Chapter V: Part 5

On the appointment of the Ladies of the Bedchamber to the Queen, Lady Sandwich was justified in her fear, “that the King would still keep in, with Lady Castlemaine.” A great commotion occurred, in the old Palace of Hampton Court. The Queen had never mentioned the favourite’s name; therefore Charles hoped she was ignorant of her rival’s existence; but when the list of the proposed Ladies of the Bedchamber, was submitted to her Majesty, Catherine deliberately pricked out the name of my Lady Castlemaine, which much disturbed her husband. By the King’s command, Lord Clarendon, sorely against his inclination, waited on Her Majesty, to try and induce her to cancel her refusal, but the Queen “was much discontented with her husband,” and declared that rather than submit to the insult, she would desire to return to her own country. Lady Castlemaine through an artifice however, approached her Royal mistress, and kissed her hand; who, on discovering the trick, fell into a swoon, and was carried from the apartment. The King was furious; the Queen for a while appeared inflexible, but Charles gained his point in the end, for after some time had elapsed, Barbara’s appointment was confirmed, and from that time forth, the Queen, by some strange persuasion, or obedience to the King’s orders, treated her rival with familiarity, and confidence; “was,” says Pepys, “merry with her in public, and in private used nobody more friendly.” But then, according to the same authority, “the Queen is a most good lady, and takes all, with the greatest meekness that may be.”

The syren seems indeed to have bewitched every one, Dryden himself did not disdain to write a poem in her honour. On one occasion the Countess had a violent altercation, with “la belle Stewart,” Maid of Honour, who had excited her jealousy, and the King, taking part against her, the imperious lady walked off to her uncle’s at Richmond, whither Charles soon followed her, on pretence of hunting, but really to ask pardon. Not long after, however, Pepys saw her on horseback, with the King, the Queen, Mistress Stewart, etc.; but he thought the King looked coldly on her, “and when she had to ’light, nobody pressed to take her down, but her own gentleman, and she looked, though handsome, mighty out of humour, and had a yellow plume in her hat.” A report reached the Queen’s ears, that Barbara had turned Papist, but though a zealot in her religion, Catherine “did not much like it, as she did not believe it was done for conscience sake.” Perhaps her Majesty agreed, with the learned Divine who said that “if the Church of Rome had got no more by Lady Castlemaine, than the Church of England had lost, the matter was not much.”

A curious, and unpleasant adventure befell Lady Castlemaine, in the Park, returning from a visit to the Duchess of York at St. James’s Palace, attended only by her maid, and a little page. She was accosted by three gentlemen in masks, who upbraided her in the strongest language, and reminded her that the mistress of Edward IV. had died of starvation, on a dunghill, abandoned by all the world. The infuriated and terrified beauty no sooner reached home, than she swooned; the King ran to the rescue, ordered the gates of the Park to be shut, but it was too late—several arrests were made, but no discovery ensued.

In the year of the Plague, the Court being at Oxford, Lady Castlemaine gave birth to a son, at Merton College. The lady and the King had high words on the occasion of the Duke of Buckingham being sent to the Tower, she speaking up boldly, in his behalf, Charles saying she was a jade that meddled in matters she had nothing to do with; she retorting that he was “a fool to suffer his business to be carried on by fools,” and so forth. But before five days had elapsed the Duke was at liberty. Lady Castlemaine was a determined enemy to Chancellor Clarendon, and she had declared in the Queen’s chamber, she hoped to see his head upon a stake to keep company with those of the Regicides, and there is no doubt she was instrumental in procuring the downfall of the King’s “faithful and able adviser.” Gambling was another vice in which Barbara indulged, and Pepys tells us she won £15,000, one night, and lost £25,000 another. But her favour was on the wane: she was libelled, and abused, and the King was weary of her, and it was reported that he had given her large sums of money and a fine house, (the residence of the Earls of Berkshire, on the south-west corner of St. James’s Street,) merely to get rid of her. Yet she still ruled him in many points, and she made great friends with the Duke and Duchess of York, while one of her violent hatreds was against the Duke of Ormond, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, because he would not confirm the grant of Phœnix Park, a house near Dublin, which the King had promised her. Meeting him in one of the royal apartments, she fell upon him with a torrent of abuse, and ended by expressing a hope that she might live to see him hanged. His Grace replied with calm dignity, “he was in no haste to shorten her days; all he wished was to live, to see her old.”

In 1670, Barbara, Countess of Castlemaine, was created Baroness Nonsuch, Countess of Southampton, and Duchess of Cleveland, in the Peerage of England, with the Palace and Park of Nonsuch, in Surrey, and an enormous increase of income: so that as far as pecuniary advantages went, the King was still sufficiently under her spell, to comply with her exorbitant demands. John Churchill, (afterwards the great Duke of Marlborough,) when a Court Page attracted the attention of Barbara. She lavished gifts upon him, procured him the post of Groom of the Bedchamber to the Duke of York, and obtained his promotion in the army. But in later years when her beauty had passed away, and her favour at Court, the man who had risen by her influence, refused to speak a word in her behalf, respecting the renewal of her ill-paid pension. The last grant made to the Duchess of Cleveland, and to the Earl of Northumberland, for their lives, was the Rangership of the honour, and manor of Hampton Court; but the lodge in Bushy Park was not habitable. It was about this time, that Barbara went to France, her name appearing as a liberal patroness to the Convent of the Blue Nuns, in the Faubourg St. Antoine (where she had placed her daughter Barbara), and other religious houses.

