well be called kingcraft, and which the Stuarts never possessed- the liberal selfishness of employing su perior men, even though their talents had formerly been engaged in the service of a foe.

This nobleman appears to have been a pattern of all the lordly virtues. "His greatness supported his goodness, and his goodness endeared his greatness. His great birth put him above all private respect, but his great soul never above public service. Indeed, he repaired, by ways thrifty yet noble, what his family had impaired by neglect."

It happened, unluckily for the Stanleys, that they claimed kindred with the blood-royal. This was through the Nevilles, the Kingmaker's family, the Lady Eleanor Neville, or Alianore, having married the first Earl of Derby. Now Lady Eleanor was aunt to the Princess Anne, the consort of Richard III. Wo seemed to betide all of that race. Still their hearts were loyal, their fidelity incorrupt; but their fate was adverse. Ferdinando, fifth earl of Derby, became the victim, though not the dupe, of certain political in. trigues, the agent of which was one Hesket, a Jesuit, who tempted him, but in vain, to assume the title of king. The youth was wise, and rejected that counsel. He was, however, threatened by Hesket with sudden death if he disclosed the plot, -nay, even if he hesitated to give his compliance to it. The high spirit of the Stanleys rebelled at this menace. Ferdinando gave information, and Hesket was apprehended; but the young earl's doom was sealed from that moment.

He did not expire suddenly; no, his anguish was prolonged. Cruel pains tormented his numbered days, dark vomitings tortured the ill-fated peer. I abstain from sundry particularities given by Camden, as being more fit for a post mortem narrative than for a work like this. But I must needs recount, though with horror, that even after his dead body was rolled in searcloth, and wrapped in lead, "there ran such corrupt and stinking humours that no man could for a long time come near the place of his burial." These are old Camden's graphic words. Alas, poor Ferdinando could not even pious affec

tion shed its dews upon thy hearse ? And it was, after all, domestic treason that destroyed him; for his gentleman of the horse fled on his illness, and taking the earl's best horse -not content with the small feat of murdering him-was heard of no

more.

An attempt was indeed made to prove that the earl died from the power of witchcraft; and a poor old woman, suspected of being a witch, and told to say the Lord's Prayer backwards, said it well; but being conjured in the name of Jesus that, if she had bewitched his honour, she should be able to say the same, she could never get over that clause, "Forgive us our trespasses,"-not even though it was repeated to her. Another poor old crone was found mumbling something in a corner of his honour's chamber, but what, God knoweth.

I pass over Ferdinando's immediate descendants, to hail the hero of the civil wars, the husband of the great defender of Lathom.

James, seventh earl of Derby, succeeded his father in 1642. How discriminative is the character of this nobleman, as given by Clarendon ! "He was a man of great honour and clear courage; and all his defects and misfortunes proceeded from his having lived so little time among his equals, that he knew not which was the source of all the ill that befell him, having thereby drawn such preju dice against him from persons of in ferior quality, who yet thought them. selves too good to be contemned, that they pursued him to death."

His life was indeed a tragedy, yet it commenced in high prosperity, and in the possession of that dearest of earthly blessings, a wife suitable in birth and character. Charlotte de la Tremouille, countess of Derby, was the daughter of Claude de la Tremouille, duc de Thouars, and of the Lady Charlotte, daughter of William, the first prince of Orange, and of Charlotte de Bourbon his wife. Such was the descent of the justly celebrated countess; and she inherited the valour and judgment of her ancestor of the House of Orange.

At a very early age Charlotte de la Tremouille was united to the earl, and their union was truly propitious

-mutual affection, congeniality of character, immense wealth, high reputation, were their blessings. To these were added, in due time, the felicity of children, both numerous and promising. "This marvellous picture," observes a modern writer,

of almost superhuman felicity, was doomed to be torn in pieces and scattered to the winds, by the accursed demon of faction and rebellion."

Beauty, as far as we can judge by the portrait of Vandyke, preserved in the family collection, was not the attribute of the illustrious Charlotte. She is represented by the matchless pencil as fat and clumsy, with ordinary features, except the eye, which, though at first sight it may appear sleepy, has a mine of thought buried beneath those overhanging lashes. Dressed according to the custom of the day, her hair in slender ringlets, a rich pearl in her ear, a single row round her neck, her dress of white satin, with fullhanging sleeves trimmed with several rows of large pearls, and fastened by a brooch of rich gems, one looks in vain for that aristocratic bearing to which the descendant of a Bourbon seems entitled even by birth. There is, it must be confessed, more of the Dutch than of the French genealogy, expressed in the form and features of Charlotte de la Tremouille.

