HUGH EARL OF MARCHMONT TO AARON HILL, ESQ. ON THE DEATH OF SIR WILLIAM WYNDHAM.

Redbraes Castle, 5th July, 1740. I cannot express, dear Sir, the sense I have of your friendship, nor how much I owe to you for the kind letter I have received from you. It is the first thing has made me look back upon England with some ease. But the prospect is not to be dwelt upon by me; what a dreadfull void do I find there. You know the greatness of the loss-it is national, it is irreparable. But you have not a just opinion of me, when you imagine any thing within myself can be a consolation. I have neither strength nor virtue enough: no man ever lost a better friend, and no man was ever less fitt to do without such an one. It was this weakness that gave him opportunities of showing to me how much and how sincerely he was so. Little did I imagine that those marks of honour he bestowed on me, those proofs of his affection that convinced me of what my vanity could not persuade me that I could merit, should ever confirm me unhappy. But even now that it is so, I value them more than the objects of the fondest hopes of those wretches who are such strangers to virtue that they forget decency. Let it be remembered that they smiled at his death. I would have that epitaph upon his tomb. And if they ever arrive at the power they long for, the History of Britain will shew the importance of the man who could alone stem the torrent of their insolence and tyranny. I feel so much for myself upon this occasion, that I am not surprised at these men doing the same. They had never felt the pleasure of acting with him for their country; and they found the discovery of their intentions had got the better of that candor they had long endeavoured to impose on. What creatures must we be when you, who know the species so well, expect some are to be merry in a week after this death. I am sure his widow nor his heir will not be so: and will a gang of patriots be so? am sure his loss is greater to all real patriots than to his son, or to his widow: tho' either in his character of father or husband I never saw a better. And I am persuaded his son and widow have a just sense of it. They do not

I

smile at his death. Let it only be known who rejoice at it, let him be reckon'd by those who knew no more of him; only opposite to these, he needs no other panegyrick.

Forgive me, nay I am sure you will, for the faults of this letter; a man more resigned than I have virtue enough to be, would be oppressed in this case. I have not the small relief of year after year. I have no expectation, dear Sir, but that of a long life after the loss of every man I love and esteem, of every friend, and of every amusement, -unless I co'd bring myself to take up with the modern pleasures of operas and Vauxhall; or attend the levees of those grinning scoundrels who rejoice at every national misfortune; or hunt, drink, and riot with those who delight in the pleasures of the country. No, Sir, if I could relish the friendship of a Wyndham, a Bolingbroke, and a Pope, those are no resources. I have nothing left but to continue to play the mole, and fling earth over my head as fast as I can: I am too unlucky a traveller to think of travelling with you. Friendship for me carrys a poison with it, that I am afraid is fatal. I would wish to think that I have lost all my friends, in order to preserve the other two, for happier friends and more successfull endeavours. 1 am sensible how foolish this is, but I think I am growing more so every day. I am sorry you think of my neglecting you; it is not you that people neglect, nor those in my situation who neglect others. Who or what is there in England now, to make it tolerable to me, but you and the thought that you sometimes think on me like a friend? Was I able to lay before you things in the light I see them, you would be convinced of it. And what is there in this place to induce me to neglect the only men and the only place 1 had a pleasure in? But I have made too many stops before I came to this part, to be able to go on with this subject. I had a letter from the Forest, dated June the 13th, before he knew any thing of the misfortune that has befallen all honest men. He had been ill of a fever himself, and was not perfectly recovered. How he may be able to support the news concerns me. A soul so sensible of friendship and the loss of such a friend, must make the

shock very terrible. Among many motives to grieve, I am sure he will feel something for me. Why should I doubt it? He has no reason to flatter me, and he assures me of his friendship. To suppose he flattered me, would require more vanity than even my enemies charged me with having acquired for his and your, and our lost friend's friendship. I wish I was within reach of you to accompany you to see him, and learn the practise of philosophy from those who gave me the first light of the theory. And yet I dare scarce look out from this tomb. I was but an hour with the Duke and Dutchess of Queensberry, and I could not stand it; my behaviour was like this letter, so unequal and so unconnected, that I durst not return, but hurried to my earth and obscurity. I am very much obliged to my Lord Chesterfield and Mr. Lyttelton; they have things more important to think of than me. God grant them success and spirit to preserve till they attain it. Forgive this long and odd letter; it would be longer were I to indulge the only pleasing employment I have had since I left you. I have not so much as look't into a book; I must try to grow a rock or a statue as fast as I can. If I do, your name and two more inscribed on my heart, shall keep me out of the garden of our next Minister. I am yours. [In the Marchmont Papers, 1831, vol. ii. p. 216, is a letter from Pope to the Earl of Marchmont, on the death of Sir William Wyndham, dated June 22; at p. 222 another, in which he transcribes part of a letter of Bolingbroke on the same subject; and at p. 226, a letter of Bolingbroke to the earl direct, also on their recent loss.]

