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CATHERINE PARR AND MARY TUDOR—ESCAPE FROM FIRE—VISIT TO THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT—LIFE OF ELIZABETH—VISIT TO THE LAKES—TO SCOTLAND—LETTER FROM MRS JAMIESON—AUTOGRAPH REQUESTED BY THE QUEEN.

The opening year found Agnes Strickland and her sister labouring upon their fifth volume, containing Catherine Parr and Mary Tudor—one the nursing-mother of that Reformation in the Church which the other in later times vainly strove to crush. At this earlier and happier period of her life, while under the sweet influence of her pious and amiable stepmother, Mary did not betray those vindictive feelings that heaped upon Cranmer’s head the storm that abased him to apostasy, only to rise to faith and penitence in the death-tragedy, purified, sanctified, forgiven, and saintly. Perhaps if Catherine Parr had lived to her reign, the dreadful scenes that gained this Queen-regnant the not undeserved appellation of “Bloody” might not have taken place at all. Bradford the martyr, with the justice and moderation that marked his beautiful and apostolic character, had made this remark upon her government: “This woman, but for her religion, would be an excellent ruler.”

To show Mary as she really was, an able ruler, and SOCIAL RELAXATION. but for her bigotry a just one, was the difficult task of Elizabeth. To Agnes was assigned that of portraying our first Protestant queen-consort, the truly Christian wife of the cruel Henry—of her who helped to mould the beautiful character of his young successor—of him “who for England’s weal was early wise”—the pious, charitable, and learned Edward VI. It was a happy subject, and so Agnes Strickland found it; and the valuable documentary evidence respecting the maiden and early married life of this amiable queen greatly added to its interest. As she was anxious to procure an autograph of Catherine, she wrote to Dawson Turner, Esq., a literary gentleman who was known to possess many rare documents in MS., portraits, and holographs, among which those of Jane Seymour and Catherine Parr might possibly be found. His reply, though it did not afford her what she hoped to obtain, gave her some useful information, of which she was glad to avail herself.

Though closely engaged on her work Agnes found time to enjoy social pleasures, for relaxation from her morning studies was necessary for her health. Her sister author sometimes accompanied her to parties to the Howards of Corby, for they were on very intimate terms with the amiable ladies of the family. Upon a late return from one of Mrs Howard’s delightful réunions, a serious danger befell them from the carelessness of their own maid, who, after she had relieved them of their gala dresses and ornaments, went to bed, leaving a lighted candle in an open drawer filled with pieces of muslin and cotton—miscellaneous property of her own. While they were arranging their hair for the night, their attention was attracted by the smell of smoke, which, upon opening the door, filled the room, leaving no doubt respecting its cause. The house was on fire. Elizabeth, always prompt and energetic, hastened to ESCAPE FROM FIRE. find from whence it proceeded, while Agnes ran up-stairs to arouse the sleeping occupants of the house, eleven persons in number. She found this no easy matter. The master of the lodging-house was blind, too, which seemed to make the preservation of his large family and property more difficult. Elizabeth, who had discovered that the fire was in the kitchen, opened the door, calling “Fire!” while Agnes, half dressed, took her manuscript life of Elizabeth in one hand and her sister’s Bramah-desk in the other, and ran to Lady Brooke’s, who received her frightened friend very kindly, wrapped her up in a blanket, and made her lie down on the sofa. Two policemen and fire-engines were soon on the spot, and the flames were speedily got under; the blind man, with much presence of mind, keeping the doors and windows closed to exclude currents of air—the loss of the kitchen furniture and boarded floor being the amount of the injury he sustained.

This accident, which might have ended so tragically, made a deep impression upon Agnes, who recognised the merciful hand of God in her preservation; for had she retired to rest a few minutes earlier, she, with the numerous inhabitants of the house, must have perished in the flames. Her family were much affected upon learning the danger of Elizabeth and herself, and very thankful to the Almighty for their preservation.

Agnes Strickland, who had not seen the new Houses of Parliament, was invited by Lady Willoughby de Eresby to join her party and visit the House of Lords. She was accompanied by her sister Elizabeth, and was much pleased by the frank and courteous manner in which she was received by her ladyship.

