The Roxburghe Ballads

The Conversion' of Charles II. often misrepresented. XIX

Windsor, 11 Aug.

"I received yours, my dear Charlotte, iust now, concerning the desire you make about Mrs. Young's reversion, but I was engaged in that matter some dayes since, so as I can only tell you that I am very glad to heare that I shall see you face to face, and 'tis the greater satisfaction to me, because I did not expect it so soone, and be assured that I am as kinde to you as you can expect kinde father

from your

"For my Lady Lichfield."

Charles R.

Incidentally we have shown many examples of the kindness of heart, the courtesy, the consideration for others, the clear-sightedness and the cleverness of "Old Rowley." His affection for his heavy brother James, his scornful rejection of the dishonourable Shaftesburian project to divorce Queen Catharine, or allow her to be ruined by the lying accusation of Titus Oates; the difficulties besetting him as pensioner of King Lewis, while betrayed to his own rebellious subjects (themselves accepting the same hirelings-wages from the French King, without scruple), or mediating between two irreconcileable rival claimants of succession, James of York and James of Monmouth; these meet us as we trace back the years. Lastly, the utterly untrustworthy indications of his being anything more of a convert to Romanism than a weary and exhausted man yielding obedience to the strong will of his brother and the force of concurring circumstances -the tiresome and ill-conducted fussiness of the crowding English bishops, clamorous and pertinacious, contrasting unfavourably with the quiet ministration of Father Huddlestone, a long approved and faithful servant, whose presence brought relief. If we have succeeded in breathing life anew into some of the dry bones of the buried centuries, readers may be not indisposed to accept our tribute wreaths, whether of The Watcher at Whitehall," or "Ave Cæsar, morituri te salutant!" (p. 774). We Cavaliers are loyal to the throne, but not sycophantic in adulation, although avowing our love for Charles, as one untimely wasted. Our own taste, like that of most other true ballad-lovers, inclines us to the quiet solace of books, instead of the smiles of wantons or the glitter of Courts; we are contented with the sweet seclusion of a hermit's cell, alternated with committeemeetings in the best place on earth, that centre of the civilized world, London, wherein our friends dwell, and where the originals of these ballads are preserved, both manuscripts and broadsides. Long may they rest there safely!

One-Acre Priory an absolute Primacy..

To reside for years in Boeotia, far away from all social intercourse with antiquaries and other scholars (except one true friend and ballad-lover at Cliftonville), might be held depressingly injurious for the "cultivation of literature on a little oatmeal," especially in pursuit of ballad-lore. A RollingStone must gather its scanty supply of moss under difficulties. Well for us, if we possess a contented mind for a continual feast; a mirthful spirit, that laughs at foes and obstacles; with some of what Robert Burns calls "the carle stalk of hemp in man," such as ensures victory in any lawful contest, since it makes defeat impossible.

Thus every oasis in the desert grows habitable, and in time becomes a Garden of Eden, to those who have found their right work to do, and who seek to finish it honestly. Self-reliant are such labourers, because they grow sufficient for their own wants and perils; whether drifting across the world in earlier freedom of Bedouin experiences, or left at anchor, not to say run aground, befogged or water-logged, in a forgotten nook, like the 'gentle Johnnian' who dwells at

One-Acre Priory.

(A Cavalier's bower, Far from the madding crowd.')

[INE is a very small domain,

with Nycis';

Few are our wants of heart or brain,

For both it well suffices

As though it were Pacific Main

With all its Isles of Spices.

One Maid we keep-would she were fair!
One cat, a famous mouser;

Some poultry, flowers, and a full share
Of dogs (Beppo and Towzer):
Nycisca's sweet, beyond compare-
(Or so her husband vows her).

To envy others silly seems;

Who wealth have, fain grow richer:
Books form my sole ambitious schemes;
(For Nycis', none bewitch her :)
Contentedly we weave our dreams,
And lack nor Friend nor Pitcher.

O Grumblers of dyspeptic sort,
Who count yourselves stupendous !
Why scorn our Lilliputian Court,
Where simple joys attend us?
We thank the Gods, this life is short,
Till the New Life they send us.

