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'43iM=.WRIGHT, Edtor and_PiC•prietor.
VULL3;IIE' r X~L;LNITI3EIt3.]
ONO
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English Sovereigns
In spite of his firm tramp, brawny arm
and stalwnrt frame, the Norman conqueror
was at length conquered, and retired from
the field of battle to succumb to the last en
emy in the monastery of Sc. Gervais at
Rouen, the ehurch of which is now reputed
to be the oldest structure in the city. The
closing scene
'first
a melitochoty spcetacle.—
Robert, hie — first-lawn. 'to' withal ho be
queathed Normandy, we* away prosecuting
crusading adventures. William. the second
son, staid only to hear hiMself nominated to
the crown f Eogland, and thou left his
father to get through his last 'twiny as he
mull, galloping tiff tw the coast, eager to
secure his prize. henry, the third 'son,
lingered sulky and grumbling till his ready
money was declared, when he departed
likewise, hurried to the treasury. carefialy
weighed the silver, and placed it tinder iron
looks.anditintling4. No satinet; dhl the• fa
tal event occur, about sunrise, on a Septem
ber day, than nobles, knights and. priests.
decamped.tu look after their own interests,
while servants, set to work to plunder; and
the, hody l of the once potent ;monarch
stripped and deserted, till the charity of an
obscure individual provided for• its convey
ance to a resting.place at Caen, accorling
to the wish of the deceased. But there was
some difficulty in effecting the funeral, : as
one of the bystanders, ti man of low degree.
claimed property in • the site of the grave;
and the service for the dead was not allowed
- -
to proceed tilltiiit'y;OUttitad been paid down
as an instalmeat of his rights 'A plain gray
marble slab before the high altar in the
church of St Stephen now marks the sep
ulchre of NVilliam the Cowrie' or; but not
an atom of him lies beneath it. In 1542
the tomb was opened by the Bishop of &aye
au:, when the body was found 'inlgood pres
ervation, justifying by its appearance the
rep.,rts of chronicles respecting hi- t.,1l stat
ure. But thirty years later it was violated
during nn insurrection, when the man was
dug up and emptied of its contents, which,
however, the care of a monk preserved in
his chamber. Here they continued till a
subsequeat insurrection, when the whole
abbey was plundered, and tae remains were
Jost, except one of the thigh-bones, which
was reinterred, and a monument raised over
it in 1642. Even this relic has disappeared,
fur the revorationists of 1793 rifled the spot,
and disposed of the fragment as if the last
vestige of a dog. The furious democrats
were not wise in their generation, for the
fleshless remnant of the limb might have
beenfpreserved as un impressive. memorial
of the fate Of royalty; and a veritable thigh
bone of the' dreaded conqueror would now
fetch a handsonte price in the London mar
ket, where all things oda and rare are read
ily disposed'of to collectors who have more
cash than brains.
As a hunter gny, William the Red King
entered the New Forest on a bright August
morning. lie had slept the previous night
at a lodge within its precincts.
•'The Red King lies in Ma!wood keep
To drrv.• er o'er iawii and steep;
Ha's bowie hum wi h the morn.
His et-eds are .wif hi • licuo.de are good;
The like in coven, or high wend,
Were haver cheered wall horn:,
None more rigorously enforced the laws
of the chase than he; or more , cruelly pun
ished an infringement of them. It was
consolation to the poor &sons . contemptu
ously to style •him "a wood-pe eper and no
dting;" at the sauie iime•lirtuly believing
that their oppressors were nut always al
:lowed to disport themselves with impunity,
,the Sell One sometimes inttrrupting their
recreatien, in the hunting grouods, and
marring revelry with sore disaster. The
_event ~f the•day strengthenod this popular
.suyeretition;:for,the lifelSss body of the hied
Mint Wail soistt stretched un the gre ' ios'vrard
.toy .the chance arrow of au attendant,-
4ifenry, his brothir, left him to his fate. and,
putting spurs Wilts horse, rude off to Win
chester to seise . the royal treasury. 'The in
voluntary. author of the deed fled, fearing
the consequences; and the barons ench. de
psrted to ids residence to put it in a postute
of defence, sus the succession might hare to
be decided by the sword. Towards evening
a man named Porkies, on returning home
-through the forest from his daily tecupation
of charcoal-burning, found the abandoned
corpse lying on the turf, which was Rotor:1-
W with blood. Ignorant of t is quality, he
placed the slaughtered man in his cart, and
conveyed hitu to Winchester. Liu fur found
a grave in the cathedral, and was interred
in - the centre fir the choir, With little cere
molly, none gr:aving. The fall of s tower
in the followinkyear;'which covered his
tomb with its ruins, was commonly inter
preted its a sign of the. displeasure of ',lea
ven that he had received Christian burial.—
'Speed relates that his bones were after
wards taken up, and, being laid in a coffin
along with those of Canute, were replaced.
