,
and to have no discourse on books, religion, philosophy, or any of
the subjects with which he had formerly been conversant. But to
one seeking him in this strange retirement, he said that the gipsy
race was possessed of many and marvellous secrets, some of which
had been imparted to himself, and that, without any agreement or
covenant with the devil, they could so cheat the eyes and brains of
men and women as to make them do whit they wished, see things
invisible, hear voices afar off, and believe what they were told to
believe. So Frank Radcliffe, being asleep, seemed awake, and
knew not afterwards what he had said or done. Yet no devilry.'

Who can understand these things ?

' Why,' I asked, * seeing that you are BO great a scholar, cannot
you cure Frank of this madness T
He shook his head.

* Because when all the medicines for the cnre of love have been
applied, there still remains the lorer. Why, to love as Frank is in
love is to be strong, to be a man, on whom the rcmcdiiim amoris is
but a sham. Any weak man may think himself in love with a girl
of his own degree ; but this kind of love, as when one hath loved a
mermaid, or sea-dragon, and another a fairy, and another a black
woman, is not to be cured, and means great strength of will and
passion unconquerable. From ordinary passions a strong man like

268 DOROTHY FORSTER.

myself keeps himself free ; especially when, Miss Dorothy,' he
looked at me with a soft suffusion of his eyes, ' when a man is pre-
vented from loving other women, because he is always in presence
of one so godlike, that the rapt senses cannot endure to think upon
a creature of lower nature.'

1 But,' I said, leaving the subject of love's madness, ' Jenny's pro-
ject is so easy, that it seems ridiculous to hope that it hath not been
guarded against.'

4 The greatest things,' he said, ' are sometimes effected in the
easiest manner. The mathematician of Syracuse fired a fleet with
burning-glasses. But he did not invent the burning-glass. And I
remember the egg of Columbus.'

I went to see Frank. He had a lodging near Jenny in Red Lion
Street just now ; the weather being so hard, he stirred not abroad
at all, but sat beside the fire all day, suffering grievously from his
cough.

* Cousin Dorothy,' he said, pleased indeed to see me (but his
cheeks were thin and hollow and his shoulders rounded, so that it
was sad to look upon him), ' I heard that you were in town ; I wouM
to Heaven it were on a more pleasant errand ! I cannot get abroad
to see anyone, not even my brothers in the Tower and in Newgate,
poor lads ! nor my sister-in-law, the Countess, who hath too much
to think of, so that she cannot be expected to come here. Off hood
and cloak, cousin, and draw a chair near the fire, and talk to me,
because I may not talk much.'

Another fit of coughing seized him and shook him to and fro, so
that at the end he lay back among his pillows exhausted.

I told him what news I had to tell, and gave him such comfort
as I had to give, which was not much ; yet I could tell him that I
had seen my lord, and how he looked, and how he had hopes from
his noble friends and cousins.

1 As for me,' he said, * what use am I in the world to anybody ?
And at such a juncture to be thus laid by the heels and unable to
stir ! Ah, Dorothy ! it is weary work lying here, whither no one
comes, save Mr. Hilyard, who is very good, and keeps up my heart ;
and every day, never failing, the best, the kindest, the most beauti-
ful of her sex '

' You mean Jenny Lee,' I said.

' Whom should I mean but that incomparable creature ? Dorothy,
I should be the happiest of men, because the divine Jenny hath
promised to marry me as soon as I am recovered of this plaguy
cough. I know not yet where we shall live ; she will leave the
&tage, which is the scene of her triumphs, but yet no fit place for a
gentleman's wife ; we will go somewhere into the country, it matters
not where, so that we have a garden, and are retired from mankind,
and especially from those who ride up and down exhorting us to be
ready for the Prince. As for religion, I am what I am ; but my
children shall be of the religion of their country, witk which Jenny,
who hath been religiously brought up, is well content?

AS fcr Jenny's religion, I doubt much if she had kept any ; but^

JENNY'S SCHEME. 269

to be sure, her mother had her taught the Catechism and Ten Com-
mandments with the Lord's Prayer.

He was going to add more, but he stopped as if arrested in the
current of his thoughts, and held up his finger, crying :

4 She is coming. Hush ! I hear her footstep.'

I listened, but could hear nothing except the cries of those who
bawled their wares in the street below, and from Holborn the roll
of carts and waggons. How could he hear her step, when it was
five minutes, at least, before she came (and then in her glass-coach)
and knocked at the door of the house ?

It was about three o'clock of the afternoon, and she was finely
dressed, because she would presently go on her way to the theatre,
and beneath her furred cloak she wore hoops and a crimson satin
petticoat, with a white silk frock and long train, very rich and
magnificent, and a great quantity of lace, her head very finely
dressed, and patches artfully bestowed. She saluted me with great
politeness, and Frank (whom she kissed) with peculiar tenderness,
asking what kind of night he had passed, and if he was not better.

4 Much better,' said the poor lad, ' and very much stronger ;' but
another cough began. Thereupon Jenny took both his hands, made
him look her in the face, then laid down his hands, and passed hers
before his eyes, and then — oh, strange ! — he lay back upon his pillows
asleep, breathing lightly like a child.

4 Your ladyship perceives,' she said, * that there is no physician
like Jenny, and no medicine like the practice of the gipsies.'

4 Oh, Jenny,' I whispered, looking curiously at the sleeping man,
1 it is wickedness ; it cannot be anything short of sorcery. Women
have been burnei for less.'

4 Oh yes, I know. Poor creatures who could not even read the
lines of the hand. They were burned for much less. Wherefore,
we of the Romany tribe hide these gifts, and practise them only
among ourselves ; but not all have the power. And by this means
we allay the pains of toothache and rheumatism to which we are
liable ; and we find out what goes on far away ; and yet I know not
of any devil in it at all. See now, Miss Dorothy ' — she caught my
hand — 4 he is not asleep ; he is quiet, with eyes closed, because I
have ordered it. He will now answer any question you ask him.
Shall he tell us what my lord is doing in the Tower ?'

4 No — yes ! Jenny, it is wicked.'

4 Tell me, Frank, what your brother is doing in the Tower ?'

Frank replied, without opening his eyes :

4 He is sitting alone by the fireside ; a book is before him, but he
reads it not ; he is thinking of Dilston and his children. Now a
tear falls from his eye ; now '

4 Jenny, for the love of God, stop him ! I dare not — it IB im-
pious— to pry into my lord's secret and sacred thoughts.'

She looked at me curiously.

4 1 can tell you,' she said, 4 if he loves yon still.'

4 1 will hear no more. Oh, Jenny, Jenny ! these are, truly, art*
of ibt «i«vil.»

270 DORO THY FORSTER.

She shook her head and laughed.

1 Fear not, Miss Dorothy ; I will ask him no more questions. Let
Frank rest in peace for half-an-hour, then he will be easier. If I
could spend the whole day and night here, nursing him, he should
soon recover. For, see you, it is the strength and violence of hia
cough that pulls him to pieces. If I were here I would stop each
attack at the very beginning, and so he would soon get strength.'

Then I asked her about her project for the Earl's release. She
said she thought of it, because it would please Frank, when he got
better, to attempt it ; because it was a thing easy of accomplish-
ment ; and because it would please myself. As for his lordship, she
shrugged her shoulders, and said that when her own people went
stealing poultry, poisoning pigs, lifting linen from the hedge, and
other things forbidden by the law, they were hanged, flogged, pil-
loried, branded in the cheek, or transported to the Plantations,
without anyone trying to save them or crying over them. The
punishment, she said, was part of the life. " Those who did such
things tried to escape detection ; but, if they were caught, they
knew what to expect. Wherefore, in the same way, those who re-
belled against the King should take the consequences without all
this crying over it ; but she hoped his honour (meaning my brother
Tom) would get safely out of Newgate ; and since Frank, who was
her sweetheart, and I, who was her old mistress, ardently desired it,
she hoped that Lord Derwentwater would get off scot-free.

Then I asked her when she would open the business to Frank.

' Why,' she replied, laying her hand tenderly on his thin cheek,
' your ladyship must first please to understand that Frank is my
own man. I suffer no one to come between my man and me.' She
turned and glared upon me like a tigress. ' It is I who must first
speak with him about it, and must choose the time and everything.'

' Surely, Jenny, it is your plan. No one will interfere with you.'

1 They wanted to tear him from me, and drag him off to the wars.
Charles Radcliffe came to me and said hard words, but heard harder.
Was I going to suffer him to go on such a fool's errand ? Nay, I
warrant you. So Master Charles went off without him, and hath
brought his pigs to a pretty market. Trust me, Miss Dorothy.'
Her voice became soft, and so did her eyes. ' Trust me ; as soon as
my poor boy is better, he shall do this thing. I will leave him
behind, and carry the Earl away with me. There will be no fear
for him ; though at first they will talk of high treason, and the
rest. At present a great deal of foolishness is talked, and we at the
theatre get hissed and applauded every night for some line or other
which has a meaning. But they will let Frank go free.

' Meanwhile, your ladyship,' she said, * it is now four o'clock, and
soon I must drive away to the theatre. Will you leave us ? I must
restore him first, and make him comfortable for the night, and see
to his broth and medicine. Will you kindly come again to see him,
and pardon the daily presence of his sweetheart — your old servant ?'

I wished her good-night and came away, but she shamed me with
her courtly courtesy and the sweeo of her hoopi and train.

THE LORDS' TRIAL. 171

1 On the stage,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' all is exaggerated, from the
Betting of a chair to the dropping of a curtsey. Therefore, poor
Jenny, who hath acquired her manners on the boards, saluted you
as if you were the Queen and she the unfortunate heroine.'

4 And what of poor Frank, Mr. Hilyard ?'

* Truly,' he replied, and my heart sank, thinking of my lord and

of Jenny's project, ' I fear his days will be few and full of suffering,

and his life here on earth like that in the kingdom of heaven in one

• •tit — namely, that there will be in it neither marrying nor

giving in marriage.'

CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE LORDS' TRIAL.

MEANTIME, Justice was pursuing her way in the slow but certain
method of English law, which must be far more terrible to the
wrongdoer than the swift and sudden revenges of foreign States.
As for the gentlemen and the baser sort, though in the north many
were already under sentence of death, those in England were as yet
left in prison, waiting their turn in affected carelessness, in sullen
gloom, in remorse, or indifference, according to their mood. Tom,
for his part, changed in his temper from day to day ; yet, since the
Judas-like falling off of the villain Patten, he began to droop, and
to lose even the cheerfulness which can be procured from a Dottle
of wine. As regards the lords in the Tower, their case was brought
before the House of Commons by Mr. Lechmere, and their im-
peachment was sent to the bar of the House of Lords. On the 9th
of January they were all brought by water to the Upper House,
where the articles of impeachment were read to them. Time being
pi-anted them to prepare their pleas, they were carried back to the
Tower.

It was, perhaps, some consolation to the unfortunate prisoners
that along the whole of the way in returning they were escorted by
a Jacobite mob, who cheered them continually. Yet, methinks, no
cheering of a mob could reconcile me to the loss of my head, coupled
with the feeling that it had been foolishly thrown away. The lords
were allowed to stop on their return at the" Fountain Tavern, in the
Strand, where for the last time they took dinner and a bottle of
wine together. You would have thought, said one who saw it, that,
outside, all the Jacobites in England were gathered together : or,
at least, that all London was Jacobites, so great was the crowd.
And when the prisoners came forth, guarded by twelve warders,
there was such an uproar with pushing and struggling to touch tho
hands — yea, and even the skirts of their coats— as never before was
seen. Had this mob been as valiant for fighting as they were for
shouting, there would have been no need for the shouting at all.
But it is easier to shout than to fight. Of all the London friends
of the Prince, there was but one who ventured his skin for the
cause. This was good Mr. Bnddcn, an upholsterer by trade. He,
at the first news of the rising, hastened north to jcin the English

2?i DOROTHY FORSTER.

force. One — one only, out of all that multitude ! Which proves
that nothing is more contemptible than the opinion of the mob,
which is all for this side to-day, and that to-morrow, and with no
reason or fixed principle, or power to do anything for either side
but mischief, with burning of bonfires, waylaying of honest men,
and pillaging of houses. Strange it is to think that there have been
States in which the baser sort were considered as much as their
betters, and possessed equal rights ! No doubt this fact proved the
ruin of those States. When the lords had passed through their
crowds of friends, and emptied their snuff-boxes among them a
dozen times at least, they got back to their coaches, and so passed
slowly along the streets to their prison.

They were carried on the 17th day of the month to the House of
Lords to make their answers. As for that of Lord Derwentwater,
he declared, first of all, that he was wholly unconcerned with any
plot or conspiracy whatever, and that he joined in the rising of his
friends and cousins hastily and without deliberate design. This was
not believed by any, as Lady Cowper hath told me ; yet was it most
certainly true, as I will always maintain. Plot there was, and a
deep-laid, wide-spread plot covering the whole of the three king-
doms ; yet was not my lord in it, as Tom always affirmed.

'Yet,' says Mr. Hilyard, 'the plea was insufficient. It would
have answered his purpose better if he had set forth carefully, and
insisted upon them, the points which made so strongly in his favour,
that had the Lords duly considered them they could not choose but
recommend him for clemency. Videlicet : first, that he was by birth
a close relation to the Prince, of the same faith, and by education
his personal friend and companion ; therefore, it was natural that
he should desire his return. Next, that he was brought up abroad,
and could not know the temper of the English people, so that he
fell an easy prey to designing persons, and readily believed the state-
ments of those who reported the nation as longing for the return
of the Prince — yea, and that so vehemently that they would rush
with one consent to arms were an example once set — for this, and
nothing short of this, was represented to us by Captain Gascoigne
and his friends. Next,' continued Mr. Hilyard, 'would I have
counselled him to prove this plea by the fact that he drew with him,
who might have enlisted a thousand men, no more than a few ser-
vants, and that, when further resistance would have led to blood-
shed, he consented to a surrender. And, lastly, he should have
concluded with a moving appeal for clemency in the name of youth,
inexperience, ignorance, and his tender family. Had I written this
appeal for him,' said the honest man, wiping the tears which flowed
down his face, ' I would have engaged upon his side every heart of
sensibility in the country, whereas now they are all asking each
other in wonder what means this naked plea of unpremeditation.
Alas ! why — why — did no one ask my advice from the beginning ?'

Mr. Hilyard was certainly one of those men who believe that
without their own interference nothing is done well. London
breeds such men in hundred* ; they swarm, I am told, in every

THE LORDS' TRIAL. 373

eoffee-house ; nay, in every mug-house they are found. They know
the mistakes made by statesmen and by commanders ; they are able
to show, after the thing is over, what ought to have been done.
But, as regards himself, I am certain that had he been consulted,
there would have been, first, no rising at all ; the Earl and my
brother Tom would have surrendered to the warrants ; if any
campaign, then one differently conducted ; if any surrender, then
on better terms ; if any trial, then with more successful issue.
And from the many discourses I have held with this one scholar, I
am sure that were our statesmen also scholars and persons versed
in ancient history, the kingdoms of the world would be singularly
preserved from external wars, civil tumults, and internal dissen-
sions.

A few daj's later, the Commons demanded that judgment should
be pronounced upon the rebel lords. It must be observed that
there was no trial at all ; they were impeached, examined, suffered
to plead, and sentenced. After three weeks the Court of High Com-
mission ordered that the prisoners should be brought before them.
Lord Cowper was made Lord High Steward— that is, President of
the Court.

' Alas ! Dorothy,' said her ladyship. ' To think that they could
find no one but my husband to sentence these unhappy lords, and
two of them my own cousins ! And the servants must all havo
new liveries !'

Though the gallant show was prepared only to sentence seven
brave men to death, all London (except the poor women who wept
for them) turned out to see it, including the * Jacks ' who had flung
np their hats for the prisoners at the door of the Fountain. There
was a great coach-procession to Westminster Hall, with gentlemen
riding on horseback between the carriages, that of my Lord High
Steward with six horses ; and all the way so great a cheering for
King George and the Protestant Succession, and such banging and
beating of warming-pans, you would have thought the town gone
mad. (All this was reported to me, because it is not to be supposed
that such as I would join the ladies who sat in the windows and
waved their handkerchiefs to the judges on this awful occasion.)

There was no noise or shouting, my informant told me, in West-
minster Hall, the upper part of which was set with seats for the
Peers, and the lower part left free to spectators, who crowded the
great Hall. Among the Peers sat the Prince of Wales , but he
came not to judge so much as to look on, and showed in his face a
singular concern as one after the other of the prisoners was brought
forth.

4 As for us at the other end,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' I think there was
not one who exulted, but all regarded with sorrow and compassion
the destruction of so many great and noble houses. When all were
in their places, the Earl of Derwentwater was summoned first.
Truly it must be an awful moment to stand before the assembled
Peers of the realm, and to read in their eyes nothing but condemna-
tion ; or. if pity* then condemnation as well. When my lord ad-

18

274 DOROTH Y FORS7ER.

vanced to the bar, all rose arid bowed low, as if to show that pity as
well as the respect due to his rank ; but he, for his part, fell upon hia
knees, where he remained until he was invited by the Lord High
Steward to rise. Behind him walked the gentleman gaoler, carrying
an axe upon his shoulder, the edge thereof turned from the prisoner.

* I declare and shall ever maintain,' Mr. Hilyard continued, ' that
his lordship hath been struck with judicial blindness. For, when
he was asked what reasons he could allege, if any, to stay his punish-
ment, and another opportunity was offered to move the hearts of
his judges, he lost it or threw it away. Had I been in his place, I
might and should have lacked the dignity which naturally belongs
to one of his high rank. Yet I think I should have found the
eloquence and the wit to make a better plea for my life. The
Lords would like — nay, I saw their compassion in their eyes — they
would like nothing better than to save him ; yet he will not help
them. Why, oh ! why did he not remind the House that he had
been brought up, in the very Court of St. Germain's, to believe that
England was longing for the Prince to return ? Why did he not
show them that he could not know the temper of the country, and
must needs believe what he was told ?

* Alas ! he is no orator ;<he repeated only what he had said before,
that he had no guilty knowledge of any plot — further than this,
that the friends of the Prince would gladly bring him back ; that
his joining the insurgents was unpremeditated ; and that, in order
to secure submission, he became a hostage. All that had been said
before, and it availed nothing. I saw the faces of the Lords look
at each other and grow hard. Why, what could they do when the
prisoner did so little ? So they put him back and called the other
six, of whom Lord Wintoun alone obtained respite for further pre-
f Jiration of his defence.'

Mr. Hilyard then gave me, as well as he could recollect it, Lord
Cowper's speech on pronouncing the judgment of the Lords. This
speech has been admired as a masterpiece of judicial oratory. I
know not how that may be ; it was, pleasing, no doubt, for the
Whigs to hear of the wickedness of rebellion ; we are never tired of
hearing those sins denounced which we never practise ; but for the
lords awaiting their sentence, methinks the discourse might have
been more merciful if it had been shorter.

