Chapter I: Part 1

Transcriber’s Note:
###################

This e-text is based on the 1908 edition of the book. Minor
punctuation errors have been tacitly corrected. Inconsistencies
in hyphenation and spelling, such as ‘ale-house’/‘alehouse’ and
‘Mary Wilcocks’/‘Mary Willcocks,’ have been retained. The asterism
symbols in the book catalogue at the end of this text have been
inverted for presentation on electronic media.

The following passage has been corrected:

# p. 126: ‘1852’ → ‘1825’
# p. 685: ‘fro mthe’ → ‘from the’

Italic text has been symbolised by underscores (_italic_); forward
slashes represent small caps (/small caps/). Caret symbols (^)
signify superscript characters; multiple characters have been
grouped inside curly braces: ^{superscript}.

DEVONSHIRE CHARACTERS
AND STRANGE EVENTS

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

YORKSHIRE ODDITIES
TRAGEDY OF THE CÆSARS
CURIOUS MYTHS
LIVES OF THE SAINTS

ETC. ETC.

_G. Clint, A.R.A., pinxt._ _Thos. Lupton. sculpt._

MARIA FOOTE, AFTERWARDS COUNTESS OF HARRINGTON, AS MARIA DARLINGTON IN THE FARCE OF “A ROWLAND FOR AN OLIVER” (1824)]

DEVONSHIRE
CHARACTERS
AND STRANGE EVENTS
BY S. BARING-GOULD, /M.A./

WITH 55 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
REPRODUCED FROM OLD PRINTS, ETC.

O Jupiter!
Hanccine vitam? hoscine mores? hanc dementiam?

/Terence/, _Adelphi_ (Act IV).

LONDON: JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY MCMVIII

PLYMOUTH: WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LIMITED, PRINTERS

PREFACE

In treating of Devonshire Characters, I have had to put aside the chief Worthies and those Devonians famous in history, as George Duke of Albemarle, Sir Walter Raleigh, Sir Francis Drake, Sir Joshua Reynolds, the Coleridges, Sir Stafford Northcote, first Earl of Iddesleigh, and many another; and to content myself with those who lie on a lower plane. So also I have had to set aside several remarkable characters, whose lives I have given elsewhere, as the Herrings of Langstone (whom I have called Grym or Grymstone) and Madame Drake, George Spurle the Post-boy, etc. Also I have had to pretermit several great rascals, as Thomas Gray and Nicholas Horner. But even so, I find an _embarras de richesses_, and have had to content myself with such as have had careers of some general interest. Moreover, it has not been possible to say all that might have been said relative to these, so as to economize space, and afford room for others.

So also, with regard to strange incidents, some limitation has been necessary, and such have been selected as are less generally known.

I have to thank the kind help of many Devonshire friends for the loan of rare pamphlets, portraits, or for information not otherwise acquirable--as the Earl of Iddesleigh, Lady Rosamond Christie, Mrs. Chichester of Hall, Mrs. Ford of Pencarrow, Dr. Linnington Ash, Dr. Brushfield, Capt. Pentecost, Miss M. P. Willcocks, Mr. Andrew Iredale, Mr. W. H. K. Wright, Mr. A. B. Collier, Mr. Charles T. Harbeck, Mr. H. Tapley Soper, Miss Lega-Weekes, who has contributed the article on Richard Weekes; Mrs. G. Radford, Mr. R. Pearse Chope, Mr. Rennie Manderson, Mr. M. Bawden, the Rev. J. B. Wollocombe, the Rev. W. H. Thornton, Mr. A. M. Broadley, Mr. Samuel Gillespie Prout, Mr. S. H. Slade, Mr. W. Fleming, Mrs. A. H. Wilson, Fleet-Surgeon Lloyd Thomas, the Rev. W. T. Wellacott, Mr. S. Raby, Mr. Samuel Harper, Mr. John Avery, Mr. Thomas Wainwright, Mr. A. F. Steuart, Mr. S. T. Whiteford, and last, but not least, Mr. John Lane, the publisher of this volume, who has taken the liveliest interest in its production.

Also to Messrs. Macmillan for kindly allowing the use of an engraving of Newcomen’s steam engine, and to Messrs. Vinton & Co. for allowing the use of the portrait of the Rev. John Russell that appeared in _Bailey’s Magazine_.

I am likewise indebted to Miss M. Windeatt Roberts for having undertaken to prepare the exhaustive Index, and to Mr. J. G. Commin for placing at my disposal many rare illustrations.

For myself I may say that it has been a labour of love to grope among the characters and incidents of the past in my own county, and with Cordatus, in the Introduction to Ben Jonson’s _Every Man out of his Humour_, I may say that it has been “a work that hath bounteously pleased me; how it will answer the general expectation, I know not.”

* * * * *

I am desired by my publisher to state that he will be glad to receive any information as to the whereabouts of pictures by another “Devonshire Character,” James Gandy, born at Exeter in 1619, and a pupil of Vandyck. He was retained in the service of the Duke of Ormond, whom he accompanied to Ireland, where he died in 1689. It is said that his chief works will be found in that country and the West of England.

Jackson of Exeter, in his volume _The Four Ages_, says: “About the beginning of the eighteenth century was a painter in Exeter called Gandy, of whose colouring Sir Joshua Reynolds thought highly. I heard him say that on his return from Italy, when he was fresh from seeing the pictures of the Venetian school, he again looked at the works of Gandy, and that they had lost nothing in his estimation. There are many pictures of this artist in Exeter and its neighbourhood. The portrait Sir Joshua seemed most to value is in the Hall belonging to the College of Vicars in that city, but I have seen some very much superior to it.”

Since then, however, the original picture has been taken from the College of Vicars, and has been lost; but a copy, I believe, is still exhibited there, and no one seems to know what has become of the original.

Not only is Mr. Lane anxious to trace this picture, but any others in Devon or Ireland, as also letters, documents, or references to this artist and his work.