“She showed me,” writes Agnes, “many beautiful miniatures and interesting relics of the Stuarts. As she was obliged to attend a committee of ladies which she had forgotten, she gave me an order from the Great NEW HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. Chamberlain, her lord, and his card, for his headache would not allow him to escort us. His nephew, Mr Burrell, a handsome, graceful young man, received us with great deference, and gave us seats till her ladyship, with her pretty daughter Mrs Heathcote, and the rest of the party, arrived with Lady North, Lady Elphinstone, and other distinguished persons—Lord Elphinstone, who is a very handsome man, politely giving me his arm.

“As for the new House, it is a mass of gold and blazoning in the florid Gothic style, but truly imposing. We went everywhere, even into a sly gold cage over the throne, where the Queen can hear debates perdue if she wishes to do so. We poked about the unfinished buildings and hurt our feet among the loose stones, to the no small injury of my new drab satin dress. Lady Willoughby’s black damask was half a yard deep in dust. Fortunately, mine being dust-coloured, did not show it so much.”

Agnes Strickland was introduced to Father Mathew, the apostle of temperance, at a breakfast given in his honour by Mr and Mrs Howard, in Brooke Street; for though there were more than forty guests present, the Father was the great lion of the day. “I like him very much,” writes Agnes to her mother. “He is a very handsome, noble-looking man. His manners are mild, unaffected, and modest, yet dignified as well as kind. He is not eloquent, but persuasive and reasonable. He shook hands with Eliza and me, and assured us that the introduction was the greatest gratification he had had in London.”

Agnes was much amused some years afterwards by Dr Stanley’s account of the manner in which he and Father Mathew were received at Norwich, and the bountiful supply of gin they were offered by the populace, who accompanied their proffers by grins and facetious FIFTH VOLUME OF ‘LIVES.’ speeches, hoping to overcome by broad humour the gravity of their own bishop and his temperance friend. Some good was effected notwithstanding the opposition of the rabble, and men who came to mock afterwards took the pledge. A divine at once so mild and so firm as that lamented Bishop of Norwich, was not likely to give up a good purpose for fear of ridicule.

The sisters went over Ham House with the Hon. Maria Otway Cave, a very intelligent and highly accomplished lady, the eldest daughter of Baroness Braye. They dined with her ladyship on their return, and were introduced to her widowed daughter, the Hon. Mrs Murray.^[1] Ham House contained many objects of interest—beautiful Vandyck and Lely portraits, historical miniatures, and fine tapestry.

Occasionally, from heralds and pursuivants, Agnes received very valuable information, and William Courthope, Esq., Rouge Croix, sent her the brief will of Queen Catherine Parr, which she much wished to see. This valuable document appears to give sufficient proof that the approach of death had removed all suspicious jealousy from the mind of Catherine. She does not name her infant daughter—an unfortunate mistake for the child, who, but for that omission, would have inherited her mother’s ample fortune, which was lost by the attainder of her father.

The fifth volume of the ‘Lives of the Queens of England’ was passing through the press while Agnes Strickland was writing the life of Elizabeth, the greatest regnant queen who ever sat on the English throne, or indeed on any other. Elizabeth Strickland’s life of Mary had excited the indignation of those who, in their horror of her bigotry, were determined to deny her even the good qualities she really possessed. LIFE OF ELIZABETH.

Undismayed by the storm raised by bigotry against her sister’s life of Mary, Agnes resolved to give a truthful biography of Elizabeth with the fidelity of a historian, and to narrate errors little known or believed of this illustrious queen. But in displaying Elizabeth in her real greatness as a wise peace-sovereign—the developer of a policy infinitely more enlightened than that of her warlike ancestors—she did her memory more justice than the host of adulatory writers to whom documentary authorities were unknown. Upon her life of Elizabeth, Agnes Strickland put forth all her energies, and displayed all the resources that history, biography, or deep research into the archives of this or other lands could afford. Yet with all her energetic search for truth, one interesting fact had not only escaped her notice, but that of Queen Elizabeth’s most enthusiastic admirers—her probable innocence of Mary Queen of Scots’ death.

In writing her life of Elizabeth, published by Mr Colburn, Agnes, finding no evidence to the contrary, had fully believed that queen to be guilty of the crime that has left a dark blot upon her mighty name; but she afterwards found reason to think that the denial and intense indignation expressed by this sovereign was real not feigned, and that the execution of Mary Stuart was the work of her ministers alone, who acted on their own responsibility, though perfectly aware that all Europe would charge the execution upon Elizabeth’s head.