* As for their reception of the sentence,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' no
hero of antiquity could hear his condemnation pronounced with
greater coolness and courage than was shown by all. Methought as
Lord Derwentwater followed the gaoler from the bar — this time the
edge of the axe turned towards him — so marched the constant
Regulus to his doom ; with such a face, set with the courage which
is neither insensibility nor braggadocio, did the great Socrates go to
drink his poison. My heart burned within me to kneel and kiss
bis hand.'

< When,' I asked, « must they suffer ?'

* I know not ; they talk of a fortnight, It is thought *hat b

tbi* great e^mpig toe GKWTWttf&t vilJ show their strength,

THE LORDS' TRIAL.

275

they were not strong, it is said, they would not dare to strike so
determined a blow. As for the rest, the plain gentlemen, it is
thought, even by the most revengeful, that they will be suffered to
escape with their lives at least. But, Miss Dorothy, let us not
trust to chance. Remember : the next trial, after Lord Wintoun's
case is concluded, must be his honour's. Suffer me go talk with
Mr. Pitts.'

1 Not yet, Mr. Hilyard. Give me yet a week or two.'

( The clemency of a king,' Mr. Hilyard went on presently, ' is
truly a great and generous thing when it is properly displayed.
Towards criminals it should never be extended ; but to rebels, as
much as may be. For it is better to forgive and to release, thereby
showing the strength which has no fear, than to strike hard and
show the strength which can revenge. Methinks in this case the
King might be fitly counselled to let all go pardoned, yet punished
by their defeat and ignominy, and by the loss of rank and estates,
provided they promise to sit down in peace for the rest of their
lives. Yet, if I were to say these things in a coffee-house, I should
be kicked out of one and cudgelled in another, because the mob
must have revenge. The Prince's friends themselves would rather
see these men hanged with dignity than dismissed with contempt.'

Much more he added on the subject of that kind of mercy which
brings the culprit into contempt, arguing that great punishments do
not deter others, and that those noblemen who have seen the pomp
attending an execution on Tower Hill, are not likely to be deterred
from rebellion by its recollection. Nay, rather the contrary ; for
as in war everyone risks his life, if one must lose it, surely it is
splendid to be the hero of so great a show. * Thus in the lower
classes,' he said, ' who are mostly insensible to pain, the procession
of the cart, with the shouts of the people, all eyes turned toward
the sufferer, the cries to the driver to whip up his horse, and to him
who wields the cat to let it fall lightly — these things, I say, destroy
the pain and substitute a kind of glory. Even in France, the wretch
who goeth forth to have his limbs crushed upon the wheel bears his
head erect and is of a bold countenance, because of the crowds who
have»come out to see him. Wherefore, for the better putting down
of crime, let the whippings and the hangings be secret ; and for the
better putting down of treason, let there be no executions, but only
loss of estate and contempt When scholars become ministers and
philosophers statesmen, the world shall be better ordered.'

Why did not Heaven make Mr. Hilyard the son of a noble house,
since he could thus discourse so wisely ?

I was told afterwards by Lady Cowper, from whom I learned
at this time a great deal, that the unhappy Lord Derwentwater,
being under examination by the Council, did himself much hann,
in his replies concerning a certain letter from the Prince. In,
this letter his Highness thanked him for the transmission of
tK>me moneys, said kind things concerning Colonel Thomas Racjf
cliffs, and spoke hardly of Mr. Will Radoljffa, another Qt ray
lord'* uncles, who lived ia Uome. Tbo totter, which vw ipte*

276 DORO THY FORSTER.

ceptod I know not how, also furnished particulars concerning private
persons, which enabled the Ministry to seize various papers of con-
sequence. The prisoner seemed to the Council to trifle with them,
treating the letter as an invention and a trick. Possibly he did this,
out of the great kindness of his heart, in order to avoid implicating
others ; because no one that I know ever had the least doubt that
he kept up a correspondence with the Prince, his old playfellow. I
cannot understand how Lady Cowper (who took all her opinions
from her husband) could speak of his answer as showing what she
called ill manners and foolish cunning. Certainly a man must try
to screen his friends, and the Council must have known on what
terms the Prince and Lord Derwentwater had always been.

I have long considered and often debated with Mr. Hilyard the
case of this trial, and the reasons why Lord Derwentwater and Lord
Kenmure alone should have been executed, seeing that neither was
worse than the other five, and that one of them was better (so to
speak), because he might have brought into the field so many hun-
dreds of men, and he brought none. Mr. Hilyard, who is now a
confessed Whig and all for the Protestant Succession, agrees with
me that King George at first intended to sacrifice the whole seven,
with as many of the gentlemen as he decently could, in order to
strike terror.

'We must remember/ he said, 'that, until hangings began in
Liverpool and Preston, not one of the people in the north, whether
prisoners or at large, believed that the King would dare hang any,
so great was their delusion as regards the strength of the cause.
But when the King saw how many of his friends would be struck,
and their affections alienated by the deaths of these great lords, he
began to consider which among them had the fewest friends. These
were tjie Lords Derwentwater and Kenmure. As regards the former,
his title was of so recent date that he had few cousins among the
Lords, and his education having been abroad, he had no friends at
all among his Peers. Therefore, it was resolved at last (even Lord
Nithsdale being reprieved on the very day of his escape) that these
two alone should be done to death.'

I would say with regard to the astonishment of the North-country
people at the sentences, and their stubborn belief in the cause, that
the chief reason why so many held aloof, why those who came
brought so few with them, and why the whole five counties of the
north, Northumberland, Durham, Lancashire, Cumberland, and
Westmoreland, did not all rise together, was that each man thought
he should not be wanted, because his neighbours, who were sure to
go, would suffice — one had business or was ill, or newly married —
always some excuse ; and when the enterprise went from good to
bad, and from bad to worse, all the more reason for sitting still, for
why throw good money after bad ? Since I understood this, I have
teased from feeling indignation against those who ought to have
come oat, but who stayed at horns.

FRANK'S A TTEMPT. 277

CHAPTER XXXVII.

FRANK'S ATTEMPT.

AND now, indeed, if anything was to be done, it was the time. As
for my lord, he was already making his preparations for leaving the
world, having little hope left of reprieve or pardon. Terrible as it
is at any age, even when one is old and spent, to leave the light of
the sun, the solace of friends and children, and those joys which
belong alike to every time of life and to every condition, most
terrible of all must it be to give up the world, which is full of every
kind of joy and delight, to those who can command them, when one
is young, a husband and a father, rich, beloved, and happy. Yet to
this Lord Derwentwater cheerfully resigned himself.

I suppose that never in the history of this country have con-
demned prisoners found so many friends as these six lords. Nothing
more clearly proves that England doth steadfastly refuse (whatever
the Whigs may say) to confound adherence to the ancient House
with high treason, a crime against which the English blood natur-
ally shudders. Many have been executed for this crime, especially
under Henry VIII. and the three Princes who came after him.
But never once did any great lords exert themselves to save these
criminals. Yet here were great lords and noblemen, Whigs all—
that is to say, of the offended side — besieging the throne (occupied
by a German Duke) for mercy, while even their public journals,
and those red-hot pulpits which had bawled so loudly for revenge',
now considered with horror the prospect of spilling this noble blood.
The Princess of Wales herself, moved with womanly compassion,
resolved to do her best, difficult though it was, to save one of the
six, and chose Lord Carnwath for the object of her mercy. He was
at this time but thirty years of age, said to be of great virtue and
excellent parts, educated at Oxford. Nor was she deterred one whit
from her purpose by the fact that his lordship's mother was a most
violent and indiscreet woman, who went about declaring everywhere
that her son would fall in a noble cause. She, therefore, sent Sir
David Hamilton to him, telling him that his only hope lay in con-
fession. Upon this the Earl wrote a letter, in which he confessed
that he had gone to Lorraine and conversed with the Prince, and
urged him to make very sure of his friends in England before he
went to Scotland (which was sound advice, and, if the Prince had
followed it, we had all been saved). He also said that he learned,
from some of the Prince's company, that it was debated whether
the Kin<r of Sweden should not be invited into Scotland, there to
establish King James by force of arms. The revelation of this
design, as nothing could do the Prince more harm, was, perhaps, of
itself sufficient service to wan-ant the release of the prisoner. Alas I
that a righteous cause should be ruined by foolish counsellors 1 It
is now by French arms, now by Swedish, that the King is to be
restored ! As if the proud English nation will ever receive a Prince
thus imposed upon them 1 In the end, Lord Carnwath was suffered

278 DORO THY FORS TEA.

to go free, but his honours were attainted, and he became a simple
Scottish gentleman. As for the Countess of Nithsdale, the recol-
lection of her gallant rescue of her husband always makes my blood
to boil, because our own scheme, which was so safe and easy, was
put out of our power by the act of Providence, as you shall learn
presently. Lady Nithsdale did not, however, resort to this strata •
gem until she had first tried every method. She even waylaid the
King on his passage to the Drawing Room from his own apart-
ments. She held in her hands a petition, drawn up by her husband ;
and as he passed she threw herself at his feet, crying out in French,
so that he could not pretend not to understand, that she was the
unfortunate Countess of Nithsdale. He made as if he would pass
•without attending, but she caught at the skirt of his coat ; he tried
to tear it from her hand, and actually dragged her on her knees
(was not this an act of Kingly clemency ?) to the very door of the
Drawing Room, where two of the officers seized her, one by the
waist and the other by the hands, and so tore her from the King's
presence.

Lady Derwentwater fared no better, except that, with a cruelty
only equalled by James II. when he saw the Duke of Monmouth
after trial, the King consented to receive her. The unhappy
woman, who was accompanied by the Duchesses of Cleveland and
Bolton and by many other great ladies, was presented to the King
by the Dukes of St. Albans and Richmond, sons of Charles II., and
therefore half-uncles to Lord Derwentwater.

The Countess fell upon her knees (it was on Sunday, after Divine
Service, when the heart should be naturally open to compassion, as
being just absolved from sin and still repentant), and thereupon, in
a kind of rapture, implored the King for mercy. Those who were
present and heard her prayer have declared that never could they
believe a woman able to speak so movingly, with such eloquence,
such art (as it seemed, but it was only the art of great love and
great misery), such passion. Those who were with her wept aloud,
and even among the gentlemen there was not a dry eye or a face
unmoved — excepting only the King's. While every heart was bleed-
ing, he alone stood listening with hard eyes and fixed lips, and
presently suffered her to be led away without a word of hope. Her
husband, he was resolved, should die. He was the youngest, the
noblest and the best of all ; he was no more deeply involved than
the rest, but he was the friend and companion of the Prince ;
therefore, he must be sent to his doom. Is it not wonderful that
any man, much more wonderful a Prince, should be found not only
BO vindictive, but so lost to honour and to shame, as thus to sport
with the misery and despair of a woman, and take pleasure in seeing
his victim's wife lying humbled at his feet ?

Yet, I suppose to show some pretence of clemency, on the follow-
ing day— namely, Monday, the 20th of February, four days before
the execution — two noblemen went to the Tower, and offered my
lord his life if he would acknowledge the title of King George and
adopt the Protestant religion. The Earl refused (could a man of

ATTEMPT. 179

honour accept these conditions ?), declaring that ho would sooner
losi! his life than give up his faith. I heard these things, day by
day, from Lady Cowper, and I believe no secret was made of them,
for Mr. Hilyard heard them at the coffee-houses and in Newgate,
whither he went daily, and where, you may suppose, the fate of the
lords was watched with alternate hope and fear ; for, as those noble
heads were brought nearer the block, every man felt his own neck
tightened.

The next day, being Tuesday, they sent two Protestant ministers
to the Earl, begging that he would only send for some learned
Divine of the Church of England, as if to consult on religious
doubts. But my lord had no doubts, and would not pretend to any,
even if thereby he might save his life. I could have wished,
so that I could feel his future lot assured, that he had become a
Protestant ; but to pretend religious doubts, to sell his faith for a
few transitory years, this would have destroyed for ever the noble
image that lived in my heart, and put in its place a poor and con-
temptible creature indeed.

Whilst the Countess and her great friends were vainly endeavour-
ing the release of Lord Derwentwater, others were resolved to
attempt it, and would have carried it out in much simpler fashion,
but for fate, or rather Providence, which willed otherwise. Frank
Radcliffe, like all persons in his sad condition, one day contemplated
death with resignation, and the next looked forward with confidence
to getting better in a few days. In one of the latter periods Jenny
communicated to him her design, which we had hitherto hidden
from him. Immediately he fell into a kind of fever in his anxiety
to be the means of liberating his brother. He would go that very
day — the next day, then. There must not be a moment lost. What
did it matter if he were imprisoned, if only the Earl could be saved ?
If he could not walk, he must be carried.

* Cousin Dorothy,' the poor lad whispered, * my life has been of
very little account. What can a poor Catholic gentleman do in
this country, which denies him everything ? I might have been a
scholar, but you will not admit me to your Universities ; or a
statesman, but I may not enter Parliament ; or a soldier, but you
will not suffer me so much as to carry the colours. Yet, am I not
an Englishman ? Let me do one thing, at least, before I die. Do
not tell Jenny, because I think she loves me ; but I believe that I
am dying.'

I told him (though I knew it was untrue) that he should not die,
but recover and live ; yea, that he should do this brave thing. But
my heart sank within me, for he was now so weak that he could
not stand upon his feet or hold up his head, and his cough was so
violent that it seemed to tear him asunder. He had no ease
except when Jenny was with him, which could not be in the
evenings. She charmed away his cough, and laid him, by that
magic skill of hers, in a quiet slumber, during which, at least, he
did not cough. I met the girl now without the repugnance which
first I felt towards her, forgiving her deception in the matter ol

280 &OROTHY FORSTER.

the sorcery at Dilston, and even forgetting that she was an actress,
and seeing in her the only woman who was able to alleviate hia
sufferings for this poor dying lad. What matter, now, that he was
in love with her, or she so ambitious as to look for him to marry
her?

In these days, when each hour was of importance, Mr. Hilyard
and I looked at each other with sad and despairing eyes, but dared
not say what was in our hearts. Frank was dying ; the hopes that
he built upon his likeness to his brother were fast fading. If ever
he rose again from his bed, it would be after his unhappy brother
was executed and buried. Yet Jenny, for one, could not believe it.

4 He is better,' she said every morning ; 'he is better and stronger
than yesterday. Last night he slept. His physicians assure me he
is easier. With one more good night's rest he will be strong again.'

' Oh, Jenny !' I whispered, ' he will never be strong again !' But
she shook her head impatiently, and would not listen.

One morning, beside his bedside, while he slept, she told me, with
many tears, how the poor lovesick boy followed her, without any en-
couragement from herself, from place to place when she first began to
play, so that it became a subject of ridicule arid mirth for the com-
pany ; how it was he who first gave her dresses in which to make a
brave show upon the stage ; how he encouraged and exhorted her to
study and practise and not to lose heart, but even before an audience
of bumpkins and upon the boards of a barn to do her best and to
speak out as if for a London audience ; how he took her from her
strolling company and brought her to London and paid for her
lodging, treating her with such honour as one doth not, alas ! always
expect or often observe in a gentleman towards an actress, or a
woman of her lowly origin ; how, at length, but not until her efforts
were crowned with success, and she became almost at a leap a
favourite of the great city and one of his Majesty's servants at
Drury Lane, he asked her to marry him.

' Oh, Miss Dorothy !' she said, ' you know me, what I am. Why,
my father was a gipsy ; and as for me, I can conjure, tell fortunes,
read the future, lie, steal, cozen, and cheat the eyes with any of
them ; or better, because some are foolish and clumsy. Yet he
would marry me — a gentleman would marry me ! I have plenty of
lovers at my choice. But for marriage— no, indeed. It was I who
kept him from going off with Mr. Charles last summer. What !
Let my man go fighting on other people's business ? Not L What
do I care for Prince or Pretender, this King and that ? He will
marry me, as soon as he gets well ; and then I will leave the stage,
and we will live somewhere retired, where no one will ask if I was
once Jenny Lee, the actress. For look you, Miss Dorothy, I would
not shame him.'

'But he is a Catholic, Jenny. Would you, too, become a
Catholic?'

She laughed. All the gipsy came into her face.

'Why,' she said, 'for that matter I am a Protestant with you ;
if I go to the tents of my people, what are they, and what am I,

ATTEMPT. «5i

with them ? They lie in the sun ; they love the open air ; they
whistle to the birds ; like the birds, they live to-day, and to-morrow
they die, and are buried in the ditch, and so forgotten. But to live
is enough for them. Oh that I were out of this town and in the
open country, with Frank well and strong beside me ! What matter
what he believes and calls his religion ? As soon as he gets well it
shall be mine.' She spread her arms abroad and repeated, with a
strange yearning look in her black eyes — poor Jenny !— ' As soon as
he gets well.'

Now, all this time, Frank was lying in the sleep into which Jenny
had thrown him. When she went away, at last, she made those
motions with her hands which always awakened him. He was
easier, it seemed, but his voice was low. She kissed him on the
forehead, bade him keep quiet and sleep if he could, and left us. I
was to stay with him all the evening.

4 Tell me again,' he whispered, ' what I am to do in order to rescue
my brother James.'

Alas ! It was already Saturday ; the fatal day was fixed for the
following Thursday ; though that we knew not. But I knew very
well that the day was now very near.

' Do not speak, then, Frank, but listen.' So I told him all over
again, just as one tells a child the same story till he knows it by
heart, and yet must have it told over again, that he was to be dis-
guised with false eyebrows and paint, and so, with Jenny, gain
admittance to his brother's cell, and then — but I have already told
the scheme, which was as simple as it was clever. He felt so easy
this evening, though weak, that it pleased him to imagine himself
carrying out this brave project.

Jn the evening, when he had taken some broth, he felt, he said, his
strength returning fast, and tried to sit up, but with no great success.

* Sometimes,' he told me, ' I wake in the night cold and shivering,
and feel as if the dews of death were already upon my forehead ;
sometimes I awake full of courage, and, though in the darkness,
think to see my life stretching far before me, with Jenny in my
arms. I am resolved what I shall do when I recover. I shall marry
her without delay, and take her from the theatre (where her ambi-
tion has been sufficiently gratified), and so away to the country ; or,
perhaps, to France, where we will live retired, and meditate.' Then
he spoke of the joys of a country life, and how among such simple
pleasures as books, a garden, and the open air, the years would
peacefally slip away. * I want no more,' he said. 'Perhaps I for-
merly asked too much of Heaven. Who am I that I should sigh
for distinction and honour ? What profit would they be to me
beside a calm and peaceful life with the woman I love ? Let others
care for these things.'

I asked him, seeing that it gave him no pain to speak, how it was
that he fell in love with Jenny.

' I know not how,' he replied. ' Perhaps it was because I found
with her, from the very first, a strange rest ; she seems to know be-
forehand what are my very thoughts and what I wish. Besides, sh«

282 DOROTHY PORST&R.

\\ as everybody confesses, the most beautiful of women as well as
the most sprightly, the most bewitching, and the most witty. How
do I know why I love her ?'

All this he said, and more, in broken discourse, as he felt able to
talk. In the intervals I read to him or talked to him ; nor did 1
leave him until it was time for him to go to bed, whither his land-
lady's two strapping sons carried him first, and then guarded me,
armed with stout sticks — for the streets were full of rough and
desperate men — to my own lodging.