Her husband, on the other hand, bore that impress of high birth which it is scarcely possible to define, but which we feel by daily experience to exist. His brow was indeed low, and his long hair fell over it so as to shroud it; but his eyes are full of animation, the nose is fine and well formed, the mouth, surmounted by a slight moustache, is expressive of much sweetness. He is depicted, also by Vandyke, in a suit of armour, over which his long locks, scarcely curled, flow freely.

The earl had been little known until he appeared before the world in his military character. He passed the first years of his happy marriage in a princely privacy, superintend ing the various establishments of his father in the Isle of Man, and attending to the morals of a po pulation who owned the Earls of Derby as their kings, and honoured them with a filial affection. His leisure from these momentous

pursuits was spent in literature and philosophy; and among other productions, his "History of the Isle of Man," preserved in the Desiderata Curiosa, is still valued. Not long, however, after his accession to the title, he was called by his duty to his sovereign into the field. The motto, "Sans changer," anciently adopted by the elder branch of the Stanleys, was not falsified by this valiant man. He was among the first of the nobility to raise forces for the king, the first to attend the summons of the monarch-never to desert that cause whilst life remained.

He was at Lathom when intelligence was brought to him that a design was formed to take the Isle of Man he hastened thither. Throwing into his house at Lathom a few soldiers, and collecting such arms and ammunition as he could, he left it for ever.

His countess and her children remained behind; and scarcely had Lord Derby reached the Isle of Man, when she heard that her house would be attacked-she feared, by a sudden assault. Her soldiers were raw, inexperienced countrymen, but they were faithful; and among her garrison there was a Captain Farmer, a veteran officer, trained to war in that famous school, the Low Countries.

Lady Derby having discerned his merit, made him major of the house; and placed under his command six captains, chosen from among the gentlemen of her household. Under these, again, were the common soldiers listed, trained by them and instructed. These preparations were skilfully concealed, and such was the fidelity of her household, that when the enemy approached they had no idea of any other forces than her own servants being within the house.

On the 28th of February, 1644, Sir Thomas Fairfax, willing, per haps, to spare the unfortunate countess the horrors of a siege, desired a conference. She consented. He was received in the great hall of Lathom. As he entered the first court, the wary general was struck by the appearance of what seemed a con siderable force. Not only the main guard occupied the first court, but men were ranged in open sight, on the tops of the walls, and on the towers,

in such a manner as to appear more numerous than they really were.

This was done by the advice of Captain Farmer, not only to prevent a surprise, but to intimidate the enemy by the appearance of strength, for the army which besieged Lathom amounted to 4000 men. Sir Thomas, and a gentleman of quality who accompanied him, were received with a lofty courtesy. But when he offered terms, the lady required a month's delay to consider of them. "Not a day's," was the reply, and Fairfax departed.

He was still uncertain whether to commence a regular siege, or to attempt to take the place by storm; but he was deceived by a mean negotiation between one of his own officers and the chaplain of the house, into the belief that the countess had no store of provisions. He, therefore, decided on a siege: for fourteen days hostilities were delayed-then, supposing that her supplies were exhausted, he summoned the countess to surrender. The answer, sent by a trumpeter, was worthy of the heroine who penned it. It was this: "That, as she had not lost her regard for the Church of England, nor her allegiance to her prince, nor her faith to her lord, she could not, therefore, as yet, give up the house; that they must never hope to gain it till she had either lost all of these, or her life, in defence of them." And this reply came after a torturing continuance of suspense of fourteen days.

The siege now began in earnest, and it continued without let or intermission during a space of three months. Many were the gallant feats of arms which distinguished the sorties made by the garrison; and well was the spirit of the men sustained by the heroic courage of their mistress. She feared neither shot nor shell. More than once a cannonball passed through the chamber, and much was she annoyed by the fire of a mortar-a new engine of war in those days-at least to the troops which held Lathom House. But she made light of every peril which threatened her own person, and taught her people, by the example which she set, to prefer death to dishonour. These things have occurred elsewhere, therefore we need not dwell upon them. But possibly the following little anec

dote may interest, though that, too, might be paralleled, had we leisure, at this moment, to look about for its fac-simile.

