975

[For the Year Book.]

The village of Elstow is situate about a mile and a half from Bedford, and is noted as the site of an abbey of Benedictine nuns. It is called Elnestov,' in Domesday-book, and, at the date of that survey, was held of Judith, countess of Huntingdon, by the monks of St. Mary. The population in 1821 was 548.

The dim, mysterious, ruddy light
That ushers in an autumn night,
Hung o'er the reeking fields that lay
Before me, on my lonely way,
In melancholy stillness spread,
As if to shroud those dreamless dead,
Over whose long, unbroken sleep
No friends nor kindred come to weep,
Though through its tears the sun-set sky
Looks kindly down with glimmering eye,
And, as its tender tints grow dim,

The red-breast trills their parting hymn.
But now that loved and lonesome thing
Brought not its tuneful offering;
Though breaking on the drowsy ear,
Distinct, yet distant, faint, but clear,

Like the far trumpet's voice of flame
At times the cock's shrill clarion came,
Poured blithely forth, as full and free
As if his misty eye could see,
In that diseased and cheerless light,
The waning majesty of night;
While, from some nearer knoll, the sound
Of lowing kine, breathed gently round,
Joined with the homeless wether's bell,
Drowned not the lisping brooklets' swell.
No" noise that hinders thought" was there,
But through the chill substantial air,
From the still, shadowy hamlet, broke
The clanging hammer's sturdy stroke,
And click of hurrying hoofs that trode
With measured step the twilight road,
By ancient ELSTOW's hallowed fane-
Now faintly heard, now loud again;
But still, by distance so subdued,
They startled not its solitude,

The church, which is all that remains of the conventual building, is dedicated to the Holy Trinity, St. Mary, and St. Helena, the mother of Constantine the Great. It is a stately structure, and contains some curious sepulchral brasses, and other monuments of

interest.

But served as points to mete and sound
The deep sepulchral calm around.
The sluggard wind is waking now,
Round that tall poplar's topmost bough,
And now, in pulses faint and brief,
Toys with the sere and yellow leaf,'
Till, bolder grown, it gathers power,
And whirls aslant a golden shower,
Trundling its merry charge about
Like mummers at some lordly rout,
A reckless, restless, romping clan,-
Itself the piper to the van.

as

Look! where, upon the western sky,
Lifting its solemn front on high,
Frowns the dark battlemented tow'r,
And gloomy forms of grandeur low'r-
There, as I shape my course, and tread
Above the venerable dead,'
What vestiges of days departed

Up from the teeming past have started!
Visions of worthies famed in story,
And fadeless thoughts of faded glory!
Objects in which my youth delighted,
Like autumn-gleanings, sear'd and blighted,
Or sun-shoots from an April sky!
-Love, hope, fruition, all gone by.—
- Visions of worthies !'-Aye, let Fame
Inscribe in water Bunyan'st name,

And merge in darkness, if she will,

· Erle Huntingdon, his ancient Villx" The grateful" Pilgrim" still shall go To seek his native Helenstowe,' And, though the place be none so fairDream of "the land of Beulah" there.

Undying thoughts of dying things!'The bright, but passing, pomp of kings, Earth's rottenness, and crafty ruth, Seen in the blaze of sober truth.-The hopeless hope, by human light, To overmatch Essential Right, And bind unbending Justice down In barter for a fadeless crown.-The convent's gloom-the masses saidAnd requiems chaunted for the dead, In solemn voices, loud and clear, By old St. Mary's brethren there

The tower is detached from the church, shown in the preceding cut. The "gloomy forms of grandeur" comprise a ruined mansion adjoining, formerly tenanted by the Hillersdon family, whose arms are carved on the porch, still remaining. An avenue of trees, occupied by a considerable colony of rooks, and shadowing a gentle stream, stands beside it, forming a very striking landscape.

John Bunyan, author of the "Pilgrim's Progress," was born at Elstow, of mean parentage, in 1628. His native house has undergone such extensive repairs and alterations, that its original features are lost, or a view of it would have probably illustrated this article.