In the edition now published by George Bell & Sons this new view of the transaction is given, with the probability—almost the certainty—that it is the true one,—that the signature of Elizabeth was forged by a man named Harrison, in the employment of Sir Francis Walsingham as his private secretary. The discovery of a curious document in the Cottonian SIXTH VOLUME. library led Agnes Strickland to this conclusion, and caused her some regret that in the earlier editions of this important biography she had represented Queen Elizabeth as a profound and heartless dissembler, punishing the less guilty instrument for fulfilling her own declared commands. Her female biographer was perfectly convinced, after seeing this document, of the innocence of this great queen.

Elizabeth was, indeed, too politic a ruler to have violated the “divinity that doth hedge a sovereign in.” She had left the memory of her mother uncleared lest it should draw attention to her own uncertain legitimacy, and recall the fact that queens could be brought to the block. All she had done was to reverse by Act of Parliament the attainder against her own birth. Whether she believed her mother to be innocent or guilty can never be ascertained. She left it to rest for ever in the shade.

The publication of the sixth volume added greatly to the fame of Agnes Strickland, and very much to Mr Colburn’s profit. The whole edition sold off as soon as it was in print. It was reviewed with immense praise—enough, indeed, to have turned the head of a less experienced writer. Letters from private individuals poured in on every side; and it is a curious fact that some authors who had been only formerly known by chance verses of small merit in the annuals, and who had openly depreciated her talents, troubled her with fulsome epistles, and the false assertion “that they had always admired her works, and done their best to advance her literary reputation.”

To these time-servers, who had always preferred their own little bow-wows, and had tried to stifle the notes of the swan, wishing, no doubt, they would be her last, Agnes gave no reply. She left them in the dust of their own dulness and malignity, despising their VISIT TO THE LAKES. praise still more than she had done their abuse. Both indeed, in her eyes, were equally unworthy of notice. To those kind friends and learned persons who had cheered and aided her in her literary pursuits she was deeply grateful.

To her labours of this year was added the severe task of editing the letters of Mary Queen of Scots, which she translated from the old French, adding to them those sent her from St Petersburg through the agency of Sir Robert Ker Porter and his sister Jane. These valuable documents were transcribed from the jealously guarded Imperial Russian archives, and proved of much value to the editor of the letters, who was already planning her biography of that unfortunate princess. Agnes, besides completing her life of Catherine Parr, was deeply engaged on that of Elizabeth; so we must conclude she had an immense deal of work on her hands. To give herself some relaxation from intense labour, she designed to visit the Lakes in the autumn with her sister Sarah. Green Bradley, Esq., the son-in-law of Mrs Boynton, her dear old friend, was to take charge of the travellers by that lady’s particular request. He came in his carriage to take them to Slyne House, his own pretty residence, and offered his services to be their cicerone to all places worth seeing in his neighbourhood.

To Agnes the wildly picturesque scenery of the north of England was not unknown; but to Sarah, who was unused to mighty hills, rocks, and waterfalls, mountain views presented marvellous features in the landscape, perfectly unlike the gently undulating surface of Norfolk and Suffolk, whose beauties originate in the high cultivation of lands rich in corn-fields, meadows, and groves, bounded by the German Ocean.

It being Sunday, the travellers were escorted to Lancaster Church by Mr Green Bradley. “A most LANCASTER. stately fane,” writes Agnes, “but much injured by the ill taste which caused the removal of the beautiful carved screen from the ancient line of demarcation between the chancel and the choir, where its light, elegant, graceful tracery must have had the effect of the richest lace-veil before the altar, shading but not obscuring the white-robed priest and kneeling communicants during the celebration of the Lord’s Supper, and giving at all times additional dignity to that part of the holy fane consecrated to the most solemn services of our Church. We heard an excellent sermon from a Mr May, one of the curates; but the choral portion of the service was very inferior from what might have been expected from such a nobly endowed church as that of Lancaster.”

The inspection of the castle gave the sisters much pleasure: they admired the great size of the keep, and the fine view from the ramparts, which displayed as magnificent a line of country as eye ever looked upon. The lovely Bay of Morecambe glittering in the distance, surrounded by an amphitheatre of rocks and mountains, seemed to lie at their feet. Agnes ascended to the turret and seated herself in John of Gaunt’s chair. He had been one of her Lancastrian heroes of old, and she would not forego the privilege of sitting where he had sat centuries ago.

