NOTE ON THE BISHOP OF EXETER. EVEN the affair of the Bishop of Exeter is a job of the most scandalous kind; it is swindling in the first place-and, secondly, it is swindling for a vindictive purpose. We, with our well-known views on the Catholic bill, shall not need to clear ourselves from the odium of undue favour to Dr Phillpotts. For his own sake, we shall never cease to lament, that a champion so powerful should, for any earthly consideration that princes or courts could offer, have listened to the overtures of the enemy, and have cancelled the services of so honourable a warfare, by his ominous silence on that memorable catastrophe of the cause. From people in our situation as to politics, the language of reproach would have a natural propriety. But to those who justify Sir Robert Peel and his set, we hardly concede the same license. A privilege, wide enough to shelter Sir Robert and Mr Derry Dawson, might, we should suppose, be available to Dr Phillpotts. We see no difference in their situations, except perhaps this-that the plea of expedience, urged in bar of acknowledged principles-policy put forward as paramount to conscience, sad and grievous as it is for any man's character, does certainly sit less unbecomingly on the confessed worldling than on a member of a consecrated profession. But this one difference allowed for, in other respects the case of both parties seems to be the same. And, if not, that could in no degree affect the claims of Dr Phillpotts in the present instance. Having done wrong, he did not, therefore, forfeit his title to bare justice. Now, it is upon record, from the statement of Sir H. Hardinge, that his present Majesty's government (in the persons of a ministry now dissolved) entered into a negotiation with Dr Phillpotts, and acceded to a most distinct stipulation, about which there was no mistake, that in any case Stanhope was to be held in commendam with the see of Exeter. In reality, no stipulation could be more reasonable or proper, and there never has been any difference of opinion on that matter till the present occasion. But were it otherwise, a bargain is a bargain; and none could honestly seek to evade it. Farther, the obligations of such a bargain are trebly binding, when one party has done that upon the faith of its provisions, which, in the first place, upon any less consideration, he never would have done, and which, secondly, cannot be undone. It can make no difference at all in this case, that his Majesty's government was then administered by the Duke of Wellington, and at present by Lord Grey. Every administration succeeds to the absolute engagements of its predecessor, and inherits all its contracts, unless where they are merely personal. But, in the present case, we request the reader's attention to this plain distinction, that though a promise may originally have been merely the minister's, yet when ratified and carried into effect by pledging the party interested to corresponding acts, which else he would notoriously have declined, and, above all, by the king's congé d'élire, it is no longer the minister's but the king's engagement. It is the king's faith that is now pledged to the fulfilment of its entire stipulations-it is the KING'S honour which is at stake; and the minister who dares to violate such a compact, is, in fact, sporting with the royal word, and pursuing the vengeance of his faction at the price of the royal honour. The hollow pretence of the ministry is, that, in deference to public opinion so loudly expressed, they had advised his Majesty not to complete the engagement. No, no; say not so, my Lord Althorpe ! Not in deference to public opinion, but in deference to the hoarded and accumulated malice of your faction -now seeking a poor pretext for a mean, ungentlemanly revenge. The fact is, many have joined in this clamour, who, if asked their exquisite reason, would have no more to say, than that, upon principle, they were hostile to pluralities. That may be; but what justice is there in applying a general principle thus invidiously to the oppression of an individual? Deal with pluralities as you like; but take up the question in an honourable way, upon public grounds, and without distinction of persons; not for a base and cruel purpose of crushing an individual, and, at any rate, not at the price of the king's honour. For it is as evident as any one fact in politics, that the king's government (no matter by whom administered) has tricked Dr Phillpotts as shamefully as any of the swindling gentlemen who are daily "pulled up" to Bow Street for ring-dropping; and that they have made their sovereign a cat's-paw in this base intrigue. So much for the enemies of the Bishop of Exeter. But now, at parting, we turn to the Bishop himself, and take the liberty of saying one word to him. His Lordship, on one occasion, did this journal the honour of selecting it for the channel by which he wished to convey to the public the correction of some misstatements of his enemies. This gives us an interest in his character, which we shall most unwillingly resign; and upon the footing of that friendly interest, we may almost plead a title to come forward