A plain monumental stone now marks the
spot.. It , is singular that, after the lapse of
eight centuries, cottagers of the name of the
charcoal-burner still recite in the New For
est, and that a wheel of the identical cart
descended; ; to o'reeeni'dato,"as un beir . loom
from father to son, till used; for fuel during
an inclentent7winter.:,o7? .
Fleury I, like his, father..the,.-Conqieror,
abroad, on tia Deceinie'r
of a disease brought on by his fondness
fur lampreys. ,This watt at Ltionii-la-Foret,
now a small. town =approached through
the remains of a 'forest in the vicinity
of Rouen. His .remains were interred in
the abbey of Reading, Berkshire, one of
his foundations, astructure which ha. passed
away, and no man knoweth of his sepulchre.
Stephen z tertainateil his troubled ;reign .nt
Borer, and found • a resting place' by the
side of lkiitqueen and, son at. the monastery
of Faversliant. in Rent, which he had found
ed. There his corpse remained until the
dissolution of the abbeys, when, for the
posse-lion of the leaden coffin, it was ex
ii.o.ued, nod its -contents thrown into the
sea.
81 50
The restles and fiery floury 11. breathed
his last at the castle of Chinon, the French
NV, inds ! ,r J oy..the plantagenent kings, notymn
imposing
,ruin, on_ st,commanding height,
near the junction .of -the Vienne with the
Loire. Courtiers, who had trembled at his
word, took a hurried departure, and person.
al retainers' follOwie-the i einiinrile':of their
superiors; 'but not before tl.ey had stripped
the dead man of'et;e'rY , rag, and the nPliit
mem every ankle of value. 'Afte6atite
delay,"cliarity found a windingsheee fur the
aud •it wtorremoved far interment to
theneighboriiig abbey of FonteVrand, thee
one of tlieWeitlthiestecelesiastical establish
ments in France, situated,ai, the head of a
little retired and 'wooded, valley. Here,
previous to the furteral,the corpse was laid
in the church, when, according to legentlery
story, it shuddered convulsively at the up
munch of Richard, an undutiful sun, as if con
demning and athhorriag his unnaturalcon
duct. Richard 1., the conqueror of Saladin
and hero of a hundred fights, received his
death-wound before the castle of Cholas in
the Limousin, the petty fortress of a
sal, and was laid by the side of his father
at Fontevrand, where also reputed his moth
er. Queen Eleanor of Guienne, and of er
wards Isabella d'Angouleme, the queen of
his brother John. Recumbent effigies of
these personages, were placed upon the
tombs—one of the earliest instances we
hate of this interesting sepulchral relic of
the middle ages. The abbey remains. but
it has been crayoned into a prison—Houma
6eutrale de Detention...one of the largest is
Frattee..- The•churuh•dembarentire aisle the
outside, but the interior. is wholly' changed.
Nor are the royal W/11110 in their original
position. They were turn up and rifled by
the Vandals of the Revolution, who signal•
ized their hatred of royalty by scattering
the ashes of-the dead, and' mutilaiing the
statues, which are now stowed away in a
dark corner of the south transept. The
effigies, thought sadly defaCed, still retain
some of the cOloring with which they were
ornamented, and are of great interest from
the evident marks they bear of being por
traits. Both kings are represented in royal
robes, without armor. Gl'mur de Lion's fig
ure is remarbable for its broad forehead and
tall stature, six feet and a half. It has been
frequently suggested that application should
he made to have these anrauments of the
first Piantagenets transferred to Westmin
star Abbey as a fitting asylum, now that no
fragment of the dead remains in connection
with them—a cutmession which would
doubtless be imtnediaiefy granted by the
French government, in return !sr having
received the body of Napoleon front St.