Nothing could exceed the hospitality of their host, whose housekeeper, a clergyman’s aged widow, did everything in her power to make her master’s guests comfortable. He took them to see the beautiful country; and though charmed with all they saw, the Crook of Loon appeared to them a sight never to be forgotten. “We were,” writes Agnes, “on the side of a high mountain, and looked down from thence upon the lovely river sparkling in the sun, its banks covered with trees, and the mountain-ash dipping its clustered scarlet CROSSING THE SANDS. berries into the water, which went singing and dancing on its way over roots and stones. We could follow its course with the eye for miles and miles, for the country lay like a map at our feet. The wild flowers were beautiful—harebells, foxgloves, and purple heart’s-ease waving in the breeze. Suffolk is renowned for its wild flowers; but Lancashire has all her stock, and possesses many more than that pastoral county can boast.”

Our travellers were safely placed in the Sands coach, in which they were to cross a curious tract of country over which they could have, at high tide, sailed six hours before. Very dangerous accidents, of not very uncommon occurrence, happen in crossing that part of the route called the Duddon sand. The Lancaster coach is considered safest of all; nor does the Ulverstone bear a very bad reputation. A railway now ensures the safety of travellers, at least from drowning, if they choose to make use of it. Two dangers have to be encountered in crossing the sands—the being overtaken by the tide, or the sinking into a quicksand while going down into the bed of the river. The first may be avoided by giving due attention to the tide-table; the second is usually rendered safe by the presence of two guides, who, mounted on strong Flemish horses, act as pilots to the mail-coach. These officials, though paid by Government, expect a douceur from the passengers, which they certainly well deserve. Nothing could be more comical than the appearance of these safety-valves, with their round rosy cheeks and broad grins, their ragged frieze-coats girt with strong leather belts, and their humorous countenances. Agnes was amused by one of them courteously placing a woman and her child behind him, and, seemingly “all for love and nothing for reward,” plunging into the deep bed of the Duddon, to keep the poor creatures safe and dry, they clinging to his strong belt. When the dangerous ENGAGEMENT OF SARAH STRICKLAND. part of the journey was past, and the guides came grinning on either side of the coach, holding out such hats for what the passengers chose to bestow—such hats as only men of their calling ever do wear—their gratulatory grins were well worth, Agnes thought, the gratuity she gave. If science has banished these guides, it would be a loss to be lamented, since their presence not only ensured safety, but excited merriment in the bosoms of inexperienced travellers, alarmed by the tragical tales told—ay, and not untruly told—of persons lost in crossing these sands.

The novelty of the journey, the sight of ships lying in the bay waiting for the rising of the tide to come in, the lofty mountains in the distance, and those that rose round Ulverstone like a green and flowery crown, delighted the sisters, who took up their abode for a few days at the Sun Hotel, not at all foreseeing that one of the travellers was to become for many happy years a sojourner in Ulverstone.

Marriages are said to go by fate; and certainly the trifling incident that made Sarah a happy wife was rather in harmony with this ancient saying. It happened that Agnes wanted some stationery, and went with her sister into Soulby’s shop for it; and while she was selecting what she wanted, her sister took up a juvenile book then lying on the counter, with the name of Agnes Strickland on the title-page. She was surprised, and remarked the circumstance to her sister; but being overheard by the stationer, the presence of the author in his shop was made known by him to the incumbent of Ulverstone, the Rev. Richard Gwillym, who called upon them in the evening, and invited them to take up their abode at his house, which was kept by his maiden sister. Before the termination of the short visit, he proposed, and was accepted by Sarah, whose charms of person and mind had gained at once his DALTON. affections. This brief courtship terminated after a few months in a long and very happy union.

In a fragmentary journal, Agnes gives an account of her visit to Dalton and Furness Abbey:—

