still it wavered not nor melted into air. | So, rejoicingly they steered towards it, and ere the night closed in upon them the mountains of Minorca-cloud-like still loomed upon their gaze. Morning light revealed still more clearly to their watching eyes the friendly coast, and by ten o'clock that night they had landed. Then, indeed, were they "glad, and gave thanks unto Him who had brought them unto the haven where they would be." Immediately they had run their boat ashore, some of the party went in search of food, nor had they wandered far before they came upon a Spanish watch-tower, and no sooner had they told their wondrous story than their astonished hearers hasted to load them with food, which they joyfully took to their companions, who, meantime, had found a stream near at hand, by the side of which they all sat down, and having eaten and drank with thankful hearts they laid them down to sleep. Next morning they made diligent haste to the town, where they were kindly welcomed by the viceroy, and hospitably entertained by the citizens, who were so struck with the recital of their adventures that they caused the canvas boat to be brought up from the shore, and placed as a votive offering in their great church, where a traveller saw the ribs and skeleton still hanging in the year 1771. As soon as William Adams and his shipmates had recovered from the hardships they had undergone, they took their passage on one of the King of Spain's ships bound for Alicant, whence they sailed for England, where they arrived in safety in the month of September of the same year. William Adams lived many years after this adventure, made numerous voyages, became a prosperous man, and spent his green and peaceful old age in the village which had been his birthplace, and where, to use the words of his biographer, "he died in the year of our Lord 1687, and his body, so like to feed fishes, lies buried in Paignton Churchyard, about four miles east of Totness, where it feedeth worms." A little while after reading this story of Adams, we made an excursion in the neighborhood of Paignton, and tried to discover his grave in the churchyard there. But we sought in vain; none of the mossgrown tombstones bore his name: the place that had known him knew him no more. On our return the evening of that day to Totness, we halted at the little village of Berry Pomeroy, so named after the noble family of Pomarai. It is impospossible to guess what the castle which they once inhabited, and now lies in ruins, must have been in its palmy days, so little now remains to show the ancient magnificence of a place respecting which it is said that it was no light day's labor for a servant to open and shut the casements of the windows, at present draperied only with ivy and ferns. No traces are there now of the former splendor of its chambers, once adorned with statues of alabaster, chimney-pieces of marble, and ceilings of the most delicate fretwork; in vain, also, we looked for any remains of the noble terrace walk that formerly extended before the great entrance, and was all arched over with freestone, elaborately carved and ornamented with various devices, and supported in front by stately pillars; whilst in the opposing wall were placed stone seats cut in the form of scallopshells, wherein delicate ladies and weary pilgrims might rest and feast their eyes the while on the lovely views before them, the undulating wooded heights and verdant glades, wherein were standing stately trees, beneath whose shade herds of dappled deer rested amongst the bracken, and there found shelter from the noontide heat. Here the Pomerais had their dwelling for upwards of five hundred years, holding their state amongst the greatest in the land; not only marrying their daughters to some of the principal peers of the realm, but allying themselves with the blood-royal itself. Famed too they were for pious deeds, one of them giving this very lordship of Biry, afterwards redeemed by his brother, to the monks of Gloucester; another employing large sums of money in restoring the magnificent Abbey of Buckfast. Time would fail us to enumerate the largesses bestowed by these noble barons upon the church; but before we take leave of them altogether, let us glance over the romantic story of Henry de la Pomerai as given in these chronicles. It appears that he took arms against his liege lord King Richard, then in the Holy Land; and, in behalf of John, expelled the monks from their home on St. Michael's Mount, turning their convent into a fortress. But "hearing soon after of his sovereign's enlargement," so writes old Hollinshed, “he died with thought," or, as another says, "the very fear of ensuing harm wrought in him a present effort of the utmost that any harm could bring, and that was death." Evening had closed in when we drove back from the castle to Totness, and beautiful were the changing lights that glowed in the sky, and steeped the nearer hills in a golden mist, whilst the heights of Dartmoor stood up calm and dark against the deep purple heaven, the steep crags of Haytor lifting higher still their sharp crests into the living light of the sunset. Now that Totness has been mentioned, we may as well see whether Prince mentions it as the birthplace of any of his Devon worthies. Yes, curiously enough, he says it was celebrated in the good old time for its lawyers, as indeed were many other towns in Devonshire, according to quaint Dr. Fuller, who asserts that "the natives of this county seem innated with a genius to study law, there being no other in England, Norfolk only excepted, who by the practice thereof have raised such