CONTENTS

PAGE

/Hugh Stafford and the Royal Wilding/ 1
/The Alphington Ponies/ 16
/Maria Foote/ 21
/Caraboo/ 35
/John Arscott, of Tetcott/ 47
/Wife-sales/ 58
/White Witches/ 70
/Manly Peeke/ 84
/Eulalia Page/ 95
/James Wyatt/ 107
/The Rev. W. Davy/ 123
/The Grey Woman/ 128
/Robert Lyde and the “Friend’s Adventure”/ 136
/Joseph Pitts/ 152
/The Demon of Spreyton/ 170
/Tom Austin/ 175
/Frances Flood/ 177
/Sir William Hankford/ 181
/Sir John Fitz/ 185
/Lady Howard/ 194
/The Bidlakes, of Bidlake/ 212
/The Pirates of Lundy/ 224
/Tom D’Urfey/ 238
/The Bird of the Oxenhams/ 248
/“Lusty” Stucley/ 262
/The Bideford Witches/ 274
/Sir “Judas” Stukeley/ 278
/The Sampford Ghost/ 286
/Philippa Cary and Anne Evans/ 292
/Jack Rattenbury/ 301
/John Barnes, Taverner and Highwayman/ 320
/Edward Capern/ 325
/George Medyett Goodridge/ 332
/John Davy/ 351
/Richard Parker, the Mutineer/ 355
/Benjamin Kennicott/, /D.D./ 369
/Captain John Avery/ 375
/Joanna Southcott/ 390
/The Stoke Resurrectionists/ 405
/“The Beggars’ Opera” and Gay’s Chair/ 414
/Bampfylde-Moore Carew/ 425
/William Gifford/ 436
/Benjamin R. Haydon/ 457
/John Cooke/ 478
/Savery and Newcomen, Inventors/ 487
/Andrew Brice, Printer/ 502
/Devonshire Wrestlers/ 514
/Two Hunting Parsons/ 529
/Samuel Prout/ 564
/Fontelautus/ 581
/William Lang, of Bradworthy/ 594
/William Cookworthy/ 600
/William Jackson, Organist/ 608
/John Dunning, First Lord Ashburton/ 618
/Governor Shortland and the Princetown Massacre/ 633
/Captain John Palk/ 700
/Richard Weekes, Gentleman at Arms and Prisoner in the Fleet/ 709
/Steer Nor’-West/ 718
/George Peele/ 726
/Peter Pindar/ 737
/Dr. J. W. Budd/ 754
/Rear-Admiral Sir Edward Chichester, Bart./ 772

ILLUSTRATIONS

/Maria Foote, afterwards Countess of
Harrington/ _Frontispiece_

From an engraving by Thomas Lupton, after a picture by
G. Clint, /A.R.A./
to face page

/Hugh Stafford/ 2

From the original painting in the collection of the
Earl of Iddesleigh

/The Roasted Exciseman, or the Jack Boot’s Exit/ 4

From an old print

/The Tyburn Interview: a New Song/ 8

By a Cyder Merchant, of South-Ham, Devonshire.
Dedicated to Jack Ketch

/The Misses Durnford. The Alphington Ponies/ 16

From a lithograph

/The Misses Durnford. The Alphington Ponies/
(Back View) 18

Lithographed by P. Gauci. Pub. Ed. Cockrem

/Maria Foote, afterwards Countess of Harrington/ 22

From an engraved portrait in the collection of A. M.
Broadley, Esq.

/Caraboo, Princess of Javasu,/ _alias_ /Mary Baker/ 36

From an engraving by Henry Meyer, after a picture by E.
Bird

/Mary Wilcocks, of Witheridge, Devonshire,/ _alias_
/Caraboo/ 44

Drawn and engraved by N. Branwhite

/Arscott of Tetcott/ 48

From the picture by J. Northcote, /R.A./

/Old Tetcott House/ 54

/Mariann Voaden, Bratton/ 74

/Mariann Voaden’s Cottage, Bratton/ 74

/A Village “Wise Man”/ 78

/Manly Peeke in his Encounter with Three Adversaries
Armed with Rapiers and Poignards/ 90

/James Wyat/, /ÆTAT./ 40 108

Reproduced from the frontispiece to _The Life and
Surprizing Adventures of James Wyatt, Written by
Himself_, 1755

/Rev. W. Davy/ 124

From an engraving by R. Cooper, after a picture by Wm.
Sharland

/Slanning’s Oak/ 188

From an oil painting by A. B. Collier, 1855

/Frontispiece to “The Bloudie Booke; or the Tragical
End of Sir John Fitz”/ 192

/Lady Howard/ 194

/Bidlake/ 212

/Thomas D’Urfey/ 238

From an engraving by G. Virtue, after a picture by E.
Gouge

/Frontispiece to “A True Relation of an Apparition,”
etc., by James Oxenham/ 248

/John Rattenbury, of Beer, Devonshire, “The Rob Roy of
the West”/ 302

From a lithograph

/Edward Capern, the Postman-Poet of Devonshire/ 326

From a painting by William Widgery, in the Free
Library, Bideford

/Charles Medyett Goodridge in his Seal-skin Dress/ 332

/Richard Parker/ 356

From a drawing by Bailey

/B. Kennicott/, /S.T.P./ 370

From the portrait at Exeter College, Oxford

/Captain Avery and his Crew taking one of the Great
Mogul’s Ships/ 376

From a drawing by Wm. Jeit

/Joanna Southcott/ 390

Drawn from life by Wm. Sharp

/Silver Pap-boat prepared for the Coming of Shiloh,
presented to Joanna Southcott in June, 1814/ 402

From the original in the collection of A. M. Broadley,
Esq.

/Crib presented to Joanna Southcott in anticipation
of the Birth of the Shiloh by Believers in her Divine
Mission as “A Goodwill Offering by Faith to the
Promised Seed”/ 402

Reproduced from the original print in the collection of
A. M. Broadley, Esq.