as the public spokesmen, in stating what seems to be the Bishop's present position in respect to public opinion. Sir Henry Hardinge, in his place in Parliament, has assured us, that it is a complete delusion (propagated, in fact, originally by the press) to suppose that Dr Phillpotts approved of the Catholic bill. He retained, it seems, his old sentiments; and in heart, at least, was faithful to the old cause. Such is the statement of the gallant officer; and what he asserts, as a matter of fact within his own personal knowledge, there can be no pretence for doubting. It is undeniable, then, that all of us were grossly misled; and Dr Phillpotts himself in effect aided our error, by refusing to notice it a policy which seems to us perfectly erroneous. We grant that a dignified clergyman ought not, upon light causes, to notice newspaper attacks; but for his character, for all that was most dear to him, and when the mistake by which he suffered had become national, surely it was allowing a most disproportionate weight to the restraints of etiquette-to grant them a paramount voice in opposition to the clamours, and, we may say, passionate pleadings of his own character. An Irish Archbishop came forward, within these last ten years, in the newspapers, to rebut the unsupported slanders of a mob orator, upon an occasion no higher than the terms asked for renewing a lease. That might be undignified and unclerical. We do not wholly defend it. But in a question so critical, so urgent as that which affected Dr Phillpotts, the simple but awful question-Had he, or had he not, behaved like an honest man? no earthly punctilios or scruples ought to have interfered with his earliest and frankest answer. One word was sufficient: no call for details. Breach of etiquette, we contend, under such an overwhelming justification, there could have been none: but, had there been, will Dr Phillpotts say, that it is not better to suffer for a moment in the opinion of his order, as a violator of ceremonial observances, than for ever in the opinion of all his countrymen, as a man who bartered his conscience for preferment? By his silence, he has allowed that construction of his conduct to travel far and wide: by a word, as it now appears, he could have arrested it. The past, however, is past. That explanation which he would not make for himself, Sir H. Hardinge has made for him; but, alas! too late for correcting the false impression which had settled into the public mind. One thing still remains, which the Bishop of Exeter can and ought to do for himself; and it is our main object in what we are now saying. We have a pretty distinct remembrance, that, on the first notification of the Duke of Wellington's measure of relief to the Catholics, in a letter to the President and Fellows of Magdalen College, Oxford, or some similar document, he delivered himself to this effect:-that as yet he was not fully acquainted with the purposes and provisions of the bill, but that, as soon as he should be so, he would discharge his conscience by a public declaration of his opinion upon its merits and tendency. This he promised: this, so far as we could ever learn, he has not performed. The question is- Why? upon what circumstances arose this breach of his volunteer engagement? The public, the friends of Dr Phillpotts, the many who admire the vigour of his talents, and thank him for his services, earnestly unite in this question; not as a question of curiosity, but for the satisfaction, and in right, of that just interest which they take in the public character of one whom they had long valued as an efficient servant of the times-a man of honour, of great ability, and (as they still venture to hope) of untarnished integrity. THE SOUTH STACK. He who, within the last few years, has quitted the Irish coast, at night fall, for Holyhead, may have remarked, after the progress of a few miles, as he paced the deck, a speck of light glimmering in the east, on the very verge of the horizon, now dipping be low it, now emerging above it, as the vessel, breasting her way, rises or falls upon the wave. On a nearer approach, he will perceive this apparently insignificant star slowly and regularly assuming the form and brilliancy of the brightest planet; and then again receding, or dying away, as if gradually absorbed in surrounding darkness. The traveller by day, on the other hand, who, in his passage up or down channel, nears the eastern shores, must have observed a white tower, posted, like a sentinel, on the brow of a low hummock, apparently forming a projecung ledge from the seaward base of Caer gybi, or the mountain of Holyhead. On approaching still nearer, he will perceive that this hummock is, in fact, an island, torn from the main mass, but connected therewith by a link, at a distance resembling the gauze-work of a gossamer, which, in its fall, had accidentally caught upon the corresponding projections of the disjointed rocks. Let him look a little longer, and he will now and then detect minute objects passing to and fro, and come to the obvious conclusion, that this aerial pathway is neither more nor less than a connecting ladder of accommodation formed