Reletia, and his will from Doctors' Com-
ECM
The worthless Joint was,teized with tour
tal sickness in the fens of Lincolnshire,
after seeing the sumpter-hurses that carried
his money drowned in the inarshei, and
taking an immoderate quantity of peaches
or pears and now cider to console tint-eit
under the mist, none.• • With great ild&coas
he successfully reached the castles of Simi
ford ai,d Newark, in the last ut..wilich lie
ended it disgraceful career, and was re oared
at his own (Metre tulio'buried ih Wurce.•tei
Cathedral. his tomb there, in the centre
Of the choir, hamafull,recumbett effigy, the
first memorial of the kind executed in Eng
land for an English monarch. It was
opened in 1796, when the corpse was found
nearly entire, after an interment of live hun
dred and eighty years. his son, the feeble
henry ILL, died at Westminster, and was
the first of our sovereigns interred in its
Abbey-church since the'Saxon times, an ed
ifice which be rebuilt from its foundation.
The Pell Records contain .an entry of pay
ment to two chaplains for divine service be
ing performed at the hermitage of Charing:
on the occasion of his decease, at• preen•
one of tl-o busiest sites in the metropolis
forcibly reminding us of the different char
acter of the spot in the thirteenth century
The tomb exhibits his Hfigy, - 6nely execute.;
in braes, and cast at the same time as thy
adjoining effigy of Oaten Eleanor. Edwarr
f. expired . at the village of Burgh-upon
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Sands, near Carlisle, within sight of the
Scotland which he had•vowed to subdue.—
But although he is said to have left express
orders for his bones 'to be carried at the
head of the army till the purpose was ac
complished, they werelquickly deposited in
Westminster Abbey by an' unwarlike son,
Where the body was found comparatively
undecayed in 1774. It was rirayed in roy
al robes, with crown and sceptre, and mea
sured six feet two inches; hence the solphri
pet of Longshnnks was notinnptly bestowed.
The .obsequ es are said to have been per
formed with great splendor. In the accounts
of his executors we have, among other en
tries,, one of £lOO paid. "f.r horses pur
chased for koiglits tu,ride in the king's ar
mor before his body, between the church of
the Holy Trinity, Loudon, and Westmin-
12E1
The effeminate, and deposed.Edwerd 11.,
foully murdered in Berkiey Castle, Glouces
tershire, by ordcrof Mortimer, the infamous
paramour of his infamous queen, wee hur
riedly couveyed to a grave in Gloucester
Cathedral. Deplorable degradation marked
the lust bears of Edward at Shene Pa
lace, afterwards called. ,Riclimmid, for the
practice of abandoning royalty in the arti
cle or death was adopted in his case. Be
fore the old mail's, breath,. left him, minis
ters and iMrtierB went, off to- his successor;
.the vile ba y .; wit ant he had cherished desert
ed him likewise, after stealing the ring from
his helpless finger; and his other personal
attendalits quitted .the chamber taplunder
the house. The the mighty' victor
at Crecy repose, in the same. tomb with
those of his wife, in the Confessor's. Chapel,
Westminster Abbey, according to her re
quest on her death-bed.
The dethroned Richard LI, perished via,.
lently in Pontefract Castle, Yorkshire; bat
a more than usual degree of mystery rests
upon the horrid transaction. "Raw Rich
ard died," says Froissart, "and by what
menus, I could not tell when Wrote this
chronicle." lle then, inn naive an& touch
ing manimr, contrasts his former , splendor
and miserable bill; "fur never, says: he, had
king of England spent sn mach money in
keeping up at stately 'household.. And
John Froissart, canna and treasurer' of
saw it and considered 'it; and' I
lived in it a qiittrterof at year. and gond
cheer did he give me: 'and when I departed
from hire. (it was at Windsor.)'on my ve
taking, he gave too at silver goblet, gilt, and
witbianne hundred nobles, therefore
am I much 'hound to pray God for him."
Richard was roost probably dispatched lay
starvation.
.0 o•e he the rogel chair.
J'eji unit Fettifite AcOwt
A heleful smile upon their haled guest."
The corpse of the unhappy king was
brought to London, and exhibited In St.
' Paul's as a pu blic certificate of death, which
was doubled by some, then removed to
Langley in fie ts• for interment, and finally
to Westminster Abbey. [lie supplanter,
and perhaps murderer, Henry IV., tact a
I ,„ expected death in the Jerusalem Chain
ber, aml was entombed in Canterbury Cu•
thedral, by the side of his first wife, the
only English sovereign buried in that city.
Henry V. expired at Vincennes, near Paris,
and was brought with mournful pump to
hie native country for the last rites. Bish
ops in pontifical attire, mitred abbots, and a
vast multitude of all ranks, met the body,
as it approached the capital. The church
men chanted the service fur the dead as it
passed over London bridge and through the
streets of the city; the obsequies were per
formed at Sc. Paul's in presence of the
whole Parliament, and the remains were
interred in state in Westminster Abbey. A
headless and otherwise mutilated figure ot
the king, carved in oak, and originally cov
ered with silver, marks the tomb, above
which are the saddle, helmet, and shield,
supposed to have been used at Agincourt.