ledging the receipt of yours with the letter to my brother. I could not prevail with myself to delay giving him the pleasure of hearing from you till I might meet with a private hand to carry it, and therefore sent it by the post, so as it could not be read without tearing or keeping it; and I expect every day to hear it came safe. I have had a letter from him since he was informed of the loss of Sir Wm. Wyndham. You know my brother, the warmth of his friendship, and sincerity of his heart, and can easily imagine how he was affected. It is too much to copy out of his letter, which I shall shew you as soon as I can have the pleasure of seeing you; though I do not care to give you any pain, yet I ought not to conceal the scituation of his mind from you who can best relieve him. I can assist him in business and common occurrences; but as he is now affected, I can only bear him company.

I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you on Sunday next, if you are not better engaged. When I knew you only as an author, I admired and esteemed you; it is the heart only that commands affection; you will therefore believe me, that your tenderness for a brother 1 love and respect, at a time when your goodness was conspicuously beneficial to him, could not fail to produce a warmth of affection and gratitude never to be rooted out. Give me leave to assure you, from a warm though desponding heart, I not only join with my brother in wishes to deserve your friendship, but shall constantly endeavour to merit your esteem, and what is more to me (if I could suppose it separated) study to acquire your affection. I cannot feel this without tears for you. Some malignant planet seems to blast every resource, every friend my Lord and I have, one after another. God knows, it's influence will soon be vain; there are but few left, and if these go off I shall find no difficulty to wean myself from the world. I am told my Lord Bolingbroke is ill; I hope it is not. true; should any thing happen to him, my brother is buried in Scotland; for my part I am so distracted between the dead and living, that I don't know among which to be numbered; tho' I am not at a loss which I should choose if I was not to aggravate the cares of

those I am unable to comfort. You know my twin brother, and cannot be surprised we should think alike. Is it not shocking to perceive an indifference in some for the great national loss so lately suffered, and an unwillingness (to call it by the tenderest name) to be assisted by the only man who is able to supply his place, could he be prevailed upon to come over and help us I can ascribe it to nothing but a sense of his superiority, or a fear of his virtue. Is it not time, then, to cease drawing in such a sett-to retire and avoid things which must give pain and uneasiness! I have troubled you too much your goodness will overlook it, and believe me, most sincerely, your most obliged and affectionate servant,

A. HUME Campbell.

LETTER OF DAVID MALLET, ESQ. TO ALEXANDER POPE, ESQ. Openheim, Aug. 19th.

Dear Sir, Hanover, Aug. 26th. Tho' this letter comes to you from the banks of the Rhine, and in sight of two formidable armies, I write it with as much tranquillity as you will read it in your garden, or by the side of the Thames. This campaign has hitherto been as harmless as a campaign can be; Sporus might have made it without endangering his complexion, or B. his courage.

us,

When we were introduced to the Marechal de Coigney, he told with great politeness, that if it depended on him, he would give us the pleasure of a - battle, or at least of a skirmish. Knowing us to be Englishmen, he concluded that we must take delight in the combats of our gladiators at Fig's Theatre, and so would have given us an entertainment à l'Angloise.

That great general amuses himself, very innocently, with reading the memorable events of time in his almanack. The Count d'Eu and his brother the Prince of Dombes (who by the way is very like a late acquaintance of your's, John Bull of Sudbury) play on the fiddle. They are the first violins of the blood; and regaled us the other day with a concert, where they themselves were the chief performers, in a Lutheran church. This scene diverted me infinitely. While your greatest lords and finest ladies

are obliged to pay, and afterwards to flatter, such things as Senesiny and Farinelli, and all for a song,-I, without the expense of one farthing or one ly, have been fiddled to by two grandsons of Louis the Fourteenth! By this you will find that I have had the honor lately to be very much in what they call good company. And it is true. The Prince of Conti (who is handsomer than the whole family of the H-, and no less gracious than he is handsome) had the goodness to talk with me for seven or, I believe it might be, eight minutes, of hounds and horses, wolves and wild boars. The Prince of Carignan, first prince of the House of Savoy, and director of the Opera in Paris, condescended to advise me concerning my travels.