I knew not that I had talked with a dying man. Yet in the
morning, when they took him his cup of broth, they found him
lying cold and dead. His soul had passed away in sleep, and he lay,
his head upon his hand, calm, peaceful, and with a smile upon his
thin and wasted lips. As for his face, when we looked upon it, it
was so like his brother's, that one trembled and felt cold, knowing
that before many days, as poor Frank's face looked now, so wouLd
look that other, cold in death.

Mr. Hilyard brought me the dreadful news. Poor Frank ! We
wept not so much for him as for the ruin of our hopes ; for now
our last chance was gone. Yet one might well have wept for the
shortness of a life which seemed born for happiness. The curse of
the Stuarts had fallen also upon the Radcliffes ; better had it been
for them, a thousand times better, had they married with their own
people, and remained plain country knights.

In the chamber where lay the dead man upon the bed (was it
possible that the cold face, so white and still, was but last night
full of hope and life, and the fixed eyes full of light ?) sat Jenny
Lee, her hands clasped, not crying or sobbing, but as one in a trance.
I tried such words of comfort as one attempts in the hour of sorrow;
but they were vain. Mr. Hilyard addressed her, ordering her to
seek relief in prayer and resignation ; but she shook her head. Who
shall comfort a woman in the first moments of her bereavement ?
Frank was dead. Why, then, leave poor Jenny awhile alone with
her senseless corpse. Come out and shut the door.

Frank was dead ; and with him died the last of our hopes.

' Mine,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' have been dead since I saw that he
could never more leave his chamber. Had that poor lad been strong,
we had made such a gallant rescue as would have made all England
to ring with the story. But he is dead. Poor Jenny ! It was for
his sake that she took care of her reputation and is blameless. Now
he is gone — why — poor Jenny !'

Presently she came forth, still with dry eyes.

'He was a Catholic,' she said. 'Let us remember that when he
is buried. Will you look to his funeral, Mr. Hilyard ? His religion
did not, you see, prevent him from dying so young, any more than
if he had been a gipsy lying in a ditch. No matter ; I am hence-
forth of his religion.'

We made no reply. She looked about the room, and gathered
together two or three books.

ATTEMPT. 2*3

'These, she said, 'I will take, because they are mine, with my
own iKiinc in them ; and if any of his friends care to see where and
how he died, it will be well not to let thorn feel ashamed because he
loved an actress. Oh, Miss Dorothy !' she burst into tears and fell
to kissing my hands ; 'it is for you I am crying, not for mvself ;
for Frank is dead, and there is no one now to rescue my lord, who
will surely die.

It was Sunday morning , at that very moment the Countess was
pouring out her passionate prayer for mercy, and the King was
listening with stony eyes and hardened heart. There was now no
room for help or hope ; but he must die.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

MY LORD'S LAST DAYS.

LET me return to the last days of Lord Derwentwater, who, perhaps
(but of this I am not sure), never heard of his brother's death.

The chief clergyman, or priest, of the Roman Catholic Church in
London was then the Reverend Bonaventura Gifford, commonly
called in their ecclesiastical manner the Vicar Apostolic. Immedi-
ately after sentence had been pronounced, this learned Father
applied for permission to administer spiritual consolation and the
offices of the Church to this man about to die. For some reason
which I know not, this permission was refused, and Dr. Gifford
denied admission to the prisoner. The Government, however, con-
sented that a certain Father Pippard, a simple priest, should attend
him during the fortnight between sentence and execution.

I have seen and have copied out with my own hand a letter in
which this pious man set down all that he remembered concerning
my lord's last days upon the earth. From the beginning, though
not without hope (even the meanest and vilest criminal never, I
suppose, abandons hope till the cart moves from under his feet,
much more this innocent victim), he resigned himself to the steady
and fearless contemplation of death, and gave himself over alto-
gether to those religious exercises that were ordered by his spiritual
advisers, together with the reading of such books as were most
proper for a man so soon about to be summoned before his Judge.
Thus, each morning he read, as directed, a chapter or two of the
New Testament, and especially those of our Lord's Passion, with
some portion of the 'Following of Christ,' 'The Confessions of
Saint Austin,' and other good books chosen for him by his adviser.
Methinks nothing in the world can so smooth a death-bed and
console a dying man as the memory of having written a good
book for the consolation of sorrowful and stricken souls and the
strengthening of faith for those about to die. (Poor Frank had
no such interval of meditation and prayer.) Chiefly my lord read
with wonderful satisfaction, the good priest said, the edifying
history of a certain Italian youth, who for some crime — I know not
of what nature, or perhaps unjustly, like Lord Derwentwater— was
cendeuiced to death, but fell iato so beautiful a repentance, and so

284 DOROTHY FORSTER.

heartily prayed, meditated, and fasted, that he made of the death
which he could not avoid a voluntary sacrifice of himself, his life,
and affections, before the throne of God, thereby imitating the
blessed example of Him who, though it was ordained by His
Heavenly Father that He should drink the chalice, yet did it
voluntarily and of His own free will and consent. This example
my lord proposed to follow.

Further, when they came — not once, but several times — to offer
him his life if he would change his religion, which was a most
wicked and a most diabolical temptation to lay before so young
and so fortunate a man, with all earth's pleasures before him, he
refused without the least hesitation or doubt. ' And this,' said
Father Pippard's letter, ' he told me with the greatest transport of
joy, that having refused his life on such terms, he hoped it was not
now making a virtue of necessity ; that, had he a thousand lives, he
would sooner part with them than renounce his faith ; and, with
tears of joy in his eyes, he humbly thanked God for giving him
this opportunity of testifying his love for Him.' Not once, but
twice, they troubled him with this offer, which was as insulting to
the honour of the Earl as it was disgraceful to the humanity of
those who proposed this temptation. Whoever they were, they
entreated him earnestly, even on the day before his execution, that
he would make some sign, as it were, of doubt concerning the
Articles of the Roman Catholic Faith, if only to borrow a book of
Protestant controversy. But he steadfastly refused to beg his life
on these terms. I have sometimes thought that possibly it was the
Archbishop of Canterbury who was thus anxious to find an excuse
for begging a reprieve. Everybody knows well that there were
some, even among the Ministers and in the Privy Council, who
would gladly have seen him pardoned, if only a show of reason
could be arrived at with which to move the King. But without
such excuse there was no possibility of further interference, and
BO the law must take its course.

One more chance remained, and it was the last. The Countess
had appealed in person to the King, but without avail ; she would
now appeal to the Houses of Parliament. On Tuesday this noble
and courageous woman, accompanied by a large number of ladies,
her friends, went to the House of Lords with a petition, which was
presented by the Duke of Richmond. The petition was supported
by the Archbishop of Canterbury, and, which was thought a most
remarkable thing, by the Earl of Nottingham, one of the Ministers.
In the end, the House moved that an address be presented to the
King, that he should reprieve such of the condemned lords as
should deserve his mercy. A motion to the same effect was made
in the House of Commons, but was rejected by a majority of
seven, some of the speakers against it being very violent.

The interference of the lords did no good, except to anger and
harden the King so far as Lord Derwentwater's case was concerned-,
but on Wednesday, Lord Widdrington and Lord Carnwath were
reprieved. Lord Nairn had already been reprieved through the

MY LORD'S LAST DA VS. 285

instance of Lord Stanhope, who declared that he would resign hii
office if his old school-fellow at Eton was not pardoned. On
Thursday, though he knew it not, and escaped on that same day,
Lord Nithsdale was also reprieved. It is therefore clear that from
the beginning it was resolved to make an example in the person of
the youngest and the least guilty (supposing there is any guilt in
taking up arms for your lawful Sovereign).

On Thursday, when three out of the seven lords were already
reprieved, the Countess made another effort to see the King. She
was, as before, accompanied by her friends. But the King this
time obstinately refused to see her, and gave her to understand
that her husband's execution would take place the next morning.

Then at last she ceased her exertions, and went to the Tower for
her last most sad and sorrowful parting with her husband, the thing
dreaded by him far more than the executioner's axe, insomuch that
he had begged her, through Lord Widdrington, to take her last
farewell a week before, in order that his last moments might be
wholly given up to God. But this was too hard for her to bear,
and he was overruled. Father Pippard wrote in that letter of his,
4 No man could have a greater regard and tenderness for his wife
than he had for you, and I think there could not be a greater argu-
ment of it than this, that when he seemed to be raised above the
sentiments of the world in everything else, he had not quite got
the better of himself in regard to your ladyship, though even here
he appeared wonderful to me. For the last morning your ladyship
parted from him I was surprised to find him so composed ; and,
congratulating his lordship upon the victory he had gained over his
affections, he answered that you had been, both of you, upon your
knees begging that favour of God, for nigh a quarter of an hour
before you took leave of each other.'

Nothing more sorrowful can be thought of than the picture of
that unhappy pair kneeling side by side to pray that they might so
gain the victory over their affections as to part with each other with
resignation. It cannot be a part of religion — I cannot bring myself
to think that it is — for a man thus on the point of death to tear his
wife out of his heart, or for her to let him go out of hers. Rather
should they thank Heaven for the earthly love they have enjoyed
together, and pray that it may be continued and glorified in the
heavenly world, so that they may together experience the joys of
that blessed abode, and be the more happy in knowing of each
other's bliss. But perhaps Catholics think differently, and although
they have made marriage into a sacrament (without Scriptural
warrant), they have ever been harsh as regards their opinion of
women.

Every year, once, on the day of my lord's execution, I read this
letter of Father Pippard with tears, and I make no doubt that his
widow did the same ; for she never smiled after her husband's
death, but slowly wasted away, and some years later died, being
then not yet thirty, poor soul 1 (It was in Louvain that she died,
tnd lies buried in the Engiisn convent there, having been a most

286 DOROTH Y FORS TER,

pious woman, and strict in the practice of all the duties enjoined
by her Church.)

During that last fortnight the Earl talked continually, while the
Countess was with him (this she told me herself), of his early days
and the few events of his short life, just as old men soon about to
die lore to think of the days when they were young and strong.
He spoke of his education at St. Germain's, of his return to his
native country and the greetings of his friends and cousins, of the
summer he spent chiefly in my society, speaking of me, even at
such a time, in words of kindness which I can never forget, and
recall with a kind of pride that so great and noble a heart should
deceive himself into imagining that I possessed those great qualities
which he ascribed to me. It is only a good heart which thinks
others good. He even sent me a last gift in token of his regard
and affection for me, and in memory of our former friendship.
' Give Dorothy for me,' he said, 'with my love and prayer for her
welfare — something— whatever thou wilt. But let it be something
which I have given to thee, sweetheart, since we married. This
she will value most.'

Surely never was there a more loyal and generous man. He
wished me to feel that he had never forgotten me ; but, withal, I
must learn that he loved me with an affection pure and free from
earthly passion, as he desired my affection to be towards him ; and
this he would show by giving me something which he had given
to his wife ; this I need not be ashamed as a virtuous woman to
receive, nor he as a Christian man to offer ; nor she, as one who
wholly possessed his heart, to give.

In this spirit I accepted the ring of topaz and amethyst which the
Countess drew from her finger and put upon mine, kissing me with
abundance of tears, and saying :

' Did yon ever hear the like, Dorothy, that one woman should

?'ve to another a gift from her husband and yet not be jealous !
et, dear Dorothy, I have known all along how much he continued
to love you and esteem you, and that without the least suspicion or
touch of jealousy, so true he was, and open in all that he did and
said, and so sure was I that I owned all his heart.'

She did indeed, and I could now think of it without bitterness,
though there was once a time when I wondered how men could so
change their heart as to be all for one woman in the spring, so to
speak, and all for another in the summer. For sure and certain
my lord bad no eyes for any other woman, save in the way of
honest and friendly affection, after he was married ; and to him
ehe was a good and loyal wife, though (because she was human)
not wholly free from certain small imperfections which sometimes
caused rubs, due to quickness of temper and the like, of which we
know.

But oh ! to think that in this, bis last mortal agony, being at the
yerv threshold of death, in the anteroom of the Great Judgment
Hall, a soul trembling in the presence of his Maker, engaged io
earnest repentance, aaa anxiously esektog assurance of forgiveness

MY LORD'S LAST DA YS. 287

he should have thought of me ! I have desired in my will that this
riiiv:, with one other thing, be buried with me in my coffin.

I asked the Countess how he looked on this his last day. She
told that for want of the fresh air and riding exercises, to which he
was accustomed, he was pale of cheek ; but that, owing to the fast-
ing diet which he thought becoming to one in his position, he was
grown thin, and his eyes were brighter than of ordinary. For the
rest, he was grave, and smiled no longer (could one ever forget the
sweet smile that always played upon his lips and the kind light that
lay in his eyes ?). lie shed few tears (save that at parting with
his wife he gave one sob), because he was so brave and resolute by
nature, and because, by special grace of Heaven, he was enabled to
look upon the separation as for a brief space only. But he wept
bitterly when he parted from his infant children, praying Heaven
to protect his boy — then two years old, and like an angel for beauty
— and his infant daughter. (The boy is since dead, being killed by
an accident at nineteen years ; but the girl, Lady Anna, is not long
since married to a Catholic Peer, the Lord Petre, whose uncle
married her aunt, my lord's sister. May she be blessed with a long
life and many children I)

On Thursday morning my lord received a letter from the Vicar
Apostolic, which afforded him great consolation, although, to hear
some men talk and to read some things written, there is nothing in
all that religion but hypocrisy and deceits. As if we are not all
men and women — that is to say, mortal and doomed to die, and
after death the next world ; wherefore, though I doubt not the
exceeding wickedness and cruelty of many Popes, Inquisitors, and
Cardinals, needs must that they, as well as we ourselves, sometimes
contemplate soberly and with prayer the condition of their souls,
and especially at the awful time when death is appointed and now
nigh at hand. The Yicar's letter, therefore, which I have seen —
and a most beautiful and truly religious letter it is— gave my lord
great support, and even happiness. On that day he confessed, com-
municated, and heard Mass, together with Lord Widdrington ; for
several days before his death he steadfastly fasted, and refused to
take any wine, although he suffered from a grievous cough. As for
fasting, that is no doubt a help to most of us in spiritual things, as
it leaves the brain free from the gross humours generated by strong
meat, and in a manner clears away from the eyes the mists whioh
obscure our sight and sense of heavenly things.

'But,' said Father Pippard, in that memorandum of his, 'he
wanted none of these helps, for he was visibly helped with an extra-
ordinary grace, which appeared in his countenance and in all his
behaviour, to the admiration of all that beheld him.'

In the evening before his execution he sat up writing letters of
farewell to his wife, his mother, his brother Charles, and others.
Jii the first, which the poor soul showed to me, he said that Lord
flithsdale bad escaped. Alas! the news of that escape fall upon

mir te'l* (I mcas on mis* especially) w • reproach. For wi

2S8 DOROTHY FORSTER.

should have used something of the same way with Lord Derwent-
water had it not been ordered otherwise. As regards his brother
Charles, it is sad to relate that Lord Townshend, Secretary of State,
forbade his taking leave of his brother, so great was the rancour
with which these young men were regarded. (It is very well known
how Charles afterwards escaped from Newgate while under sentence
of death. A few years later he married the Countess of Newburgh
in her own right, and hath children, so that the noble line of Rad-
cliffe will be continued, with another title and rank equal to that
which has been lost.)

As for what passed in the Tower on the morning of the execution,
it was related in the conclusion of Father Pippard's letter. He said
that he went early to the Tower, not expecting to be admitted, but,
contrary to his expectation, being permitted to pass into the Earl's
room, he found Lord Widdrington with him, and both on their
knees at prayers ; but with this difference, that Lord Widdrington
could not read his for the weeping and tears which choked his voice
while Lord Derwentwater was reading his aloud, and with a sedato
and audible voice. Whereupon Father Pippard at first, and hastily,
concluded that the latter had been reprieved and the former sen-
tenced. But it was the contrary : for Lord Widdrington had come
to tell his brother prisoner that he himself had received a reprieve
(the news was not brought to him until eight o'clock that morning),
and he was weeping to see the constancy, resignation, and Christian
grace displayed by his brother-in-arms, who was to suffer what he
himself escaped.

Presently word was brought that the coaches were come for the
two who were to be executed. Wherefore Father Pippard begged
Lord Widdrington to say anything he had to say as quickly as he
could. But all he had to say was, with many tears, that if he were
to live a thousand years he should never forget the courage and
resignation which he that day witnessed. So he went away, and
Lord Derwentwater betook himself to confession and prayers ;
which done, he walked down to the coach, even the keepers, buf-
f etiers, and guards — yea, and the common soldiers, being dissolved
in tears, and he alone preserving a calm and composed countenance.

My lord was dressed becomingly in black velvet, wearing a beaver
hat with a black plume, black hose, and black leather shoes with
silver buckles. Round his neck was hanging a gold crucifix, and in
his hand he carried a book of devotion. Before reaching the scaf-
fold he was joined by the Yicar Apostolic. Then, I suppose for
form's sake, he was again offered his life if he would renounce his
faith and his loyalty ; but he pa; the offer by gravely, saying that it
would be too dear a purchase.

When they came to the City Bars the sheriffs informed him that
they had prepared a room for him near the scaffold, in case he de-
sired to retire for a time. He thanked them, and accepted their
offer, spending half an hour with the priests in prayer. Lord
Kenmure, who was accompanied by his eldest son, joined him IQ
this dismal chamber.

M Y LORDS LAST DA YS. 289

Then came the last scene— the shedding of that noble blood and
the flight of that sweet soul to heaven. Even if the Romish doc-
trine of Purgatory were true, of which we have no Scriptural
warrant (though the thought must be consoling to many a poor
mother whose son has been cut off in open sin), I cannot but be-
lieve that the sacrifice of a life thus laid down as a voluntary offer-
ing, according to the teaching of the priests, and with many heart-
felt prayers, must have been received, and that Lord Derwentwater's
soul is now at peace and in happiness among the blessed.

Mr. Hilyard was among those who stood on Tower Hill to see the
sad sight. I believe that the people of London take a peculiar
pleasure in witnessing spectacles the thought of which fills one's
heart with horror, so that whether it be a wretch in a pillory, or a
hussy being whipped before an alderman, or a rogue flogged at a
cart-tail, or a hanging at Tyburn, or a beheading on Tower Hill,
they cannot choose but sally forth and stand in thousands — yea, and
for hours together, so eager are they to behold the deportment and
carriage of the sufferer, comparing him with others, his predecessors,
applauding or reproving, according to his courage or his cowardice.
Mr. Hilyard, whatever else he might be, was always a Londoner.
Something of the same temper, I suppose, was possessed by the
Athenians, who were always running after some new thing.

' There was never,' said Mr. Hilyard, * so great a crowd of people
gathered together on Tower Hill ; men were there of every condi-
tion, with fine ladies in the windows ; and though many thought
that the punishment was just, there were none (of those who stood
around me) but thought it excessive. For why, all men asked,
were Lord Derwentwater and Lord Kenmure condemned, and the
rest reprieved ? What had these two done worse than those who
were with them ? Why was not Lord Widdrington, who was older,
and should have been wiser, with them ? Such questions passed
from one to the other, not in whispers, but loudly, so that I think
the character of the King will hardly gain, whatever may be the
effect of these punishments in the north. Truly, as is said by
Solomon, " Mercy and truth preserve the king : and his throne is
upholden by mercy."