In 1678 occurred the episode, with the English Ambassador, to which we have alluded in the notice of the Duke of Montagu, when Barbara on her return from London, found that her own daughter, the Countess of Sussex, had supplanted her, in the favour of that fickle nobleman. In 1694, she was living in Arlington Street, Piccadilly, and received as a companion a certain Madame De la Rivière, one of the daughters and co-heiresses of Sir Roger Manley, Bart., a woman of no reputation, save as the authoress of some inferior literary productions; who after a stormy friendship, repaid her patroness’s hospitality by contriving a clandestine marriage for her eldest son, the Duke of Southampton, with the daughter of Sir William Pulteney, a match very much disapproved by his mother.

Lord Castlemaine died in 1705. After his separation from his wife, as far back as 1662, his life was eventful; he travelled far, fought at Solebay, was twice sent to the Tower, went as Ambassador to Rome, was the author of several political pamphlets, and in fact “meddled a little in everything around.” Four months after his death, his widow married the celebrated “Beau” Feilding, the widower of two heiresses, viz., the only daughter of Lord Carlingford, and the only daughter of the Marquis of Clanricarde, widow of Viscount Muskerry, and of Robert Villiers, Viscount Purbeck. Both ladies died without children, and the Beau at the time of his marriage with Duchess Barbara, was a man of desperate fortune, and character. He ill-treated his wife, who was most generous to him, and would have divested her of all her property, had not her sons stood by her. Fortunately, for her Grace, it was discovered that the Beau had already, but a few days before his marriage with her, espoused a certain Mary Wadsworth, who had been palmed off upon his credulity, as a widow of enormous wealth. He was tried, and found guilty of bigamy, Barbara being in court during the trial, and the marriage was pronounced null, and void.

She passed the remainder of her life at Chiswick, where she died of dropsy in the sixty-ninth year of her age, 1709. She left a considerate will, and gave strict orders concerning her funeral, desiring to be buried at the parish church. Her pall was borne by six Peers of the realm. Barbara’s three sons were the Duke of Cleveland and Southampton, the Duke of Grafton, and the Duke of Northumberland; the first and last titles became extinct. Her daughters were the Countess of Sussex, the Countess of Lichfield, “a blameless beauty,” and Lady Barbara Fitzroy, (disowned by the King, and supposed to be the daughter of John Churchill, afterwards Duke of Marlborough), who took the veil, and died as Prioress of a convent in France. Bishop Burnet, in speaking of Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland, says: “She was a woman of great beauty, vicious, ravenous, foolish, and imperious.” Another contemporary says: “She was a great contradiction, unboundedly lavish, yet sordidly covetous.”

Portrait galleries teem with likenesses of Barbara, at different ages, in different costumes, and “moods.” In the celebrated “Bellona” of the Hampton Court Beauties we detect the “arrogant virago” who carried all before her: but in the portrait in question, her beauty is far more captivating from the pensive and languid expression, which softens her brilliant eyes, and smooths the corners of her finely cut but usually severe lips. No wonder, Lord Sandwich was delighted with his present. Pepys does not specify the donor, whether the lady, or the artist; but he says: “My Lady Sandwich showed me, and Mistress Pepys, Lady Castlemaine’s picture, at the new house in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, finely done, and given my Lord;” and in another page, he calls it “that most blessed picture.”

_General Ireton_:

BY DOBSON.

THREE-QUARTER LENGTH.

(Long Hair. Red Doublet. A Cuirass and Sash. Buff Gloves. Right
Hand holding the Sash. Left on his Hip.)

Born, 1611. Died, 1651. Son of Gervase Ireton, Esq., of Attenborough, Co. Notts. Was a gentleman-commoner, at Trinity College, Oxford. Destined for the bar; but the Civil War breaking out, he obtained a commission in the Parliamentary Army. In 1645 he married at Norton, near Oxford, Bridget, the eldest daughter of Oliver Cromwell, by whom he had one son, and four daughters. In 1649 he was appointed one of the King’s judges, and signed the warrant for his execution. He was a man of undoubted courage, and distinguished himself in numerous engagements, more especially at the battle of Naseby. His views were violently republican, but his integrity stern and uncompromising; no mercenary motives influenced him. Eleven years the junior of Cromwell, and his son-in-law, he dared to differ with him, and to expostulate boldly when he disapproved of the Protector’s conduct. After the battle of Worcester he was offered pecuniary remuneration, with several other members of the Parliamentary Army, but he was disinterested enough to refuse £20,000, and to tell the government roundly, he should be more content to see them paying off the debts they had incurred, than thus disposing of the public money. It was thought that his appointment as Lord Deputy in Ireland, was intended by the Protector to remove him from all possibility of interference with his own proceedings; and there seems little doubt that Ireton, shortly before his death, had contemplated crossing the Channel to speak face to face with his father-in-law, in reference to many measures he disapproved. But he was suddenly seized, and carried off by the Plague, during the siege of Limerick in 1651.

Ireton was held in great esteem by his party and his comrades, and it was said of him that he grafted the soldier on the lawyer, and the statesman on the saint. Cromwell was much affected at his death, and caused the body to be brought over, and deposited with great pomp in Westminster Abbey, in Henry VII.’s Chapel. At the Restoration however, the body was dug up, and hung upon a gibbet at Tyburn.

_Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector of England_:

BY WALKER.

HALF-LENGTH: OVAL.

(In Armour, with a Plain Falling Collar.)