“It was a glorious day for the late harvest, and a very auspicious one for our long-projected tour to Furness Abbey in a car, a light carriage well adapted for traversing the hills and dales of this romantic country. In a few minutes we cleared the grey town of Ulverstone, and found ourselves among pleasant meads and fields crowned with golden corn. Something, however, seemed wanting to the picturesque beauty of the harvest: there were no gleaners, and I missed them, and even regretted their absence from the scene. Then the sheaves lost the effect of their southern waving beauty, for they were all inverted to secure them from damp—a not unnecessary precaution perhaps, yet taking very much from the lovely harvest landscape. After a pleasant drive of some miles we arrived at Dalton, once the principal town in Furness, pleasantly situated in a rich and fertile district, half-way up a lofty hill. Many of the humbler houses were built according to the old plan, access to the interior of the building being given by an outside staircase. This antique style has rather a picturesque effect when groups of children are perched on the steps. The square grey keep of the castle is in good preservation, consisting of a large room where court leets are held, and other manorial business transacted. A gallery runs round it, and above this another apartment, and a spiral stone staircase leading to the battlements, which we scaled, and were rewarded by a noble view of the surrounding country. At each of the four corners are martial figures, which, though reduced to torsos, retain traces of having been spirited statues, executed with some degree of genius. The market-place of Dalton, immediately below FURNESS ABBEY. the castle, is distinguished by an antique cross of curious workmanship, surrounded by ancient benches. I obtained the keys of the pretty neat church and the attendance of the clerk; but the spirit of destruction in the shape of modern innovation had swept away all the antiquities of the edifice, with the exception of the fine old font. The churchyard is very pretty, and possesses a pillar surrounded by a circular flight of steps, for a sun-dial. These crosses in olden times may have been occasionally used by the priest from whence to address his congregation on certain occasions, or even by permission by the preaching friars. Nothing could exceed the verdure of the churchyard, or the neatness with which it was kept. On re-entering our car and rattling down the precipitous hill that winds round the cemetery, we looked back and discovered the remains of a more massive pile of building, of which the walls might be traced, outside the churchyard.

“We went through a beautiful country, till we arrived at Furness Abbey, and were astonished at the grandeur and magnificence of this great northern house. Who could gaze upon its glorious remains without regret for its desecration? These grand ecclesiastic buildings might have been applied to better purposes if they had been turned into colleges and schools, and their churches devoted to the service of God, not ruined and profaned as we behold them now.

“Upon our return we visited Bardsea Priory, a magnificent modern building in the ancient style, one of the sights of this part of Lancashire, and a show place. We received great attention from the family, Colonel Bradyl himself doing the honours of his magnificent mansion, rich in paintings and works of art. We were offered refreshment, which we declined, and arrived at Ulverstone in the evening, much pleased with our excursion.” AMBLESIDE.

Here the journal breaks off abruptly: but after Agnes and her sister had ended their eventful visit to the vicarage, they left Ulverstone for Ambleside, where they took lodgings for a few days before proceeding on their Scottish tour.

They found comfortable lodgings with a widow and her niece, and received much attention from Mr Quinlinnan and his friends. The glory of the Lake country had departed with Southey and Wordsworth, whose names were familiar there as household words; but Agnes embodied afterwards the beautiful scenery of the north of England in her romance, ‘How will it End?’ a title chosen for her by the publisher. The story had been written in her gifted girlhood, but was not completed till she had herself fully realised, by her own personal experience, the scenery which her heroine Althea Woodville traversed in the course of her adventures. It was with great interest she beheld the Holme island and Calgarth Hall, her ancestral connection with the daring Cavalier Robert Philipson deepening her impressions of him and his exploits.

One little incident occurred during her abode at Ambleside which troubled her while residing there. Just as she was starting with her sister in a car for a mountain excursion, she found she had left her parasol in her bedroom, and returned to seek it, and was surprised and shocked upon discovering a key attached to a large bunch in her writing-desk. Owing, she supposed, to her speedy return, nothing had been disturbed; but she remembered hearing footsteps in the direction of her apartment. With great promptitude she relocked her desk, and pocketed the bunch to which the key was appended, which she brought back with her to Reydon, that they might not be used for such purposes again. No inquiry was made for them, their owner not venturing to claim them. Nor did THE LAKE COUNTRY. Agnes mention the attempt to any one but her sister. The incident was curious and annoying, but her retention of the keys may give a useful hint to persons who in the course of their travels may find themselves similarly situated.

Agnes Strickland was delighted with the Lake country, for she and her sister were frequent visitors at Rydal Mount, a perfect home for a poet, and redolent with the remembrance of Wordsworth. Here they became acquainted with the amiable wife of their friend Mr Quinlinnan, a very engaging lady, who was constantly sending them kind messages by her husband, offering his assistance on any occasion where the aid of a gentleman might be useful. Though a Catholic, Mr Quinlinnan escorted them to Ambleside Church, that they might be comfortably located in his own pew. During their abode at Ambleside they were enlivened by a visit from the Rev. Richard Gwillym, soon to stand in the endearing relations of husband to Sarah, and brother-in-law to Agnes—and his presence gave them much pleasure.