The imam 'tie floury VI. died a captive in
the Tower, probably by violent means, and
was first interred ne atertsey Abbey, Sur
rey, then removed to Windsor by ardor of
Richard 111. [lts successor, Edward IV.,
elided his days of pleasure and profligacy
at Westminster, and was exposed .at a board
after death, naitu I tram the waist upwards.
in order that the people might see he had
wit been inurdered—an net stikiogly
trati% e ..f turbulent times. lle was then
buried iii St. George's Chapel, IVindsor, the
exquisitely beautiful edifice which he found
ed. A steel tomb, exe uteri by Quillen.
Nl.t.sys, marks the slg. The body was
tiiiifeeayed, the dress nearly perfect,
is were the lineaments of the nice, in .1789,
.titer a period of three hundred and six
yeas. fhe boy-king, Edwad V., and hit•
younger brother, the Duke of York auto
ciUusly murdered in the Tower, were pri
vately buried within its walls by the assas
sins, at a spot which long remained un
known. But in the reign of Charles IL,
while some. alterations were making near
the' hite ToWer;the workmen found, about
ten feet in the grouni, the remains of two
striplings, which, on etstnination, appeared
to be th , se of two boys of the ages of the
princes, thirteen and eleven years. They
were in a wooden °best, and were re-inter
.ed in a marble urn in Henry VII.'. Chap
el, Westminster Abbey. A Latin Enecrtp
•ion gives the commonly receierod account
.f the sari tragedy: ••Elere lie the relics of
Edwin! V.. King of England, and Richard.
Doke of York, who, being confined in the
Aver. and there stifled with pillows, were
privately and meanly buried, by order of
their Perfidious uncle, Richard, the usurper.
Their bones, long inquired after and wished
for, after lying one hundred and ninety-one
years in the rubbish of the stairs, were, on
the 17th4.f.fuly, 1674, by undoubted proofs,
discovered, being buried deep in that place.
Charles 11., pitying their unhappy late, or
dered those unfortunate princes to be laid
among the relics of their predecessors, in
1678, and the thirteenth of - his reign."
Richard 111., the author of this foul deed,
slain in the battle of Bosworth Field, was
unceremoniously thrown across a horse, and
conveyed behind a pursuivantmt-arms to
Leicester. There the Corpse was buried in
the 'church of St. Iklary:4s2beleaging to a
monastry of the Gray Friars. his con
queror placed over him a tomb adorned
with his statue in alabaster, where it re
mained till the dissolution of the Abbeys,
when the: monument was utterly destroyed.
the' grave rifled, and its human , remains
ignominiously cast out. The stone coffin
was made a drinking-t v rough for horses, at
the White [horse Inn, Leicester.
The first of the Tudors, Henry VII., died
at Richmond Palace, and was laid in the
mngnifieent chapel which he had• built,
and which bears his name appended to
Westminster Abbey. The tomb of, black
marble stands in the centre, inclosed in
an admirably executed chantry of cast brass,
ornamented with statues. The brutal Hen
ry VIII, wont to his account at Westmin
ster, not aware, till the last moment came,
of his true condition, none caring to tell
him, -as several persons had been pat to
dtz ! ith at various times fur, saying that the
king was dying, or likely to die. Re found
a, grave under the choir• of St.- Gleurge's
Chapel, Windsor, where to leaden coffin was
ob.erved, supposed to be his, upon the vault
being opened in the year 1813. It measur
ed nearly seven feet in length,• and app'ear
ed to ha-c been beaten in by violence about
the middle, as there wits a considerable
opening in that part of it, exposinga mere
skeleton of the 'inmate. Some beard re
mained upon the chili, but there,was no
thing to, discriminate the 'person, and no
exterior inscription. The four next mice
reigns-rrEdward VI., who died: at Green
wich , Palaem, Mary, at St..J.itnes's; Eine
bed), at ,Richmond,' and James I. at Theo
bahrl iu lions—were all committed to the
earth in Westminster Abbey. A stately
monument marks the grave of Elizabeth,
the last of our monarchs to whose resting-
Wave ~ttch a memorial 'has been given.
