He headed the lines on his own tablet there with the words, "For one that would not be buried in Westminster Abbey." Perhaps he had treasured up the dying words of his friend Sir Godfrey Kneller: "By God! I will not be buried in Westminster . . . they do bury fools there." Kneller's expressed wish to have the inartistic monument he had himself designed placed near his grave in Twickenham Church was, however, disregarded, and Pope had a hand in placing it in the Abbey, and wrote the extravagant epitaph beginning, "Kneller by Heaven, and not a master, taught." This ugly cenotaph used to stand in a conspicuous position on the floor of the nave, but Dean Buckland removed it to the south aisle of the choir. Not far from Pope's exaggerated eulogy on Kneller is an epitaph by the poetlaureate Dryden which, in spite of its length and bombastic style, pays a just tribute to the hero of a lost cause. This commemorates Sir Palmes Fairborne (died 1680), one of the last governors of Tangier before it was finally abandoned to the Moors. Tangier was part of the dowry brought by Catherine of Braganza to Charles II., and during the score of years it belonged to the English crown much treasure was wasted and many brave lives lost in its defence. "This man of undaunted resolution and spirit" richly deserved a memorial here. The last lines of Dryden's inscription: More bravely British generall never fell, Nor generall's death was e'er reveng'd so well, Which his pleas'd eyes beheld before their close, Follow'd by thousand victims of his foes, allude to the fact that Fairborne, mortally wounded while defending the town against a desperate assault made by the Moors, watched the fighting for three days from a balcony, and lived to see his victorious troops march back with their prisoners into Tangier. There is much to remind us of England's military and naval greatness in the Abbey; other memorials, too. which recall her lost possessions, and many a hard-won victory the practical results of which have vanished into smoke, though the moral effect is to be traced in the traditions inherited by the men who still build up our empire in all quarters of the globe.1 Minorca, for instance, is no longer ours, but its value while it was in our hands is demonstrated by the large monument against the choir screen raised to the conqueror of that island (1708), the first Earl Stanhope (died 1723), who, after eleven years of political life, was still regarded as a popular hero on the strength of this and other military exploits. The names of three later earls are inscribed upon his monument; and in the northwest tower is a small tablet to a brave young descendant, Pitt's nephew, Charles Stanhope, who fell at Corunna (1809), just a century after the elder Stanhope's victories. There are other names connected with Minorca here, and the island was long associated with England's greatness. John Duke of Argyll was the first governor, but Sir Richard Kane (died 1736), lieutenantgovernor for twenty and governor for three years, is a memory more closely linked with the history of Minorca. Kane first distinguished himself at the siege of Derry, in the Irish campaigns, and afterwards in Flanders, where he was wounded in that famous assault on Namur when his regiment (the 18th Foot) won the Nassau lion and badge. He was wounded again at Blenheim, and fought at Malplaquet, then took part in the Canadian expedition of 1711, and, after defending Gibraltar for eight months against the Spaniards, finally ended his career at Minorca. Amongst other benefits Kane made a road across the island, and half a century after his death was gratefully spoken of there as "that good man." Rysbrach's bust of him, with its strongly marked characteristic fea tures and flowing hair, will be found in 1 Of Java, which we held only for five years, we are reminded by the statue of that philanthropic governor of the island, Sir Stamford Raffles (died 1826), remembered nowadays as the founder of the Zoological Society. loved" widow, the west aisle of the north transept. the vicinity; his "equally loving and beBrigadier-General Wade (died 1745), whose monument by the notorious Roubiliac is conspicuous on the 'south side of the nave, is connected with the conquest of Minorca, where he carried the outworks of St. Philip in a fortnight. He also had fought under the great Marlborough in his youth, but his name is chiefly remembered now in connection with the Young Pretender's rebellion in 1745, when the good roads he laid down to facilitate the passage of his troops in the Highlands of Scotland were celebrated by the well-known couplet: If you had but seen these roads before they were made, You would hold up your hands and bless General Wade In the north transept, near Kane, is another memorial of 1745, the bust of General Guest, who "closed a ser vice of sixty years by faithfully defend ing Edinburgh Castle against the rebels." The