great estates." But it is not of lawyers alone that Totness can make her boast, for though George Carew, Baron of Clop ton, and son of Dr. Carew, Archdeacon of Totness, was born at Exeter, the town can claim him as being the first of her earls to whom she gave a title. And well the gallant soldier deserved his dignities, if we may judge from the following letter which Queen Elizabeth wrote to him with her own hand after he had quelled the rebellion in Ireland: MY FAITHFUL GEORGE,-If ever more services of worth were performed in shorter space than you have done, we are deceived among many eyewitnesses; we have received the fruit thereof, and bid you faithfully credit that whatso wit, courage, or care may do, we truly find they have been thorowly acted in all your charge. And for the same believe that it shall neither be unremembered nor unrewarded. And in the mean time believe my help nor prayers shall never fail you.-Your Sovereign that best regards you. E. R. Certes, those were times worth living in, and this without any disparagement to the present. Brave, high-hearted, noble, and generous old times, when a queen could so write, and a subject so deserve such praise. "Not unremembered-not unrewarded;" sweet, touching, inspiring words, well fit to nerve the arm and invigorate the heart amidst the din of battle, or of wordy conflicts waged in the Councilchamber. Not unrewarded in life-not unremembered after death! Who would VOL. XXXVIL-NO. II. not gladly have sacrificed himself in the service of such a mistress, if so be that he might add one more jewel to her already lustrous crown? It was, however, by Charles I. that Sir George was created Earl of Totness, after having been constituted Lord President of Munster, and Master of the Ordnance in Ireland, by Queen Elizabeth, and Governor of the Isle of Guernsey and Castle Barnet by King James, who also advanced him to the dignity of a Baron of the realm. It was not only as a gallant soldier, a skillful commander, or an able statesman, that George Carew was famed; in his early days he had studied at Oxford, and though the profession of arms had been dearer to him in his youth than that of arts, he afterwards became imbued with a love of letters, and distinguished himself as an elegant scholar as well as a great patron of learning. We can not have a better proof that it is possible for the professions of lite rature and arms to be combined and cultivated at the same time with equal success, than is to be found in the fact that during the three years in which he was Lord President of Munster, and incessantly engaged in conflicts with the rebellious Irish, and with the Spanish army which was overrunning the province, he contrived to find, or rather make, time for writing an account of all the events of the war. Thus, like the great Marquis of Montrose, Sir George Carew had that in him which would have enabled him to make the lady of his love not only "glorious through his sword, but famous by his pen." To his commanding talents he also added quali ties which shed such a beautiful and liar lustre over greatness-simplicity of mind, grace and dignity of manner, and modesty unfeigned. pecu There were other Carews in Devon not less illustrious than the Earl of Totness; amongst them Mr. Thomas Carew, whose history is too romantic to be entirely passed over in our talk about Devon worthies. When a quite young man he fell in love with his brother's ward, the daughter of Sir Philip Courtenay, she being a great fortune, and, carrying her away secretly, he married her, to the great displeasure of his brother and the young lady's grandfather. So, to appease them, the bridegroom determined to absent himself for a time, and went to the wars, in which he soon found an opportunity of distinguishing himself, at the Battle of Floddenfield, 11 after the following wise. Before the bat- | tle began a brave Scottish knight sent a challenge to an English gentleman to come out and fight with him for the honor of his country last sparks these of the dying flame of chivalry, so soon to be utterly extinguished. Thereupon, Mr. Carew begged permission of the Lord Admiral Howard, then commanding the king's army (in those days men often filled double offices with honor to themselves and their country), to answer the challenge. His request being granted, Mr. Carew met his adversary in open field, and overcame him, "to his high commendation and great endearment with the Lord Admiral ever after," which affection was greatly increased, as well it might be, by a service which Mr. Carew was enabled to render his general soon after. But we will read the account of it in the words of his biographer: My Lord, taking Mr. Carew in company with him as he rode forth upon service, descried a band of Scots coming towards them; the admiral at a very strait narrow passage of a bridge was in danger to be entrapped and taken. To prevent which Mr. Carew instantly entreated him to exchange his armor and martial attire with him, that by such means, if need were, he might make an easier escape, to which the admiral, well considering of, soon con sented to. The enemy coming on to this narrow passage, Mr. Carew, in his rich habit, well mounted, crossed the bridge with his horse, and for a time so valiantly defended the same that no man could pass; that way gaining time, the numbers between them being very unequal, for the Lord Admiral's escape. However, Mr. Carew was at last taken prisoner, to the no little joy of the enemy, who thought they had taken the general himself, as indeed by the richness of his armor they had reason to imagine. But in fine, finding