by the hand of man. The speck by night, the white tower by day, with its hummock and fairy bridge, comprise what is called the South Stack; and, taken altogether, it forms a prominent feature in the bold, romantic scenery of this iron-bound coast, and combines so many objects worthy of notice, natural and artificial, that, be the observer what he may, poet, philosopher, mechanist, or naturalist, he will find wherewithal to excite his curiosity, and reward his labour, in visiting a spot which has not many rivals in its kind in the wide world. I am not aware that its annals have hitherto been recorded. In consideration of the many hours I have strolled upon its rocks and pry'd into VOL. XXIX. NO. CLXXVI. its recesses, I will, therefore, assume the office of its chronicler. Equally attractive by sea and land, the visitor, who would fully satisfy his curiosity, should so arrange matters as to go by the one and return by the other; in failure of which, he may rest assured, that if he has any taste for the sublime or beautiful, he will lose much which he ought to see. Some preliminary cautions are, however, necessary, in the marine department of the expedition. In the first place, the day must be calm and the sea unruffled, or, if it does blow, that it is with due moderation from the east; for this being an offshore wind, in a great degree tends to counteract the heavy swell, which, rolling in from the westward, renders a passage by water either impracticable, or, if practicable, disagreeable. In the next place, if choice of season is available, a preference should be given to the early part of June, when the sea-birds are assembled in congress for the important business of nidification and incubation, when every tenantable cranny in the rocks is occupied, and the whole shore re-echoes with wild cries, "their waste of music in their voice of love." " The tides also should be consulted, for if unfavourable, it will require a stout and sturdy crew to contend with its influence, in addition to the "race,' a certain confluence of eddies, which, under peculiar circumstances, has been known to act a part not much inferior to its worthy congener, the Norwegian Maelstrom. There is evidence of its having once swallowed up an entire brig, with all her masts, yards, canvass, and cordage; the luckless vessel got, by some means, entangled in the vortex, and, after a brief struggle, yielded to her fate, foundering in a sea of foam, before the eyes of a spectator on the heights. It may be feared, indeed, that feats of this appalling nature are not infrequent in the long dark nights of winter, as scarcely a year passes without the melancholy sight of broken spars and lacerated rigging, from time to time thrown up from its fretful cauldron. We will suppose our traveller, with every favourable requisite, on his way to join the boat waiting for him at L the pier-head. Ere he reaches it, he will first pass the bridge connecting this fine pile of masonry with the town, over what is called the Sound, a narrow passage, even now of no great width, but much more formidable before it was smoothed down by chisel and gunpowder, through which, on a memorable occasion, Captain Skinner stemmed his way during a heavy gale of wind. On his passage from Dub lin, an Irishman's carriage contrived to get rid of its lashings, and vaulting through his mainsail, bounded into the sea, leaving the vessel disabled by such an untoward exploit, and incompetent to adopt the then hazardous step of running for a crowded harbour's mouth, and already exhibiting the wreck of a vessel or two knocking their bottoms out on its rocks immediately to leeward. A few yards farther will conduct him under a very handsome triumphal arch of dark Anglesey marble, erected to commemorate the landing of his late Majesty on the island, when the royal squadron remained wind-bound in the bay, mourning, with half-mast pendants and ensigns, the loss of Caroline, his Queen. On its frieze is the following inscription, with its counterpart in Welsh on the corresponding side:GEO. 4. REX, Monam invisens, huc appulit, Finally embarked, a westerly course is steered, usually leaving on the right a villainous nest of invisible rocks, called the Platters; which, if stones had tongues, could tell many a dismal tale of misery and mischief of their own production. If the tide admits, a shorter cut is practicable, by passing between the mainland and a raggedlooking, little, rocky island, called Ynys y welt; of this island and its adjacent rocks, a pair or two of oyster catchers (hæmatopus ostralegus) seemed to have taken possession, exhibiting, as they ran along or flew from point to point, their smart, pieballed, glossy coats, in full contrast with their long, bright, orange beaks and legs, and crimson irides. Beautiful, and easily domesticated as these birds are, it is surprising they are not more fre quently introduced in our pleasuregrounds. Those who have visited Brighton within a few years, may remember the numbers running about, without alarm, on the lawn of the Pavilion. For a short distance beyond this island, the scenery is tame and insipid. As we advance, however, the rocks assume