/Mr. Gay/ 414

From an old print

/The Grammar School, Barnstaple, where Gay was
Educated/ 416

/Gay’s Chair/ 422

/Bampfylde Moore Carew, “King of the Beggars”/ 426

From an engraving by Maddocks

/W. Gifford/ 436

From an engraving by R. H. Cromek, after a picture by
I. Hoppner, /R.A./

/B. R. Haydon/ 458

From a drawing by David Wilkie

/Captain Cooke, 1824, aged 58/ 478

Drawn, from nature, on the stone by N. Whittock

/The Noted John Cooke of Exeter, Captain of the
Sheriff’s Troop at Seventy-four Assizes for the County
of Devon/ 482

From a lithograph by Geo. Rowe

/Thomas Savery/ 488

/Sketch of Newcomen’s House, Lower Street, Dartmouth,
before it was demolished/ 494

/The Chimney-piece at which Newcomen sat when he
Invented the Steam Engine/ 494

/The Steam Engine, near Dudley Castle./ Invented by
Capt. Savery and Mr. Newcomen. Erected by y^e later,
1712 496

From a drawing by Barney. Reproduced by kind permission
of Messrs. Macmillan & Co.

/Andrew Brice, Printer/ 502

Reproduced by kind permission from a print in the
possession of Dr. Brushfield

/The Wrestling Champion of England, Abraham Cann/ 518

From a drawing

/Rev. John Russell/ 530

Reproduced by permission of the Editor of _Bailey’s
Magazine_

/The Rev. John Russell’s Port-wine Glass, Chamberlain
Worcester Breakfast Service, and Barometer/ 558

Purchased at the sale of his effects in 1883 by Mrs.
Arnull and presented by her to Mr. John Lane, in whose
possession they now are

/Samuel Prout/ 564

From a drawing in the possession of Samuel Gillespie
Prout, Esq.

/William Cookworthy of Plymouth/ 600

From the original portrait by Opie in the possession of
Edward Harrison, Esq., of Watford

/Mr. Jackson, the Celebrated Composer/ 608

From an engraving after J. Walker

/Lord Ashburton/ 618

From an engraving by F. Bartolozzi, after a picture by
Sir Joshua Reynolds

/Horrid Massacre at Dartmoor Prison, England/ 648

From an old print

/Plan of Dartmoor Prison/ 650

/North Wyke/ 710

/Dr. Wolcot/ 738

/Dr. John W. Budd/ 754

From a photograph by his brother Dr. Richard Budd, of
Barnstaple

/Rear-Admiral Sir Edward Chichester, Bart./ 772

DEVONSHIRE CHARACTERS AND STRANGE EVENTS

HUGH STAFFORD AND THE ROYAL WILDING

Hugh Stafford, Esq., of Pynes, born 1674, was the last of the Staffords of Pynes. His daughter, Bridget Maria, carried the estate to her husband, Sir Henry Northcote, Bart., from whom is descended the present Earl of Iddesleigh. Hugh Stafford died in 1734. He is noted as an enthusiastic apple-grower and lover of cyder.

He wrote a “Dissertation on Cyder and Cyder-Fruit” in a letter to a friend in 1727, but this was not published till 1753, and a second edition in 1769. The family of Stafford was originally Stowford, of Stowford, in the parish of Dolton. The name changed to Stoford and then to Stafford. One branch married into the family of Wollocombe, of Wollocombe. But the name of Stowford or Stafford was not the most ancient designation of the family, which was Kelloway, and bore as its arms four pears. The last Stafford turned from pears to apples, to which he devoted his attention and became a connoisseur not in apples only, but in the qualities of cyder as already intimated.

To a branch of this family belonged Sir John Stowford, Lord Chief Baron in the reign of Edward III, who built Pilton Bridge over the little stream of the Yeo or Yaw, up which the tide flows, and over which the passage was occasionally dangerous. The story goes that the judge one day saw a poor market woman with her child on a mudbank in the stream crying for aid, which none could afford her, caught and drowned by the rising flood, whereupon he vowed to build the bridge to prevent further accident. The rhyme ran:--

Yet Barnstaple, graced though thou be by brackish Taw,
In all thy glory see that thou not forget the little Yaw.

Camden asserts that Judge Stowford also constructed the long bridge over the Taw consisting of sixteen piers. Tradition will have it, however, that towards the building of this latter two spinster ladies (sisters) contributed by the profits of their distaffs and the pennies they earned by keeping a little school.

I was travelling on the South Devon line some years ago after there had been a Church Congress at Plymouth, and in the same carriage with me were some London reporters. Said one of these gentry to another: “Did you ever see anything like Devonshire parsons and pious ladies? They were munching apples all the time that the speeches were being made. Honour was being done to the admirable fruit by these worthy Devonians. I was dotting down my notes during an eloquent harangue on ‘How to Bring Religion to Bear upon the People’ when chump, chump went a parson on my left; and the snapping of jaws on apples, rending off shreds for mastication, punctuated the periods of a bishop who spoke next. At an ensuing meeting on the ‘Deepening of Personal Religion’ my neighbour was munching a Cornish gilliflower, which he informed me in taste and aroma surpassed every other apple. I asked in a low tone whether Devonshire people did not peel their fruit before eating. He answered _leni susurro_ that the flavour was in the rind.”

_From the original painting in the collection of the Earl of Iddesleigh_]

Cyder was anciently the main drink of the country people in the West of England. Every old farmhouse had its granite trough (circular) in which rolled a stone wheel that pounded the fruit to a “pummice,” and the juice flowed away through a lip into a keeve. Now, neglected and cast aside, may be seen the huge masses of stone with an iron crook fastened in them, which in the earliest stage of cyder-making were employed for pressing the fruit into pummice. But these weights were superseded by the screw-press that extracted more of the juice.