The axe of the executioner terminated
the trouble: ,career La: ,Cluttles I. on the
scaffidd before IVliiteball. A universal
groan burst from the multitude assembled
upon the sad occasion, at the fatal stroke.
rush was made to dip handkerchiefs in
the royal blood as a memento; but the
trips put themselves in motion, cleared
the streets, and dismal tragedy, end-d. This
is the testimony of Philip Henry, father of
Matthew Il.mry, the commentator, who was
present. The remains were interred a t
Windsor. in the same vault with those of
henry VIII. and Jute Seymour. A few
devoted cavaliers attended the ceremony,
and noticed the coincidence be, aeon the
coronation and the funerrl of their master.
On the former nova- , iti the king. chose to
appear in a white robe, o , m l : s it this was op
posed by ht. trieods as contrary to he prat;
lice of his pre.le. essors and to popular idea
for purple was t..-tisisidered the color appro
prism.: to sovereignty. Ile was superstiti
ously reminded that, of two exceptions. to
the ride—Richard 11. and Henry VI., who
wore white satin at their eigninations—both
had cotne to a violent end. But Cheries
persisted in his purpose; the third "white
king" was crowned; and he went to the
grave in his favorite color. The snow fell
heavily at the time, so as to cover the black
velvet pall with a silvery mantle, on the
passage of the bier from the Castle Co St.
George's Chapel. All knowledge of the pre
cise place of interment was afterwards lost,
till the year 1813. when, in the course of
ma inn sone retrials, the workmen acci
dentally opened the vault; and, to clear up
a douptfull point in history. its contents
were examined in the presence of the Prince
Regent, Sir lleory Ilalford, and others.
There w.ts a plain leaden coffin discovered,
with two more. The .ureter bore the in
set ipt ton, in large legible characters, on at
scroll of lead encircling it, "King Charles,
1348." It contained a wooden man, very
much decayed, in which was the body, care
fully wrapped up in cerecloth. Upon dis
closing the face, the skin was found dark
and discolored; the. forehead and puppies
had lost little or nothing of their muscular
substance; the cartiliago of toe nose was
gone; the left eye wits, open and full, in the
first element of exposure, though it vanish.
ed almost immediately; and the pointed
beard, eo characteristic of the period, was
perfeot. The shape of the face was a long
oval: and its strong resemblance was in
stantly recognized to the coins. busts, and
e•peuially the pictures of Vandyke, by which
it has been made familiar to us, When the
head had had been entirely disengaged from
the attachments which confined it, it wo
found to be loose, and without any difficult‘
was taken up and held to view. It lb •
evident marks of having been severed by ,
heavy blow. inflicted with a very sharp in
'unmoor. The hair at the hack was thick.
but short. contrary to the prevailing cited.•
of the time; and had probably been cut ofi
for the convenience of the executioner, ot
after thralls. to furnish friends with relics.
Oliver Cromwell departed this life a'
Whitehall, on the anniversary of the battles
of Dunbar and Worcester, two of his great
est victories. A fearful storm raged in Eng
land and over nearly the whole of Europe
on the preceding night'and worn. The un
chained winds distur• ed the waters from
the Baltic to the Bosphorus; the seas were
strewed with wrecks from the coast of Nor
way to those of Italy and Spain; while
towns and forests suffered by the hurricane,
from the Grampians to the Apennines. The
Protector had a state funeral in Westmin
ster Abbey, the cost of which his represen
tatives were afterwards called upon to pay;
and, contrary to the maxim that "English
vengeance wars not with the dead," his
corpse was disgracefully disinterred, for the
purpose of being treated with indignity.—
Contemporary accounts state that the heads
of Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw, were
exposed on the roof of Westminster Hall,
and that the bodies were thrown into a
neighboring hole, after being suspended no
the gallows at Tyburn; but a tradition for
merly existed among the inhabitants of Red
Lion Square that they were interred in the
centre of that particular locality. It is
probably true, an not at all at variance
with the other relations, for the gallows was
frequently erected at the Holborn end of
Fetter,Lane, within a short distance of Red
Lion Square. Most likely,. therefore, the
Protector slumbers his last sleep in the lo
cality mentioned. But though discarded
from the mausoleum of royalty; and igno
mininusly treated,- his name.lives in history
with far greater honor than that of his spite
ful antagonists; and none of the legitimate
sovereigns have, like him, been panegYrized
by four such eminent contemporaries as
were Milton, MUM., 'Dryden, and LLnike.