' The crowd began at daybreak, even before ; nay, there were
persons who came on the night before, and made fires on Tower
Hill to warm them by, for the night was very cold. There was
some idle talk about a rescue, and of destroying the scaffold ; but
that passed away, and, indeed, the Jacobites in these days have to
keep snug. Yet they were on Tower Hill by hundreds, and were
cursing the Hanoverian in whispers, and shedding tears for the two
lords long before the time for the execution.

' I first saw my lord when he came forth from the chamber which
the sheriffs caused to be made for him. Sir John Fryer went before
him. After him came two Popish priests and a great company,
though who they were I know not. When he mounted the steps
and stood upon the black scaffold before all the people, his face was
pale, but his eye was ****** T~ »ny thinking he looked upon the

290 DOROTHY FORSTER.

great multitude much as, in the persecution of Diocletian, a Chris-
tian martyr may have looked upon the gaping crowds assembled to
Bee him die, and to wonder why he could not save his life by a
pinch of incense. Then a silenco fell upon all, save for the sobs of
some and the muttered prayers of others, so that you would have
thought yourself iu some great church '

A church, indeed ! For such an occasion the Tower Hill waa
nothing but the temple of the living God, and the scaffold was an
alta/ of sacrifice, and my lord a true martyr and confessor of his
faith and loyalty.

' He spoke a few words to Sir John Fryer, and then, kneeling
down before us all, prayed for a good while. But none of the
crowd spake or moved, and I saw the tears running down all cheeks.
This done, he rose and spoke earnestly for a minute or two with
one of the sheriffs, and taking a paper from his pocket, unfolded it,
and read in a steady, loud voice, so that all might hear, his last
dying speech and confession. Confession, I call it, because he con-
fessed and declared manfully that he owned allegiance to none but
the Prince, his lawful King ; and if it seemed otherwise by his plea
of guilty, he begged that he might be understood as not intending
to acknowledge King George as his lawful Sovereign. Why, it
seems to me, so noble and so manful was his speech, that were
there in this realm but half-a-dozen like unto him, so noble and so
generous, the Protestant Succession would be ruined.

' Thrs done, he repeated a penitential Psalm, and uttered audibly
(many of the people saying " Amen !" after him, as if they were in
church) certain ejaculations. After this he knelt in prayer once
more, and this time many of the company on the scaffold — even the
executioner himself — knelt and prayed with him, weeping. He
then rose and removed his wig and coat, which the keeper should
have had, but the executioner claimed as his own ; and there was
an unseemly dispute, during which my lord stood quiet, only whis-
pering a few words to one of the priests. This settled, he examined
the block, and pointed out very calmly a rough place which might
hurt his neck. That roughness the executioner made smooth with
his axe.

' After this, he said in a loud voice, so that all should hear : " I
forgive all that are concerned in my execution, and I forgive all
the world."

'According to custom, the executioner asked his forgiveness.
Then, all being done, he knelt and laid his head upon the block. I
suppose that he gave certain instructions to the headsman. One of
the priests bent over him and gave him, as I understood the gesture,
the last absolution as to one in articulo mortis. Then he said in a
loud voice : " Dear Jesus, be merciful to me. Dear Jesus, be

merciful to me. Dear Jesus " Then fell the axe, and at a

single blow tne nead was severed from the body.'

Here Mr. Hilyard stopped in his narrative, and we wept together.

What have any, of all those who knew and loved that gallant
youth done since but weep and cry at the mere thought of hiJ

MY LORVS LAST DA VS.

291

noble death, and the cruel loss to all ? Yet weeping will not
him back. Oh ! if every tear shed that day had been a drop
molten lead, there was one woman who would have rejoiced to pour
all upon the head of the hard and revengeful George, then called
King of this realm ! George hath now gone to his account, and I
hope that this woman was Christian enough before he died to pray
that this heavy sin might be forgiven him.

The Earl's servant, Francis Wilson, received the head in a red
velvet cloth, and carried it away with him, no one molesting him.
The body, no coffin or hearse having been provided, was laid in a
hackney coach, and so taken to the Tower, where it lay for three
days, when it was taken away by night to a surgeon, who embalmed
it and laid it in a coffin with the head. The coffin was carried first
to Dagenham Park, near Romford, where the widowed Countess
was residing for a time, and thence, travelling by night, it was
taken to Dilston, and buried in his own chapel. His heart was
placed in a casket and sent to Angers, where it was given to a
convent of English nuns.

As for the Prince, for whose sake this and so many other lives
were laid down, he had already fled from Scotland and landed at
Gravelines two days before Lord Derwent water's death, and I know
not what were his emotions on hearing of his early friend's tragic
end. But the Queen-mother was deeply affected. I saw the
Countess once more before I left London ; she was then staying at
a house in the country, not far from London, called Kensington
Gravel Pits. She was composed and resigned, but the old vivacity
was gone, and her once bright eyes were dull. She confessed that
it was her duty to live for the children, but for whom she would
have prayed for death. Sad it was to see the sweet, fair-haired boy,
not yet four years old, clinging to his mother's knee, wondering
why her eyes were always full of tears. They could not take away
the child's estates, because in them the Earl had only a life-interest ;
but he had lost his title, though everyone always called him the
Earl. What mattered title or estate if he had not also lost his father?
We talked very movingly together for some hours, confessing to
each other that we had done foolishly and ignorantly (yet we be-
lieved what we were told, and what can women do more ?) in urging
on men who were so full of loyalty, and yet hesitated to strike,
being better acquainted than we .were with the dangers and the
consequences. Yet we agreed that the cause was most just and
righteous, and must prosper in the end if England is to look for
peace and Heaven's blessing. But for a long time there could be
no hope of success unless in the changed temper of the people.

It was on this, the last time I saw her, that she gave me the
precious gift of her dead husband, with the words which he wished
her to use. I have already spoken of this gift. So we parted, with
kisses aud more tears, and I eaw the poor distracted creature no
moie.

292 DOROTHY FORSTER

CHAPTER XXXIX.

TOM'S ESCAPE.

ALL the story which I set myself to tell has now been written down,
except only the manner and way of Tom's escape from Newgate,
which was as follows. We were not neglecting his affairs all the
while ; and Mr. Hilyard, as I have said, had found an honest sea
captain. The man who was recommended to him was a certain
smuggler or fisherman, named Shipman — a good name for one in
his profession— who had a fast-sailing schooner or hoy, in which he
carried on his trade. We were assured that we could thoroughly
trust this man, and that, whether for carrying a cargo of Nantz, or
parcel of lace, or a Jacobite gentleman, or a highwayman, or a Jesuit
priest, or any other secret commodity, backwards or forwards across
the water, the man had not his equal, whether for safety, secrecy, or
despatch. His terms were high ; but then, in such times, one must
pay for honesty. Thus, we were to give him fifty guineas for land-
ing Tom upon the coast of France ; but he knew beforehand that
he had to do with a prisoner of distinction, for whose capture a
much larger sum. than fifty guineas would be offered. Surely a man
who takes fifty guineas, and keeps his word, when treachery would
have given him a thousand pounds, is worth waiting for.

We waited for him, therefore, until the end of February, when
Mr. Hilyard found him, opened negotiations, and presently took me
to meet him at a place called Limehouse. In appearance he was
quite another guess kind of fellow from the other, the Judas Iscariot
captain of Wapping, having a rough and honest face, with clear eyes,
which looked straight. We soon came to terms. He declared that
he could not afford to take less than fifty guineas for the trip ; that
times like these were brisk for honest sailors like himself, who
troubled not themselves about party matters, and cared not a sour
herring which was King and which Pretender ; and that he must
make the best of his market. He then gave us to understand that
the gentleman (whose name he knew not, and said he desired not to
know, nor why he wished to leave his native shores) would not be
the first by a great many whom he had carried across to France, and
not one caught yet. For his own part, the more the merrier, and all
the better for his old woman and the children : and he should not
care if the Pretender's friends had a rising every month, nor if ho
was asked to carry King George himself and the Prince of Wales
Across to Holland out of the way. The fellow was so hearty, and
had so honest a face, that one could not choose but trust him.
Therefore I agreed, and instructed Mr. Hilyard to make all other
arrangements with him, as that he was not to have his money till
his passenger was on board and the ship ready to drop down stream ;
that he was to be anchored off Leigh, in Essex, so as to avoid
suspicion ; and that he was, as soon as he had nis schooner ready for
sailing, to come to London, there to be at our service.

This done, I began to clench the business with my friendly

ESCAPE. $93

turnkey. Nota bwe that, all through these troubles of Frank
Radcliffe's illness and my lord's execution, either Mr. Hilyard or
myself went daily to Newgate to cheer and encourage Tom, whose
courage was now, what with the backsliding of his chaplain and the
fate of Lord Derwentwater, as one may say, sunk down into his
boots, almost beyond the power of a bottle to lift it up, nor did he
derive any satisfaction save from his continual cursing of Mr.
Patten. We were so careful lest he should in his cups say a word
which might cause suspicion, that we told him nothing of our design.

Now, however, that we had secured our ship, it was necessary,
without further delay, to open the business more fully with my
friendly warden, Jonas. If he failed, but not unless, Mr. Hilyard
should go to the honest Pitts, the Governor, and promise that greedy
rogue all he asked. Therefore I went to the prison, where the
worthy Jonas sat in the lobby or anteroom ; but, instead of going
straight through, I stopped, and pulling out my handkerchief, began
to cry and to wipe my eyes.

'Alas P I said, ' the trials must soon come on. Think you, good
Jonas, that my brother's case will be the first ?'

' That, your ladyship,' he replied, jingling his keys, ' is more thaa
we wardens know. First or last matters little, considering what the
end must be.'

'Lady Nithsdale,' I went on— 'ah! happy woman I— is said to
have found a friend and helper among the guards of the Tower.
But then, the Tower is not Newgate.'

' Belike she did,' he replied. ' Friends can always be found, even
in Newgate, by the unhappy, if they go the right way to work.'

' Ah !' I whispered, ' would to Heaven that I could find such a
compassionate heart in Newgate, and how richly would I reward
him !' I observed that his eyes twinkled and his fingers clutched as
though already grasping the reward.

' Why,' he said, ' as for that, and if it could be done without Mr.
Pitts' knowledge, and was made well worth a body's while '

' What do you call, Mr. Jonas, worth a body's while ?'

c Why, to be plain, madam,' he said, ' do you think I did not know
your tricks and your ways when you began with your soft looks and
your guinea here and your half a guinea there, what it meant ?
Let us come to business without further shilly-shally. What is it
you want me to do, and for how much ?'

* As for what I want you to do,' I replied, ' it is simple and easy,
and I will tell you presently ; as for the reward, you shall have
something in hand— say ten guineas ; but until General Forster is
safe across the water, not a penny more.'

' I cannot send him across the water. But still— how much will
your ladyship offer ?'

* Why— shall I say fifty guineas ?'
He laughed in my face.

1 Fifty guineas ! Why, he was the General of the Forces and he
ia a Member of Parliament ! Fifty guineas for the Man under the
Rose ? Sure, madam, you seem to understand very little what your

294 DOROTHY FORSTER.

brother is worth in such a market as this. Fifty guineas ? Well, if
that is all, there is an end.'

I informed him that General Forster was not like Lord Nithsdale,
a man of a great estate, but, on the other hand, that his estates had
been all sold up, so that he had nothing at all bat what he would
get at the death of his father. But he stiffly refused to do business,
as he called it, on such shabby terms, and I was forced to raise my
price. He was truly a most exorbitant creature, and refused to do
anything until I gave him fifty guineas down, and an offer in writing
to give him four hundred and fifty guineas more on my brother's
escape being assured. The fellow had some education, it seems, and
could read and write. I think he had been a kind of lawyer's clerk,
who had been put into this place in return for some services. ' If,'
he said, ' you make me the offer, I can put it into Mr. Pitts' hands
should you play me false. Go away then, madam, and write it down,
and bring the fifty pounds before we have any more dealings or
talk.'

' But if,' I said, * you play me false, and, after taking the fifty
pounds, do not go on with the business ?'

' Five hundred guineas,' he replied, * though little enough reward
for the escape of the General and the risk I run, is a mighty great
sum for me. Your ladyship need not fear.'

I went away therefore, and presently wrote on a piece of paper
words which might have brought me to prison too, if this fellow
showed them. For I said that I, Dorothy Forster, sister of General
Forster, then in Newgate Gaol, solemnly pledged myself to give one
Jonas, warden or turnkey in the said gaol, the sum of four hundred
and fifty guineas sterling as soon as the said General Forster was
out of the gaol.

Next I sought my friend Purdy, the blacksmith, where I lodged,
and told him that I wanted his services, but secretly, and without a
word said to his wife, or his prentices, or any living soul. He
swore very readily to the greatest silence on the matter. Then I
asked him whether, in case I put into his hand an impression in wax
of a key, he would make me its counterpart in iron. He smiled,
guessing very easily what I designed, and said that such an imita-
tion was a thing belonging to his trade, and that he would under-
take to make me such a key in a very little while, and nobody to
guess or suspect a word of the matter.

I lost no time at all, but went back to the prison, found the
worthy Mr. Jonas, who was waiting for me, and gave him the
earnest-money which he asked — namely, fifty guineas in a purse.

* So,' he said, ' this is business. And what next can I do to please

I told him that I wanted an impression in wax of the master-key,
which for the moment was all I would ask of him. This he made
for me, and gave me very readily, only imploring that, should the
possession of this be discovered, or the plot be prevented by any
untoward misfortune, it should never be divulged how I got the
key. And again he threatened, if the money was not paid after Mr.

I

TOM*S ESCAPE. 295

Forster's escape, to pat my paper in the bands of a justice, by which
he said, I know not how truthfully, he could ensure my being put
to death with all the barbarities proper for the crime.

In this simple method, without troubling Mr. Hilyard to com-
plete his grand plot, and without any regard to what he called the
dramatic situation, I obtained that most invaluable aid to an escape,
a master-key.

Now, it was hard to keep my counsel during this time, for on
the one hand I had to restrain the impatience of Mr. Hilyard, who
would still be urging me to let him follow up the overtures he had
made to Mr. Pitts, who indeed expected it, for his own part, and,
the sum of £10,000 having been mentioned between them, began
to throw out hints not only to Mr. Hilyard but to myself, so that I
was obliged to let him be plainly told that for the present at least
nothing could be done. When I consider the number of escapes
that were made from Newgate, I am amazed that the man and his
wardens and assistants were not brought to justice. Perhaps, how-
ever, the Ministry were not unwilling that the prisoners should es-
cape. Lady Cowper told me, after all was done, that she had a
strange offer before they were all brought up to London — that
General Forster should be allowed to escape, if she pleased, upoi
the road. It came to her from Baron Bernstoft, through Made-
moiselle Schutz, his niece. She told me further that at the time
she was concerned chiefly about Mr. Clavering and his son, so that
ehe did not heed the offer. But this explained why at the first she
spoke so much about neglecting the chances of getting off while on
the road. It rejoices me to think that so many brave fellows got
clean away, but surely a generous King would have given them
their pardon rather than suffer them to get off by this ignominious
way of bribing a gaoler.

But while the greedy Mr. Pitts (who I suppose prays for such
another rebellion every day) looked for no less a sum than £10,000,
he knew not that his turnkey had been beforehand with him, and
his most important prisoner was on the point of escaping and he
never a penny the richer. It gives me the greatest satisfaction to
think how this great rogue was outwitted, and of his discomfiture
and rage when he found the bird was flown. I would have cheated
the turnkey as well, but could not, having pledged my word.

It was not until the morning of March the 6th, ten days after my
lord was butchered, that Mr. Hilyard reported to me first that our
skipper was now in London, having left his vessel off the coast at
Leigh ; next, that he had bought four strong and capable saddle-
horses, which were now standing in the stables of the Salutation
Tavern, Newgate Street, and could be saddled in readiness for any
time.

* And now/ he said, * for Heaven's sake, Miss Dorothy, delay no
longer. Let me see Mr. Pitts and close with him this very day.'

' To-morrow you shall,' I replied, ' unless but first, oh ! my

only friend ! first, 1 pray thee, do exactly as I bid for this day. To-
morrow, if I fail, which kind Heaven forbid, you shall have your turn.'

296 DOROTHY FORSTER.

He begged me to give him his instructions.

I told him, first, that the day was actually come, and my own
preparations made ; that nothing could be done until after dark,
nor then until such time as the streets were clear of people ; that in
my judgment it would be at some time between nine in the evening
and midnight that we should want the horses. Therefore that the
skipper should have them saddled in readiness, and should wait in
the stables from eight o'clock or so until we came for him, and for
the love of the Lord not to get drunk.

Mr. Hilyard opened his eyes very wide at this, as you may be-
lieve, and looked grave, but forbore to speak, except to promise
that he would most faithfully and strictly carry out my instructions,
and so departed, leaving me anxious indeed, but now hopeful.

What I had was a master-key ; what I wanted was the oppor-
tunity of using it without being observed. That chance must be
sought after dark, and pretty late, when prisoners are all locked up
and turnkeys and wardens off guard.

Then I went back to the prison, where I found Tom sitting in
his chamber, but not alone. Alas ! how different was the behaviour
of the prisoners in Newgate from that of my lord in the Tower !
There was dignity, with the virtues of repentance, faith, and charity.
Here there was constant drinking, with the smoking of tobacco, and
everlasting railing, quarrelling, and disputing, one prisoner with
another. But I will speak no more of the Press Yard and its horrid
sights.

There was a custom of visiting the prisoners, bringing them pre-
sents of wine, spirits, tobacco, meat, and so forth ; and, as regards
the better sort, talking with them, many gentlemen finding it a
curious entertainment to pass the afternoon conversing with a man
who would probably in a few weeks have his head and limbs plas-
tered with pitch and stuck upon Temple Bar ; it was interesting,
no doubt, to think that the man who sat with them was also going
to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. As for themselves, they were
honest Jacobitas all, who were yet in no mood for undergoing that
penalty ; they were quite ready to sing loyal songs in a tavern,
applaud loyal lines in a theatre, drink loyal toasts, frequent loyal
coffee-houses, and, in fact, give the Prince every support short of
fighting. With Tom there were sitting three of these gentlemen,
not prisoners^ though for the principles they professed, and the
encouragement they had always given to the fighting men of the
cause, they ought all to have been under lock and key if there were
any justice in the world (but of that there seems mighty little).
As for Tom himself, it was pitiful to see a man so pulled down by
confinement, and trouble, and want of exercise ; for his ruddy
cheeks were pale and flabby ; his once fresh bright eye was yellow :
his hands shook, and so did his lip, and his eyes were full of anxiety.
Ho sat in the midst of his comforters as Job sat in the midst of
Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar. And, like these three sons of Conso-
lation, who showed their friendliness by girding at the patriarch
and imputing unto him secret sins, so did £hese three worthy gen-

TOM* S ESCAPk. 397

tleraen, each with a pipe of tobacco in his mouth, and happy in the
consciousness that his own neck stood in little fear of being stretched,
deliver their minds at large on the mistakes made by the English
forces in the campaign (which, to be sure, was an easy thing to do),
and discoursed freely (which was not a kind thing to do towards a
gentleman in Tom's position) on the executions at Liverpool and
Preston, the bloodthirsty temper of the Government, the miserable
outlook of the unfortunate prisoners, and the cruelty and barbarity
of the punishment inflicted. Lord Wintoun's case, they said, would
occupy the Earls for some weeks yet, after which, no doubt, Tom
would be put upon his trial. Then they began to advise, all with
contrary opinions, what kind of defence he should set up. Defence
there was none, because, first of all, Tom was, more than any of
the others, except Colonel Oxbrough and Captain Gascoigne, in-
volved in the designs hatched in London (which, if they had been
carried out, would have set all England in a flame) : next, he had
been the first to proclaim the Prince ; and then he had actually
been General of the English Forces. What could he plead in ex-
tenuation of these crimes ?