Born, 1599. Died, 1658—The only surviving son of Robert Cromwell, by Elizabeth Stewart: born in Huntingdon, named after his uncle, Sir Oliver Cromwell, of Hinchingbrook, where he passed many of his earlier days. Numerous stories are told, (some ridiculed, some generally believed,) of Oliver’s infancy, and boyhood. It is said that on one occasion he was snatched from his cradle by a monkey, who jumping out of the window, scampered over the roof of Hinchingbrook, to the consternation of the family, who stood watching the beast, with great anxiety. Whether or not the monkey felt, that he bore in his arms the future ruler of England, the chronicler does not affirm, but he goes on to relate, that the fears of the relatives were soon appeased by seeing the baby safely restored to his cradle, by the conscientious ape! Another incident connected with Hinchingbrook was more currently believed, viz., that Charles I., when a boy, visited Sir Oliver, on his road from Scotland to London. The good knight sent for his nephew to help him entertain the Prince, which he did by disputing violently with his Royal Highness: a quarrel ensued, and Oliver, being the strongest of the two, caused Charles’s blood to flow, an ominous presage of after times. We do not know how Sir Oliver visited his nephew’s outbreak, but he was a staunch cavalier, and supported the Royalists till his death.

Oliver, when a school-boy, was wilful, and wayward, and fond of wild and sometimes coarse jests. One Christmas night, the revels at Hinchingbrook were interrupted by some unseemly pranks of his conceiving, which called down upon him, a sentence from the Master of Misrule that Sir Oliver ordered into immediate execution, viz., that the young recreant should be subjected then, and there, to a severe ducking in one of the adjoining fishponds. When still a school-boy, another anecdote is told of Oliver; that on awaking from a short sleep, one hot day, he electrified his schoolfellows with the description of a dream, he had had. How a woman of gigantic stature had appeared at the side of his bed, and slowly undrawing the curtains, had announced to him that some day, he would be the greatest man in England—the word “King” did not however pass her lips. The young visionary was rewarded for this lie, (as it was considered) by a severe flogging. A better authenticated story is told of his rescue from drowning, by one Johnson, a citizen of Huntingdon, of whom General Cromwell enquired (when in after years, he marched through his native town, with the army) if he remembered the circumstance: “Yes,” was the indignant reply, “and I wish to my heart I had let you drown, rather than to see you in arms, against your King.”

At the age of seventeen, Oliver Cromwell left the Grammar School, at Huntingdon, and entered Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge. Both as a school-boy and a collegian he distinguished himself more in athletic sports, than in application to study, and he appears to have led a wild irregular life, according to his own admission, for it is difficult to sift the truth, from the preposterous flattery on the one hand, and the unqualified abuse on the other, which characterise Cromwell’s biographers, according to their political opinions. In recording his own conversion, at the age of twenty years, he says: “Before which time, I hated holiness, and the Word of God.” His mother sent him to study at Lincoln’s Inn, “where,” says Carrington, “he associated with those of the best rank, and quality, and the most ingenious persons, for though not averse to study and contemplation, he seemed rather addicted to conversation, and the reading of men’s characters, than to a continual poring over authors.” On completing his twenty-first year, he married Elizabeth, daughter of Sir James Bourchier, of Felsted, in Essex, a kinswoman of Hampden’s, who brought him a modest dowry, which she nobly relinquished with the additional money he had settled on her for life, to rescue her husband from pecuniary difficulties in after years; a woman of irreproachable life, and unobtrusive manners, who tolerated rather than coveted grandeur, and distinction, an excellent housewife, and a loving help-mate. The newly married pair fixed their residence in Huntingdon, where his mother still lived, and where several children were born to them.

Cromwell now turned his mind to those studies, and pursuits which paved his way to future greatness. He made his house the refuge for the “disaffected,” or the “persecuted” Nonconformist Ministers; he encouraged them in their opposition, prayed, preached, built a chapel for them, supported them on all occasions, and became so popular, that the chief of his fellow townsmen offered to return him for the Borough, in the next Parliament that was summoned. In 1625 he failed—in 1628 he was returned as member for Huntingdon, when his cousin Hampden also took his seat. Dr. South describes Oliver’s appearance on this occasion, in a manner that caused the Merry Monarch to observe: “Oddsfish! that chaplain must be a Bishop; put me in mind of him, next vacancy.” “Who that beheld such a bankrupt, beggarly fellow, as Cromwell, first entering the Parliament House, with a torn, thread-bare coat, and greasy hat (perhaps neither of them paid for) would have believed that in a few years.” ... &c.?

After the dissolution of this Parliament, where Hampden, Cromwell, and Pym bore bold testimony to their political, and religious faith, Oliver returned to Huntingdon, and afterwards flitted to a small farm, near St. Ives, with his wife and family. Hume says the long morning and afternoon prayers he made, consumed his own time, and that of his ploughmen, and he had little leisure for temporal affairs. A property in, and near Ely, left him by his maternal uncle, determined him to settle in that city, in 1636. In 1640 he was returned for Cambridge, by the majority of a single vote. From this moment the history of Cromwell is the history of England, and his acts and all that he did, are written in the chronicles of Clarendon, Hume, and other historians, whose name is Legion. From that time, whether in Parliament, or the field, he was in arms against the King, whose execution took place on the 30th of January, 1649. But the inscription over the bed on which the Protector lay in state, will assist the memory as to dates.

Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector, etc., born at Huntingdon, was educated in Cambridge, afterwards at Lincoln’s Inn. At the beginning of the wars, captain of a troop of horse raised at his own charge. By the Parliament made Commander-in-Chief, he reduced Ireland and South Wales, overthrew Duke Hamilton’s army, and the Kirk’s at Dunbar, reduced all Scotland, and defeated Charles Stuart’s army, at Worcester. He was proclaimed Protector in 1654, and while refusing the title of King, sate on a Chair of State, the only one covered, in that vast assembly, and drove back to his Palace at Whitehall, with more than regal pomp. Thither, keeping up great state, he removed his aged mother, whose remaining days were embittered by alarm, for her son’s safety, his favourite daughter, Mrs. Claypole, from whom he would scarcely ever separate, the gentle and handsome likeness of himself, Mary, etc.