Ri6hard'Cromwell, his son, and his secces
sor fir little more than seven months, after
n long expatrhttion spent his last daie,
un
dera feignedliarne,' nt Cheshunt, where lie
died peacefully, 'in 'the reign of Queen
• • `_"• ,
Anne. "
The dissolute lire and -disgraceful reign
of Cli'title's 11.. ended suddenly at Whitehall,
and ,was justly, followed bye neglected fu
neral: file king, ; ' says Evelyn, .-chron
iclindtlie event, !:was this night buried very
obSetively in a vault, under Henry, VlL's
Chaliel,Without any manner of pomp, and
soon forgotten"—an apt commentary upon
the; wise man's übservation: "So I saw the
wicked buried, who had,come and,gone from
the place of the holy, and they .were for
gotten in the city where they had so done."
James IL, a king fur twelve years after his
expatriation only in name, surrendered his
nominal sovereignty 'at St. Germain's, near
Paris. Vicissitudes, as strange in death as
in life, seem to have attended this Misgui
ded man. He left his heart to the Panics
de St. Mario. at Challiot. He bequeathed
his brains to the old Scotch College in the
Rue des Fosses' St.-Victor, in the chapel of
which, now leased to a private school, there
is a marble monument to his memory. Au
urn of bronze-gilt, containing the king's
brains, formerly stood on the crown of this
monument; but it was smashed, and the
contents scattered over the ground, during
the French ReVolut'on. The body itself
was interred in the monastery of English
Benedictine Monks, in the Rue du Fair
bourg St. Jacques. Upon the destruction
of this building, it was exhumed, and, after
being kept fur some years in a temporary
tomb in the neighborhood, it was transport.
ed to the parish church of St. Germain's
where a monument was placed over it by
George I P.
William 111, and Anne both died at Ken
sington Palace, and repose in IVesttninster
Abbey. George 1., arrested by the hand of
death white traveling abroad, expired,,at
Osnabargh, on the very same bed on which
he was born, and was laid by the side of
Ids ancestors in n vault beneath the Schloss
kirehe, at Hanover. George 11. departed
this life at Kensington, and, under cir
cumstances cf some interest, woe laid in
Westininirer Abbey. As a proof of his re
spect for his consort, Queen Caroline, who
had preceded bins to the grave, he left di
rections for their remains to be mingled to
exther. The order was obeyed. by the two
coffins being placed ,in a largo stone sere°.
Onus, when the sides of the wooden coffins
nearest each other were withdrawn. This
WAR a tradition merely at, the Abbey, till
confirmed in the year 1837. At that time
the vault was opened, under authority of
Secretary of State's warrant, in order to re
move a child of the : l)A° of Cumberland's,
late king of Hanover, which had been burl.
ed in it, to -Windsor. Dr. Martian super
intended the disinterment, which took place
by night. In the middle of the vault, to
wards one end, the large stone sarcophagus
Was seen, with the two aides of she coffins,
which had been" withdrawn, standing up
against the wall.
Windsor was the, scene of the death and
"•urial of the three next sovereigns—George
George IV., and William IV. They
.ie in the Royal Dormitory, to the east of
it. George's Chapel, where all the members
f the reigning family, deceased in England
.ace been placed, since its application to
•1, 0 purpose of a mausoleum, with the ex
eptiun of the Duke of Sussex, buried by
pie own desire in Kensal Green Cemetery.
. rid the unhappy wife of George IV.. who
..ne removed to New Brunswick. These
eminiecences of royalty .in its ruins em•
Matien.lly suggest the moral of the poet:
"Tire glories of our blood and state
Arr shadows, not substootlal things."
$1,50 E.E.11"13.A1l IN ADVANCE; $2,170 . 1F NOT IN ADVANCE.
laird Nic4
Laird Nicky, about forty years ago, was a
conspicuous inhabitant of the village of Half-
Starvlet, in a mountainous district of Scot
land. A most indefatigable wrestler with
the difficulties of this life, was the Laird;
a mere day-laborer in his calling, but one
so diligent and so ingenious in turning all
things to account, that before_ he was past
middle life he lied realised enough of money
to purchase a field in his neighborhood, for
which reason ho had obtained an appella
tion which, in Scotland, is denied to no pos
sessor of land, however small ire extent.