* Gentlemen,' I said presently, because it seemed to me as if they
were about to argue the case and conduct the whole trial to its
gloomy end, which would take all the day — ' Gentlemen, let me say
that my brother's case will not be bettered by our talking about it
beforehand. If on reflection you have any counsel which may
serve us in this juncture, pray bestow it upon us, but 'tis idle to
advise with a man upon trial for his life unless you have something
that may help. So, if you please, gentlemen, and as my brother
hath important affairs with me this day, I will ask you to leave him
now and kindly come again to-morrow.'

* Nay,' protested Tom — being, like most men, dull at seeing more
than plain words mean — * nay, my affairs may wait a day, Dorothy.
Wherefore, let us send for a tankard and *

* By your leave, brother,' I said, ' I have letters from the north
which may not be delayed.'

I spoke so earnestly that the three gentlemen rose, and, with
many promises to come again soon and comfort the prisoner,
retired.

'Now, Dorothy,' cried Tom testily, 'what the devil is this
wonderful business ? Cannot a man have a single half-hour with
his friends ?'

4 Friends ! Yes, Tom, they are valuable and worthy friends,
indeed, who egg on their companions to peril their lives and sit
down themselves. I warrant you they drink the Prince's health
every day. Oh, Tom ! what said my father ? That he gets best
out of the fray who goes in last. What said my lady ? Nay, I
reproach you not, Tom. You shall never say that I reproached
you. But — friends you call them ? Cowardly betrayers of brave
men, I call them. Colonel Oxbrough, at least, and Captain
Gascoigne cast in their lot with us, even though they deceived us
t?l. But this coffee-house loyalty ! Why. they would like nothing

298 DOROTHY FORSTER.

better than to sit together of an evening, and tell how they went to
see you hanged, drawn, and quartered, and how you looked th«
while. And, oh ! the pity of it 1 And what a gallant fellow was
there ! And so another pipe.'

* Why, Dorothy,' said Tom — but he shivered at mention of th«
word ' hanging ' — ' what ails the lass to-day ? Your colour comes
and goes, and why are you crying ?'

' I am crying, Tom,' I said, because, in truth, there were tears
and catching* of the breath, those outward signs of woman's weak-
ness and her agitation — ' I am crying, Tom, because I think that
you have done with such false friends for ever.'

' Devil take me,' he said, dropping into his chair, * if I know what
she means !'

' You shall soon know.' With this I lugged out my key. * This,
Tom,' I whispered, 'is nothing less than the master-key. With
this in your hand you can walk out whenever you please, that is,
whenever you are not likely to be seen and followed.'

He took the key from me, and looked at it as one might look at
a strange monster.

' The master-key,' he murmured. ' Why, then — I may cheat the
gibbet yet.'

' Oh ! Tom,' I seized him by the hand, * if ever there was an
occasion for prudence, it is this. Keep sober this evening if ever
you want to drink again. Your chance, very likely your only
chance, is to-night.'

I then told him that I had secured him a passage by an unsus-
pected ship ; that we had got horses ready, which should be waiting
at the stables of the Salutation Tavern, a short distance from the
prison, that night ; that I would be either outside the prison-gates
or with the horses.

'Dorothy,' he cried, changing countenance, 'is this thine own
doing, child ?'

He took me in his arms and kissed me, shedding tears, and
declaring that he was not worth the trouble that he caused the best
of sisters, as he chose to call me. But I would have no time wasted
in such tenderness.

' Think, Tom,' I said ; ' you have to make your opportunity.
Will you wait until the Governor is abed and asleep ?'

' Nay,' he said, ' there is also his man sits within the door all
night. There must be another way.'

I had not thought of the Governor's man. Yet I ought to have
known that the Governor would not be left alone in his own house.
Here was another and an unforeseen difficulty.

' It is the fellow they call Jonas,' said Tom.

* Jonas ?' I asked. ' Then we shall have no trouble with him.'
So I told Tom all, and how I had got the key.

4 Come,' he said, ' I think I see a way, but we must tell my man,
Thomas Lee. Thy brother, Dorothy, hath been truly a great fool :
but he has some mother-wit left.'

So we talked very earnestly for half an hour ; and when I went

TOAf'S ESCAPE.

299

out I found Jonas in the lobby, and told him what he was to do if
necessary. Then, all being arranged, I came away.

He who hath never contrived a plot cannot know the difficulties
of carrying it through. It was to be, first of all, my own design,
confided to none but Tom, and to him only at the last moment ; to
Mr. llilyard, and to him only in part : yet there were besides, the
captain, the turnkey, my brother's servant Tom Lee, and the black-
smith who made the key. Any one of these was enough to spoil
all. Truly, those who deal in conspiracies must go for ever in fear
and trembling, every man concerned knowing that he can purchase
a pardon by revealing the names of his associates.

In early March the days begin to lengthen. The sun is twelve
hours in the sky. We should have six hours at least of darkness
before us, supposing that it was eleven of the clock before Tom
found his way out. There was nothing meantime that I could do.

Then I sat down in my lodging and endeavoured to pass the time
chiefly in prayer, but who can pray except in ejaculations at such a
juncture ? This night would Tom be in safety, or else — presently
the gibbet, and his head on Temple Bar. Surely I thought, there
must be some doom upon the Forsters, so many misfortunes having
happened to them ; out of nine children not one left living, though
the eldest would not now be more than fifty-five ; the great Barn-
borough inheritance lost and sold ; the heir now lying (like to be
hanged) in Newgate, and his sister hoping only to secure his life by
a timely flight.

Oh ! long and weary hours, when one is waiting to learn the
issue ! My landlady, a good soul, though a Nonconformist and a
Whig, came to ask what she could do for me. I told her a false-
hood ; I said that I was going to my Lady Cowper, and should
perhaps remain with her for the night. So she left me. Presently,
because if one waits long enough, such a thing is sure to come at
last, the night fell.

At seven, Mr. Hilyard came. He said the horses would be
saddled and kept in readiness, the skipper being already in the
place, and under promise to keep sober, while to disarm suspicion
he had been himself cursing all gentlemen who sit late over their
bottle, when they should be up and on their way.

At eight, because I could no longer endure the waiting and
suspense, I dressed, putting on my warm hood and gloves and
having in my pocket my money, videlicet, a hundred guineas, of
which fifty were for the captain and fifty for Tom, to serve his
needs until we could send him more. Mr. Hilyard had girded on a
sword (he was mighty martial since the affair at Preston), and told
me he had placed two loaded pistols in his saddle. He carried a
roquelaire, and wore a short riding wig, in place of his own full-
bottomed perruque, and great boots. He also carried a huge
bludgeon for the admonition of Mohocks and street-scourers.

Thus equipped, we sallied forth, the time being about half-past
eight, the night clear and bright. Wt avoided the great broad field

3do DOROTHY FORSfER.

named after Lincoln's Inn, because of the highwaymen and thievei
who abound there, but by way of Little Queen Street emerged into
the broad highway called Hoi born, where there are continually until
a late hour passengers and carriages of all kinds. It is not a street
of good repute after dark, being frequented by the lawyers and wild
students of Gray's Inn, Barnard's Inn, Staple Inn, and Furnival's
Inn, besides on both sides having streets into which an honest man
may not venture, even by day, to say nothing of the night. The
road ends in a steep descent, called Snow Hill, on the south side of
which is the famous Fleet Market, and on the north, as Mr. Hilyard
told me, Chick Lane, Cow Lane, and other evil places where the
footpad and pickpocket lurk and live between their flogging?', and
until they meet their allotted end at Tyburn. At the bottom of
the hill you come to the prison, and the old gate standing across the
street. I know not which looked more gloomy in the moonlight —
the black stone prison in which so many brave fellows lay waiting
for their doom, or the dark City gate, beyond which lay the way of
our safety.

Opposite the prison, where the street narrows, is a row of stalls,
used by day for the sale of fish, fruit, and meat, but at night left
bare ; a row of bulkheads on which, I believe, in summer poor house-
less wretches, of whom there are so many in this great city, pass
their nights. But on this cold winter evening they were quite
deserted. The moon shone full upon the prison side of the street,
leaving this in darkness.

Mr. Hilyard led me into this dark side, behind the stalls, so that
we could see, without being seen, what went on in the street.

Nine o'clock struck from St. Sepulchre's Church — that church
which rings the knell for the departing souls of those who are on
their way to be hanged. The night was so cold that there were few
in the streets, and at nine it is late for honest folk, though early for
revellers. To me, standing hidden in the dark, the figures of those
who passed were like the figures that are seen in a dream. I
remember them all to this day — the sturdy citizen in broadcloth,
carrying his trusty staff ; the drunken fellow, who reeled from post
to post, shouting a song ; the young woman in a domino and a
gaudy dress ; the old constable, with his lantern and his staff ; the
wretched starving children who crept in and out among the bulk-
heads looking for something to eat— I remember every one.

Mr. Hilyard stood beside me, patient and silent. It was not till
after all was finished and done that I understood the extraordinary
faithfulness and loyalty of this man, who had not hesitated first to
hazard his life for a cause which he loved not, or an enterprise which
he knew from the beginning would be a failure, in gratitude to his
patron, whose favours he had already repaid tenfold by services such
as are rendered by few — else were this world made too happy. Then,
when he escaped, he did not fear to hazard his life a second time,
and that daily, by going to a place more fatal to rebels than Preston
itself had proved, and that in the most frightful weather, and en-
cumbered by a helpless woman. I say that I was so salfish as to

TOM'S ESCAPE. 301

accept these things as my just due, and only what one had a right
to look for, and as if all these services were to be given without a
murmur, and with a cheerful heart.

The clock struck the quarters — one, two, three, four. It was ten,
and no sign yet from the door of the Governor's house.

What happened within was as follows. When I left him, Tom
called for his servant, and they took counsel together. Now, it was
Tom's hospitable practice to desire the company of any gentlemen
within reach over his bottle of an evening. Therefore, his room
was nearly every night filled with guests from the prison, who drank
around, and fought their unlucky campaign over again. The ordi-
nary of Newgate was generally one of them ; the Governor of the
prison, Mr. Pitts, another ; and one or two of the prisoners who
occupied, with Tom, the Governor's room, also sat with him. This
evening Mr. Pitts came, according to custom, and Sir Francis Ander-
ton (a gentleman from Lancashire, who had the bad luck to join at
Preston the day before the fight). Fortunately there were no
others. Tom had arranged with his servant, Thomas Lee, that he
was to be drinking downstairs with Mr. Pitts' man, Jonas, and any
others, but that he should contrive to be left the last with Jonas ;
and, when they were alone, he was to invent some way in which it
should seem as if he had forcibly silenced the fellow. (I believe he
was to knock him on the head, if necessary ; but Jonas needed no
such extremity of persuasion.) Then he was to run upstairs and
let his master know that the coast was clear. Like master, like
man. While they drank port upstairs, downstairs they drank beer.
Below they drank so much, and they talked so long, that it was
eleven o'clock before they separated. Then Thomas Lee was left
alone with Jonas.

' Come, lad,' said he, * let's have another pot. Go draw it.'

The fellow (this being the plan agreed upon) took the jug and
went to the cellar-door, which, as soon as he reached, Lee shut
upon him (as had also been agreed between them), knocking him
down the cellar steps (which was not in the agreement). This
done, and Jonas sprawling on the floor below, Tom Lee made the
door fast with a peg above the latch.

Then he went softly up the stairs to his master's room, and
opening the door, peeped in. Sir Francis was talking at a great
rate, being somewhat disguised in wine ; Mr. Forster was sitting
opposite to him, and in a chair beside the door sat Mr. Pitts, the
Governor. But his face was purple with much wine, and his eyes
were heavy and stupid.

' Sir,' said Tom, seeing the servant at the door, ' another glass ; a
bumper. Why, the night is young, and we have another bottle at
least to finish.' So he poured out a brimming one, and gave it to
Mr. Pitts ; and because the Governor's hand was too unsteady
to carry the glass, Tom kindly lifted it to his lips. Mr. Pitts
drained it greedily ; his head fell back, his eyes closed and his
mouth open. Mr. Pitts was M drunk a» *my gentleman can desire
to be.

302 DOROTHY FORSTER.

1 1 am going to escape, Sir Francis,' said Tom calmly ; ' the way
is clear. Will you join company ?'

' Not I, General,' said Sir Francis. * I prefer to stay where I am
until they let me go. I doubt whether running away will serve me
so well as keeping still. Hang me they will not. Of that I have
assurance. And I would save my estate if I could. But if I were
you, I would go, and that as quickly as maybe.'

It was about half-past eleven when, to my unspeakable joy, the
door opened, and I saw Tom and the servant Lee standing in the
moonlight. There was not another person in the Old Bailey. I
rushed across and dragged him by the arm. ' Come, Tom ! hasten !'
I cried. •' Oh ! quick — quick !'

4 By your leave, sir,' said Lee. ' If we lock the door from the
outside, and leave the key in the lock, they will not be able to open
it from within.' And this he did.

Then we walked quickly away, my own heart beating. By good
luck we met no one in Newgate Street, though if we had I suppose
there would have been no notice taken of us. The stable-yard of
the Salutation Tavern was full of men, who were loading and un-
loading waggons, late as it was ; but this was better for us, because
it enabled our horses to be brought out without attracting notice.
Here I must not forget one thing. The night was very cold. Tom
was dressed in his ordinary grey cloth coat. Mr. Hilyard took off
his roquelaire and threw it over his shoulders, saying, ' This I
brought for your honour to wear,' and so went cold himself all that
night.

You may be sure we lost no time in mounting, and rode off
through the quiet streets, where the echo of our horses' feet seemed
to me like the ringing of alarm-bells. There were plenty of people
still in Cheapside, the London citizens caring little about late hours ;
they passed along the street behind the posts, but paid no heed to
the party who rode so late. I suppose it is not much more than
half a mile from Newgate Street to Aldgate ; but to me it seemed
ten miles, so slowly did the time pass ; and Mr. Hilyard whispering
continually :

* Go easy, sir ; seem not to be in haste ; in a few minutes we shall
be beyond the streets and in the open. Make no sign of haste.'

Tom rode in the middle, his roquelaire wrapped round him hiding
his face ; I on his right, in hood and cloak ; Mr. Hilyard on his left,
and, behind, our friend the skipper and the man Thomas Lee.

' Why,' said Tom, when at last we were in the open road, with
ifields on either side, and the stars above our heads were clear and
bright — ' why, I believe we may give them the slip yet ; what say
you, Tony ?'

' J say, sir,' replied Mr. Hilyard, ' that if your honour doth not
get off, it will be by some vile accident. But if you do, you must
thank Miss Dprothy for it, and no one else, except Lord Crewe, who
gave us the money.'

This was the night of the 6th of March, and will never be for-
gotten, because it was the .night ctf that dreadful appearance in the

TOM'S ESCAPE.

303

heavens, which frighted the whole of England, and none, I think,
more than the party who were riding as quickly as they could along
the road which leads from London to Leigh, through Tilbury. It
appeared in the north, and was at first like a black cloud, from
which there presently began to dart streaks or arrows of red, blue,
or pale fire. This dreadful spectacle lasted the whole night through,
but sometimes more terrible for awhile, and then growing low as a
fire which spends itself. Then it would light up again with flames
of all colours most frightful to see. As we rode through the
villages the people were all out in the roads dressed, and crying,
weeping, wringing their hands, or praying ; in more than one the
clergyman was exhorting the people to instant repentance and pre-
paration for death ; many, I heard afterwards, were frightened into
fits, and children were born before their time in consequence of the
universal terror, for none would believe but that they were gazing
upon the flames of hell, and that the end of the world was come.

* This cannot fail,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' to be a mark of Heaven's
displeasure, did we only know at what. For it may be that the
Lord is angry at the recent rebellion, or because it failed ; or at
the execution of the two lords, which seems probable ; or at the
accession of King George — and yet he is a Protestant ; or at the
flight of the Prince— but he is a Papist. If one could certainly tell
what was intended by this apparition, one might move all hearts to
do the will of the Lord. But as in oracles there is doubt, and in
the interpretation of the Word there is disagreement, so in such
matters as this appearance in the skies (which is indeed terrifying),
and in comets, shooting stars, meteors, and flaming swords in the
heavens, while we can have no doubt that they are intended by way
of warning and admonition to us all, I think that we must each read
and interpret the message for ourselves.'

4 Is it, Tony,' asked Tom, 4 the end of the world ? To be sure,
one would rather meet that awful event in the open than in the
Governor's House tippling with Mr. Pitts.'

4 1 think not,' replied Mr. Hilyard, * that it is yet the end of the
world, many prophecies remaining to be fulfilled.' I confess I felt
relief at this assurance. * Besides, we must remember that it is not
the first time by a great many that strange appearances have been
permitted in the heavens.'

He then began to while away the time, we now proceeding at a
steady trot along the deserted roads, by recalling some of the well-
known miraculous signs, as Constantino's cross, the fiery dragon of
Staffordshire, the double sun of Chatham, and so forth ; by means
of which, if he did not altogether allay our fears, he distracted our
thoughts, and in this way we arrived at the coast and little village
of Leigh. It is thirty-nine miles from London, but no large places
on the road except Barking, and, not to speak of the villagers whom
we found frightened in the streets, we met no one all the way from
Bow, and drew rein somewhere about four o'clock in the morning,
having ridden 'the distance in five hours, the roads good and hara,
and the night fine (except for that dreadful phenomenon in tho

304 DOROTHY FORSTER.

north). Thus far, then, had we succeeded almost beyond oar hopes,
At low tide the water runs out very far at Leigh, and leaves a long
bank of mud ; but now the tide was very high, and a fair wind from
the north-west, and though the moon was long since gone down,
there was plenty of light from the terrible fire in the north.

Half a dozen vessels lay off the coast, looking black against the
sky. Our skipper pointed to one at whose bows there hung two
lights.

' It is the vessel,' he said. ' There is my ship.'