In 1763 Lord Bute, the Prime Minister, imposed a tax of 10s. per hogshead on cyder and perry, to be paid by the first buyer. The country gentlemen, without reference to party, were violent in their opposition, and Bute then condescended to reduce the sum and the mode of levying it, proposing 4s. per hogshead, to be paid, not by the first buyer, but by the grower, who was to be made liable to the regulations of the excise and the domiciliary visits of excisemen. Pitt thundered against this cyder Bill, inveighing against the intrusion of excise officers into private dwellings, quoting the old proud maxim, that every Englishman’s house was his castle, and showing the hardship of rendering every country gentleman, every individual that owned a few fruit trees and made a little cyder, liable to have his premises invaded by officers. The City of London petitioned the Commons, the Lords, the throne, against the Bill; in the House of Lords forty-nine peers divided against the Minister; the cities of Exeter and Worcester, the counties of Devonshire and Herefordshire, more nearly concerned in the question about cyder than the City of London, followed the example of the capital, and implored their representatives to resist the tax to the utmost; and an indignant and general threat was made that the apples should be suffered to fall and rot under the trees rather than be made into cyder, subject to such a duty and such annoyances. No fiscal question had raised such a tempest since Sir Robert Walpole’s Excise Bill in 1733. But Walpole, in the plenitude of his power and abilities, and with wondrous resources at command, was constrained to bow to the storm he had roused, and to shelve his scheme. Bute, on the other hand, with a power that lasted but a day, with a position already undermined, with slender abilities and no resources, but with Scotch stubbornness, was resolved that his Bill should pass. And it passed, with all its imperfections; and although there were different sorts of cyder, varying in price from 5s. to 50s. per hogshead, they were all taxed alike--the poor man having thus to pay as heavy a duty for his thin beverage as the affluent man paid for the choicest kind. The agitation against Lord Bute grew. In some rural districts he was burnt under the effigy of a _jack-boot_, a rustic allusion to his name (Bute); and on more than one occasion when he walked the streets he was accused of being surrounded by prize-fighters to protect him against the violence of the mob. Numerous squibs, caricatures, and pamphlets appeared. He was represented as hung on the gallows above a fire, in which a jack-boot fed the flames and a farmer was throwing an excised cyder-barrel into the conflagration, whilst a Scotchman, in Highland costume, in the background, commented, “It’s aw over with us now, and aw our aspiring hopes are gone”; whilst an English mob advanced waving the banners of Magna Charta, and “Liberty, Property, and No Excise.”

or

The JACK BOOT’S EXIT.]

I give one of the ballads printed on this occasion: it is entitled, “The Scotch Yoke, and English Resentment. To the tune of _The Queen’s Ass_.”

Of Freedom no longer let Englishmen boast,
Nor Liberty more be their favourite Toast;
The Hydra Oppression your Charta defies,
And galls English Necks with the Yoke of Excise,
The Yoke of Excise, the Yoke of Excise,
And galls English Necks with the Yoke of Excise.

In vain have you conquer’d, my brave Hearts of Oak,
Your Laurels, your Conquests are all but a Joke;
Let a rascally Peace serve to open your Eyes,
And the d--nable Scheme of a Cyder-Excise,
A Cyder-Excise, etc.

What though on your Porter a Duty was laid,
Your Light double-tax’d, and encroach’d on your Trade;
Who e’er could have thought that a Briton so wise
Would admit such a Tax as the Cyder-Excise,
The Cyder-Excise, etc.

I appeal to the Fox, or his Friend John a-Boot,
If tax’d thus the Juice, then how soon may the Fruit?
Adieu then to good Apple-puddings and Pyes,
If e’er they should taste of a cursed Excise,
A cursed Excise, etc.

Let those at the Helm, who have sought to enslave
A Nation so glorious, a People so brave,
At once be convinced that their Scheme you despise,
And shed your last Blood to oppose the Excise,
Oppose the Excise, etc.

Come on then, my Lads, who have fought and have bled,
A Tax may, perhaps, soon be laid on your Bread;
Ye Natives of Worc’ster and Devon arise,
And strike at the Root of the Cyder-Excise,
The Cyder-Excise, etc.

No longer let K--s at the H--m of the St--e,
With fleecing and grinding pursue Britain’s Fate;
Let Power no longer your Wishes disguise,
But off with their Heads--by the Way of Excise,
The Way of Excise, etc.

From two Latin words, _ex_ and _scindo_, I ween,
Came the hard Word Excise, which to _Cut off_ does mean.
Take the Hint then, my Lads, let your Freedom advise,
And give them a Taste of their fav’rite Excise,
Their fav’rite Excise, etc.

Then toss off your Bumpers, my Lads, while you may,
To Pitt and Lord Temple, Huzza, Boys, huzza!
Here’s the King that to tax his poor Subjects denies,
But Pox o’ the Schemer that plann’d the Excise,
That plann’d the Excise, etc.

The apple trees were too many and too deep-rooted and too stout for the Scotch thistle. The symptoms of popular dislike drove Bute to resign (8 April, 1763), to the surprise of all. The duty, however, was not repealed till 1830. In my _Book of the West_ (Devon), I have given an account of cyder-making in the county, and I will not repeat it here. But I may mention the curious Devonshire saying about Francemass, or St. Franken Days. These are the 19th, 20th, and 21st May, at which time very often a frost comes that injures the apple blossom. The story goes that there was an Exeter brewer, of the name of Frankin, who found that cyder ran his ale so hard that he vowed his soul to the devil on the condition that his Satanic Majesty should send three frosty nights in May annually to cut off the apple blossom.

And now to return to Hugh Stafford. He opens his letter with an account of the origin of the Royal Wilding, one of the finest sorts of apple for the making of choice cyder.

“Since you have seen the Royal Wilding apple, which is so very much celebrated (and so deservedly) in our county, the history of its being first taken notice of, which is fresh in everybody’s memory, may not be unacceptable to you. The single and only tree from which the apple was first propagated is very tall, fair, and stout; I believe about twenty feet high. It stands in a very little quillet (as we call it) of gardening, adjoining to the post-road that leads from Exeter to Oakhampton, in the parish of St. Thomas, but near the borders of another parish called Whitestone. A walk of a mile from Exeter will gratify any one, who has curiosity, with the sight of it.

“It appears to be properly a wilding, that is, a tree raised from the kernel of an apple, without having been grafted, and (which seems well worth observing) has, in all probability, stood there much more than seventy years, for two ancient persons of the parish of Whitestone, who died several years since, each aged upwards of the number of years before mentioned, declared, that when they were boys, probably twelve or thirteen years of age, and first went the road, it was not only growing there, but, what is worth notice, was as tall and stout as it now appears, nor do there at this time appear any marks of decay upon it that I could perceive.

