The author of this work says, rather grandiloquently, in his preface, that, without any pretension to the dignity of history, his aim has been “to combine with topographical description, personal narrative and local legend, and to snatch from Oblivion’s spoils the shadowy fragments of tradition that have floated down through centuries of time.” Certainly a worthy and admirable aim, not wanting, despite the writer’s disclaimer, in ‘dignity.’ He has contrived to clothe his descriptions of persons and places in a mantle of poetical beauty, which renders them exceedingly charming to the general reader, as they are also of pre-eminent interest to the antiquary. One of the chapters, that devoted to Alderley and the Stanleys, will be especially attractive to admirers of perhaps the most universally admired Churchmen of the century. Mr. Croston has wisely summarised in a few words the later and best-known part of his history, and paid most attention to the early years of Arthur Stanley in the pretty home at Alderley.
We must give an especial meed of praise to the spirited style in which the story of Sir William Brereton, who was such an excellent type of the higher class of the Parliamentarian soldier, is told. As the author remarks, to tell the history of his life is to write the record of the Civil war in the north-west of England. This he has told impartially and excellently, and in a style of narrative which can scarcely be too highly commended for its clearness and freedom from inflation. The pages of the work are enlivened by apt poetical quotations, many of them from little known old English poets, which show that Mr. Croston’s reading has been various and extensive. The book should find favour with more than local readers; old Moreton Hall, for instance, is one of those “stately homes of England” in which a national interest is felt; and none who love the quaintly venerable, albeit decayed, mansions of our forefathers, can fail to be grateful to the writer for his graphic and appreciative chapter on one of the most ancient and interesting of them.
Moreton Hall[12] is almost peculiar for its wealth of rich carving and mouldings, from the entrance, with its two side-posts, each carved to represent a soldier bearing a partisan, to the beautiful little chapel, now, alas! degraded to the service of a cattle-shed, lumber, storehouse, and such base uses. In the “long gallery,” which our author compares to the banquetting-room at Haddon Hall, are two draped figures of Fate and Fortune, admirably illustrating the difference between two terms frequently confounded with each other. Fate bears a sword, with which she pierces a globe above her head, and the inscription beneath is: “The speare of destinye whose ruler is knowledge;” while opposite to her is Fortune, blindfolded, pointing to her wheel, and her motto is: “The wheele of Fortune whose rule is ignorance.” This part of the mansion also gathers additional interest from the tradition that “Good Queen Bess” condescended to dance in the gallery, while on a visit to Moreton Hall during one of her royal progresses. If this be true, it is very possible that her visit may have contributed to the decline rather than to the exaltation of the family; for to have a Tudor sovereign as a guest was, in those days, much the same kind of undesirable honour as the gift of a sacred white elephant from the Burmese king to some subject whom he delights to honour—and to ruin. Witness the clean sweep which the royal Dame contrived to make of the riches of Kenilworth, when Leicester’s Earl paid so dearly for a glance from royal eyes.
“Between architecture and history there exists a closer connection than is commonly supposed,” remarks Mr. Croston, and this may almost be called the key-note of his book. When the author stands before a relic of the past, visions of past chivalry fill his imagination and, consequently, his narrative; and he is never happier than when following the fortunes of some old knight who lived by his sword.
“Those knights are dust, and their good swords rust;
Their souls are with the saints, we trust,”
says Coleridge; let us add that their names cannot be better commemorated than by books like the one before us.
English Etchings, Part 37 (D. Bogue, 3, St. Martin’s-place), contains three admirable examples of the etcher’s skill, namely “Dachsunds,” by Mr. A. M. Williams, representing three dogs of the badger-hound species; “In the Pursuit of Riches,” by Mr. Edwin Buckman, a spirited drawing of a couple of urchins endeavouring to catch a “copper” thrown to them from the roof of a passing vehicle; and a “Surrey Lime-Kiln,” by Mr. W. Holmes May.
Obituary Memoir.
“Emori nolo; sed me esse mortuum nihil æstimo.”—Epicharmus.
Mr. William Bragg, F.S.A., died on June 6. His collection of MSS., made during his travels, and dispersed not long ago; his collection of tobacco pipes of all nations, many of which are in the British Museum; and his almost complete collection of the editions of Cervantes’s works, presented to the Birmingham Reference Library, bear witness to Mr. Bragge’s archæological and literary tastes.—Athenæum.