Hard, cruel, and uncompromising in public life, Oliver was tender, and loving in his domestic relations. He lost two sons, Robert, who died in childhood, Oliver, who fell in battle, a great favourite with his father, who in his last moments alluded to the young soldier’s death, “which went as a dagger to my heart, indeed it did.” His other children were, Richard, his successor for a short time only; Henry, Lord Deputy of Ireland; Bridget, married first, to General Ireton, and secondly, to Lieutenant-General Fleetwood; Elizabeth, married to Mr. Claypole, his favourite daughter, whose death was supposed to have hastened her father’s; Mary married to Viscount Fauconberg; and Frances married to the Hon. Robert Rich.

It is almost too well known, to be worthy of writing down, how Cromwell’s last days were embittered by suspicion, and distrust of all around him, and constant fear of assassination. He died, however, after fourteen days sickness, of ague, “peaceably in his bed,” on his “fortunate day,” September the Third, the anniversary of the victories of Worcester, and Dunbar, in a storm so tremendous, and so universal, that it reached the coasts of the Mediterranean. The funeral was conducted with more than regal pomp, and splendour, but on the accession of Charles II., the Protector’s body was dug up, and hung upon the “Traitor’s Tree.”

_General Monk_:

BY WALKER.

HALF-LENGTH: OVAL.

(In Armour. Long Hair. White Cravat, tied with large Bow, and
Black Ribbon.)

Born, 1608. Died, 1670. A younger son of Thomas Monk, of Potheridge, Devon. When only seventeen, in consequence of a domestic quarrel, where (says the _Biographie Universelle_) “par excès d’amour filial, il maltraita le sous-sheriff d’Exeter,” he went to sea, and afterwards served under the Duke of Buckingham. In 1629, he entered one of the English regiments in Holland, where he studied the art of war, with great diligence, and was remarkable for his steadiness, and for the discipline, he maintained among the soldiers, treating them at the same time with great kindness. In 1639, he returned to England. When Charles I., was embarked in that unfortunate war with Scotland, which was the forerunner of terrible disasters, Monk, as Lieutenant-Colonel of artillery, displayed much skill, and courage, though both proved useless; and he then went to Ireland on promotion. Here he did considerable service, was made Governor of Dublin, but Parliament intervening, he was superseded in the office, and on the conclusion of a truce (by the King’s commands) with the Irish rebels, he returned to England. On his arrival he found that doubts of his fidelity had been instilled into Charles’s mind; but joining that monarch at Oxford, he soon dispelled them, was promoted to the rank of Major-General, and sent to relieve Sandwich, where he was taken prisoner, and thence committed to the Tower by the Roundheads.

His captivity lasted two years, during which time he rejected all overtures, made him by the Protector, and occupied his leisure hours in noting down his observations on military, and political subjects. Cromwell entertained a high opinion of Monk as a soldier, and he offered him the alternative of prolonged imprisonment, or a command in the Parliamentary army, to march against O’Neill, the Irish rebel. Monk accepted the latter, and behaved in this expedition with his usual courage, and determination; but he was ill-supported by the Government at home, who, as we are told, “had too many irons in the fire,” to attend to the Irish war. He was reluctantly compelled to sign a treaty with O’Neill, for which proceeding he was called to account, on his return to England. But the Protector considered his services necessary, and despatched him in command to Scotland, where he again saw much service. Yet in Oliver’s mind there lurked suspicions of Monk’s fidelity; and not long before his death, he wrote to the General saying: “There be that tell me, there is a certain cunning fellow in Scotland, called George Monk, who is said to lie in wait there, to introduce Charles Stuart; I pray you use your diligence to apprehend him, and send him up to me.”

Monk’s proceedings from this time, form part of history, and the share he took in the restoration of Charles II., is too well known to be repeated here. Charles called him his father, invested him with the Order of the Garter, created him Duke of Albemarle, Earl of Torrington, and Baron Monk, and appointed him Lieutenant-General of the Forces of the United Kingdom, with a large income.

In 1653, he married (or acknowledged his marriage with) Anne, daughter of John Clargis, who had long resided under his roof: “A lady,” says Guizot, “whose manners were more vulgar, and less simple, than those of her husband, and who was the laughing-stock, of a witty and satirical court.”

The French historian speaks disparagingly of the great general, but in the time of the Plague, when the court, and ministers left London, the Duke remained to watch over the necessities of the wretched inhabitants, to save families from pillage, and to alleviate the sufferings of the poor.

He was afloat in joint command of the fleet with Prince Rupert, when the Great Fire occurred, and the general cry was: “Ah, if old George had been here, this would not have happened.” He died in his sixty-second year, leaving an enormous fortune to his spendthrift son Christopher, (who died without children), and was buried in Westminster Abbey with great splendour, Charles II. attending his obsequies.

Guizot says: “C’étoit un homme capable de grandes choses, quoiqu’il n’eût pas de grandeur dans l’âme.” His jealousy of his noble colleague Lord Sandwich, bears out the French historian’s Opinion, in some measure.

In his last illness, he was much occupied with arranging the alliance of his surviving son, Christopher, (the death of the elder had been a terrible blow to him) with the heiress of the wealthy Duke of Newcastle. The nuptials were celebrated in his own chamber, and a few days afterwards, George Monk, Duke of Albemarle, expired in his arm-chair, without a groan.