“It is a very constant and plentiful bearer every other year, and then usually produces apples enough to make one of our hogsheads of cyder, which contains sixty-four gallons, and this was one occasion of its being first taken notice of, and of its affording an history which, I believe, no other tree ever did: For the little cot-house to which it belongs, together with the little quillet in which it stands, being several years since mortgaged for ten pounds, the fruit of this tree alone, in a course of some years, freed the house and garden, and its more valuable self, from that burden.

“Mr. Francis Oliver (a gentleman of the neighbourhood, and, if I mistake not, the gentleman who had the mortgage just now mentioned) was one of the first persons about Exeter that affected rough cyder, and, for that reason, purchased the fruit of this tree every bearing year. However, I cannot learn that he ever made cyder of it alone, but mix’d with other apples, which added to the flavour of his cyder, in the opinion of those who had a true relish for that liquor.

“Whether this, or any other consideration, brought on the more happy experiment upon this apple, the Rev. Robert Wollocombe, Rector of Whitestone, who used to amuse himself with a nursery, put on some heads of this wilding; and in a few years after being in his nursery, about March, a person came to him on some business, and feeling something roll under his feet, took it up, and it proved one of those precious apples, which Mr. Wollocombe receiving from him, finding it perfectly sound after it had lain in the long stragle of the nursery during all the rain, frost, and snow of the foregoing winter, thought it must be a fruit of more than common value; and having tasted it, found the juices, not only in a most perfect soundness and quickness, but such likewise as seemed to promise a body, as well as the roughness and flavour that the wise cyder drinkers in Devon now begin to desire. He observed the graft from which it had fallen, and searching about found some more of the apples, and all of the same soundness; upon which, without hesitation, he resolved to graft a greater quantity of them, which he accordingly did; but waited with impatience for the experiment, which you know must be the work of some years. They came at length, and his just reward was a barrel of the juice, which, though it was small, was of great value for its excellency, and far exceeded all his expectations.

The _TYBURN_ INTERVIEW: A New SONG.

By a /Cyder Merchant/, of South-Ham, Devonshire.

Dedicated to _JACK KETCH_.

To the Tune _A Cobler there was_, &c.

As Sawney from _Tweed_ was a trudging to Town,
To rest his tir’d Limbs on the Grass he sat down;
When growsing his Oatmeal, he turn’d up his Eyes,
And kenn’d a strange Pile on three Pillars arise.
_Derry down_, &c.

Amaz’d he starts up, “Thou Thing of odd Form,
That stand’st here defying each turbulent Storm;
What art thou? Thy Office declare at my Word,
Or thou shalt not escape this strong Arm and broad Sword.”
_Derry down_, &c.

Quoth the Structure, “Altho’ I’m not known unto thee,
Thy Countrymens Lives have been shorten’d by me;
To strike thee at once, know that _Tyburn’s_ my Name,
In _Scotland_, no doubt, you have heard of my Fame.
_Derry down_, &c.

When arm’d all rebellious, like Vultures you rose,
A Set of such Shahrags, you frighten’d the Crows;
To rid the tir’d land of such Vermin as you,
I groan’d with receiving but barely my Due.
_Derry down_, &c.

And still I’m in Hopes of another to come,
For _Tyburn_ will certain at last be his Home;
He’ll come from the Summit of Honour’s vast Height,
With a Star and a Garter to dubb me a Knight.”
_Derry down_, &c.

His Passion now _Sawney_ no more could contain,
“My Sword shall strait prove all thy Hopes are in vain”;
So saying; he brandish’d it high in the Air,
When strait a _Scotch_ Voice cry’d out--_Sawney_ forbear!
_Derry down_, &c.

The Phantom that spoke now appear’d in a trice,
And to the fear’d _Scotsman_ thus gave his Advice:
“Calm thy Breast that now boils with Vexation and Rage,
And let what I speak thy Attention engage.
_Derry down_, &c.

No longer with Fury pursue this old Tree,
His Back shall bear Vengeance for you and for me;
For know, my dear Friend, the Time is at Hand,
When with _Englishmen_, _Tyburn_ shall thin half the Land.
_Derry down_, &c.

The Case is revers’d by a good Friend of ours,
All Treason is _English_, and Loyalty yours:
Posts, Honour, and Profit all _Scotsmen_ await,
While the Natives shall tremble and curse their hard Fate.
_Derry down_, &c.

The War is no more, and each Soldier and Tar,
The Strength and the Bulwark of _England_ in War,
Are coming to prove our Friend’s deep Penetration,
As the first Sacrifice to our _Scotch Exaltation_.”
_Derry down_, &c.

Here ended the Phantom, and sunk in the Ground,
While the blue Flames of Hell glar’d terrible round;
When for _London_ young _Sawney_ around turn’d his Eyes,
Where he march’d for a Place in the _new-rais’d_ /Excise/.
_Derry down_, &c.

Ye National Schemers, come tell me, I pray,
Your Intention in this. _To bring more Scotch in play_!
For this must the Tax be enforc’d with all Speed,
For Thousands are coming between _here_ and _Tweed_.
_Derry down_, &c.

Ah! hapless _Old England_, no longer be merry,
Since _B--_ has thus tax’d your Beer, Cyder and Perry;
Look sullen and sad, for now this is done,
No doubt in short Time they’ll tax _Laughing_ and _Fun_.
_Derry down_, &c.

Yet let the Proud Laird, who presides at the Helm,
Extend his Excise to each Thing in the Realm:
A Tax on _Spring-Water_ I think would be right,
For _Water_, ’tis known, is as common as _Light_.
_Derry down_, &c.

_Meat_, _Butter_, and _Cheese_, “By my Saul that will do!
’Twill affect all the _Land_, and bring _Money_ in too;”
Proceed, my good Laird, and may the _H-lt-r_ or _A--e_,
Reward you for saying each _infamous_ T--x.
_Derry down_, &c.