“We left Ambleside not without regret,” writes Agnes Strickland, “and journeyed through the most sublime scenery to Keswick, passing by the foot of the lofty Helvellyn, which I regarded with amazement; the Eagle’s Crag, a beautiful peak; Saddleback and Skiddaw. Our route lay by Scathewater; but the weather had changed from intense and unseasonable heat to extreme cold, so we were glad to arrive at Keswick, which we reached at five; and while our tea was preparing, walked to see the old church and Southey’s grave, by which we stood while the last rays of the sun above the mountains were shedding upon it a glorious light.” Agnes was a great admirer of Southey, especially of his “Don Roderick,” and also of his “Curse of Kehama,” a magnificent poem spoiled DERWENT WATER. by a very uninteresting subject, which will always prevent it from being popular, though abounding in fine passages. His “Don Roderick” has all its beauties and none of its defects, and presents a series of noble scenes for the pencil of the painter or chisel of the sculptor.

“The next morning,” continues Agnes, “we hired a car to take us to Lodore, through fine woods flanked by mountains on the one side, and Derwent Water on the other. The mountains were fearfully grand, filling the mind with admiration and awe for the Rydal and Ambleside range. We went into Mr Peters’ ground to see a fine waterfall, and clambered up to the top, from whence it tumbles down from the mountains.

“Then we went on to Lodore, when a gentleman who stood by his carriage at the inn assisted us out of the car, and offered his escort to the falls, as the guide, his nieces, and daughters, were gone to the fall, where we found them, for we thankfully accepted his guidance. His ladies, it seems, had recognised us, having seen us at Bardsea Priory. He led us upon the stones in the centre of the fall; but as we wished to go on to Boulder Stone and their horses were spent, we offered them a seat in our car, which they gladly accepted. Then we scrambled up to the Boulder Stone together; but I was so weary that I seated myself in the grey-stone cradle at the top, and overlooked the sublime view beneath, with the Derwent rolling in beauty far below. We seemed girt in with the mighty chain of mountains around us, with the Eagle Crag, and Claramere, and the Castle Grey close to us. We parted with our ladies and went on to the beautiful vale of Borrowdale, and home on the other side of the Derwent, over a mountain with the road only wide enough for one carriage—nothing indeed to prevent our going on one side hundreds CORBY CASTLE. of feet into the lake beneath. I was afraid for five minutes, after which the beauty of the view and the excitement restored my courage; and after traversing rocks and vales in succession, we got safe to Lodore, where we found a note from a lady of the name of Skelton, of Papcastle, who had called, and expressed in this manner her wish to pay me every attention in her power.

“The first thing we did on the Thursday was to visit the fine old castle, where General Windham’s bloodhound took a fancy to us, and helped to do the honours of the place. On our return, we found Mrs Skelton and her niece, who took us into some curious old houses, and invited us to stay at Papcastle; but our arrangements would not allow of our doing so, as I wanted to go to Cockermouth, where poor Mary Stuart landed, and Workington Hall, where she had been so kindly received. The Curvens, to whom I had a letter of introduction, were from home; but I went all over the Hall, and wrote a description of the portrait of Mary Stuart, and made myself mistress of the localities, of which I hope to avail myself in my biography of that unfortunate princess.

“We waited for the coach, which was to take us on to Maryport; and to our East Anglian eyes it was curious to see the sun set in the sea, instead of rising from it, as with us on the eastern coast of Suffolk. We left the coach by train for Carlisle, where we found Mr Howard’s carriage waiting for us, and arrived at Corby Castle much fatigued, where we found every comfort and luxury awaiting the weary travellers.

“Farewell, my dear mother.—With love to Eliza and Jane, ever your affectionate daughter,

Agnes.”

Mr Howard of Corby Castle had insisted that Miss Agnes Strickland and her sister should rest at his seat VISIT TO SCOTLAND. on their way to Scotland. He remained in town, but everything was arranged by his direction for their comfort. His father had not long been dead, whose loss, and the absence of his kind mother and fascinating sister, Lady Petre, could not but be felt by Agnes, though she writes cheerfully to her mother respecting her brief abode at Corby.

Though in the very focus of Catholicism, Agnes and her sister went to the parish church, whither they were attended by the Protestant portion of the household, for, notwithstanding the erroneous report formerly alluded to, she was a steadfast member of the Anglican Church.