Nicky was a bulky man, always dressed in
the meanest of attire. Ile bad a cottage,
with various accommodations for an old
horse, a cow, a pig, and some poultry. To
anything by which money could be made,
he was ready to turn his hand. lie even
swept chimneys, reserving, however, fur
that duty, Saturday, for the prudent reason
that that was the last clay of his weekly
shirt. While doing day work for others he
was sure to have several half-hours out of
every four-and-twenty to devote to delving
and debbling in his own garden, to repair
ing his hemlines° and piggery, or driving
l out dung to his own land. Sometimes be
would be seen mending the thatch of his
j house, invested in a woman's petticoat, to
I protect his clothes, albeit one would have
thought them little worthy of such care. At
1
another time you would see him driving
home a load of some country stuff, of which
' he was going to make a merchandise. Long
before any learned agricultural society
pointed out the thing. Hickey bed found it
to his advantage to lay a set of old donre
over his dung-heap to 93.ve it from evapora
tion, and had learned to drain it into a lit
tle hole, which he kept carefully. .covered
over with a large slate. lie had a wife in
delicateshealth, and many smell bairns, and
was rather hard to them all, his iron will
leaving him no Sympathies for the ,weak
flo.BBS of others. Poor Nell) , wished much
to be allowed the little luxury of tea; but
had to take it standing at.a cupboard,which
she ws:s . ,redi,to shut up if her husband
should aortae in.: S iaehas been known, neon-
Bien:illy, in his presence, to take it as a
medicine in a cup sprinkled with meal. At
dinner, he sat, with the potato-pot between
his knees; taking care,:in the distribution of
the 'cO n ten ts,' that, the hunger of the bread
winner of the family should be amply satis
fied, come of the others what might. He
was a healthy man under all Millard work,
until the establishment of a Friendly Soul
' ety, in the village, after which he generally
had an illness of several weeks in the dead
I of winter, especially if the usual labors of
such men ae lie were interrupted by snow.
Nicky would then mount an old plaid and
poly-cliromotic night-cup, and . taking up a
position by the fire-side, become entitled to
an allowance of five shillings a week from
"the Box." " There was a scandalous story
of the inspectoror visitor of the society has
ing found him one day engaged in the 'aeria
-1 ing of his thatelt; but strict justice obliges
I us to record that, on' the visitor expressing
his gratificationt at seeing him well again,
he cried "Weell Pm far frac wee!. D'yo
no see, man, I've a man working at the hock
u' the house, here, and I was just show
ing him what was to be done." It must
also be remembered in Nieky's favor, that,
amidst all his worldly prosperity, he was
a man who never forgot that ho was
mortal. In his walk and conversation, he
was rather noted for seriousness, well as n
constant readiness to testify to the infirmity
of poor human nature: "It was just grand,"
his neighbors declared, "to hear him ex- ,
pounding points by the fireside in the '
gloaming; and at a death-bed he was nearly
as po'orfu' as the minister him-er."
In the younger days of Laird Nicky, gnmo
was a thing little thought of in the north.
Men now and then went oat with fowling
pieces, and spent a forenoon in the turnip- i
fields seeking fur partridges, or in the moors i
looking for grouse, nod next day were at
their usual avocations. No country gentle
man as yet thought of deriving a revenue
from the wild animals on his estate. No
man dreampt of' going to live a month at it
time in the wilderness merely to amuse him
self by the slaughter of the fowls of the air.
But, by-and-by, it became customary for
English gentlemen of fortune to take large
'tracts of Scottish moorland on lease, with a !
view to the exclusive privilege of shooting I
no these grounds; thus establishing n kind I
of rent fur such rroperty, often not much i
less than the first. Many rich Southrowt
bought hyperborean estates for the sake of
the sport they could afford. It was, of
course, essential to this system -that the
game should be encouraged and protected
as much as possible, so that there really
might be birds to shoot; for to go -with nll
the proper apparatus and ample provision
for a month's living at a particular place,
and, after all, senrcely start a single wing,
was a solecism not to be submitted to if it
could be at all avoided.
Laird ?rickey marked the revolution
which was going on. and could not but ob
mtree witb profound interest how, since the
game bad begun to be protected by means of
keepers and shepherds, there had been snob
nn increase in the quality which his unpre
tending neighbors were able to send by the
carrier to be sold in Edinburgh. Ile heard
,f the high prices which grouse realised.
Ind longed to take a pert in the traffic. It
'coursed to him, however, that merely to
pick up an occasional brace in the course
[WHOLE NUMBER 1,543.
of a country ramble, and, commit diem to
Jock Jaffray next day as he came past with
his cart, in the hope of getting three or four
shillings returned from the poulterer in the
ensuing week, was poor work, not wordy
of a rrmii of any genius. Ho soared a irieter
flight. He announced his intention of ta
king out the license for game, like his more
wealthy neighbors.
People thought nay had gone mad.
Pride in his little field, recently purchased,
had evidently turned his brain, And many
were the moral reflections on, the subject.