“Mr. Wollocombe was not a little pleased with it, and talked of it in all conversations; it created amusement at first, but when time produced an hogshead of it, from raillery it came to seriousness, and every one from laughter fell to admiration. In the meantime he had thought of a name for his British wine, and as it appeared to be in the original tree a fruit not grafted, it retained the name of a Wilding, and as he thought it superior to all other apples, he gave it the title of the Royal Wilding.

“This was about sixteen years since (i.e. about 1710). The gentlemen of our county are now busy almost everywhere in promoting it, and some of the wiser farmers. But we have not yet enough for sale. I have known five guineas refused for one of our hogsheads of it, though the common cyder sells for twenty shillings, and the South Ham for twenty-five to thirty.

“I must add, that Mr. Wollocombe hath reserved some of them for hoard; I have tasted the tarts of them, and they come nearer to the quince than any other tart I ever eat of.

“Wherever it has been tried as yet, the juices are perfectly good (but better in some soils than others), and when the gentlemen of the South-Hams will condescend to give it a place in their orchards, they will undoubtedly exceed us in this liquor, because we must yield to them in the apple soil. But it is happy for us, that at present they are so wrapt up in their own sufficiency, that they do not entertain any thoughts of raising apples from us; and when they shall, it must be another twenty years before they can do anything to the purpose, though some of their thinking gentlemen, I am told, begin to get some of them transported thither, (by night you may suppose, partly for shame and partly for fear of being mobbed by their neighbours) and will, I am well assured, much rejoice in the production.

“The colour of the Royal Wilding cyder, without any assistance from art, is of a bright yellow, rather than a reddish beerish tincture; its other qualities are a noble body, an excellent bitter, a delicate (excuse the expression) roughness, and a fine vinous flavour. All the other qualities you may meet with in some of the best South-Ham cyder, but the last is peculiar to the White-Sour and the Royal Wilding only, and you will in vain look for it in any other.”

Mr. Stafford goes on to speak of his second favourite, the White Sour of the South Hams.

“The qualities of the juices are precisely the same with those of the Royal Wilding, nay, so very near one to the other, that they are perfectly rivals, and created such a contest, as is very uncommon, and to which I was an eye-witness. A gentleman of the South-Hams, whose White-Sour cyders, for the year, were very celebrated, (for our cyder vintages, like those of clarets and ports, are very different in different years) and had been drank of by another gentleman, who was a happy possessor, an uncontested lord, _facile princeps_, of the Royal Wilding, met at the house of the latter gentleman a year or two after: the famed Royal Wilding, you may be sure, was produced, as the best return for the White-Sour that had been tasted at the other gentleman’s; and what was the effect? Each gentleman did not contend, as is usual, that his was the best cyder; but such was the equilibrium of the juices, and such the generosity of their breasts (for finer gentlemen we have not in our country) that each affirmed his own was the worst; the gentleman of the South-Hams declared in favour of the Royal Wilding, and the gentleman of our parts in favour of the White-Sour.”

As to the sweet cyder, Mr. Stafford despises it. “It may be acceptable to a female, or a Londoner, it is ever offensive to a bold and generous West Saxon,” says he.

Mr. Stafford flattered himself one year that he had beaten the Royal Wilding. He had planted pips, and after many years brewed a pipe of the apples of his wildings in 1724. Mr. Wollocombe was invited to taste it. “The surprise (and even almost silence) with which he was seized at first tasting it was plainly perceived by everyone present, and occasioned no small diversion.” But, alas! after it was bottled this “Super-Celestial,” as it had been named, as the year advanced, appeared thin compared with the cyder of the Royal Wilding, and Hugh Stafford was constrained after a first flush of triumph to allow that the Royal Wilding maintained pre-eminence.

According to our author, the addition of a little sage or clary to thin cyder gives it a taste as of a good Rhenish wine; and he advises the crushing to powder of angelica roots to add to cyder, as is done in Oporto by those who prepare port for the English market. It gives a flavour and a bouquet truly delicious.

At the English Revolution, when William of Orange came to the throne, the introduction of French wines into the country was prohibited, and this gave a great impetus to the manufacture of cyder, and care in the production of cyder of the best description. But the imposition of a duty of ten shillings a hogshead on cyder that was not repealed, as already said, till 1830, killed the industry. Farmers no longer cared to keep up their orchards, and grew apples only for home consumption. They gave the cyder to their labourers, and as these were not particular as to the quality, no pains were taken to produce such as would suit men’s refined palates. The workman liked a rough beverage, one that almost cut his throat as it passed down; and this produced the evil effect that the farmers, who were bound by their leases to keep up their orchards, planted only the coarsest sort of apples, and the higher quality of fruit was allowed to die out. The orchards fell into, and in most cases remain still in a deplorable condition of neglect. Hear what is the report of the Special Commissioner of the _Gardeners’ Magazine_, as to the state of the orchards in Devon. “They will not, as a rule, bear critical examination. As a matter of fact Devonshire, compared with other counties, has made little or no progress of late years, and there are hundreds of orchards in that county that are little short of a disgrace to those who own or rent them. The majority of the orchards are rented by farmers, who too often are the worst of gardeners and the poorest of fruit growers, and they cannot be induced to improve on their methods.” The writer goes on to say, that so long as the farmers have enough trees standing or blown over, to bear fruit that suffices for their home consumption, they are content, and with complete indifference, they suffer the cattle to roam about the orchards, bite off the bark, and rend the branches and tender shoots from the trees.

“If you tackle the farmers on the subject, and in particular strongly advise them to see what can be done towards improving their old orchards and forming new ones, they will become uncivil at once.”

It is sad to have to state that the famous “Royal Wilding” is no longer known, not even at Pynes, where it was extensively planted by Hugh Stafford.

Messrs. Veitch, the well-known nurserymen at Exeter and growers of the finest sorts of apples, inform me that they have not heard of it for many years. Mr. H. Whiteway, who produces some of the best cyder in North Devon, writes to me: “With regard to the _Royal Wilding_ mentioned in Mr. Hugh Stafford’s book, I have made diligent inquiry in and about the neighbourhood in which it was grown at the time stated, but up to now have been unable to find any trace of it, and this also applies to the _White-Sour_. I am, however, not without hope of discovering some day a solitary remnant of the variety.”