On their way to Scotland the sisters visited Naworth Castle, and after examining that curious stronghold, took the mail for Edinburgh, and arrived at the hotel where they were to sleep. The following morning Mr Home of Avontoun House, the Sheriff-substitute, came to show them the beauties of Auld Reekie. The view from the Calton Hill struck Agnes with its magnificence, combining as it did the wild sublimity of nature with the prospect of civilisation afforded by the Old and New Town lying at their feet. Their clever cicerone took them to see the College and the Provost’s library, in which Agnes found many things worthy of her attention.

Mr Frank Home accompanied them as far as Linlithgow, and they had a beautiful journey through Ayrshire. At Kilmarnock they found Mr Craufurd with his carriage waiting to convey them to Craufurdland Castle, where they were to take up their abode. Upon their arrival at the beautiful old place, with its towers and battlements covered with ivy, Mrs Craufurd and her elegant daughter stood in the Gothic hall ready to receive and welcome them—the lady looking like a châtelaine of Queen Mary’s time, quite in keeping with REV. NORMAN MACLEOD. her surroundings. Only one gentleman was invited to meet them the first day—the Rev. Norman Macleod, the Presbyterian minister of Loudon, an eminent person in the Scotch Church who afterwards attained much celebrity. Agnes was delighted with his conversation, and found, to her surprise, that he was a great admirer and partisan of Mary Queen of Scots, and of her descendant, Prince Charles Edward. In short, they got on so well together that Agnes agreed to hear him at his own church the following day, which happened to be Sunday. With such an able minister, Agnes found the service beautiful and edifying, in spite of her exclusive affection for her own Church. After the service was over, he showed them the graves of the martyrs, with their memorial tablets lining the low church-wall. “Now,” said he, “these, though well-meaning, were troublesome men. Persecutors themselves, but ready to die for conscience’ sake, they were barbarously used; but they would have done the same to others—it was the evil spirit of the times.”

They lunched at his manse, when his aunt, Miss Morris, gave Agnes a beautiful little cross, made of a piece of the Florida, one of the wrecked ships of the Armada; and she was delighted with her visit.

Their engagement to Avontoun House would not allow them to prolong their pleasant sojourn with the amiable possessors of Craufurdland Castle, for at Linlithgow Mr Frank Home was waiting to conduct them to Avontoun, where they were most kindly welcomed by his amiable parents and sisters.

As Mr Frank Home, being Sheriff-substitute, was engaged in Court, his father was their cicerone to Linlithgow Palace and Abbey, which they examined even to the dismal dungeons, painful relics of old feudal times. Stirling was the next place the tourists visited, as Agnes wished to see every palace that Mary Queen of Scots had inhabited. LETTER FROM MRS JAMIESON.

They quitted Scotland with regret late in the autumn to return to Reydon Hall—Agnes to write her biography of Catharine of Braganza, and Sarah to receive her fiancé’s first visit. Upon her arrival at home she found the following letter from Mrs Jamieson, enclosing an interesting volume from Mrs Sigourney:—

“Mrs Jamieson presents her compliments, and must apologise for the delay which has taken place in forwarding the book from Mrs Sigourney. It arrived in a parcel from America, which remained unopened during Mrs Jamieson’s absence in Scotland, whence she returned only a few days ago. Mrs Jamieson cannot but avail of herself of this opportunity to express the high esteem and admiration she has ever felt for Miss Strickland, and heartfelt thanks for the profit and pleasure she has derived from the perusal of her works.

“Ealing, Nov. 30, 1843.”

Praise from such a source was very gratifying to Agnes Strickland. It was through this lady that she had become acquainted with Mrs Sigourney, the Hemans of America, in whom, as well as in her works, she was much interested. No person ever loved or was more beloved by her own sex, than the author of the ‘Lives of the Queens of England.’ She shared their feelings, entered into their pursuits, and in their society was always more of a woman than a writer. Her absence alike from assumption or pedantry made her society much prized by those who shared it. She was, in consequence, much more popular than professional authors generally are. Her lively conversation, cheerful spirits, and deference for the feelings of others, gave a charm to her manners which set everybody at ease in her company. She made many friends and lost none.

Early in this year Mr Frederic Devon made known to Agnes the Queen’s wish to add her autograph to her Majesty’s collection. She was much gratified by a request that did her so much honour.

[1]	Afterwards Countess Beauchamp.