On the death of Sir Nicholas Sherburn, in 1717, the baronetage became extinct, and the extensive possessions of his house, in default of a male heir, passed, in accordance with the provisions of his will, dated August 9th of that year, after the decease of his widow, to his only daughter, Maria Winnifred Francesca, wife (first) of Thomas, eighth Duke of Norfolk, and (secondly), as already stated, of the Hon. Peregrin Widderington. The duchess died without issue September 25th, 1704, and was buried, in accordance with her expressed desire, at Mitton, when the estates reverted to the issue of her aunt Elizabeth, sister of Sir Nicholas Sherburn, who had married William, son and heir of Sir John Weld, of Lullworth Castle, in Dorsetshire. Edward Weld, the grandson by this marriage, was the first to inherit the property, and from him the estates passed in 1761 to his eldest son, Edward Weld, Esquire, who had to his second wife Mary Anne, youngest daughter of William Smyth, Esquire, of Brambridge, in Hampshire, who survived him, and in her second widowhood, as the relict of Thomas Fitzherbert, of Swinnerton, was privately married to “the first gentleman of Europe”—George, Prince of Wales, afterwards George the Fourth. On the death of Edward Weld, the first husband of Mrs. Fitzherbert, in 1775, without issue, the property passed to his only surviving brother, Thomas Weld, of Lullworth, who in 1794, when through the fury of the French Revolution the Jesuits were driven from their college at Liege, granted that body a lease of the Stonyhurst estate, and subsequently the property became theirs by purchase.
Looking upon these magnificent memorials—this blazonry of human greatness—and contrasting the achievements of the sculptor’s art as here displayed with the bare simplicity and, until recent years, we might have said meanness, of the sanctuary itself, from which they are only separated by an open screen, it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that the proud Sherburns were more concerned for the perpetuation of their own greatness than for the honour and glory of God. Infinitely more appropriate is the humble and prayerful ejaculation we found graven upon the stone of poor Abbot Paslew, at Whalley, than this ostentatious chronicling of the virtues of poor frail humanity.
Having spent some time in the examination of the Sherburn Chapel we stepped out into the quiet graveyard, among the grass-grown hillocks where the “rude forefathers” tranquilly repose, and—
Their name, their years, spelt by th’ unletter’d muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply.
Underneath one of the windows on the north side, half hidden in docks and nettles, we noticed the cumbent figure of a knight in armour sculptured in stone, the counterpart of one of those we had seen inside. There is a curious tradition connected with it. It is said that when the effigies of the Sherburns came down from London they were a good deal talked of in the neighbourhood. A village stonemason hearing of the sum they had cost, and piqued at the want of appreciation of his own skill, declared that he could have done the work equally well. This was repeated at the hall, when the man was sent for, questioned, and ordered to make good his boast. This he did by producing the imperfect copy now in the churchyard, and the story adds that the Sherburns gave him £20 in acknowledgment of his skill. On the south side of the church yard is the circular carved head of an ancient cross that was dug up by a former clerk; there are also several curious gravestones, including one to the memory of an ecclesiastic, Thomas Clyderhow, the same, probably, whose curious will, made in 1506, or rather the copy of it, is preserved in the Townley MSS. Many members of the great family of Talbot, as well as that of Winckley, have here found a resting-place, and altogether Mitton is full of interest, as well from its associations as from the secluded beauty of its situation.
But we have loitered long by the way—who would not loiter in such a pleasant old-world nook?—and must now betake ourselves to Stonyhurst.
From the silent resting-place of the Sherburns to their old ancestral home the walk is little more than a couple of miles, and a pleasanter bit of country is rarely traversed. Half a mile brings you to the banks of the Hodder, where a noticeable feature meets the eye that brings to remembrance the “twa brigs of Ayr.” At this point two bridges bestride the river, which, by the contrast in their appearance, not inaptly symbolise the difference between the old times and the new. One, that by which we cross, is a comparatively modern erection, with parapet walls and bold projecting piers; the other, which is placed a hundred yards or so lower down, is a primitive-looking structure of ancient date, extremely narrow, as most old bridges are, and now only serving as a footpath to the cottages close by, though rendered picturesque by the profuse growth of ivy and weeds upon it. The old bridge, however, possesses more than a passing interest, and may fairly claim to rank as one of the historic sites of Lancashire; for it was here that Cromwell held a council of war with General Ashton, on the 16th August, 1648, when the Scots had penetrated into Lancashire, and there was a general fear that they might reach London, in which case the hopes of the Parliamentarians would be crushed. The Duke of Hamilton had at the time entered the county with a large force; and Sir Marmaduke Langdale, with another army, acting in concert, was moving in a parallel direction. The Roundhead troopers, under General Lambert, being insufficient in number to arrest their progress, withdrew into Yorkshire; when Cromwell, who had just succeeded in reducing Pembroke, marched northwards, and, forming a junction with Lambert at Knaresborough, hastened into Lancashire to attack the invaders. On the 16th August he arrived at the little bridge over the Hodder, where he met Major-General Ashton, with a Lancashire force; and, after consultation with him, determined upon the plan of operations—the result, as is well known, bringing victory to the arms of the invincible Ironsides and overwhelming disaster to the Royalist cause. That night the future Lord Protector was an unbidden guest at Stonyhurst, and was, doubtless, more free than welcome. Tradition still points to the old oak table near the entrance, on which it affirms that Cromwell slept, while his men bivouacked in the grounds,[26] though the accuracy of the story may well be doubted, for the stern warrior was hardly likely to put up with so indifferent a couch when the “Papist’s house” afforded so much better accommodation. The next morning he marched with his followers towards Preston, forced the bridge, and in a conflict which lasted several hours completely routed Hamilton’s army, the waters of the Ribble and the Darwen being crimsoned with the lifeblood of the combatants. It was Charles’s last appeal to arms, and when intelligence of the disaster reached him in the Isle of Wight he told Colonel Hammond, the governor, that “it was the worst news that ever came to England.” For the king it was; for there is little doubt that Cromwell’s victory hastened the action of the Republicans, and precipitated that event which the world has ever since condemned.