themselves deceived, they courteously carried him to the Castle of Dunbar, lying twenty Scotch miles to the east of Edinbro', in Scotland, where he was courteously entertained by the lady thereof, who, having a brother then a prisoner in England, hoped by the advantage of an exchange to have him de livered to her again. The lady there was always affable and courte ous to her prisoner, but the keeper of the castle was of a malicious and churlish nature and dealt most cruelly with him. As an instance of which, as Mr. Carew was sitting by the fireside in his chamber, he came suddenly upon him with his sword drawn, and an intention to murder him, which he, timely perceiving, took up the chair whereupon he sat to defend himself, which, using his best skill to defend his life, he managed so well that he gave his keeper a deadly wound; whereupon, more help called in, he was presently cast into a deep dungeon, and kept there in such a cruel manner that he fell dangerously sick. How- Truly romantic passages were these in We have wandered far from home, but ere we return we will once more visit the neighborhood of Totness, for the purpose of taking a look at Dartington, and lingering awhile in the great Hall-the only part still remaining of the ancient mansion which has seen so many generations pass in and out of its portals. A right stately Hall it is, with its lofty roof and its long row of noble Gothic windows, overlooking a wide extent of hill and valley, and the tortuous windings of the silver Dart, one of the loveliest of Devonshire rivers. Within these old walls, all mantled now with ivy, their only tapestry, the christening feast in honor of the infant Lord John Holland was celebrated some 450 years ago. A princely christening 66 any feast in truth it must have been, aptly | Raleigh thus apostrophizes the Destroyer? shadowing forth the splendid life of the "O eloquent, just, and mighty Death, child who was the subject of it. In our whom none could advise thou hast perold book we read that on that memorable suaded, what none has dared thou hast occasion the infant noble was presented done, and whom all the world hath flatwith a cup of gold, curiously wrought tered thou hast only cast out and despised; in the form of a lily, and filled to the thou hast drawn together all the farbrim with gold coins, by his sponsor, the stretched greatness-all the pride, cruAbbot of Tavistock, that the Prior of elty and ambition of man, and covered it Plymton also gave him a purse of gold, all over with these two narrow words, and that he was carried from the Hall to 'Hic jacet." the church in the arms of his godmother, the Lady Pomerai, whose husband walked on one side of her, and Sir John Dinham on the other, "conducting her by the arms," whilst twenty-four men marched before them each with a torch in his hand, which was kindled so soon as the baptismal rite was concluded, and the young lord's sponsors had promised for him that he should renounce the pomps and vanities of this wicked world, a promise that his after-life would seem to show he had scarcely cared to keep. Both the kings of England in whose reigns he lived appear never to have been weary of showering dignities upon him. Henry V. constituted him his general by land and sea; made him Governor of Melhun, and Constable of the Tower of London, whilst on Henry's death he went to the siege of Compiegne, whence he returned to attend the coronation of Henry VI., solemnized at Paris; and not long afterwards he was made Lord High Marshal of England. Being sent as ambassador to the city of Arras, he obtained permission from the king to carry with him certain treasures in gold and silver, rich gems, splendid vestments, and woolen cloth, for the manufacture of which England was famed. Seven years afterwards he was created Duke of Exeter, with the special privilege of having place and seat in all parliaments and councils next to the Duke of York. Lastly, he was constituted Lord High Admiral of England, Ireland, and Aquitaine. Namerous grants of money and lands were also made to him, and he was blessed with three wives, all of them of noble family, and of whom the third survived him many years. But "at last this great person, after he had seen all the grandeur of this world, and was himself a good part thereof, yielded to fate in the year 1447, not being fully arrived at the fiftieth year of his age." And what more fitting epitaph could be inscribed upon his tomb than those striking words in which Sir Walter The Duke's tastes, like every thing else connected with him, seem to have been splendid; of this we have one instance in the chalice made of beryl, and adorned with gold, pearls, and precious stones, which he presented to the high altar of the church of St Catharine, in which he was buried. A pompous funeral it must havé been, judging from the large sums of money he bequeathed to the priests and clerks of the House of St. Catharine, for their "great labor and observance on the day of his burying." Perhaps it was the conviction, from personal observation, of the worthlessness of such labors and observances, which caused his wife Anne, with a wisdom beyond her husband's, to forbid her executors from making great feast" at her funeral, "or having a solemn hearse, or any costly lights, or largess of liveries, according to the vain pomp of the world," but only what might be sufficient to the "worship of God;" for which purpose she left particular lega cies, further directing her executors to find an "honest priest to say mass and pray for her soul, her lord's soul, and all Christian souls, in the chapel where she should be