"The hope of Humanity not yet dead in him." XXI

Year

Some dull Philistines avow dislike to ballads, and feel no interest in history or in literature; they hold no belief in generous enthusiasm; they admire nothing except Puritanic sanctimoniousness and sordid money-grubbing. We heed not their approval or disapproval. After all, the true tribunal of Appeal sits in the future. Little else remains to us. by year we lose the valued friends who encouraged toil and rewarded it with smiles. John Payne Collier, Frederick Ouvry, Henry A. Bright, whom we have lost, can never be replaced; on some others sickness has already laid a wasting touch; but there still live several firm friends, in England, in Scotland, and in the Western Land of the United States, to which our longings turn increasingly, whose approbation will be prized for the completed work, if completed it can be. To them we herewith send greeting, in hope of speedy reunion. Perhaps our best friends and readers may be yet unborn, and for the most part dwellers hereafter in that future Mistress of the World, stretching from the landingplace of Pilgrim-Fathers to the Golden Gate of San Francisco. If the prophetic vision be illusive, it at least hurts nobody.

Esperanza.

HEY have pass'd away to the Silent Land,

THEY

The friends of my early days;

When my hair turns grey, I shall lonely stand,

And hear not their words of praise :

With never a son to clasp my hand,

Or a girl to chant my Lays.

It may be, of all that I tried to do,

In the life that has ebb'd and gone,

There is little to last till the days grow new,
Or be told on my burial-stone,

Save the struggle to give a Verdict true

On the times by these Ballads shown.

Yet I dare to hope, when my bones are dust,
That in lands beyond the sea

A race may arise of a larger trust,

With a spirit unstained and free,

Who will prize this work as sound and just,
And cherish my memory.

MOLASH VICARAGE, KENT, Midsummer, 1884.

J. WOODFALL EBSWORTH.

XXII

Additional Note on Newmarket (p. 144).

We have ourselves re-drawn and engraved on a reduced scale, as Frontispiece to this volume, from an old and original drawing, the celebrated RyeHouse, near Hoddesdon. So much importance was attached by the Rye-House Conspirators to the unguarded condition of the King and his brother in their frequent visits to Newmarket, that a few extracts may be acceptable from the hitherto unprinted MS. Letters written by James Duke of York from that place, and addressed to his niece Charlotte, Countess of Lichfield. (See INTRODUCTION, p. XVII.) The letters are undated as to the years, but this is of little importance.

Newmarkett, March 22 [168].-We have the worst weather now I ever saw at this tyme of year, which makes this place not so pleasant as it used to be; but for me I like it very well since I have the happynesse of being with his Ma[jesty]. J.

Newmarkett, March 21 [1683 or 1683].-Till now, within this day or two, thar has been very little company here, and I never knew a meetting at this place where there was so little company as now: yett the weather has been much better than it was this tyme twelve months, and for all it has been a little windy it is not cold. The Dutchesse [of York] and my Daughter [Anne] have been several tymes abroad to take the aire on horse-back, and twice to see the cock fighting, for horse matches there has been but one, which was yesterday, but this weeke they say there will be more. Her Ma: has not yet played at Bassett, which makes the drawing rooms very dull, and I believe will not whilst she stays here, but the Dutchesse dos.

This

Newmarkett, Octo. 8 [1682, more probably than as marked, "1684 "].-There has been horse races now three days together. On Monday Griffin's horse beat Barnes, yesterday Ld Godolphin's horse lost all the three heats to Mr. Wharton's gray Gelding, and, after they were over, Stapley beat Roc the long course. day Dragon was beaten by Whynot, and Stapley won another match; it was of the D. of Albemarle. Tomorrow I am to goe fox hunting, and hope to have better weather then it has been since I came to the place, for it has rained every day, so that the King could not hawk neither this day nor yesterday, and I never saw this place so very durty as it is now.

[In our Bagford Ballads (p. 80), introducing previously an extract from Sir John Reresby on the amusements of Charles II. at the same place, we reprinted Tom D'Urfey's "Call to the Races at Newmarket" which mentions Dragon (as does the foregoing letter), "Dragon could scower it, but Dragon is old." Compare the present volume, p. 141. We may ascertain the precise date by these horse-matches.]

Newmarkett, Nov. 14 [1683 ?].-It never was duller nor lesse diverting, for the weather has been so very bad, and so cold, that it has very much spoyled all the divertions here, it having been hardly wether to stir out of doors, so that cock fighting has been almost the only thing one could do here, and that for the most part we have twice a day. I have been a fox hunting thrice, and for all the wet cold season have had very good sport. Tomorrow I am to go to it againe. The Ds of Portsmouth is not very well, having complained of a paine in her head all day yesterday, with a paine in her stomache, and an inclination to vomit. She was lett blood this morning and keeps her bed and continues still ill. . . . Assuring you of my being still your most humble Servant, J[ames].

[Each letter addressed :] “For my Neice the Countesse of Lichfield."