May I never hope for the pleasure of hearing from you, that you are well, and have not forgot me? By saying just that and no more, you will give me the most agreeable piece of news that I can receive, or you yourself send. Believe me I am in no treaty with Curl, to furnish him any letters for his second volume; and if he has no more influence with the clerks of the Postoffice than with me, yours will come very safe, as it will be most welcome to, dear Sir, your most affectionate, faithfull servant, D. MALLET.

P.S. Mr. N- is extremely your humble servant; and we beg leave to send, by you, a thousand good wishes to Mrs. B. for the continuance of her good humour and good health.

LETTER OF PHILIP EARL OF CHESTER

FIELD TO AARON HILL, Esq. Sir, Aix La Chappelle, June 6th. Your desiring to hear of me, and from me, was a mark of your friendship which I have too just a value for not to comply with, even with impatience, since it gives me an opportunity at the same time of assuring you of that regard and esteem, which you so well deserve from every body, and which I wish were better worth your acceptance from me. The sincerity of my friendship for you is its chief, if not its only merit, which makes it so unequal a return for yours, which is not only a satisfaction but an ornament to those who enjoy it, especially after the declaration you have so publickly made and so strictly kept, who

those are alone, to whom you will be a friend. Your friend the Dean, not content with your bare friendship, often says to you orna me, which in him is the greediness of a miser, for nobody wants it less; but I, who am much poorer, and consequently less greedy and more modest in my demands, call upon you only for your friendship, which I shall look upon as ornament sufficient.

To give you, then, some account of my health, since you are so kind as to concern yourself about it, I will tell you that these waters, which I have now drunk four days, have as yet had no sensible effect upon it. When I arrived here, I was already much the better for the exercise of the journey and the change of air; and if I continue to mend in the same proportion for some time longer, I shall have a better opinion of my recovery than I left England with. The Spa, where I go next week, is, I am told, to lavish its treasures of strength and spirits upon me, and my journey afterwards in the South of France, to secure and confirm 'em. If so, I am resolved to be a better manager of my new acquisitions than I was of my original stock, and if I don't turn miser, I will at least be a good oeconomist of health

for the future; though born without a strong natural turn to œconomy. Nay, I'll even turn missionary of it, and preach to you, who I think want conversion much, and have as yet felt no symptoms of that grace. I shall banish, if not break, all your bottles of Madeira and orange brandy, and substitute in the room the fair water of regeneration.

I have heard and indeed thought but little of England since I left it; I am advis'd only to think of agreeable objects, and should one then turn one's thoughts towards England? My own constitution affords me still a better prospect than that; it is possible to be retrieved at least. But I look upon that of my country to be in the desperate case of a patient, to whom the physitians allow the last liberty of eating and drinking whatever he pleases, when there's nothing more to be done for him. If upon this same principle of mine, of not thinking into England, you sometimes chuse to think out of it, lett me, with one more out of it, sometimes share those thoughts, and lett me hear that I have that share. For I assure you, that even that one more cannot be more sincerely and truely, your faithfull, humble servant, CHESTERFIELD.

Mr. URBAN, Dublin, June 16. IN the Gentleman's Magazine for April 1803, p. 305, is an engraving of an old mansion called Barton House, in North Tawton, Devon, accompanied by a very brief letter, stating the correspondent could give no information about its ancient possessors. For the reasons which I am about to mention, I think it not unlikely but that the place alluded to by your correspondent was Bathe House (which being in the Barton of Bathe, he calls Barton House), the ancient seat of the family of Bathe, or De Bathe, "which name (says Harris, in his Biog. Brit. vol. i. p. 533) the family either took from or left unto an ancient seat of that name called Bathe-house (in the parish of North Tawton, in the heart of the county of Devon), the principal place of the family's residence, where we find it of so long standing, that our

author says (Danmonii Oriental Illust. p. 50), it ran so very far back that he could not trace out and overtake the original thereof."