buried, for the space of seven years: her lord having already ordained that four honest and cunning should pray yearly and perpetually," not for all Christian souls, but only "for his soul, and those of his wives, and his sister Constance, and for the souls of all his progenitors." Duke left two children behind him: a daughter Anne, to whom he bequeathed his "white bed, with popinjays;" and a son Henry, to whom he left "all the stuff of his wardrobe." Little did he then guess what would be the fate of that gallant and luckless son of his, whose sad story we must let his biographer relate in his own words: The "He was a very brave soldier, but unfortunately engaging on the weakest side (by the support of the tottering house of Lancaster), he perished un der the ruins thereof. Fighting manfully at Bar- | dreamy and abstracted about the younger net-field with the Lancastrians, he was sore brother, and he looks more fitted to lean wounded and left for dead from seven o'clock in the morning till four in the afternoon. Recover-upon another than to be a leader or a guide; his dove eyes are full of sweetness, ing of his wounds, he fled beyond sea, but was reduced to very great extremity, for though he de- and the paleness of his complexion and scended from the royal family, and had married fragility of his form give an air of spiritthe sister of King Edward the Fourth, yet it is uality to his beauty beyond what his reported by Comines," that he saw him in such brother possesses. But how shall we paint distress that he ran on foot, barelegged, after the the youngest of the group-the youngest Duke of Burgundy's train (who had married his and the best loved amongst them? how wife's sister), begging his bread, for God's sake. He was at length found dead in the sea betwixt portray his gracious aspect, and describe Dover and Calais, though not known how he came the perfect oval of that striking face, with its lofty forehead, bright, expressive eyes, and mouth eloquent even in silence? How shall we give an idea of the fascination of his manners even in those early days, the winning sweetness which made him belov ed by old and young, notwithstanding his sometimes wayward and regally imperious ways? No one indeed could resist young Walter Raleigh, least of all those halfbrothers of his whom we have been attempting to describe, Humphrey and Adrían Gilbert, who ever loved him with a constant and deep affection. thither." We will not spoil the force of the moral which this story is so well fitted to impress upon the minds of our readers by any comments of our own. But seldom has it chanced us to meet with such a striking picture of the deep irony that lies in the strange contrasts with which life abounds, and which are so full of meaning to those who read them aright. We may suppose that the boys have been spending their summer holidays with their cousin at Dartington, and that on this the last day of their stay, Walter has reached the concluding pages of the book which he has been reading aloud to his brothers and his cousin every evening during the last week or fortnight. See how his breast heaves with emotion as he goes on; listen how his utterance becomes more rapid and his tones more passionate whilst he reads of the cruelties perpetrated by the Spanish conquerors on their West-Indian slaves, and is silently registering in his heart of hearts a solemn vow that when he reaches manhood he will seek those far A hundred years and more have passed since the christening feast of the infant lord was celebrated in the Hall of Dartington; and the estate has passed out of the hands of the Holland family into that of the Champernons, in whose possession it has remained to this day. At the date of which we are speaking, somewhere about 1564, the Champernons were residing there; and with their permission we will take another look at the grand old Hall, or rather at the sunny bank outside, where in fancy we may see seated in the shadow of the walls a party of boys, engaged in Listening to the youngest amongst them, who is reading aloud from a large quarto which he has brought there out of the library. The boys are Henry Champernon and his cousins, each one of whom is des-off lands, and as far as in him lies will tined to leave an honored name behind him. Look at them a moment, and see how different is their style and expression, yet what an air of nobleness is visible about them all. The eldest is tall and dark; his brow is wide and commanding beyond his years; his smile grave, and coming sel-lence, and when he has finished speaking dom, but when it does, inexpressibly sweet; his large melancholy eyes light up when he is speaking or listening to any thing that excites his scorn of baseness or his love of what is great and noble; his countenance when at rest wears an expression of pensive thoughtfulness. His younger brother is as fair as he is dark; there is a family likeness in the expression of their countenances, but there is something more avenge the wrongs of the long dead and the still suffering. The tragic story is finished at last, and now from his silvery tongue come eloquent boy-comments on what he has read, and fiery appeals to his young hearers. They listen to him in si they are silent still, each one occupied with his own thoughts. If we could look into Humphrey's heart, we should perchance see that he is not thinking then of El Dorado or the islands of the West; his spirit, more akin to that which animated the noble old Pilgrim Fathers, sympathizes rather with the "dark and true and tender North," than with the bright, fickle and passionate South. He would be a pioneer |