great Duke of Marlborough himself has no monument here, but his body rested in Cromwell's vault for twenty-four years, while the mausoleum as Blenheim was being prepared for it. His name is, however, often recalled on the Abbey walls. A clumsy monument in the south choir aisle, for instance, commemorates his younger brother, Admiral Churchill (died 1710), who had no claim to such an honor. Of the duke's daughter, Henrietta, we have spoken in connection with Congreve's memorial. A curious tablet, by Bird, on the north of the nave, with a collection of arms and military trophies, records the death of General Killigrew in the battle of Almanza, 1707. Close by is the name of Colonel Bringfield, who was aide-decamp to the duke, shot in the head while holding his stirrup, and "remounting his lord on a fresh horse, his former failing under him," at the battle of Ramilies. Dean Stanley points out that the duke had really been thrown from his horse in leaping a ditch. Bringfield had been a constant attendant at the Abbey services, and lived in VOL. XIV. 693 LIVING AGE. who erected this cenotaph, soon consoled herself with another husband, and was eventually buried in the Cloisters. In the northwest tower is a monument, by Scheemakers, to William Horneck (died 1746), chief engineer to George II., whose inscription records that he learnt the art of war under the great Duke of Marlborough. He is connected with the Abbey as the son of a prebendary; and it is also interesting to recall the fact that two of his descendants were as the immortalized by Goldsmith Jessamy Bride and Little Comedy. We shall find many of the victories in Marlborough's campaigns inscribed on a monument opposite Wolfe's, put up to that popular and ancient hero, Lord Ligonier (died 1770), who first served as a soldier of fortune under the duke, and was present at Blenheim in this humble capacity. He afterwards became a general himself, and lived over ninety years in the service of four sovereigns, whose medallion heads surround his own portrait. Before Ligonier's name was added, Addison, walking here during the wars early in the century, comments on "the many uninhabited monuments, which had been erected to the memory of persons whose bodies were, perhaps, buried on the plains of Blenheim, or in the bosom of the ocean." Of the latter class we shall find many examples, but before passing on to the naval heroes the memory of Major Richard Creed, who fell indeed at Blenheim, but lies in English soil, should be recalled. He was connected through his mother, who was an artist of no mean repute and a philanthropist, with Dryden and Samuel Pepys. Creed has another monument in Tichmarsh Church, where he was buried. Shot through the head at Blenheim, his body was dragged off the field by his younger brother, "at hazard of his own life." This tablet, now in the choir aisle. was originally in close proximity to a larger memorial (in the nave) to Harbord and Cottrell, and was placed there, as Creed's inscription tells us, because of (died 1744), who, when in command of the united English and Dutch fleets, now no longer at war, went down with his ship during a violent storm in the Channel, the worthy mention it makes of "that sept aisle, is another clumsy cenotaph great man, Edward, Earl of Sandwich," to his father-in-law, Admiral Balchen to whom he was related, "and whose heroic virtues he was anxious to imitate." The young sea-captains named above perished with their admiral, Lord Sandwich, when his ship was blown up in Southwold Bay, May 28, 1672, after "a terrible fight, maintained to admiration against a squadron of the Holland fleet for over six hours." The friends, it is said, might have saved themselves, but preferred to share their commander's fate; and to their memory, and as a record of their friendship, Harbord's father raised this conspicuous double tablet, and left forty shillings to be distributed annually amongst the poor of Westminster as long as it should remain "whole or undefaced in the Abbey Church." The gallant admiral himself has no monument, but lies in the Chapel of Henry VII. near Addison; while another victim of the same bloody fight, Sir Frescheville Holles, son of the wellknown antiquary, Gervase Holles, has a grave in St. Edmund's Chapel. That there is no memorial to the latter naval officer either is, perhaps, owing to the sentiments expressed in an inscription he left for his own gravestone, but which was, unfortunately, never cut there: "Know, reader, whosoever thou be, if I had lived 'twas my intent not to have owed my memory to any other monument but what my sword should raise for me of honor and victory." In the following year (1673) two other victims of this same bloody war against the Dutch were buried here. Only one, Richard Le Neve, received the honor of a monument; he was a young man of great promise, slain on board his own frigate, the Edgar, off the Dutch