_Charles II., King of England_:

BY SIR PETER LELY.

FULL-LENGTH.

(Standing by a Table, on which are his Helmet and Staff.)

Born, 1630. Died, 1685.—He was the second surviving son of Charles I., by Henrietta Maria of France, born at St. James’s Palace, on the 29th of May. When only twelve years old was appointed to the command of a troop of horse, his father’s Body Guard at York, and sent with the title of General, to serve in the Royal army when fifteen. After the defeat of Naseby, he went to Scilly, then to Jersey, and in 1646 joined his mother, at Paris. He was at the Hague, when the news of his father’s death reached him, and he immediately assumed the title of King. In 1649, he was proclaimed King at Edinburgh. He left Holland, returned to Paris, and thence again to Jersey, where he received a deputation from Scotland, and accepted the Crown offered him by the Presbyterians, under such humiliating conditions, as disgusted him with that sect, for the rest of his life. In 1650, he arrived in Scotland, being compelled to take the Covenant before he landed; was crowned at Scone on New Year’s Day, 1651; but marched south, on hearing of the advance of Cromwell, and was proclaimed King at Carlisle. Defeated by Cromwell, at the Battle of Worcester, Charles had a narrow escape, with all the well known incidents of the hiding place in Boscobel Oak, etc. He embarked from Shoreham for Normandy, thence to Paris, Bruges, Brussels. In the latter city he heard of the Protector’s death; then, when at Calais and Breda, he kept up constant communication, not only with General Monk, and his own acknowledged partisans, but he also sent addresses to both Houses of Parliament. On the 1st, of May 1660, they voted his restoration; on the 8th, he was proclaimed in London; on the 23rd, he embarked from the Hague; and on the 29th, his thirtieth birthday, he made his public entry into London, amidst the enthusiastic acclamations of the people. In 1662, he married Catherine of Braganza, daughter of John IV., King of Portugal, and died at Whitehall, in the twenty-fifth year of his reign. Some say he confessed himself a Roman Catholic; some that he was a victim to poison. It was his brother’s wish to prove the former statement, and several of his contemporaries, including the Duke of Buckingham, believed the latter. The last named nobleman gives apparently an impartial character of the “Merry Monarch,” who was remarkable for contradictions, and inconsistencies, even above the average, in an inconsistent world. Buckingham says: “His very countenance set all rules of physiognomy at defiance, for being of a cheerful and compassionate disposition, his expression was melancholy, and repelling. He had a wonderful facility in comprehending trifles, but had too little application to master great matters. Generous, extravagant, lavish in the extreme, he had a reluctance to part with small sums, and it was often remarked that he grudged losing five pounds at tennis to the very people on whom at other times he would bestow five thousand. Gentle and yielding in trifles, he was inflexible in important matters. Profligate in the extreme, weak and capricious, he was,” says the same witness, “a civil and obliging husband, a kind master, an indulgent father, and an affectionate [and he might have added, forbearing] brother. Hating the formalities of royalty, he was ready to assert his dignity, when it was necessary to do so. So agreeably did he tell a story, that his hearers never cavilled at its repetition, not through civility, but from the desire to hear it again, as is the case with a clever comedy.”

So far the Duke of Buckingham. We know what his boon companion Rochester, wrote of him, in a provisional epitaph; perhaps one of the only sallies proceeding from his favourite, that “Old Rowley” did not relish:

“Here lies our Sovereign lord the King,
Whose word no man relies on:
Who never said a foolish thing,
And never did a wise one.”

Also Andrew Marvell’s satire:

“Of stature tall and sable hue,
Much like the son of Kish, that lofty Jew;
Ten years of need, he lingered in exile,
And fed his father’s asses, all the while.”

_Charles II., King of Spain_:

AGED FOUR YEARS.

BY SEBASTIAN HERRERA.

FULL-LENGTH.

(Long flowing Light Hair. Red Coat, trimmed with Silver. Lace
Ruffles. Holding a Truncheon in one Hand, and his Hat in the
other. Above him an Eagle, with extended Wings, bearing a
Sword. An Angel hovering over the King, holding the Spanish
Crown.)

Born, 1661. Died, 1700. Eldest surviving son of Philip IV., by Mariana, of Austria. Succeeded his father, when four years of age. His first wife was Marie Louise, daughter of Philip, Duke of Orleans, by Henrietta Maria of England. Transplanted from the brilliant Court of France, to the stiff formality of Spain, and the Spaniards, at a time when the jealousy of France was so great, that the Mistress of the Robes was said to have wrung her parrots’ necks for speaking French, Marie Louise, the wife of a half idiot King, bore herself wisely and bravely, and during the few short years of her reign, gained an influence for good, over her husband, who loved her dearly. But the mirror which broke to pieces in her fair hands, on the day of her arrival in Madrid, was but too true an omen. She died in the 27th year of her age, a victim to poison (as her mother had been before her), supposed to have been administered by the beautiful and infamous Olympia Mancini—at least this was the general belief. Her husband lamented her deeply; yet he re-married the next year, Anna Maria, daughter of Philip, Count Palatine, of Neuburg, a good-humoured, amiable Princess; but Charles remained indifferent to her, and so faithful was he to the memory of his first wife, that one of his last acts was to cause the tomb in which she was interred to be opened, while he hung in speechless sorrow, over the embalmed remains of the once beautiful Marie Louise; and when he looked upon her still comely features, he exclaimed, with tears, “I shall meet her soon in Heaven.”