It happened, during the progress of the siege, that a dog, belonging to some gentleman in the house, proved himself a friend to man in a very remarkable manner. The chaplain, who managed all correspondence carried on by the garrison with their friends without, by means of ciphers, was in great want of some means of conveying his despatches out of the house, surrounded on every side, as it was, by enemies; till, observing that a dog was in the habit of going to and fro from his master in the house to his mistress, who lived a short distance from it, he determined to make the animal his messenger. Having tied his despatch, tightly rolled, by a thin string, to the neck of the animal, he managed to convey intelligence of it to the gentlewoman, wife of the dog's master, and directed her to forward all she received, as she best could, to his majesty. She did so; and having kept the trusty creature by her for a day or so without food, she then turned him out of doors, and he invariably returned to his master in Lathom House. By this means the poor besieged inhabitants sent intelligence of their condition to the king and his friends, and received in their turn news back from them. For many months the faithful animal discharged this important office, bringing encouragement to the garrison, enabling them to know on what they might depend; so that, having accurate information of the state of the king's affairs, they were never excited by false hope, nor too much cast down by the disappointment of ill-founded expectations. But the fate of the faithful dog was melancholy. One day, when returning to the house, laden with tidings as usual, an idle soldier discharged his loaded musket at the poor creature. The dog, true to his trust, managed to drag himself near the gate with his precious cargo, and then laid himself down and died. His death deprived the garrison of a most sure and trusty friend, and of the greatest comfort and solace of which their condition was susceptible-the means of communication with the outer world.

During three months the contest was protracted, but Charlotte de la Tremouille prevailed. The Parliamentary general, on the 27th of May, withdrew his forces to Bolton. Four thousand men had been planted before the walls of Lathom, two thousand alone marched away, such had been the slaughter; and the Eagle Tower still rose imperious in its untouched strength, the banner of the Stanleys waving proudly over it. A short interval of stillness was there in the halls of Lathom, and a brief season of repose to the noble Charlotte, before another host appeared before the gates. No longer were the cropped locks and demure faces of the Parliamentarians there. No, a gallant band, headed by one of the handsomest cavaliers of his time, came riding gaily and triumphantly into its courts; and the voice of Prince Rupert, in halfforeign accents, was heard saluting the lady of Lathom House.

Rupert was, at this period, in the full perfection of his youth, being twenty-five years of age. His portrait, and that of his less distinguished brother, Prince Maurice, afford specimens of the noblest style of manly beauty. As you gaze upon them, in the hall of Warwick Castle, limned by Vandyke, you feel how much such persons, such countenances, a bearing so aristocratic, yet so free, must have influenced the affections even of the rudest soldiery. Perhaps of the two, the handsomer is Maurice; but his is the more subdued countenance the more effeminate expression, if such a term can be applied to either brother; in Rupert, the hero alone appears. And heroic were those boyish words of his, uttered when hunting in some English park in 1633:—

"Ah! I wish I could break my neck, for then I should leave my bones in England!"

The prince, enchanted with the defence of Lathom, gave orders, in the name of the king, for bastions and counterscarps to be added to its fortifications. But, alas! I grieve to state the result. The king did not follow out this plan: ungraciously, if not ungratefully (but I think both), he ordered it to be surrendered to the Parliamentary army. This was in December, 1645. I need not say that

VOL. XXXVI. NO. CCXI.

the work of demolition was very soon begun, very soon completed; and a heavy fine, of course, laid upon the mansion. The heroic countess repaired to the Isle of Man, where she rejoined her lord. For several years they lived there, in their wonted princely grandeur; but the storm lowered, and the brave earl was its next exemplary victim. Long might his widow mourn one who united to valour and disinterestedness -rare accomplishments!-learning and prudence. From her castle in the Isle of Man she watched his brief but glorious career, rejoiced over his noble defence of Wigan, and wept when she heard that in the fatal fight of Worcester he had fallen into the enemy's hands. For well she knew that there would be no mercy shewn him. Two years previously he had irritated Cromwell, who had offered him terms to surrender the Isle of Man, by a noble reply. One extract from that touching and fearless letter let me give, by way of pendant to the epistles of the defender of Ragland:

"I scorn your proffers, I disdain your favours, I abhor your treasons; and am so far from surrendering this island to your advantage, that I will keep it to the utmost of my power to your destruction.