There followed great whistling and shouting of ' Ship ahoy !' and
presently a little boat came rowing from her with one man aboard,
who pulled ashore.

* Now, sir,' said our captain.

4 The bargain stands,' said Mr. Hilyard, before the money was
handed over.

'Ay, ay— the bargain is right enough if the guineas are ready.'

* Here they are, then.'

Mr. Hilyard gave him the bag with the fifty guineas in it. He
opened it, looked at the contents, and put it in his pocket without
counting.

' Good,' he said. ' Now, sir, if your honour is to get aboard, the
sooner the better. The tide is on the ebb, and a fairer wind couldn't
be. If it holds, we shall be in Calais Harbour in eight hours.'

' Dorothy, said Tom, ' kiss me, my dear. I shall come back soon
— with the Prince. Take care of her, Tony. Why, the good days
shall come back again. Many a bottle shall we crack together yet ;
many a song you shall sing for us. Farewell — oh ! Dorothy, think
not I am ungrateful because I say little. There is not another
woman in the world who would do so much for her brother, I think.
Thy hand again, Tony. Take care of her, I say.'

And with that he stepped into the boat with his man, and they
were gone. We stood upon the shore and watched. Presently we
heard a yo-hoing — they were hauling up the anchor then the ship
began to drift slowly into the mid-channel ; the sails were set, and
filled out in the breeze ; the vessel slipped out of our sight, and
was gone.

I fell upon my knees, while Mr. Hilyard, taking off his hat,
solemnly thanked God. Behind us, as we offered this humble
service of gratitude and praise, the awful fire in the northern sky
darted its arrows of fire like lightnings to and fro. Then, without
baiting, we mounted again and rode back together, leaving the
other three horses to stray where they listed. Our work was almost
done. There remained one thing more — to put the messengers on a
false scent in case of the vessel being delayed off the Nore by a
contrary wind. ' For,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' this wind may drop or
chop round : any such accident may happen. His honour is not
safe until he is on French soil. Let us, therefore, go seek the
villain at Wapping, who looks to receive the reward and then to
betray us.'

At Barking I was fain to cry a halt, and must needs rest. It waj

TOM'S ESCAPE. 305

then past six o'clock, and already daylight. I was in those days as
strong as most young women, bnt a whole night in the saddle, after
the weariness and anxiety of the day, vis sufficient excuse for any-
one to be tired.

After two or three hours' rest I was able to ride on to Wapping.
We found the fellow we were in search of, and deceived him with
the expectation of taking Mr. Forster, whose name we gave him,
on board the next day. So successful was this deception, and so
correct was Mr. Ililyard's estimate of the man, that on his informa-
tion messengers were sent to Wapping to lie in wait for the escaped
prisoner, for whose capture they offered a thousand pounds. But
before a week passed we had a letter from Tom. He was safe in
France, and proposed to go to Bar-ie-Duc, where the Prince was hold-
ing his Court

Thus was 1 suffered, by the mercy of Heaven, to save my brother's
life. * Child,' said Lady Cowper, ' be assured that we all rejoice.
Your brother could not be pardoned. If any were to suffer, needs
must that the General be one. Lucky he is in having such a sister.
I have told the Princess whose wit it was that set the bird free, and
she laughed. As for yourself, rest easy, my dear. There will no
harm happen to thee.'

CHAPTER XL.

THE END.

So all was done, and Tom was saved. The fate of poor mad Jack
Hall and the Reverend Mr. Paul, not to speak of Colonel Oxbrough
and Captain Gascoigne, sufficiently proved what his end would have
been had we failed to effect Lis rescue. As regards the rest of the
English gentlemen condemned (I say nothing about those of Scot-
land), all those who were brought to London escaped the hangman.
Some, among whom were Mr. Gibson of Stonecroft, and my old
lover, Ned Swinburne — poor boy ! — died in Newgate ; others ob-
tained a pardon. Among these were Perry Widdrington, Mr.
Standish, and Mr. Errington, of my own friends. Others escaped,
among whom especially was Charles Radcliffe. But those who were
pardoned and those who escaped live in poverty, having been mostly
stripped of their estates ; so that the end of this most unhappy
enterprise hath been to deprive the Prince of all his best friends in
that part of England where formerly he was most powerful. It is
true ihat we are still, and always shall be, loyal ; but when this
Prince comes again, of which I hear nothing of late, where will be
the leaders ? Dilston lies neglected, falling into ruin ; the Countess
is dead ; her son is dead ; Charles Radcliffe, to whom it now belongs,
is in exile. Lord Widdrington is living, but he is now grown old,
and his estates and rank have been taken from him. Far better had
they all, as Lady Crewe counselled, sat down in peace until the
nation should call the Prince to his own again. This Mr. Hilyard
thinks will certainly be done if the young man, now eighteen years
old in this year of grace seventeen hundred and thirty-nine, consent*

20

3o6 DO ROTH Y FORSTER.

to beome a Protestant. But a Papist King tbis country, he says,
will never endure, nor look to preserve tbe Church by a Catholic
Head. As well expect the Church and our Protestant liberties to
be preserved if the Archbishop of Canterbury were a Cardinal, and
his brother bishops Grand Inquisitors, Papal Nuncios, and Italian
priests !

It remains to tell of our return journey. We came to London
in disguise, but we went home openly. We came in sadness and
fearful expectation, through snow and ice, beaten by the fierce
blast from the north, as by the breath of the Lord's displeasure.
We went back again through the soft sunshine and the gentle rains
of April, the flowers springing under our feet, the tender leaves
shining, the birds singing in every bosky grove, the little lambs
dancing in the meadows. My heart, which can never again be
merry for thinking of that noble head laid low on Tower Hill, was,
at least, full of gratitude, because Tom was safe across the seas.

After some days of riding we came to Stene, where I proposed
to give Lord Crewe an account of my stewardship. The sunshine
of spring had warmed the old man's heart. He was walking, when
we arrived, on his terrace, leaning on the arm of his chaplain.
He laughed when he saw me, striking the ground with his stick.

* Ho ! ho ! It is fair Dorothy,' he cried ; ' Dorothy, who breaks
prison-bars and picks the locks, and sets the prisoners free ! Come,
kiss me, child ! I have heard, and I rejoice. Tom was a fool ;
but we, who have the misfortune to own fools in the family, love
not that they should be hanged for their folly. Why, thou art
looking ten years younger — more like my own Dorothy, poor crea-
ture ! when I married her. Stay with me awhile, child. Let thy
sweet looks comfort my old heart, which is lonely. David in his
age was permitted to find comfort in Abigail. Stay awhile and
rest. And you, Sir Terras Filius — ah, villain ! — shall stay too, to
tell me of all that hath chanced.'

We stayed with the good Bishop for six weeks. Every day, at
dinner, Mr. Hilyard related something new concerning the Rebel-
lion, its progress, and its downfall. Also he had much to say
concerning London and the coffee-house loyalists and the mob.
In the evening I played music to his lordship, or listened to his
grave and learned talk. There was no need to hurry northwards,
where cold cheer, indeed, awaited us. When the time came that
we should go on our way, my lord held with me a long and earnest
discourse. First, he asked if I wished to return to my father's
house, or would continue at the Manor House. I told him that as
I had lived for many years in my grandfather's house, there would
I wish still to live, and to sit in the chancel, and think myself one
of the Bamborough Forsters ; and that out of no disrespect for my
father, but only because of her ladyship's affecticn and kindness,
and because Tom loved Bamborough better than Etherston, and,
lastly, because I could not live happily, being now a woman past
five-and-twenty years, and no mere child to be rebuked by madam,
my father's wi|e.

THE ENL>.

307

Thereupon the Bishop sat gravely thinking for awhile, aiid
presently said that he should give orders for the house to be main-
tained for me, with a sufficient yearly sum of money, as long as I
lived, or remained single ; and if 1 married, then it would be his
pleasure to provide for me an honourable marriage-portion, in
memory and for the sake of his dear wife, who, had she lived,
would have done as much, or more, for me, being, as had been
abundantly proved, always most tender for her own family, and
also in token of his own admiration for what he was pleased to
call my courage and resolution in the conduct of Tom's escape.
concerning which he everyday spoke as if it was some wonderful
thing I had done, whereas, had it not been for the use of his
money, and for Mr. Hilyard's zeal, and Purdy the blacksmith, I
could have effected nothing. It pleased the Bishop, also, though
he was so rich a man, that the escape had cost him so little.

Well, I thanked his lordship in words as respectful and as
grateful as I could command, and told him that, as for a marriage-
portion, I desired none, because it was my resolution never to
marry, but to live a single life.

4 That,' said the Bishop, ' is easy to say, but hard to do. Never-
theless, whether thou marry or do not marry — but upon this head
see what Paul hath written clearly. Why, child, is no man to be
made happy by thy beauty?'

4 Because, my lord,' I said, ' I was once honoured by the love of
the most noble heart in all the world. I could not marry him,
\nd he is now dead ; but beside his memory all other men look

To this he made no reply for awhile ; but presently he said,
looking upon me tenderly :

* Nay, if the memory of a dead man be of such force — but re-
member, child, he was not thy husband, nor could ever be. Think
of him if thou wilt, but — well, I doubt not of thy piety.'

He then informed me that had things gone otherwise, it was his
intention to settle all the Bamborough estates upon his wife for
her lifetime, and after death upon Tom and his heirs, but entailed,
so that he could not part with any ; that now, however, it was
useless to bequeath anything to an outlaw ; besides, he could not
forgive Tom, first, for meddling with conspirators, he being a
simple country gentleman ; next, for rashly taking up arms with-
out the least provision of money, war materials, or men ; thirdly,
for the lame and miserable conclusion of the enterprise ; and,
lastly, for the anxiety and trouble all this business had caused to
his wife, whereof she fell ill and died.

' He hath made his bed,' said the Bishop. ' Let him lie upon it.
" It is as wport," said the wise man, yea, " as sport to a fool to do
mischief ; but a man of understanding hath wisdom." '

Next, he told me that he had considered the case of Mr. Hilyard.

'He is,' said my lord, ' a man of singular honesty, fidelity, and
affection. I have learned that he served Tom for many years for
tio reward, giving up the yearly wage promised him rather than

308 DOROTHY FORSTER.

deprive his patron of certain pleasures. I might continue him as
steward of the estate ; but I am old, and may expect my departure
any day. Therefore, I am resolved upon ordaining him ; and, if I
live long enough, and he prove worthy, I will advance him to pre-
ferment. Would that all my clergy were as learned and as pious
as this man of parts and wit, this Terrae Filius whom they expelled
from my own college !'

Indeed, during our stay at Stene, Mr. Hilyard, by the stories
which he told, the learning he displayed, and that admirable
quality of his which enabled him to adapt his conversation to the
taste and opinions of his company, made the Bishop think so
favourably of him that the very next year, when he was advanced
from deacon's to priest's orders, he made him a canon of Durham,
which dignified position Mr. Hilyard still occupies, an ornament
and pillar to the Church. He sings no more, except anthems,
several of which, very stately and moving, he hath composed for
the quire of the Cathedral ; nor does he laugh any more, or play
antic tricks, being now, indeed, fully possessed with the gravity
and dignity of his sacred office \ and, besides, he is now past fifty
years of age.

He spends most of his time in Bamborough, so as to be near me,
knowing how great a solace to me is his company. We walk
together upon the sands, or we wander together, as in the old
days, among the ruins of our brave old castle. We talk of the
time when I was a little girl and Tom a brave and gallant youth,
leaping across the rocks of Fame. The sea breaks upon those
lonely rocks, and the wild-fowl scream ; but Tom lies dead in the
Bamborough vault. Last year I made a boatman take me across,
and sat within the broken walls of St. Cuthbert's Chapel a whole
summer's morning through, thinking of the past.

So here have I lived since May, 1716, retired, but not lonely.
My father is dead, and madam, and her son Ralph, my half-
brother ; and my brother John now reigns at Etherston. He is
not yet married ; and, if he hath no children, there will soon be
no Forsters at Etherston any more than at Bamborough. The
friends of my youth are scattered or dead ; the old noisy life,
with the holloas of the f oxhunters and the merry laugh of the lads
going out on horseback, has gone far away from this quiet place ;
but the castle remains, and within its crumbling walls I can walk
alone and meditate, whether in the calm days when the sunshine
lies upon the quiet sea, or when the waves dash along the coast,
and the spray flies from the rocks into my face. In the evening
Mr. Hilyard is often my companion, and we read, converse, and
have sweet music together. I hear nothing more of any plots, and
I ask no longer concerning the voice of the country as regards
the Prince. Yet from long habit, and because he is our lawful
Sovereign, I drink daily, as in duty bound, a glass of wine to the
health of King James.

A strange thing I learned lately through Mr. Hilyard, who
came upon a camp of gipsies, and conversed with them. It wa.s

THE END 309

of Jenny Lee. After the death of Frank, he told me, Jenny
became careless of her acting, and took no more delight in the
theatre ; and one day she sold all her jewels and the fine presents
her friends and suitors had given her, and so went back to her own
people, preferring to wander with them, and dwell in tents and
under carts, rather than live any more in towns. Thus broke out
the wild gipsy blood ; and now she sits among the wise women,
wiser herself than any, and tells fortunes, reads hands, and practises
sorcery. A strange creature, truly. Can there be born men and
women without souls ?

But I have never seen her, nor hath Mr. Hilyard, since Frank
Radcliffe's death, and I do not think she will come to our part of
the country.

Once Mr. Hilyard asked me if I remained still of the same mind
as to marriage. I knew what he meant, and am deeply grateful
to him for all that he hath done for me, therefore I hastened to
assure him of my constant and sincere respect and affection for
him ; but, as regards the subject of marriage, my mind was the
same, and I asked of Heaven nothing more than a continuance of
his company, his prayers, and his pious counsels until the end,
which will not be long, perhaps, for the Forsters do never live,
any of them, like many of this county, to eighty or a hundred
years. He accepted my answer, and we have spoken of the subject
no more ; but he continueth, as always, my most faithful and
loving friend.

FINIS.

31* DOROTHY FORSTER.

POSTSCRIPTUM.
(WRITTEN BY THE REVEREND ANTONY HILYARD, CANON of

DURHAM.)

ON the evening of February 24th in this year, seventeen hundred
And thirty-nine, there died the sweetest, the most virtuous, and the
most pious of all Christian women, namely, my friend and mistress,
Dorothy Forster, somewhere about the fiftieth year of her age.
She had been growing thin and somewhat ailing for many months
since she heard the news of her brother's death in France, for she
always longed and prayed that he might return ; and, when we
buried his body in the church, she said, speaking in prophecy, that
she should soon follow him. The winter set in early, and was
colder than is common with us. This made her cough trouble-
some ; but yet I hoped that she would prove strong enough to
throw it off. On the Sunday before she died we walked to church
together, though she should properly have stayed within her house
by the fireside ; but it was Communion day, and she wished to
join in that solemn rite. The church was cold, and I suppose it
struck a chill to her, for she took to her bed in the afternoon ;
and although at first we thought light of it, she never got up
agai-n.

All the morning of her last day I sat at her bedside, reading to
her first the Office of the Sick ; next, at her desire, that chapter of
Corinthians which is ordered for the funeral service, and after-
wards I expounded to her, with such earnestness as I could, some
of the reasons of our faith, and quoted for her solace certain
thoughts of our Divines upon the happiness of those who die
penitent, forgiven, and fortified by the last offices of the
Church.

About two of the clock she fell into a gentle slumber, and I left
her for awhile, thinking that she would awake stronger. But at
three or thereabouts I was called by her maid to come quickly, for
her mistress was dying.

Alas ! she was, yet not so quickly but that I had time to ad-
minister the Holy Sacrament to her, and to receive her parting
commands.

' This is the day,' she said, ' twenty-six years ago, that Lord Der-
weptwater suffered. It ie strangely order sd that I should also die

POSTSCRIPTUAf. 311

on this day. Perhaps before the sun goes down I may be standing
beside him.'

* It is a sure mark,' I told her, ' that Heaven approves the sweet
remembrance and kindly affection which you ever entertained
towards his lordship.'

* Why,' she said, in her simple way, * did ho not once love me ?
Could I ever forget so great an honour ? Dear friend, do one
thing more to pleasure me, you who have done so much. It will
be the last time that I shall trouble you to do anything more for
me.'

Would to God that I could have done a thousand !

' When I am dead, take from my finger this ring, which I wear
night and day. He bade the Countess give it me. Then look in
ray desk, and you will find the verses he once wrote to me. Wrap
both ring and verses together, and lay them on my heart when I
am in my coffin. Farewell, dear, kind, and true friend.'

So she died, and with her died all my joy, or most of it, because
a man should be so far resigned to Heaven's will as still to find
pleasure in the noble wines of France and Spain, and the many
other excellent gifts which have been vouchsafed for our use.
'Twere sinful not to partake of them ; but the gentle companion,
the pious, sincere soul, whose presence always uplifted my heart
and banished thoughts sordid, mean, and impure, as the presence
of an angel maketh devils to flee — she is gone ! Alas 1 How can
one be worthy to follow after her, and sit with her where she sits
in the calm and happy bliss which awaits such as her ? I buried
with her the verses and the ring. But as regards the former I had
many compunctions, and hope that the sin of deceit will not be
laid to my charge, because the verses, which she always thought to
be written by his lordship, were indeed written by myself ; but I
had never the heart to tell her this, seeing that she loved him so
well, and took such pleasure in the foolish trifling rhymes (which
yet seem to me, their author, not without some merit). Ah ! how
pretty, how heavenly sweet she was in those days when I wrote
them !

Latterly she grew thin in the face, but always sweet-faced, with
those soft sorrowful eyes which come to women who go in mourn-
ing for past happiness, and to my thinking always the most
beautiful woman in all the world. Now when she died, a thing
happened to her concerning which I have read, but never hoped to
witness it. For by a singular grace and favour bestowed upon
those who loved her (I cannot account it as anything less), the face
of her youth returned to her while she lay in the coffin, so that she
looked like nothing in the world so much as a sweet sculptured
angel, her lips half parted in a gracious smile, and on her brow a
perfect rest and content ; and seeing this miracle, I knew without
doubt she was happy at length, and where she would wish to be.
Yes ; as she was in her youth, save for that sweet rose of colour on
her cheek (I remember how the dainty pink would come and go
while she waited for my lord on tho mooit of Blanchland, QP

312 DOROTHY FORSTER.

walked beside him upon the flowery bank of Derwent). The colooi
was gone with her soul to gladden again the hearts of those who
loved her and had gone before. Ah ! sweet modest blush ! What
did I say of it ?

'See wheie it lies round lips and eyes,
And fades away, again to spring,
No lover, sure, could ask for more

Than still to cry, and still to sing :
Oh, sweet ! oh, fair ! beyond compare,

Are I>aphne's cheeks,
Are Daphne's blushing cheeks, I

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Translated by Sir HENRY ATTWELL.
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Melancholy Anatomised : Abridgment of BURTON.
Poetical Ingenuities. By W. T. DOBSON.
The Cupboard Papers. By FIN-BEC.
W. 8. Gilbert's Plays. Three Series.
Bongs of Irish Wit and Humour.
Animals and their Masters. By Sir A. HELPS.
Social Pressure. By Sir A. HELPS.
Curiosities of Criticism. By H. J. JENNINGS.
The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table. By OLIVER

WENDELL HOLMES.
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Little Essays : from LAMB'S LETTERS.
Forensic Anecdotes. By JACOB LARWOOD.