coast, August 11, 1673. His senior, the distinguished Admiral Sir Edward Spragge, was drowned in the same action, and lies close by in an unmarked grave. The space next Le Neve's tablet, in the Musician's Aisle, was, unfortunately, filled in the next century by a particularly heavy and unat. tractive monument to Admiral West (died 1757); and further on, in the tran Wherever the eye rests in this portion of the Abbey some naval hero's name is conspicuous. In the south aisle of the choir "the figure of a beau, dressed in a long periwig, and reposing himself upon cushions of state," slanders the memory of "that plain, gallant man,” Sir Cloudesley Shovel (died 1707), and roused the wrath of Addison, exciting also Horace Walpole's wrathful comment that monuments like this and others of Bird's "made men of taste dread such honors." The "brave, rough" admiral met with a cruelly ignominious end. He was leading his victorious fleet home from Gibraltar, when the flagship was wrecked in the rocks of the Scilly Islands. Shovel's body was apparently lost, but in reality found and buried by some fishermen, and the admiral's identity afterwards established by a valuable ring which they took from his finger. Ultimately the corpse was disinterred and buried with all honor in the Abbey. ViceAdmiral Baker, who brought the rest of Shovel's squadron back in safety from the dangerous Scilly Isles, and afterwards (1716) died at Port Mahon, Minorca, has a curious monument ornamented with nautical emblems, in the nave. Next it is a still stranger one to another naval commander, Henry Priestman (died 1712), whose active service dated back to the reign of Charles II. The pyramid, round which grinning faces of sea-monsters, pieces of artillery, nautical and mathematical instruments, are grouped in strange confusion, is another specimen of Bird's want of taste. Of Shovel we are again reminded by a small tablet lower down this wall, which records the name of John Twysden, who was shipwrecked with his admiral. John was one of nine brothers, three of whom died for their country in three consecutive years. After him Josiah, the youngest, was the next victim. His tablet tells of his end at the siege of Agremont, in Flanders (1708). The eldest, Heneage, who was aide-de-camp to John, Duke of Argyll, has a monumental urn commemorating his death at the battle of Blaregnies, in Hainault (1709). Yet one more gallant youth I would fain recall before passing on, for, like the hero of the Chevy Chase ballad, when his legs were smitten off he thought only of his duty, and refused to have his wounds dressed till he had given his last orders, and then expired. This was Lord Aubrey Beauclerk (died 1741), whose monument by Scheemakers is in the west aisle of the north transept. He took part in the victorious expedition against Carthagena, under the command of Admiral Vernon, who had learnt his trade with the fleets of Shovel and Rooke, but was shelved soon after this exploit and died in retirement. A bust of Vernon, with a fancy statue of Fame, by Rysbrack, is over the door of the opposite aisle. Beauclerk's epitaph, in the inflated style of the period, is said to be by the poet Thomson. It ends with the bombastic lines: Dying, he bid Britannia's thunder roar, And Spain still felt him when he breath'd no more. There is not space to dwell on more sailors' names. In this transept alone the number of admirals commemorated is very noteworthy; Roubiliac's bust of Sir Peter Warren (died 1752), the face pitted with small-pox, and allegorical figures of Hercules and Navigation in attendance, is one of the most conspicuous. I have spoken of a monument to a youthful pair of friends, Harbord and Cottrell; on the same (south) side of the nave there is a peculiarly heavy and unattractive sarcophagus by Gibbs, usually passed by as of no interest. This, if only as a memorial of a friendship between two women which lasted forty years, is worth a few moments' attention. Mrs. Katherine Bovey (died 1726-7) was a lady of no mean reputation in her generation; she was of Dutch extraction, one of "those lofty. black, and lasting beauties, that strikes with reverence and yet delight," we learn from Ballard, who includes her in his "British Ladies." Married at fifteen to a man much older than herself, who proved a bad husband, she was left a widow at twenty-two, with a large fortune at her disposal and an estate in Gloucestershire. Although perpetually besieged by suitors, Mrs. Bovey never married again, but devoted the rest of her life to works of benevolence and charity, to hospitality, and to the cause of education. She was known amongst her admirers by the name of Portia, and Sir Richard Steele dedicated a volume of his "Ladies Library" to her. Her lifelong friend and companion, Mary Pope, distributed Mrs. Bovey's legacies, and, probably on the strength of bequests to some schools in Westminster, was allowed to erect