"Take this final answer, and forbear any further solicitations; for if you trouble me with any more messages on this occasion, I will burn the papers and hang the bearers."

His fate was, therefore, sealed; and it was to be accomplished not far from his home - at Bolton, in Lancashire. He died gallantly, piously, like a Cavalier. Can one say more? When flattered with hopes of life he listened patiently, but said,

"I was resolved not to be deceived with the vain hopes of this fleeting world."

When desired, according to the custom of the day, to find a "friend" to do the last office of the law, he replied,

Nay, sir, if those men that would have my head will not find one to cut it off, let it stand where it is. I thank God my life has not been so bad that I should be instrumental to deprive myself of it, though He has been so merciful to me as to deprive me of the worst terrors of death."

E

He had the consolation of seeing around him three of his children; but his wife, and one loved daughter, the Lady Mary, were in the Isle of Man. Well was it for that noble, tender heart, that it prognosticated not their future destiny.

Yet there is something ominous in the words which he addressed to a faithful attendant on the morning of his execution:

"Here, Bagaley, deliver these (his letters) to my dear wife and sweet children. I have instructed you in all things for your journey. But as to that sad part of it (as to them) I can say nothing: silence, and your own looks will best tell your message. The great God of Heaven strengthen you, and prosper and comfort them in this their great affliction."

Perhaps the most affecting incident of Lord Derby's last hours was the appearance of four condemned gentlemen, who, at his request, were permitted to come forth from their dungeons to bid him farewell, and they did so; with what emotions, it requires no pen of a poor chronicler to describe.

Lord Derby went to the scaffold amid the tears of the people. His daughters accompanied him half the way; then the earl, alighting from his horse, knelt down by the coach in which Lady Catherine and Lady Amelia formed a part of the procession, and took a solemn leave of them. His voice, ere he bade them farewell, was lifted up in prayer. "This," says the narrator, was the saddest hour I ever saw," and well might it be so.

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Like other brave men, the soldier who had faced death in the field had feared lest on the scaffold he might shrink from it. At the last hour this apprehension was removed.

"I bless God for it, who has put this comfort and courage into my soul, that I can as willingly now lay down my head on the block, as ever I did upon a pillow."

The night before he had eaten a competent meal, saying he would imitate his Saviour-his supper should be his last act in this world. Then he bestowed on his son, Lord Strange, his Order, bidding him return it to his sovereign, King Charles II., saying that he sent it, in all humility and gratitude, as he received it,-spot

less, and free from any stain from his ancestors. For what an unworthy object was this pure blood shed! Such was the love entertained for him, that the true-hearted common people refused to strike even a nail into his scaffold, saying, "that since the wars they had had many and great losses, but none like this, it being the greatest that had ever befallen them.'

Amidst the fears of a rescue the Earl of Derby was conveyed to his doom. His parting address shews the estimation in which he was held in the place of his execution:

"I come, and am content to die in this town, where I endeavoured to come the last time I was in Lancashire, as to a place where I persuaded myself to be welcome, in regard that the people thereof have reason to be satisfied in my love and affection to them, and now they understand that sufficiently."

When all was ready, and he was about to lay his head upon the block, he looked towards the church, and, causing the block to be turned that way, said,

I will look towards the sanctuary which is above for ever." Then bowing himself down, he said,

"The Lord bless my wife and children: the Lord bless us all."

A fearful scene ensued. The earl laid his head upon the block, yet the executioner forbore to strike; so the doomed man rose up, and in an agony of tortured feeling exclaimed,

"What have I done that I die not? Why do you not finish your work ?"

The appeal was answered by the fatal blow, given amid a deep silence, broken only by sighs and sobs; and thus fell one of the many brave spirits of that age. His death has been justly styled one of the worst acts of the Parliament, a "murder in cold blood." To quote from Clarendon once more:

"The king's army was no sooner defeated at Worcester, but the Parliament renewed their old method of murdering in cold blood, and sent a commission to erect a high court of justice to persons of ordinary quality, many not being gentlemen, and all notoriously his enemies, to try the Earl of Derby for his treason and rebellion; which they easily found