Of this family was Sir Henry de Bathe, Chief Justice of England about the middle of the thirteenth century, whose tomb in Christ Church, Oxford, is the second in point of antiquity there, and of whom and his quarrel with King Henry the Third, Harris gives a long account,- that the King was so much exasperated to see de Bathe likely to be acquitted upon his trial, he mounted his throne, and with his own mouth made proclamation as follows: "If any man will slea (slay) Henry de Bathe, he shall not be impeached for his death, for I do here plainly declare him acquit and guiltless for the same." (Holinshed, vol. i. p. 244.) But after this, the King again took him into favour, and

even promoted him to the Chief Justiceship. Of this family was Hugo de Bathe (from whom I am descended), who settled at a very early period in this country, where he obtained several extensive grants of land in the counties of Meath and Dublin; and it appears on record that his descendant Mathew de Bathe obtained a grant from Edward the Third, of the manor of Rathfeigh, in the county of Meath, with the advowson of the church of the same, 66 as heretofore granted by Hugh de Lacy." The same individual obtained the custody of the King's manor of Leixlip. He died in 1350, leaving John de Bathe his son and heir, who obtained a confirmation from the crown of the said manor and advowson. He was chief magistrate of Dublin, and became possessed of the manor of Drumcondra, near this city. James Bath was Chief Baron of the Irish Exchequer in 1547. He died in 1572. His son John was Chancellor of the Exchequer, and died in 1586. His eldest son William was second Justice of the Common Pleas ; but dying in 1599 without issue, the estates reverted to his next brother John, Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, who died in 1634, and was succeeded by his eldest son James, whose eldest son Luke was created a Baronet at the Restoration, and in both Acts of Settlement were contained provisoes for his restoration to his estates, which the then Duke of York (afterwards James 11.) claimed under a proviso in the first Act of Settlement, vesting in him The Regicides' Lands,' meaning those which had been possessed by Oliver Cromwell and 67 others therein named as regicides;' but although it appears by the report of the then Earl of Anglesey, that none of Sir Luke's estates had ever been possessed by any of the said regicides, yet he was at length obliged to yield to the great power of the Duke, and to accept from him a lease of 99 years (which expired in 1767), at a pepper-corn rent of only one of his estates (Athcarne, county of Meath, containing 1200 acres), and to give up all his other estates, Drumcondra, Glassnevin, Ballybough, Balgriffin, Clontarf, Baldoyle, &c. co. Dublin, Laudenstown, &c. co. Kildare, besides valuable property in Dublin and Drogheda. Sir Luke died

in 1672, leaving an only son Sir Peter, who died without issue. Sir Luke had three brothers who survived him; his next brother, John, died unmarried; his second brother, Peter, was the grandfather of my grandfather; his youngest brother, Andrew, died without male issue. I have a full account and pedigree complete of the family, from the time of their first settling here; but lest it should be deemed by you as not possessing sufficient public interest, I shall not trouble you further with it.

Harris gives an account of William Bathe, an Irish author, who was born in 1564, and died in 1614. He dedicated one of his works to his uncle Gerald Fitz-Gerald, Earl of Kildare. In a note, he (Harris) gives a list of the several branches of the Baths of Ireland, and a brief account of them; but he mistakes in representing Luke and Sir Luke to be two different persons, owing to the circumstance of his having been created a Baronet between the time of passing the first and second Acts of Settlement. Sir Luke was then the representative of the Baths of Drumcondra, being the eldest branch, but Harris states it to be a distinct branch; so that, instead of eight branches which he sets out, there were but six. There are now but two, Drumcondra and Knightstown. The former represented by myself, and the latter (including Cashel and Morton, as stated in Harris) by Sir William Plunket de Bathe, whose father James Michael Bath, on being created a Baronet in 1801, re-assumed, by the King's signmanual, the ancient family name of de Bathe, after its having fallen into disuse for upwards of three centuries. The Athcarne estate (co. Meath), on failure of male issue in that branch in 1620, came back by settlement to the eldest branch. In the Dublin Penny Journal (No. 28, vol. 1.) there is given a view of Athcarne Castle, with an account of it; and in No. 12 is a view of the wooden house in Drogheda, built in 1570 by Nicholas Bathe, and taken down in 1824.

The writer of the article on Athcarne Castle is mistaken in stating that Knightstown, the property of Sir William de Bathe, has been so long possessed by the family, for it was not until about the year 1610 that his