“Charles II., of Spain,” says Sir William Stirling, “might well be called the Melancholy Monarch in contradistinction to his uncle Charles II., of England, the Merry Monarch.” In the early years of his reign, he was in entire subjugation to the Regent-Mother, who at open variance with Don John, and his party, only agreed with him in this, to keep the young monarch under. True it is, the unhappy Prince was ill-suited to his position. From his earliest years, he was a martyr to despondency, and detested everything connected with public affairs. His gun, his dogs, and his beads, were his favourite companions. He had a zealous love for art, and artists, but little taste, or knowledge, patronising, and befriending alike the worthy, and the worthless. His paramount favourite, was Luca Giordano, to whose studio he paid frequent visits, and whom he commanded to remain covered in his presence: a mandate which that self-approving artist, readily obeyed—a contrast to the conduct of the distinguished Carreno, to whom the young King was one day sitting for his portrait, in the presence of the Queen-Mother. Charles enquired to what order the artist belonged. “To none,” was the reply, “except that of your Majesty’s servants.” The Badge of Santiago, was sent to Carreno that very day, but so great was his diffidence, that he never assumed it. “His portraits of Charles II.,” says Stirling, “as a child, have something to please the eye in the pale pensive features, and long fair hair; the projection of the lower jaw, so remarkable in after life, is scarcely discernible, and there is something pitiful, and touching in the sadness of the countenance, contrasted with the gala suit he wears.” Herrera died soon after Charles’s accession, but besides Giordano he retained in his service Coello, and Muñoz, and invited Murillo, to remove from Seville, to Madrid.

He had a magnificent carriage, for himself and his second wife, painted with mythological subjects: he amused himself by building, visiting from one studio to another, and shooting wolves; while occasionally he might be seen, walking barefoot in the procession at an Auto da Fé. Charles II., without doubt stood on the verge of imbecility, or insanity, and the treatment he endured from those around him, on his death-bed, was sufficient to deaden the small share of intellect that was his portion. In his last days he was tormented, and harassed by questions as to the succession, (he being childless): and in his dying moments, he was tortured by the frightful ceremony of exorcism, it being currently supposed, or at least affirmed by the superstitious, and cruel, that he was possessed.

“Thus,” says Stirling, “died one of the most unfortunate monarchs, ever cursed by a hereditary crown.”

IN THE ENTRANCE HALL ARE PORTRAITS OF KINGS GEORGE II. AND GEORGE III., BY SHACKLETON AND RAMSAY, OF JOHN, FOURTH EARL OF SANDWICH, AND OF SEVERAL BRITISH ADMIRALS, BY DANCE.

_LORD SANDWICH’S ROOM._

_Omai, the Otaheitan._

AN ENGRAVING.