The stealthy rites of those who gave
Its latest abbess to the grave,
And on her tomb engraved the prayer
They ventured not to proffer there.-
'Scenes of my youth!'-I thought of you,
Your dreams, all sunshine,—all untrue-
-Your sorrows, fleet indeed, but keen,
Your search for glory, never seen!
-False, for I knew not then, nor claimed
"The hope that maketh not ashamed;"
-Keen-for I gave myself no care
To buckle on the shield " All-prayer;"
And never seen, because I sought,
Neither when, where, nor how, I ought.
D. A.

There is in the south aisle of the church a memorial for Elizabeth Herwy, whom Mr. Lysons calls the last abbess of Elstow, and he endeavours to account for the circumstance of the dates in the inscription being left blank, by supposing that she outlived the dissolution. This, however, is not the fact, as she had three or more successors. The 'prayer' referred to, is that, so usual on sepulchral monuments, previous to the reformation.

August 20.

20th August, 1734, died at Newcastlehouse, Clerkenwell (which house stood in the close, within memory) the duchess of Montagu. She was heiress of Henry, duke of Newcastle, and her hand was solicited by Ralph, duke of Montagu. To an honorable suitor there were two impassable obstacles to the union; the lady was insane-and she determined to marry no one but a monarch. For the sake of her property the duke assumed the character of Emperor of China, made love to a maniac, and she married (or rather was married to) him. Afterwards she suffered no one to approach her but as Empress, and was always served upon the knee. She survived the duke twentysix years. He was the builder of Montagu-house, now the British Museum.

20th August, 1783, died in Moorfields, aged sixty-eight, Mr. Frank Vandermyn, an eminent portrait painter. He was so much attached to a pipe and porter, that he would not paint the portrait of even the first character in the kingdom, unless he was indulged with his pipe at the time, and on that account he lost the painting of many. His likenesses were good, and his fancy heads of Turks, Jew-Rabbies, and Circassians, were much admired. †

Noble.

+ Gent's Magazine.

This is the anniversary of Bosworth Field, in which battle Richard III. was killed. Modern writers differ with older authors concerning his character. Wal

Windsor pears fully ripe.

August 21.

21st August, 1703, died Thomas Tryon,

the amiable author of "The way to health, long life, and happiness, or a discourse on temperance," a work which still retains some celebrity, and of several other pieces on domestic economy and rural affairs. He was the son of a tiler and plasterer at Bibury, in Gloucestershire, and became a shepherd. At thirteen years old he learned to read, and at fourteen gave one of several sheep he had obtained to be taught the art of writing. Afterwards, selling his stock for £3, he went to London, and apprenticed himself to a hat maker at Bridewell Dock, where he spent the day in learning his trade, and most of the night in reading. He commenced business, and acquired a considerable fortune. He rejected the use of animal food, and thought "temperance, cleanliness, and innocency," would purify him for celestial enjoyments. He was a man of kind affections, and when he died, at the age of 69, he is presumed to have anticipated a much longer life in the world, through his tenderness to beasts, birds, fishes, insects, and reptiles. *

suspicion of the veracity of the historians, who represent Richard to have been a monster in mind as well as body. The story of the murder and burial of the infant

princes in the tower is much discredited.

Plantagenet (a natural son of Richard III.) There is an interesting account of Richard in the following letter from Dr. Thomas Brett to Dr. William Warren, President of Trinity Hall.

[Copy.] DEAR WILL,

*

Now for the story of Richard Plantagenet. In the year 1720 (I have it was about Michaelmas) I waited on the forgot the particular day, only remember late lord Heneage, earl of Winchelsea, at Eastwell house, and found him sitting well lying open before him. He to with the register of the parish of East me that he had been looking there to st who of his own family were mentioned it.