This loss is due to the utter neglect of the orchards in consequence of the passing and maintenance of Lord Bute’s mischievous Bill. This Bill was the more deplorable in its results because in and about 1750 cyder had replaced the lighter clarets in the affections of all classes, and was esteemed as good a drink as the finest Rhenish, and much more wholesome. Rudolphus Austen, who introduced it at the tables of the dons of Oxford, undertook to “raise cyder that shall compare and excel the wine of many provinces nearer the sun, where they abound with fruitful vineyards.” And he further asserted: “A seasonable and moderate use of good cyder is the surest remedy and preservative against the diseases which do frequently afflict the sedentary life of them that are seriously studious.” He died in 1666.

Considerable difference of opinion exists as to the advantage or disadvantage of cyder for those liable to rheumatism. But this difference of opinion is due largely, if not wholly, to the kinds of cyder drunk. The sweet cyder is unquestionably bad in such cases, but that in which there is not so much sugar is a corrective to the uric acid that causes rheumatism. In Noake’s _Worcestershire Relics_ appears the following extract from the journal of a seventeenth-century parson. “This parish (Dilwyn), wherein syder [_sic_] is plentiful, hath and doth afford many people that have and do enjoy the blessing of long life, neither are the aged here bed-ridden or decrepit as elsewhere, but for the most part lively and vigorous. Next to God, wee ascribe it to our flourishing orchards, which are not only the ornament but the pride of our country, yielding us rich and winy liquors.” At Whimple, in Devon, the rectors, like their contemporary, the Rev. Robert Wollocombe, the discoverer of the Royal Wilding a century or so later than the Dilwyn parson, were both cyder makers and cyder drinkers. The tenure of office of two of them covered a period of over a century, and the last of these worthy divines lived to tell the story of how the Exeter coach set down the bent and crippled dean at his door, who, after three weeks ‘cyder cure’ at the hospitable rectory, had thrown his crutches to the dogs and turned his face homewards “upright as a bolt.”[1]

The apple is in request now for three purposes quite distinct: the dessert apple, to rival those introduced from America; that largely employed for the manufacture of jams--the basis, apple, flavoured to turn it into raspberry, apricot, etc.; and last, but not least, the cyder-producing apple which is unsuited for either of the former requirements.

In my _Book of the West_ I have given a lengthy ballad of instruction on the growth of apple trees, and the gathering of apples and the making of cyder, which I heard sung by an old man at Washfield, near Tiverton. The following song was sung to me by an aged tanner of Launceston, some twenty years ago, which he professed to have composed himself:--

In a nice little village not far from the sea,
Still lives my old uncle aged eighty and three;
Of orchards and meadows he owns a good lot,
Such cyder as his--not another has got.

Then fill up the jug, boys, and let it go round,
Of drinks not the equal in England is found.
So pass round the jug, boys, and pull at it free,
There’s nothing like cyder, sparkling cyder, for me.

My uncle is lusty, is nimble and spry,
As ribstones his cheeks, clear as crystal his eye,
His head snowy white as the flowering may,
And he drinks only cyder by night and by day.

Then fill up the jug, etc.

O’er the wall of the churchyard the apple trees lean
And ripen their burdens, red, golden, and green.
In autumn the apples among the graves lie;
“There I’ll sleep well,” says uncle, “when fated to die.”

Then fill up the jug, etc.

“My heart as an apple, sound, juicy, has been,
My limbs and my trunk have been sturdy and clean;
Uncankered I’ve thriven, in heart and in head,
So under the apple trees lay me when dead.”

Then fill up the jug, etc.

THE ALPHINGTON PONIES

During the forties of last century, every visitor to Torquay noticed two young ladies of very singular appearance. Their residence was in one of the two thatched cottages on the left of Tor Abbey Avenue, looking seaward, very near the Torgate of the avenue. Their chief places of promenade were the Strand and Victoria Parade, but they were often seen in other parts of the town. Bad weather was the only thing that kept them from frequenting their usual beat. They were two Misses Durnford, and their costume was peculiar. The style varied only in tone and colour. Their shoes were generally green, but sometimes red. They were by no means bad-looking girls when young, but they were so berouged as to present the appearance of painted dolls. Their brown hair worn in curls was fastened with blue ribbon, and they wore felt or straw hats, usually tall in the crown and curled up at the sides. About their throats they had very broad frilled or lace collars that fell down over their backs and breasts a long way. But in summer their necks were bare, and adorned with chains of coral or bead. Their gowns were short, so short indeed as to display about the ankles a good deal more than was necessary of certain heavily-frilled cotton investitures of their lower limbs. In winter over their gowns were worn check jackets of a “loud” pattern reaching to their knees, and of a different colour from their gowns, and with lace cuffs. They were never seen, winter or summer, without their sunshades. The only variation to the jacket was a gay-coloured shawl crossed over the bosom and tied behind at the waist.

_From a Lithograph_]

The sisters dressed exactly alike, and were so much alike in face as to appear to be twins. They were remarkably good walkers, kept perfectly in step, were always arm in arm, and spoke to no one but each other.

They lived with their mother, and kept no servant. All the work of the house was done by the three, so that in the morning they made no appearance in the town; only in the afternoon had they assumed their war-paint, when, about 3 p.m., they sallied forth; but, however highly they rouged and powdered, and however strange was their dress, they carried back home no captured hearts. Indeed, the visitors to Torquay looked upon them with some contempt as not being in society and not dressing in the fashion; only some of the residents felt for them in their solitude some compassion. They were the daughters of a Colonel Durnford, and had lived at Alphington. The mother was of an inferior social rank. They had a brother, a major in the Army, 10th Regiment, who was much annoyed at their singularity of costume, and offered to increase their allowance if they would discontinue it; but this they refused to do.