a monument to her memory here. She was buried at Flaxley, her own home. Two more unsightly monuments not far from this commemorate the Generals Hargrave and Fleming (died 1750-51). Hargrave was governor of Gibraltar, and Fleming had been wounded at Blenheim in his youth, and Rebellion. The fame of neither, howin his later days took part in the '45 ever, is equal to the size of these monuments, which were erected by their families. Goldsmith's "Citizen of the World," in fact, only condescends to recognize Hargrave's as one to "some rich man," the general's wealth having been, according to popular opinion, his only title to an Abbey memorial. Even in those days, when Roubiliac's name was revered as a master-sculptor, there were many jeers at Hargrave's figure, which is represented struggling from a tomb, while a robust angel above, sounding the last trump, surveys the victory of Time over Death below. The Dean and Chapter used occasionally to be reproached for their neglect to repair this erection, on account of the falling pyramids, which were part of the sculptor's far-fetched design. Minerva and Hercules are conspicuous on Fleming's monument, which is surrounded by military standards, branches of laurel and cypress, and all kinds of warlike emblems. The last of Roubiliac's theatrical achievements in the Abbey-he is the author of seven in all-is the unwieldy figure of the great Handel in Poet's Corner, put there about nine years later. Near by this is another piece of the same sculptor's work, in which John, Duke of Argyll-to whom reference has been made before-is portrayed in Roman dress, surrounded by numerous allegorical figures, and this much-admired erection was actually allowed to cover the entrance to the old staircase by which the monks used to enter the church from their dormitory. The favorite sculptors of the late seventeenth, the eighteenth, and early nineteenth centuries are only too well represented in the Abbey. Thus Bird, Horace Walpole's pet aversion, is the author of eleven monuments; Scheemakers, whose beautiful bust of Dryden cannot reconcile us to his other chief works, notably that in memory of Shakespeare, executed sixteen pieces in all. The two Pacons are actually responsible for nineteen, of which per haps Lord Chatham's is the most offensive. The names of Nollekens, Banks, Cheere, Flaxman, Chantrey, Foley, Bailey, Weekes, Westmacott, and others, will be found on numerous monuments, and one looks in vain amongst these allegorical groups, inartistic tablets, or pseudo-classic statues, for some sense of proportion or harmony with the Gothic church for which they were designed. Yet these and other sculptors were the lights of their day, and it is only within quite recent times that any attempt has been made to break the sequence of upright statues and busts. Of late medallions and tablets, as being least cumbrous and obtrusive, have been favored, and the fashion of large allegorical monuments has long passed away now, but not before they had crowded and defaced the Abbey walls with their vast bulk. If I have been able to arouse some interest in a few half-forgotten British soldiers and sailors, and shown that even amongst the most unsightly monuments the names of men of mark are to be found, my task is accomplished. Much more might be written on the same subject, and many memorials have been perforce omitted for want of space; but the same lesson may be learnt from all-the lesson that one generation cannot lightly undo the knots tied by those before it, and that the historical memorials once scratched upon these time-honored stones cannot be erased. The moving finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all your piety nor wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a line, Nor all your tears wash out a word of it. E. T. MURRAY SMITH. From The Contemporary Review. LIFE IN A FRENCH COMMUNE. In dealing with French customs and mœurs to use a comprehensive termit is impossible to generalize. Revolutions may come and go; the whole administrative system of the country may be reduced to one dead level of uniformity, but the distinctive charac their teristics of the old Provinces remain. The Norman differs greatly from the Breton, the Breton from the Bourgignon, the Bourgignon from the Gascon. These peoples are strangely diverse in their habits and temperaments, in their system of life, physical features, and even in their tongue, as the patois of one province is barely intelligible in another. I therefore premise that I am dealing with Bourgignons, in the agricultural districts of the Côte d'Or, who live far removed from contact with cities, and still further away from the influences of fin de siècle civilization. The Bourgignon is a distinct type. He is cheery, affable, and convivial. He lives well and works hard. He is more sociable than the Breton, less avaricious than the Auvergnat, not so excitable as the |