"Eh, dear sake, to think on the wand's
gear haeing sic an effeckl Virhaes the guid
o't, if he canna guide it? Eh, ny. Eb, we're
puir frail creature, and hae mickle need to
pray for strength to keep us out o' yam
ties." Nickey said n , thing, giving no reply
even to questions which were merrily Tut to
him, as to the moor he designed to take for
the season, the friends be. intended to in
vite to his box, and so forth. When the
longed for Twefth arrived, he remained at
home as usual, very busy, however, in erect
ing a curious, many sided hut or lodge at
the corner of his field, apparently designed
as a. kind of summer-house. It was also
remarked that he spent a good deal of time
in taking down and doing up a number of
old fowling-pieces which he had lately pur
chased. lie seemed so much engaged in
these pursuits as to have forgot his harvest.
There was his crop of oats, fully ripe and
regularly "stocked," but no word of Nielly
taking it in. What could it 4 mean?
S.,me weeks elapsed, and the labors of nu
t= were everywhere at nn.end.
,The octo
her frosts were setting, in, and still there
were Nicky's oat-stocks standing, out in the
GUI Why, the very birds from the neigh
boring moors—Sir
,qoorge . Telfair's par
ticularly—wore •begining to, come, down to
eat the neglected grain, it was evident that
in a Very little while they would make an
end of it. All his usual thrift bad certain
ly
deserted him.
Ode forenoon the quiet of.the,vidlage was
disturbed by a quick series of, sharp lend
sounds, not unlike a feu de joie, andjutuatof
the people , were iminediately-astir lee
what had
, happened. On due examination
it wiis found that the sound had proceeded
from the queer latioking , hut, pc aum,iner
house in Nieky's field, and
,was produced
by a'set of fowlingpieces which that mys
terious persori had. arranged there on a
frame to go off together on 'the setting fire
of a train, and which had actually , at this
first shot killed about a score of: grouse and
partridges. Nicky was now coolly gathering
up his many victims in a large isack, I t
appeared that he had tal.en hieidea from
the machine of the regicide Piegelii, oftlyrci
fixing his pieces that one bore directly : upon
each of tbo six or seven heaps into which he
had collected his crop. !lacing prepared
everything in the most careful manner, Le
had set himself down to wait until a ,eori
siderable number of birds were gathered in
the spot; when, firing the train, lie had
dealt sudden destruction amongst them,
with the result which has bean stated.
his neighbors were lust in wonder at what
they saw, and it was some time before they
thoroughly comprehended the drift of the
whole, affitir. When at length they under:
stood Nicky's plan 'and its, effects, they,
readily yielded him tho admiration doe to
his superior genius. "Gehl faith. dicky
kens what lie's about. Fee warrant he's
an nuld aoe. Eh, whit would hue thought
it?"
I When Nicky ital got his machine reload
ed, he found it necessary to warn:his admir
ing neighbors stump from the premises.
"Ye see. coy friends, this is a solitary busi
ness o' mine. The birds winna come unless
they see a cleur field. Let every man. then,
gang hamo to his ain house, and come as
little this way as possible. I hope to get
another shot afore dinner time." They
readily obeyed him; and in a coot•le of hoar.
or as he did get a second shot, and an effec
tive one, nearly the same number of birds
being slaughtered. In short, Nicks , was
able to send forty brace of birds into Edin
burgh next morning by the hands of Jook
Jaffrny; thus, as hesaid, clearing the license
the first tiny, besides a "wee thing owrc."
It was nut a game to be played at too
much, fur in that case he would have soon
created a general impression among the bird
population of the district to the effect that
Nioky's field was dangerous ground.. Too
knowing for Ibis, be abstained from firing
for three days, during which . , however, he
left a single stack expose.). jostle keep up
the connection. Then be once store exposed
the whole of his crop, and taking up his po-
sition in the summer-house, made doe prep
orations for what he called another field•day.
The birds came in nearly as great numbers
as before, and by superior marking he was
not less successful than he bad been at first.
lie generally bagged from six to ten brace
at a shot, and before the evening be was
generally in a condition to send a good load
of game to town. By this second day'a pro.
ceedings hie profits cnuld 'net well be less
than five pounds.
The intelligence being quickly spread
over the district, there was it degree of fury
inspired in the breasts of the gentlemen of,
the adjacent moors such as bed no
,psrallil
in the annals of sporting. The first impres
sion everywhere was that McIT was a
poacher, alike without government , license
and permission of landlord, so that there
eoald be no difficulty in suppressing and
punishing him. flat it soon became known
that Nick did pnapetie a liceitse, and only