When first they came to Torquay, they drove a pair of pretty ponies they had brought with them from Alphington; but their allowance being reduced, and being in straitened circumstances, they had to dispose of ponies and carriage. By an easy transfer the name of Alphington Ponies passed on from the beasts to their former owners.

As they were not well off, they occasionally got into debt, and were summoned before the Court of Requests; and could be impertinent even to the judge. On one occasion, when he had made an order for payment, one of them said, “Oh, Mr. Praed, we cannot pay now; but my sister is about to be married to the Duke of Wellington, and then we shall be in funds and be able to pay for all we have had and are likely to want!” Once the two visited a shop and gave an order, but, instead of paying, flourished what appeared to be the half of a £5 note, saying, that when they had received the other half, they would be pleased to call and discharge the debt. But the tradesman was not to be taken in, and declined to execute the order. Indeed, the Torquay shopkeepers were very shy of them, and insisted on the money being handed over the counter before they would serve the ladies with the goods that they required.

They made no acquaintances in Torquay or in the neighbourhood, nor did any friends come from a distance to stay with them. They would now and then take a book out of the circulating library, but seemed to have no literary tastes, and no special pursuits. There was a look of intelligence, however, in their eyes, and the expression of their faces was decidedly amiable and pleasing.

They received very few letters; those that did arrive probably contained remittances of money, and were eagerly taken in at the door, but there was sometimes a difficulty about finding the money to pay for the postage. It is to be feared that the butcher was obdurate, and that often they had to go without meat. Fish, however, was cheap.

_Lithographed by P. Gauci. Pub. Ed. Cockrem_]

A gentleman writes: “Mr. Garrow’s house, The Braddons, was on my father’s hands to let. One day the gardener, Tosse, came in hot haste to father and complained that the Alphington Ponies kept coming into the grounds and picking the flowers, that when remonstrated with they declared that they were related to the owner, and had permission. ‘Well,’ said father, ‘the next time you see them entering the gate run down and tell me.’ In a few days Tosse hastened to say that the ladies were again there. Father hurried up to the grounds, where he found them flower-picking. Without the least ceremony he insisted on their leaving the grounds at once. They began the same story to him of their relationship to the owner, adding thereto, that they were cousins of the Duke of Wellington. ‘Come,’ said father, ‘I can believe _one_ person can go mad to any extent in any direction whatever, but the improbability of _two_ persons going mad in identically the same direction and manner at the same time is a little too much for my credulity. Ladies, I beg you to proceed.’ And proceed they did.”

After some years they moved to Exeter, and took lodgings in St. Sidwell’s parish. For a while they continued to dress in the same strange fashion; but they came into some money, and then were able to indulge in trinkets, to which they had always a liking, but which previously they could not afford to purchase. At a large fancy ball, given in Exeter, two young Oxonians dressed up to represent these ladies; they entered the ballroom solemnly, arm in arm, with their parasols spread, paced round the room, and finished their perambulation with a waltz together. This caused much amusement; but several ladies felt that it was not in good taste, and might wound the poor crazy Misses Durnford. This, however, was not the case. So far from being offended at being caricatured, they were vastly pleased, accepting this as the highest flattery. Were not princesses and queens also represented at the ball? Why, then, not they?

One public ball they did attend together, at which, amongst others, were Lady Rolle and Mr. Palk, son of the then Sir Lawrence Palk. Owing to their conspicuous attire, they drew on them the attention of Lady Rolle, who challenged Mr. Palk to ask one of the sisters for a dance, and offered him a set of gold and diamond shirt studs if he could prevail on either of them to be his partner. Mr. Palk accepted the challenge, but on asking for a dance was met in each case by the reply, “I never dance except my sister be also dancing.” Mr. Palk then gallantly offered to dance with both sisters at once, or in succession. He won and wore the studs.

A gentleman writes: “In their early days they made themselves conspicuous by introducing the bloomer arrangement in the nether latitude.[2] This, as you may well suppose, was regarded as a scandal; but these ladies, who were never known to speak to any one, or to each other out of doors, went on their way quite unruffled. Years and years after this, you may imagine my surprise at meeting them in Exeter, old and grey, but the same singular silent pair. Then, after an interval of a year or two, only one appeared. I assure you, it gave me pain to look at that poor lonely, very lonely soul; but it was not for long. Kind Heaven took her also, and so a tiny ripple was made, and there was an end of the Alphington Ponies.”

MARIA FOOTE

“If there was ever a creature who merited the sympathy of the world, it is Maria Foote. If there was ever a wife who deserved its commiseration, it is her mother.” With these words begins a notice of the actress in _The Examiner_ for 1825.

About the year 1796 an actor appeared in Plymouth under the name of Freeman, but whose real name was Foote, and who claimed relationship with Samuel Foote, the dramatist and performer. He was of a respectable family, and his brother was a clergyman at Salisbury. Whilst on a visit to his brother, he met the sister of his brother’s wife, both daughters of a Mr. Charles Hart; she was then a girl of seventeen, in a boarding-school, and to the disgrace of all parties concerned therein, this simple boarding-school maid was induced to marry a man twenty-five years older than herself, and to give great offence to her parents, who withdrew all interest in her they had hitherto shown. Foote returned to Plymouth with his wife, a sweet innocent girl. He was at the time proprietor and manager of the Plymouth Theatre; and as, in country towns, actors and actresses were looked down upon by society, no respectable family paid Mrs. Foote the least attention, and although the whole town was interested in her appearance, it regarded her simply with pity.

Deserted by the reputable of one sex, she threw herself into the society of the other; and in Plymouth, her good humour, fascinating manner, long silken hair, and white hat and feather made havoc among the young bloods. The husband was too apathetic to care who hovered about his wife, with whom she flirted; and she, without being vicious, finding herself slighted causelessly, became indifferent to the world’s opinion. Her elderly husband, seeing that she was not visited, began himself to neglect her.

The produce of this ill-assorted union was Maria Foote, ushered into the world without a friend on the maternal, and very few on the paternal side, who took any interest in her welfare, and she was brought up amid scenes little calculated to give her self-respect, sense of propriety, or any idea of domestic love and happiness.