He played such a prominent part in the entertainments at Hinchingbrook, and had such a curious life of adventure, that a brief notice will scarcely be misplaced. His father was a man of considerable property in Whetea, one of the South Pacific Islands, which had been conquered by a neighbour, and he took refuge in Huaheine, where he died, leaving Omai, and several other children, in a state of poverty, and dependence. Captain Cook tells us, that Captain Furneaux, visiting these islands, becoming interested in Omai, conveyed him to England, where he became a resident under Lord Sandwich’s roof, (John, fourth Earl, then First Lord of the Admiralty.) Captain Cook and Mr. Cradock give the same character of the half savage, “intelligent, indolent, childlike, full of affection, and gratitude to his noble patron, but cherishing a feeling of revenge towards those of his own countrymen, who had ill-treated his father, and reduced himself to poverty. Lord Sandwich took him about to music meetings, races, etc.” “At Leicester,” says Mr. Cradock, “he divided public attention, with the Earl of Sandwich when that nobleman played on the kettledrum, his favourite instrument at the music meetings. ‘What has become of poor Omai?’ was the question once asked on some festive occasion. ‘Oh,’ was the answer, ‘I have just left him in the tea room, very happy, gallantly handing about bread and butter, to the ladies.’” Omai was not averse to admiration, and adapted himself curiously to his new life, showing such an aptitude for dancing, among other things, that a lady assured me with a little tuition he would make an excellent partner. On one occasion Lord Sandwich proposed that he should dress a shoulder of mutton, after the fashion of his country, and he proceeded accordingly to dig a hole in the lawn at Hinchingbrook, placed fuel covered with clean pebbles at the bottom, then laid the mutton neatly enveloped in leaves at the top, and having closed the hole walked constantly round it, observing the sun. The joint was then served at table, and much commended. Having been offered some stewed morella cherries, he jumped up, and assured the society he no more wished to partake of human blood, than they did. One summer’s day he entered the breakfast room at Hinchingbrook, in great pain, his hand much swollen, not being acquainted with the word “wasp,” he made Dr. Solander, who was present, understand he had been wounded by a “soldier bird,” upon which the doctor remarked: “No naturalist could have better described the obnoxious insect.” “He was,” says Cradock, “naturally genteel, and prepossessing, and fond of good clothes, once finding fault with those prepared for him, as being inferior to the quality of the dress, of the same cut the gentleman who sat beside him wore—this was of Genoese, and Omai’s of English velvet.” So far had he advanced in civilization. The government judged it best, he should return to his own country, lest the natives should suspect us of having made away with him. Mr. Cradock says he bade him good-bye on the steps of the Admiralty, when the poor fellow was deeply affected. Captain Cook says his feelings were mingled: “When he talked on the voyage, about England, and his friends, and protectors there, he was much moved, and could scarcely refrain from tears, so full of gratitude was his heart—but when we spoke of his return to his country, his eyes sparkled in the expectation of the reception he should meet with, on account of his superior knowledge, and still more on account of the treasures, with which he was laden.” The King, Lord Sandwich, Mr. Bankes (afterwards Sir Joseph), and many other friends, had furnished him with every article, which the sailors’ knowledge of the country, made them believe would be acceptable there. In fact, every means had been taken during his abode in England, as also at his departure, to make him the instrument of conveying to the Islands of the Pacific Ocean, an exalted opinion of England’s greatness, and generosity. Omai, as may have been conjectured, was very useful to Captain Cook on the voyage out, serving as interpreter, and mediator, on many occasions, at the Friendly Islands, and elsewhere. On their arrival at Otaheite, several canoes came off, but Omai took no notice of the crews or they of him, neither did they appear to recognise him, as a countryman. At length Ootee, a chief, brother-in-law to Omai, and three or four others, who all knew him before he went to England, came on board. But their meeting was in no wise tender—on the contrary, great indifference was manifested on both sides, till Omai, taking Ootee down into the cabin, displayed his treasures of trinkets etc., but more especially some red feathers, of a few of which, he begged his relative’s acceptance. When this was known on deck, the whole state of affairs was changed, and Ootee, who would scarcely speak to Omai before, now begged they might be Tayos (friends) and exchange names—an honour Omai accepted with dignity, and Ootee, in return for the valuable feathers, sent on shore for a hog. Such were the civilities that passed, on our friend’s return, and it was evident that all the affection was for his property, and not his person. When present at some of the barbarous customs, prevalent in these Islands, Omai, by desire of Captain Cook, expostulated with the chiefs on their cruelty with so much spirit, as to incur their displeasure. The gallant commander gives an elaborate account of the dainties prepared for him, and some of the ship’s crew, when they dined on shore with the two brothers-in-law. Captain Cook endeavoured to persuade Omai to settle at Otaheite, but his wishes turned to Whetea, his native place, where his father had originally held land. The Captain thought he could get it restored to him, if he would make friends with the conquerors, but Omai was a staunch patriot, and refused, begging that he might be reinstated through the intervention of the English arms. No way likely, said Captain Cook, who, however, willing to serve him, sought an interview with the chief men of the Island, to induce them to permit Omai to reside at Huaheine. A grand function took place, when Omai made his offering to the gods, of red feathers, and fine cloth from England; and a set of prayers dictated by himself, was pronounced, in which his English friends were duly remembered, Lord Sandwich and Tootee (Cook) in particular. He also told them of his kind reception in England by the King and his Earees, (nobles), that he had returned enriched with all sorts of treasures, that would be useful to his countrymen, etc., and that it was Captain Cook’s wish that they should give him a piece of land to build a house, etc.; and that if they would not do so——here followed some threats, which the Englishman had to disavow, and the chiefs were so much edified by the gallant sailor’s speech, that one of them assured him, the whole Island was his own, and therefore he could give what portion he pleased, to his friend. The result of all this was, that land was granted, and the ships’ carpenters built Omai a house, and laid out, and planted his small garden. He found several relatives at Huaheine, “who did not indeed rob him,” says Captain Cook, “but I fear they are scarcely of sufficient influence, to protect him from others.” The kind Englishman was under great apprehension, at the danger Omai incurred from being the only rich man in the Island, and he took every precaution he could think of, to ensure his safety, declaring that he would soon revisit the Island, and if any one had proved an enemy to Omai, he might dread the wrath of the British commander. All the English treasures were carried on shore, as soon as Omai’s house had progressed sufficiently—pots, kettles, dishes, plates, and better still, a box of toys and of fireworks—the latter an object of pleasure, and fear to the inhabitants. But most of the English utensils were useless to him here, and he wisely disposed of them, for hatchets, or other tools.

Before he sailed, Captain Cook saw Omai settled in his own house, with an establishment consisting of his brother, and eight or nine other men, (no female—Omai was too volatile to choose a wife), and there the English officers were received with hospitality and excellent cheer. Cook made the new householder, a present of several fire-arms, which he coveted, and had the following inscription cut on the house:

“Georgius Tertius, Rex;
2 Novembris, 1777.
Names { Resolution, JAC. COOK, Pr.
{ Discovery, CAR. CLERKE, Pr.”

At four in the afternoon, of the 2nd of November, the two English vessels sailed. “Many of the Natives remained on board, to hear five guns fired, and then took their leave, but Omai lingered, till we were at sea, and then returned in a boat, sent to recover a hawser that had been broken. He took leave of his English friends, and showed a moody resolution till he approached Captain Cook, to bid him farewell. Then his tears could no longer be suppressed, and he wept the whole time the boat was going ashore.” Captain Cook heard from him when the ships were at Whetea; he sent two men in a canoe to say, that he was prospering and at peace, and that his only misfortune consisted in the loss of a goat, who had died in kidding.

One would gladly have heard something of the latter days of Omai, and can only hope that his state of semi-civilization did not make him discontented, with his life in Otaheite, or obnoxious to its inhabitants. If, as is most probable, the terrible details of his benefactor’s murder ever reached him, the grateful heart of Omai must have been wrung with sorrow.

_Count Walewski._

Born, 1801. Died, 1868.—He was the son of the Emperor Napoleon I., by a Polish lady of rank. When only nineteen he went on a diplomatic mission to London, to plead the cause of Poland, having inherited from his mother, an enthusiastic love for her country. Charles Greville says in his Diary, that “his agreeable manners and remarkable beauty made him welcome in society;” and in 1831, he married Lady Caroline Montagu, sister to the Earl of Sandwich. He served for a time, under the Polish flag; was present at the Battle of Grokow, and was decorated with the National Military Cross. He afterwards obtained a commission in a regiment of French Hussars, but before long he laid down the sword to take up the pen. Among his past publications was “Un mot sur la question d’Afrique, et de l’alliance Anglaise.” He became the editor of the _Messager_, and wrote a five-act comedy, called “L’Ecole du Monde,” which was put on the stage in 1840.