But, says he, I have a curiosity here to show you and then showed me, and I immediately transcribed it into my almanac – "Richard Plantagenet was buryed the 22d daye of December, arno ut supra. Ex Registro de Eastwell, sub anno 1550." This is all the register mentions of him; so that we cannot say whether he was buried in the church of church-yard; nor is there now any other memorial of him except the tradition in the family, and some little marks where his house stood. The story my lord told me was this:—

When Sir Thomas Moyle built that house (Eastwell-place) he observed his chief bricklayer, whenever he left off work, retired with a book. Sir Thomas had curiosity to know what book the man read; but was some time before he could discover it, he still putting the book up However, if any one came toward him.

at last, Sir Thomas surprised him, and snatched the book from him, and looking into it found it to be Latin. Hereupon. he examined him, and, finding he pretty well understood that language, he in quired how he came by his learning: hereupon the man told him, as he ha been a good master to him, he would

venture to trust him with a secret he had never before revealed to any one. He then informed him, that he was boarded with a Latin school-master, without know ing who his parents were, till he was fifteen or sixteen years old: only a gentleman (who took occasion to acquaint him he was no relation to him) came once a quarter, and paid for his board, and took care to see that he wanted nothing. And, one day, this gentleman took him, and carried him to a fine great house, where he passed through several stately rooms, in one of which he left him, bidding him stay there. Then a man, finely drest, with a star and garter, came to him, asked him some questions, talked kindly to him, and gave him some money. Then the forementioned gentleman returned, and conducted him back to his school.

Some time after, the same gentleman came to him again, with a horse and proper accoutrements, and told him he must take a journey with him into the country. They went into Leicestershire, and came to Bosworth field; and he was carried to Richard III.'s tent. The king embraced him, and told him he was his son. "But, child," says he, 66 to-morrow I must fight for my crown; and, assure yourself, if I lose that, I will lose my life too; but I hope to preserve both. Do you stand in such a place (directing him to a particular place), where you may see the battle, out of danger. And when I have gained the victory, come to me; I will then own you to be mine, and take care of you. But, if I should be so unfortunate as to lose the battle, then shift as well as you can, and take care to let nobody know that I am your father; for no mercy will be showed to any one so nearly related to me." Then the king gave him a purse of gold and dismissed him.

He followed the king's directions. And,

when he saw the battle was lost, and the king killed, he hasted to London, sold his horse and fine clothes, and the better to conceal himself from all suspicion of being son to a king, and that he might have means to live by his honest labor,

he

put himself apprentice to a bricklayer. But, having a competent skill in the Latin tongue, he was unwilling to lose it; and having an inclination also to reading, and no delight in the conversation of those he was obliged to work with, he generally spent all the time he had to spare in reading by himself.

Sir Thomas said, "You are now old,

and almost past your labor; I will give you the running of my kitchen as long as you live." He answered, "Sir, you have a numerous family; I have been used to live retired; give me leave to build a house of one room for myself, in such a field, and there, with your good leave, I will live and die." Sir Thomas granted his request; he built his house, and there continued to his death.

I suppose (though my lord did not mention it) that he went to eat in the family, and then retired to his hut. My lord said that there was no park at that time; but, when the park was made, that house was taken into it, and continued standing till his (my lord's) father pulled it down. "But," said my lord, "I would as soon have pulled down this house:" meaning Eastwell-place.

I have been computing the age of this Richard Plantagenet when he died, and find it to be about eighty-one. For Richard III. was killed August 23 [22], 1485 (which subtracted from 1550, there (for the age of Richard Plantagenet at remains sixty-five), to which add sixteen that time), and it makes eighty-one. But, though he lived to that age, he could scarcely enjoy his retirement in his little house above two or three years, or a little more. For I find by Philpot that sir Thomas Moyle did not purchase the estate of Eastwell till about the year 1543 or 4. We may therefore reasonably suppose that, upon his building a new house on his purchase, he could not come to live in it till 1546, but that his workmen were continued to build the walls about his gardens, and other conveniences off from the house. And, till he came to live in the house, he could not well have an opportunity of observing how Richard Plantagenet retired with his book. So that it was probably towards the latter end of the year 1546, when Richard and sir Thomas had the foremenRichard could not build his house, and tioned dialogue together. Consequently, have it dry enough for him to live in, till the year 1547. So that he must be seventyseven or seventy-eight years of age before he had his writ of ease.

I am, dear brother Will, your humble servant, THO. BRETT.

Spring Grove, Sept. 1, 1733.