Theatrical Anecdotes. By JACOB LARWOOD.
Witch Stories. By E. LYNN LINTON.
Ourselves. By E. LYNN LINTON.
Pastimes and Players. By R. MACGREGOR.
New Paul and Virginia. By W. H. MALLOCK.
The New Republic. By W. H. MALLOCK.
Puck on Pegasus. By H. C. PENNELL.
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Muses of May/air. Edited by H. C. PENNELL.
Thoreau : His Life and Aims. By H. A. PAGE.
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The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table.

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
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Provincial Letters of Blaise Pascal.
Maxims and Reflections of Rochefoucauld.

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Seven Sleepers of Ephesus. M. E. COLERIDGE. Monte Carlo Stories. By JOAN BARRETT.
Taken from the Enemy. By H. NEWBOLT. I Black Spirits and White. By R. A. CRAM.

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Citation and Examination of William Shakspeare. | Christie Johnstone. By CHARLES READE.

By W. S. LANDOR. Peg Woffington. By CHARLES READE.

The Journal of Maurice de Guerin. ' The Dramatic Essays of Charles Lamb.

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The Barber's Chair, By DOUGLAS J ERROLD.
Gastronomy. By BRILLAT-SAVARIN.

The Epicurean, &c. By THOMAS MOORE.
Leigh Hunt' « Essays, Edited by E, OLLiiiR.

White's Natural History of Selborne.
Gulliver's Travels, &c. By Dean SWIFT.
Plays by RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.
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Thomson's Seasons. Illustrated.
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THE PICCADILLY NOVELS.

LIBRARY EDITIONS or NOVELS, many Illustrated, crown 8vo, cloth extra, 35. 6<f. each.

By Mrs. ALEXANDER.

By WILK1H COLLINS.

A Life In | Mona s Choice.

Armadale. f AfterDark.

The Frozen Deep.

By Woman's Wit.

No Name.

The Two Destinies.

By F. M. ALLEN.

Antonina.
Basil.

The Law and the Lady.
The Haunted Hotel.

Green as Grass.

Hide and Seek.

The Fallen Leaves.

By GRAN

Philistia.
Strange Storiea.
Babylon.
For Maimle s Sake,
In all Shades.
The Beckoning Hand.
The Devil's Die.
This Mortal Coll.

T ALLRN.

The Great Taboo.
Dumaresq's Dnughter.
Duches* of Powyslaiid.
Blood Royal.
Ivan Greet's Master-
piece.
The Scallywag.
At Market Value.

The Dead Secret.
Queen of Hearts.
My Miscellanies.
The Woman in White.
The Moonstone.
Man and Wife.
Poor Miss Finch.
Miss or Mrs. 7
The New Magdalen.

Jezebel's Daughter.
rii- B:.-i.-k K.A.-
Heart and Science.
• I Say No.'
Little Novels.
The Evil Geninir.
The Legacy of C.iln.
A Rogue's Life.
Blind Love.

The Tents of Shem.

Under Sealed Orders.

By E. H. COOPER.

By MARY ANDERSON.

Othello's Occupation.

By EDWIN L. ARNOLD.

Phra the f hoenician. | Constable of St. Nicholas.

By ROBERT BARR.

In a Steamer Chair. | From Whose Bourne.

By FRANK BARRETT.

The Woman of the Iron Bracelets.
The Harding Scandal.

Geoffory Hamilton.

By V. CECIL COTES.

Two Girls on a Barge.

By C. EGBERT CRADDOCK.

His Vanished Star.

By H. N. CRELLIN.

Romances of the Old Seraglio.

By MATT CR1M.

The Adventures of a Fair Rebel.

8

By S. R. CROCKETT and others.

By 'BELLE.'

Tales of Our Coast.

Vathtl and Esther.

By B. M.

CROKER

By Sir W. BESA

Rer.Jy-MoneyMortiboy.
V. Little Girl.

NT and J. RICE.

By Celia s Arbour.
Chap ain of the Fleet.

IMr.na Barrington.
Proper Pride.
A Family Likeness.

Village Tales A Jangle
Tragedies.
The Real Lady m'd».

W.th Harp and Crown.
This Son of Vulcan.

The Seamy Side.
The Case of Mr. Lncraft.

Prettv Miss Neville.
A Bird of Passage.

Man led or Single?
Two Masters.

The Golden Butterfly.

In Trafalgar s I'ay.

'To Let.' | Mr. Jervia.

In theKi.igdom of Kerry

The Monks of Thelema. The Ten Years' Tenant.
By Sir WALTER BESANT.

By WILLIAM CYPLES.

Hearts of Gold.

All Sorts and Condi-
tions of Men.
The Captains' Room.

The Revolt of Man.
The Bell of St. Paul's.
The Holy Rose.

By ALPHONSE DAUDET.

The Evangelist ; or, 1'ort Salvation.

All in a Garden Fair.

Armor*! of Lyonesse.

By H. COLEM^

IN DAVIDSON.

Dorothy Forster.
Uncle Jack.

S. Katherine's bv Tower
Verbena Camellia Ste-

Mr. Sadler's Daughters.

The World Went Very

phanotis.

By E RASA! I

S DAWSON.

Woll Then.

The Ivor? Gate.

The Fountain of Youth

Children of Gibeon.
Hcrr Paulus.

The Rebel Queen.
Beyond the Dreams of

By JAMES

DE MILLE.

For Faith and Freedom.

Avarice.

A Castle in Spain.

To Call Her Mine. The Master Craftsman.

By. J. LEITH DERWENT.

By PAUL BOURGET.

Cur Lady of Tears.

Circe's Lovers.

A Living Lie.

By DICK DONOVAN.

By ROBERTBUCHANAN.

Tracked to Doom.

The Mystery of Jamaica

Shadow of the Sword.

The New Abe ard.

Man from Manchester.

Terrace.

A Child of Nature.

Matt. | Rachrl Dene.

The Chronicles of Micha

el Dane v itch.

G<HI and the M;ia.
:om of Madeline
1 :<- for Ever.

Master of tin Vine.
The H ir of i.iu«e.
Woman anl th* M n.

By A. CONAN DOYLE.

The Firm of Ghd'ettone.

.v'ater.
Foxglove Manor.

Red and Whi t e ileather.
La-iy Kilpatrick.

By S. JEANNETTE DUNCAN.

A Daughter of To dav Vprnon'B Aunt.

ROP. BUCHANAN & HY. MURRAY.

The Chariatan.

By J. MITCHELL CHAPPLE.

f he Minor Chord.

By HALL CAINE.

The Shadow of a Crime, i The Deemster.
A Eon of Hagar.

By G. MANVILLE FENN.

The New Mutress. I The Tiger Uly .

Witness to the Deed. | The White Virgin.

By PERCY FITZGERALD.

Fatal Ztro.

By R. E. FRANCILLON.

B

The Red

MACLAREN COBBAN.

u.t..n. | The Burden of Isabel.

By MORT. & FRANCES COLLINS.

Transmigration. i From Midnight to Mid-

Blacksmith & Scholar. night.

The Village Comedy. You Play me False.

One by One.
A Dog and his Shadow.
A Real Queen.

Prefaced by Sir 0

Pandurong Hari.

BY EDWARI

Tho Capcl Qtrli.

Ropesof Sand.
Jack Doyle s Daughter.

ARTLE FRERE.
) GARRETT.

28

CHATTO & WINDUS, in St. Martin's Lane, London, W.C.

THE PICCADILLY (3/6) NOVELS— continued.

By PAUL GAULOT.

The Red Shirts.

By CHARLES GIBBON.

Robin Gray. I The Golden Shaft.

Loving a Dream.

By E. GLANVILLE.

The Lost Heiress. I The Fossicker.

A Fair Colonist. | The Golden Eock.

By E. J. GOODMAN.

The Fate of Herbert Wayne.

By Rev. S. BARING GOULD.

Red Spider. | Eve.

By CECIL GRIFFITH.
Corinthia Marazion.

By SYDNEY GRUNDY.
The Days of his Vanity.

By THOMAS HARDY.
Under the Greenwood Tree.

By BRET HARTE.

A Waif of the Plains.
A Ward of the Golden
Gate. [Springs.

A Sappho of Green
Col. Star bottle's Client.
Susy. | Sally Dows.
Bell-Ringer of Angel's.

A Protegee of Jack

Hamlin's.
Clarence.
Barker's Luck.
Devil's Ford, [celsior.'
The Crusade of the ' Ex-
Three Partners.

By JULIAN HAWTHORNE.

Beatrix Randolph.

David Poindexter's Dis-
appearance.

The Spectre of the
Camera.

Garth.

Ellice Quentin.

Sebastian Strome.

Dust.

Fortune's Fool.

By Sir A. HELPS.
Ivan de Biron.

By I. HENDERSON.
Aga tha Page.

By G. A. HENTY.
Rujub the Juggler. I Dorothy's Double.

By JOHN HILL.

The Common Ancestor

By Mrs. HUNGERFORD.

Lady Verner's Flight. A Point of Conscience.
The Red House Mystery Nora Creina.
The Three Graces. An Anxious Moment.

Professor s Experiment. | April's Lady.

By Mrs. ALFRED HUNT.
The Leaden Casket. I Self Condemned.
That Other Person. | Mrs. Juliet.

By C. J. CUTCLIFFE HYNE.

Honour of Thieves.

By R. ASHE KING.

A Drawn Game. | • The Weaiing of the Green.'

By EDMOND LEPELLETIER.

Madame Sans Gene.

By HARRY LINDSAY.

P.hoda Roberts.

By HENRY W. LUCY.
Gideon Fleyce

By E. LYNN LINTON.

Patricia Kemball
Under which Lord?
' My Love I ' | lone.
Paston Carew.
Sowing the Wind.

The Atonement of Learn

Dundas.

The World Well Lost.
The One Too Many.
Dulcie Everton.

By JUSTIN MCCARTHY.

A Fair Saxon
Linley Rochford.
Dear Lady Disdain.
C imiola

Waterdale Neighbours.
My Enemy's Daughter.
liiU Misanthrope.

By JUSTIN H. MCCARTHY.
A London Legend. | The Royal Christopher.

By GEORGE MACDONALD.
Heather and Snow. | Phantasies.

Donna Quixote.

Maid of Athens.

The Comet of a Season.

The Dictator.

Red Diamonds.

The Riddle Bing.

By L. T. MEADE.

A Soldier of Fortune. I The Voice of the
In an Iron Grip. | Charmer.

By LEONARD MERRICK.

This Stage of Fools.

By BERTRAM MITFORD.

The King's Assegai.
Renshaw Fanning'!

The Gun-Runner.
The Luck of Gerard
Ridgeley. Quest.

By J. E. MUDDOCK.
Maid Marian and Robin Hood.
Basile the Jester. | Young Lochinvar.

By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY.

Cynic Fortune.
The Way of the World.
BobMartin's Little Girl.
Time's Revenges.
A Wasted Crime.
In Direit Peril.
Mount Despair.
A Capful o Nails.

A Life's Atonement.
Joseph's Coat.
Coals of Fire.
Old Blazer's Hero.
Val Strange. | Hearts.
A Model Father.
By the Gate of the Sea.
A Bit of Human Nature.
First Person Singular.

By MURRAY and HERMAN.
The Bishops' Bible. I Paul Jones's Ali;u.
One Traveller Returns. |

By HUME NISBET.
' Bail Up I '

By W. E. NORRIS.
Saint Ann's. | Billy Belle w.

By G. OHNET.
A Weird Gift.

By Mrs. OLIPHANT.
The Sorceress.

By OUIDA.

Held in Bondage.

Strathmore.

Chandos.

Under Two Flags.

Idalia. [Gage.

Cecil Castlemaine s

Tricotrin. | Puck.

Folle Farine.

A Dog of Flanders.

Pascarel. | Signa.

Princess Napraxine.

Ariadne.

Two Little Wood«tt

InaWinterCity.LShoea

Friendship.

Moths. | Ruffino.

Pipistrello.

A Village Commune.

Bimbi. | Wanda.

Frescoes. | Othmar.

In Maremma.

Byrlin. | Guilderoy.

Santa Barbara.

Two Offenders.

By MARGARET A. PAUL.

Gentle and Simple.

By JAMES PAYN.

High Spirits.
Under One Roof.
Glow-worm Ta'.es.
The Talk of the Town.
Holiday Tasks.
For Cash Only.
The Burnt Million.
The Word and the Will.
Sunny Stories.
A Trying Patient.

Lost Sir Massmgberd.
Less Black than We're

Painted.

A Confidential Agent.
A Grape from a Thorn.
In Peril and Privation.
The Mystery of Mir-
By Proxy. [bridge.
The Canon's Ward.
Walter's Word.

By WILL PAYNE.
Jerry the Dreamer.

By Mrs. CAMPBELL PRAED.
Outlaw and Lawmaker. I Mrs. Tregaskiss.
Christina Chard.

By E. C. PRICE.
Valentina. | Foreigners. I Mrs. Lancaster's Rival.

By RICHARD PRYCE.
Miss Maxwell's Affections.

By CHARLES READE.

Peg Woffington ; and
Christie Johnstone.

Hard Cash.

Cloister <fc the Hearth.

Never Too Late to Mend

The Course of True
Love Never Did Run
Smooth ; and Single-
heart andDoubleface.

Autobiography of a
a Thief; Jack of all
Trades ; A Hero and
a Martyr ; and The
Wandering Heir.

Griffith Gaunt.

Love Me Little, Love

Me Long.

The Double Marriage.
Foul Play. [Place.

Put Yourself in His
A Terrible Temptation.
A Simpleton.
A Woman-Hater.
The Jilt. & otherStories ;

&Good Stories of Men

and other Animals.
A Perilous Secret.
Readiana; and Eible

Characters.

CHATTO & WINDUS, in St. Martin's Lane, l.ond. n, W.C. 29

THE PICCADILLY (?/(V) NOVKI.S— continued.

By Mrs. J. H. RIDDELL.

Weird Stories.

By AMELIE RIVES.

Barbara Dering.

By F. W. ROBINSON.

The Hands of Justice. | Woman in the Dark.

By DORA RUSSELL.

A Country Sweetheart. | The Drift of Fate.

By W. CLARK RUSSELL.

Round the Galley Fire.

My Shipmate touiae.
Alone on Wide Wide Sea
The Phantom Death.
Is He the Man 1
The Good Ship 'Mo-

hock.'

The Convict Ship.
Heart of Oak.
The Tale of the Ten.

In the Middle Watch.
A Voyage to the Cape.
Book for the Hammock.
The Mystery of the

' Ocean Star.'
The Romance of Jenny

Harlowe
An Ocean Tragedy.

By JOHN SAUNDERS.
Gay Waterman. I The Two Dreamers.

£ound to the Wheel. | The Lion in the Path.

By KATHARINE SAUNDERS.
Margaret and Elizabeth I Heart Salvage,
cideon s Rock. Sebastian.

The High Mills.

By ADELINE SERGEANT.
Dr. Endlcott's Experiment.

By HAWLEY SMART.
Without Love or Licence, i Long Odds
The Master of Rathkelly. | The Outsider.

By T. W. SPEIGHT.
A Secret of the Sea. I The Master of Tremnce
The Grey Monk. | A Minion of the Moon.

By ALAN ST. AUBYN.

A Fellow of Trinity.
The Junior Dean.
Master of St.Benedict's.
To his 0\vn Master.

In Face of the World.

Orchard Damerel.

The Tremlett Diamonds.

By JOHN STAFFORD.

Doris and I.

By R. A. STERNDALI .
The Afghan Knife.

By BERTHA THOMAS.
Proud Maisle. | The Violin Flavor.

By ANTHONY TROI I
The Way we Live Now. I Scarborough s Family
Frau Frohmann. | The Land Leaguers.

By FRANCES E. TROLLOP!!.
Like Ships upon the I Anne Furness.
Sea. Mabel's Progres

By IVAN TURGEN1EFF, &
Stories from Foreign Novelists.

By MARK TWAIN.

ess
c.

A Tramp Abroad.
The American Claimant.
The£1.0CO,000 Bank note

Tom Sawyer Abroad.
Puddnheid Wilson.
Tom Sawyer. Detective.

By C. C. FRASER-TYTLER.

Mistress Judith.

By SARAH TYTLER.
Lady Bell. I The Blackball Ghosts.

Buried Diamonds. The Macdonild Lass.

By ALLEN UPWARD.
The Queen against Owen | The Prince of BalkisUa

By E. A. VIZETELLY.

The Scorpion : A Romance of Spain.

By WILLIAM WESTALL.
Sons of Belial.

By ATHA WESTBURY.
The Shadow of Hilton Fernbrook.

By JOHN STRANGE WINTER.
Cavalry Life and Regimental Legends.
A Soldier's Children.

By MARGARET WYNMAN
My Flirtations.

By E. ZOLA.

The Downfall. I Money. | Lonrd**.

The Dream. The Fat and the Thin.

Dr. Pascal. | Rome.

CHEAP EDITIONS OF POPULAR NOVELS.

Post 8vo, illustrated boards, as. each.

By ARTEMUS WARD.

By Sir W. BESANT and J. RICE.

Artemus Ward Complete.

Ready- Money Mortiboy

By Celia s Arbour.

By EDMOND ABOUT.

My Little Girl.
With Harp and Crown.

Chaplain of the Fleet
The Seamy Side.

The Fellah.

This Son of Vulcan.

The Case of Mr. Lucraf t.

By HAMIL

Carr of Carrlyon.

TON AIDE.

Confidences.

The Golden Butterfly.
The Monks of Thelema.

In Trafalgar s Bay.
The Ten Tears' Tenant

By MARY ALBERT.

By Sir WALTER BESANT.

Brooke Finchley s Daughter.

All Sorts and Condi-

To Call Her Mine.

By Mrs. ALEXANDER.

tions of Men.

The Bell of St. Paul s.

Maid. Wife or Widow 7 | Valerie s Fate.

The Captains' Room.

The Holy Rose.

Blind Fate.

All in a Garden Fair.

Armorel of Lyonesse.

By GRANT ALLEN.

Dorothy Forster.
Uncle Jack.

S.Katherine's by Tower.
Verbena Camellia Ste-

Philistia.
Strange Stories.
Babylon
For Mairaie's Sake.

The Great Taboo.
Dumaresq's Daughter.
Duchess of Powysland.
Blood Royal. (piece-

The World Went Very
Well Then.
Children of Gibeon.
Herr Paulus.

phanotls.
The Ivory Gate.
The Rebel Queen.
Beyond the Dreams of

In all Shades.

Ivan Greet's Master.

For Faith and Freedom.

Av&rlra

The Beckoning Hand.

The Scallywag.

The Devil's Die.
The Tents of Shem.

This Mortal Coil.
At Market Value.

By AA1BROSE BIERCE.