He resumed his diplomatic career in the same year, and was sent to Egypt under the ministry of Thiers; he also held several appointments under Guizot.

When Louis Napoleon became President, Walewski attached himself to his cause. In 1849, he went as minister to Florence, and Naples, and in 1854, he came as Ambassador to England, but was recalled to Paris, the ensuing year, to take the portfolio of Foreign Affairs, vacant by the resignation of M. Drouyn de l’Huys. In this post his connection with, and knowledge of, England, made him instrumental in cementing the alliance of the two nations. In 1856, he presided as French Plenipotentiary over the Congress of Paris. In 1860, he resigned his post, but was again employed as successor to M. Fould. In 1863, he retired from public life, it was supposed on account of his strong Polish tendencies. He had the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour, and other decorations.

He married as his second wife the grand-daughter of Stanislaus Poniatowski, nephew to the last King of Poland. To France and its Emperor, he was an irreparable loss.

_William Poyntz, Esquire_:

BY SIR GEORGE HAYTER.

Born, 1769. Died, 1840. The last male representative of the ancient family of Poyntz. His grandfather, Stephen Poyntz, was in diplomacy, and employed on several foreign missions. He married Anna Maria Mordaunt, cousin of the Earl of Peterborough, and Maid of Honour to Caroline, Queen of George II. To Mr. and Mrs. Poyntz’s care was confided the bringing up, of William, Duke of Cumberland, and a curious picture was painted, according to the taste of the day, in which the Queen presents her son to her _ci-devant_ Maid of Honour, the lady in the garb of Minerva, and the young Prince in the stiff coat and breeches of the period. Mrs. Poyntz’s influence at Court stood her once in good stead, when she pleaded in behalf of Lord Cromartie, under sentence of death in the ’15, in compliance with a touching appeal from his unhappy wife. The letter is now in possession of Mrs. Poyntz’s great grand-daughter, Mary Boyle. Lord Cromartie’s life was spared, though fortune, and title were lost to him. The Queen bestowed as a dowry on Miss Mordaunt, the estate of Midgham, in Berkshire, but the gift is said never to have been paid for, out of the royal purse!

Stephen died in 1750, and was succeeded by his son William, who married a daughter and co-heiress of Kelland Courtenay, Esq., of Painsford, Devon, by Elizabeth Montagu, daughter of Viscount Hinchingbrook. They had issue: William Stephen, the subject of this notice, Montagu Mordaunt, who died early in life, and four daughters; Georgiana, married first to Mr. Fawkner, and afterwards to Lord John Townshend; Louisa, married, as his second wife, to the Hon. George Bridgeman; Isabella, married to her cousin, the Earl of Cork and Orrery; and Carolina, married to his brother Captain, the Hon. Courtenay Boyle. William Poyntz was at one time in the Tenth Hussars, and afterwards Captain of the Midhurst Volunteers. In 1796, he sat in Parliament for St. Albans, and was re-elected in 1802, and 1806. In 1807, he was returned for Callington, and again in 1812-18. He represented Chichester from 1823 to 1826, and Ashburton, from 1831 to 1835; and then sat for Midhurst, till he resigned, and was succeeded by his son-in-law, Captain the Hon. Frederick Spencer. In politics he was a Liberal in the best sense of the word; firm and unwavering in his opinions in favour of progress, but opposed to destruction, and a staunch upholder of the Church.

In 1794, he married the Hon. Elizabeth Browne, only sister, and sole heiress of Viscount Montagu, who was drowned the year before at the Falls of Schaffausen. By her, Mr. Poyntz became possessed of Cowdray Park, in Sussex, and an extensive property, where they resided almost entirely after their marriage. They had two sons drowned in the prime of life, and in the sight of both parents, Mr. Poyntz being in the boat, and his wife looking on from the window of a house at Bognor, where the tragedy took place in 1815. Their three daughters in consequence became co-heiresses: Frances, Lady Clinton; Elizabeth, married to the Hon. Frederick Spencer, who succeeded to the Earldom; and Isabella, Marchioness of Exeter.

In 1830, after a happy union of thirty-six years, Mrs. Poyntz died, deeply and universally regretted; and the widower removed to Hampton Court, after a time, to be nearer his daughters. For some years before his death, he was the cause of great anxiety to his family and friends from being constantly subject to fainting fits, the result, as was afterwards proved, of an accident in the hunting field, in 1833. In one of these seizures he expired suddenly, at his house on Hampton Court Green, beloved and lamented, not only by his surviving children, and his two surviving sisters, but by a large circle of acquaintance, and friends. In every class he was known, and loved for his warm heart, his genial humour, his sparkling wit. He was interred by the side of his wife, in her ancestral chapel in Easebourne Church, adjoining Cowdray Park, where a monument had been already erected to their two sons.

In early life Mr. Poyntz was a friend, and companion of his cousin George, Lord Sandwich, by whose will he was entrusted with the guardianship of the young earl, then only seven years of age. Between the guardian and his ward an affection subsisted, scarcely inferior to that of parent, and child. Lord Sandwich spent many of his holidays at Cowdray, and the friendly relations which subsisted between him, and Mr. Poyntz were never interrupted till the death of the latter, in 1840.

The two families of Poyntz and Browne, (Lord Montagu) are now extinct, in the male line.

EMILY FAITHFULL, Printer, 85, Praed Street, Paddington, W.