In the Midst of Life.

By E. LESTER ARNOLD.

Phra the Phoenician.

By FREDERICK BOYLE.

By SHELSLEY BEAUCHAMP.

Grantley Grange.

Camp Notes.
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Chronicles of No man s
Land.

BY FRANK BARRETT.

BY BRET HARTE.

Fettered for Life.
Little Lady Linton.

A Prodigal's Progress.
Found Guilty.

Californian Stories.
Gabriel Conroy.

Flip. I lUrnJa.
A Phyllis of the Sierras.

Between Life A Death.

A Recoiling Vengeance.

The Luck of Roaring A Waif of the Plains.

The Sin of Olga Zassou-
lich.

For Love and Honour.
John Ford; and His

Camp. A Ward of the Golden
An Heiress of Red Dog. | Gate.

Folly Morrison.
Lieut. Barnabas.

Helpmate.
The Woman of the Iron

By HAROLD BRYDGES.

•Honest Davie.

Bracelets. Uncle Bam at Home.

CHATTO & WINDUS, in St. Martin's Lane, London, W.C.

TWO-SHILLING Nov
By ROBERT

Shadow of the Sword.
A Child of Nature.
God and the Man.
Love Me for Ever.
Foxglove Manor.
The Master o! the Mine.
Annan Water.

ELS — continued.
BUCHANAN.

The Martyrdom of Ma-
deline.
The New Abelard.
Matt.
The Heir of Linne.
Woman and the Man.
Rachel Dene.

By DICK

The Man-Hunter.
Tracked and Taken.
Caught at Last 1
Wanted !
Who Poisoned Hetty
Duncan ?
Man from Manchester.
A Detective's Triumphs

DONOVAN.

In the Grip of the Law.
From Information Re-
ceived.
Tracked to Doom.
Link by Link
Suspicion Aroused.
Dark Deeds.
Riddles Read.

By BUCHANAN and MURRAY.

Tiie Charlatan.

By HALL CAINE.
The Shadow of a Crime. I The Deemster.
A Son of Bagar.

By Commander CAMERON.
The Cruise of the 'Black Prince.'

By Mrs. LOVETT CAMERON.
Deceivers Ever. | Juliet's Guardian.

By HAYDEN CARRUTH.
The Adventures of Jones.

By AUSTIN CLARE.
For the Love of a Lass.

By Mrs. ARCHER CLIVE.
Paul Ferroll.
Why Paul Ferroll Killed his Wife.

By MACLAREN COBBAN.

The Cure of Souls. | The Red Sultan.
By C. ALLSTON COLLINS.
The Bar Sinister.
By MORT. & FRANCES COLLINS.

Sweet Anne Page. I Sweet and Twenty.
Transmigration. The Village Comedy.

From Midnight to Mid

night.
A Fight with Fortune.

You Play me False.
Blacksmith and Scholar
Frances.

By WILKIE COLLINS.

Armadale. | AfterDark.
No Name.

My Miscellanies.
The Woman in White.

Antoniua.

The Moonstone.

Basil.

Man and Wife.

Hide and Seek.

Poor Miss Finch.

The Dead Secret.

The Fallen Leaves.

Queen of Hearts.

Jezebel's Daughter.

Miss or Mrs. ?

The Black Robe.

The New Magdalen.

Heart and Science

The Frozen Deep.
The Law and the Lady

' I Say No ! '
The Evil Genius.

The Two Destinies.

Little Novels.

The Haunted Hotel.
A Rogue's Life.

Legacy of Cain.
Blind Love.

By M. J. COLQUHOUN.

Every Inch a Soldier.

By DUTTON COOK.

Leo. I Paul Foster's Daughter.

By C. EGBERT CRADDOCK.

The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains.

By MATT CRIM.
The Adventures of a Fair Rebel.

By B. M. CROKER.

Pretty Miss Neville. A Family Likeness.

Village Tales and Jungle

Tragedies.
Two Masters.
Mr. Jervis.

Diana Barrington.
'To Let.'

A Bird of Passage
Proper Pride.

By W. CYPLES.
Hearts of Gold.

By ALPHONSE DAUDET.
The Evangelist ; or, Port Salvation.

By ERASMUS DAWSON.

The Fountain of Youth.

By JAMES DE MILLE.

A Castle in Spain.

By J. LE1TH DERWENT.

Oar Lady of Tears. | Circe's Lovers.

By CHARLES DICKENS.

Sketches by Boz.

By Mrs. ANNIE EDWARDES.

A Point of Honour. | Archie Lovell.

By M. BETHAM=EDWARDS.
Felicia. | Kitty.

By EDWARD EGGLESTON.

Roxy.

By G. MANVILLE FENN.
The New Mistress. I The Tiger Lily.

Witness to the Daed. | The White Virgin.

By PERCY FITZGERALD.
Bella Donna. Second Mrs. Tillotson.

Never Forgotten. Seventy - five Brooke

Polly. Street.

Fatal Zero. The Lady of Brantome.

By P. FITZGERALD and others.
Strange Secrets.

By ALBANY DE FONBLANQUE.

Filthy Lucre.

By R. E. FRANCILLON.

Olympia. King or Knave ?

One by One. Romances of the Law.

A Real Queen. Ropes of Sand.

Queen Cophetua. A Dog and his Shadow.

By HAROLD FREDERIC.
Seth's Brother's Wife. | The Lawton Girl.

Prefaced by Sir BARTLE FRERE.

Pandurang Hari.

By HAIN FRISWELL.

One of Two.

By EDWARD GARRETT.

The Capel Girls.

By GILBERT GAUL.

A Strange Manuscript.

By CHARLES GIBBON.

Robin Gray. In Honour Bound.

Fancy Free. Flower of the Forest

For Lack of Gold. The Braes of Yarrow.

What will World Say ? The Golden Shaft.

In Love and War. Of High Degree.

For the King. By Mead and Stream.

In Pastures Green. Loving a Dream.

Queen of the Meadow. A Hard Knot.

A Heart's Problem. Heart's Deiight.

The Dead Heart. Blood-Money.

By WILLIAM GILBERT.

Dr. Austin's Guests. I The Wizard of the
James Duke. | Mountain.

By ERNEST GLANVILLE.

The Lost Heiress. I The Fossicker.

A Fair Colonist. |

By Rev. S. BARING GOULD.

Red Spider. | tve.

By HENRY GREVILLE.
A Noble Woman. | Nikanor.

By CECIL GRIFFITH.
Corinthia Marazion.

By SYDNEY GRUNDY.
The Days of his Vanity.

By JOHN HABBERTON.
Brueton's Bayou. | Country Luck.

By ANDREW HALLIDAY.
Every day Papers.

By Lady DUFFUS HARDY.
Paul Wynter's Sacrifice.

By THOMAS HARDY.
Under the Greenwood Tree.

By J. BERWICK HARWOOD

The Tenth Earl.

CHAT TO & HINDUS, in St. Martin's. Lane, London,

TWO-SHILLING NOVELS — continued.
By JULIAN HAWTHORNE.

Beatrix Ranrto'jh.
Love— or tt Name.
David Polndexter a Dls-

appearance.
The Spectre of the

Camera.

Garth

Elllce Quentln.

Fortune s Fool.

Miss Cadopna.

Sebastian Strom*.

Duit.

Bv Sir ARTHUR HELPS.
Ivan de Biron.

By Q. A. HENTY.
Rujub the Juggler.

By HENRY HERMAN.
A Leading Lady.

By HEADON HILL.
Zambra the Detective.

By JOHN HILL.
Treason Felony.

By Mrs. CASHEL HOEY.
The Lover's Creed.

By Mrs. GEORGE HOOPER.

The House of Raby.

By TIGHE HOPKINS.

•Twixt Love and Duty.

By Mrs. HUNGERFORD.

A Maiden all Forlorn. Lady Vemer's Flight.
In Durance Vilo. The Red House Mystery

Marvel. The Three Graces.

A Mental Struggle. Unsatisfactory Lover.

A Modern Circe. Lady Patty.

By Mrs. ALFRED HUNT.
Thornicrofts Model. I Self Condemned.
That Other Person. | The Leaden Casket.

By JEAN INGELOW.
Fated to be Free.

By WM. JAMESON.
My Dead Self.

By HARRIETT JAY.
The Dark Colleen. | Queen of Connaught.

By MARK KERSHAW.
Colonial Facts and Fictions.

By R. ASHE KING.
A Drawn Game. I Passion s Slave.

• The Wearing of the Bell Barry.
Green.'

By EDMOND LEPELLETIER.
Madame Sans Gene.

By JOHN LEYS.

The Lindsays.

By E. LYNN LINTON.

Patricia Kemball
The World Woll Lost.
Under which Lord 7
Paston Carew.
1 My Love 1 '
lone.

By HENRY W. LUCY.
Gideon Fleyce.

By JUSTIN MCCARTHY.

The Atonement of Learn

Dundas.

With a Silken Thread.
Rebel of the Family.
Bowing the Wind.
The One Too Many.

Camiola.

Donna Quixote.

Maid of Athens.

The Comet of a Season.

The Dictator.

Red Diamonds.

Dear Lady Disdain
Waterdale Neighbours.
My Enemy's Daughter.
A Fair 9axon.
Linley Rochford.
Miss Misanthrope.

By HUGH MACCOLL.
Mr. Stranger's Sealed Packet.

By GEORGE MACDONALD.

Heather and Snow.

By AGNES MACDONELL.

Quaker Cousins
By KATHARINE S. MACQUOID.

The Evil Eye. | Lost Rose.

By W. H. MALLOCK.

A Romance of the Nine- 1 The New Republic,
teenth Century. 1

By FLORENCE MARRYAT.

Open ) Sesame I I A Harvest of Wild OaU.

Fighting the Air. | Wntten In Fire.

By J. MASTERMAN.

Half a dozen Daughters.

By BRANDER MATTHEWS.

A Secret of the Sea.

\'.\ L. T. MEADE.
A Soldier of Fortune.

By LEONARD MERRICK.

The Man who was Good.

By JEAN MIDDLEMASS.

Touch and Go. | Mr. Dori!:

By Mrs. MOLI-SWORTH.

Hathercourt Rectory.

By J. E. AtUDDOCK.

Stories Weird and Won

derful.
The Dead Man's Secret

By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY.

From the Bosom of th«
Deep.

A Model Father.

Joseph's Coat.

Coals of Fire.

Val Strange. | Hearts.

Old Blazer s Hero.

The Way of the World.

Cynic Fortune.

A Lite s Atonement.

By the Gate of the Sea.
A Bit of Human Nature.
First Person binguUr.
Bob Martin s Little Girl
Time's Revenges.
A Wasted Crime.
In Dire»t Peril.
Mount Despair.
By A1URRAY and HERMAN.
One Traveller Returns. I The Bishops' Bible.
Paul Jones s Alias.

By HENRY MURRAY.
A Game of Bluff. I A Song of Sixpence.

By HUME NISBET.
' Ball Up 1 ' | Dr.Bernard St. Vincent

By W. E. NORRIS.
Saint Ann s.

By ALICE O'HANLON.
The Unforeseen. | Chance? or Fate T

By GEORGES OHNET.
Dr. Rameau. I A Weird Gift.

A Last Love.

By Mrs. OLIPHANT.
Whiteladies. I The Greatest Heiress la

The Primrose Path. I England.

By Mrs. ROBERT O'REILLY.
Phoebe's Fortunes.

By OUIDA.

Held in Bondage.

Strathmore.

Chandos.

Idalia.

Under Two Flacs.

Cecil Castlemaine sGage

Tricotrin.

Puck.

Folle Farine.

A Dog of Flanders.

Pascarel.

Bigna.

Princess Napraxine.

In a Winter City.

Ariadne.

Friendshi

Two Ut. Wooden Shoes.
Moths.
Bimbi.
Pipistrello.
A Village Commune
Wanda.
Othmar.
Frescoes.
In Maremm*.
Gullderoy.
Rufflno.
Byrlin.

Santa Barbara.
Two Offenders.
Ouidas Wisdom. Wit.
and Pathos.

riendsnip. and Pathos.

By MARGARET AGNES PAUL
entle and Simple.

By C. L. PIRKIS.
Lady Lovelace.

By EDGAR A. POE.
The Mystery of Marie Roget.

By Mrs. CAMPBELL PRAED
The Romance of a Station.
The Soul of Countesj Adrian.
Out' aw and Lawmaker.
Christina Chard

By E. C. PRICE.

Valentin*.- I Mrs. Lancaster s Rival

The Foreigner!. I Gerald.

By RICHARD PRYCB
Miss Maxwell s Affection*,

CHATTO & WINDUS, Hi St. Martin's Lane, London, VV.C.

TWO-SHILLING NOVELS — continued.
By JAMES PAYN.

Bentinck's Tutor.

Murphy s Master.

A County Family.

At Her Mercy.

Cecil's Tryst.

The Clyffards of Clyffe.

The Foster Brothers.

Found Dead.

The Best of Husbands.

Walter's Word.

Halves.

Fallen Fortunes.

Humorous Stories.

£200 Reward.

A Marine Residence.

Mirk Abbey.

By Proxy.

Under One Roof.

High Spirits.

Carlyon's Year.

From Exile.

For Cash Only.

The Canon's Ward.

The Talk of the Town.
Holiday Tasks.
A Perfect Treasure.
What He Cost Her.
A Confidential Agent.
Glow-worm Tales.
The Burnt Million.
Sunny Stories.
Lost Sir Massmgberd.
A Woman's Vengeance.
The Family Scapegrace.
Gwendoline's Harvest.
Like Father, Like Son.
Married Beneath Him.
Not Wooed, but Won.
Less Black than We're

Painted.

Some Private Views.
A Grape from a Thorn.
The Mystery of Mir-

bridgl

The Word and the Will.
A Prince of the Blood.
A Trying Patient.

By CHARLES READE

) t is Never Too Late to A TerribleTemptation.

Mend.

Christie Johnstone.
The Double Marriage.
Put Yourself in His

Place
Love Me Little, Love !

Me Long.
The Cloister and the

Hearth.
The Course of True

Love.

The Jilt.

The Autobiography of
a Thief.

By Mrs. J. H. RIDDELL.

Foul Play.

The Wandering Heir.

Hard Cash.

Singleheart and Double-
face.

Good Stories of Men and
other Animals.

Peg Womngton.

Griffith Gaunt.

A Perilous Secret.

A Simpleton.

Readiana.

A Woman-Hater.

The Uninhabited House.
The Mystery in Palace.

Gardens.
The Nun's Curse.
Idle Tales.

Weird Stories.
Fairy Water.
Her Mother's Darling.
The Prince of Wales's
Garden Party.

By AMELIE RIVES.
Barbara Dering.

By P. W. ROBINSON.
Women are Strange. | The Hands of Justice.

By JAMES RUNC1MAN.
Skippers and Shellbacks. | Schools and Scholars.
Grace Balmaign's Sweetheart.

By W. CLARK RUSSELL.
Round the Galley Fire. The Romance of Jenny
ile He; '

Harlowe.

An Ocean Tragedy.

My Shipmate Louise.

Alone on Wide Wide Sea.

The Good Ship 'Mo-
hock.1

The Phantom Death.

On the Fo'k'sle Head.
In the Middle Watch.
A Voyage to the Cape.
A Book for the Ham-
mock.

The Mystery of the
'Ocean Star.'

By DORA RUSSELL.
A Country Sweetheart.

By GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA.
Gaslight and Daylight.

By JOHN SAUNDERS.
Guy Waterman. I The Lion in the Path.

The Two Dreamers. |

By KATHARINE SAUNDERS.
Joan Merryweather.

The High Mills.
Heart Salvage.

By GEORGE R. SIMS.

Sebastiar

Margaret

beth.

and Eliza-

The Ring o' Bells.
Mary Jane's Memoirs,
Mary Jane Married.
Tales of To day.
Dramas of Life.
Tinkletop's Crime.

My Two Wives.

Zeph.

Memoirs of a Landlady.

Scenes from the Show.

The 10 Commandments.

Dagonet Abroad.

A Match

in the Dark.

OGDEN, SMALE AND CO. LI

C

By HAWLEY SMART.

Without Love or Licence.

The Plunger.

Beatrice and Benedick.

By T. W. SPEIGHT.

The Mysteries of Heron

Dyke.

The Golden Hoop.
Hoodwinked.
By Devious Ways.

Back to Life.

The LoudwaterTragedy.

Burgo's Romance.

Quittance in Full.

AHu

usband from the Sea
By ALAN ST. AUBYN.

A Fellow 01 Trinity. I To His Own Master.
The Junior Dean. Orchard Damerel.

Master of St.Benedict's | In the Face of the World.

By R. A. STERN DALE.
The Afghan Knife.

By R. LOUIS STEVENSON.

New Arabian Nights.

By BERTHA THOMAS.
Cressida. The Violin Player.

Proud Maisie.

By WALTER THORNBURY.
Tales for the Marines. | Old Stories Retold.

By T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE.
Diamond Cut Diamond.

By P. ELEANOR TROLLOPE.
Like Ships upon the I Anne Furness.
Sea. I Mabel's Progress.

By ANTHONY TROLLOPE.

Frau Frohmann.
Marion Fay.
Kept in the Dark.
John Caldigate.
The Way We Live Now.

The Land-Leaguers.
The American Senator
Mr. Scarborough's

Family.
GoldenLion of Granpere

By J. T. TROW BRIDGE.

Farnell's Folly.

By IVAN TURGENIEFF, &c.

Stories from Foreign Novelists.

By MARK TWAIN.

A Pleasure Trip on the

Continent
The Gilded Age.
Huckleberry Finn.
MarkTwain s Sketchei.
Tom Sawyer.
A Tramp Abroad.
Stolen White Elephant.

By C. C. PRASE R-TYTLER.

Mistress Judith.

Life on the Mississi

ippi.
The Prince and tha

Pauper.
A Yankee at the Court

of King Arthur.
The £1,000,000 Bank-
Note.

By SARAH TYTLER.

The Huguenot Family.
The Blackball Ghosts.
What She Came Through
Beauty and the Beast.
Citoyenne Jaqueline.

Tii9 Bride's Pass.
Buried Diamonds.
St. Mungo's City.
Lady Bell.
Noblesse Oblige.
Disappeared.

By ALLEN UPWARD.
The Queen against Owen. | Prince of Balklitan.
By AARON WATSON and LILLIAS

WASSERMANN.
The Marquis of Carabas.

By WILLIAM WESTALL.

Trust-Money.

By Mrs. P. H. WILLIAMSON.

A Child Widow.

By J. S. WINTER.

Cavalry Life. | Regimental Legends.

By H. P. WOOD.
The Passenger from Scotland Yard.
The Englishman of the Rue Cain.
By Lady WOOD.
Sabina.
By CELIA PARKER WOOLLEY.

Rachel Armstrong ; or, Love ami Theology.

By EDMUND YATES.

The Forlorn Hope. I Castaway.
Land at Last.

Ghetto Trage

By I. ZANGWILL.

dies.

ITED, PRINTERS, GREAT SAFFRON HILL, E.C,

23

PR

D68
1895
C.I
ROBA