a bolder and more precipitous front; and in a few minutes, when the small insulated rock, called the North Stack, detaches itself, a magnificent picture appears through the fissure; and from this point may be said to commence a series of splendid scenery, continuing, without intermission or diminution, for the remainder of the voyage. Here, too, as in the case of Ynys y welt, there is a passage between the rock and the main, but so narrow, that, unless the water is perfectly smooth, an inexperienced navigator might hesitate to attempt it, even in a boat; and yet through this channel, flanked and fringed as it is with bristling rocks, starting, like sharks' teeth, from its yawning sides, it is on record that a large cutter passed, in a heavy sea. The event took place some fifty or sixty years ago, and the particulars are fresh in the memories of many still living. She was one of the post-office packets, conveying the mail from Dublin to the Head. The wind was blowing tremendously, and a thick mist had, for a time, concealed the land. At a moment of extreme anxiety-the Captain being well aware of his proximity to the coast-it cleared up, revealing as fearful a situation as any in which mortal men could well be placed; an overpowering sea rolling before the gale, was hurrying the vessel onwards to a fate which seemed inevitable, imprisoned, as she was now discovered to be, in a sort of bay of precipices, lashed by sheets of foam, bursting not only at their bases, but breaking over the ledges of rocks, which here and there reared themselves above the swell. Letting go an anchor would have been useless, had it held the ground, the strongest tackle must have instantly yielded before the pressure of such a sea. To beat out was equally hopeless, for the North Stack projected so far into the offing, as to afford no chance whatever of weathering it. At this awful and critical juncture, an experienced sailor stepped forward, and urged the possibility of escape. "It is high water," said he to the captain, "but there is channel between that island and the main, and I think we may push her through"-hidden as it was behind the rocks of the Stack, over which the waves were frightfully breaking. To hesitate was death-the forlorn hope was decided upon; and with that ready confidence, so peculiar to British seamen in the hour of peril, the order was given "Up with the helm-haul taught the sheets;" and away luffing to the wind, the bounding vessel flew towards the terrific chasm, on which every eye was riveted. Had the helmsman relaxed in nerve but an iota, had the swell interrupted the action of the tiller, though but for an instant, had she swerved but a foot from her course, her planking must have been rifted from her ribs by the grim range of serrated rocks, on which a biscuit might have been thrown with ease, as she floundered through the foam, and shot by them like an arrow from a bow. For a minute, their fate hung upon a hair; in another, they were in safety; and within an hour, firmly moored in the harbour. On passing through this opening, the eye rests on pile above pile of stupendous rocks; the lower range broken into fissures, forming natural vaults and caverns of the most magnificent and picturesque description. Immediately on the left, one called Ogo vaur, (or the large cavern,) actually perforates the base of the high headland, called Morva llwm, or the bare headland of the boundless sea-from Morva, boundless sea, and Llwm, bare, exposed, naked. It is, I believe, only at low water or halftide, that a landing can be effected, on a rough shingly beach, mingled with broken masses of rock in a spacious portal, forming, when the spectator fooks towards the sea from the interior, a suitable frame-work to as fine a marine view as can be imagined; the perforation is perfect, and accessible to those who think it worth their while to clamber over broken fragments in the dark, with the chance or the certainty of slipping over tresses of sea-weed into puddles of water left by the tide. Not far from it, there is another called the Parliament-house, far more worthy of inspection, and which will amply reward the candidate ambitious of taking a seat within its walls, compared with which, its name sake in St Stephen's chapel, in all its glory, must hide its diminished head. If it is in the breeding season, let a gun be fired on entering by all means, and mark the effect-tor lo! from every chink, and crevice, and chasm, as if shovelled out or exploded from a cask, for I know not by what apter comparison I can convey an idea of the effect,-down tumble shower upon shower, and pack after pack, of guille mots and razor-bills,-their snowwhite breasts and dark velvet backs forming a beautiful contrast with the back-ground gloom, as they dart through the aperture; while above, below, and round about, gulls glide or hover, screaming and wailing at this ill-timed intrusion on their privacy. Here the empire of birds commences, and is continued with little interruption, though with singular selection and variety, for a con siderable distance along the more inaccessible heights of the coast. The claimants for the undivided possession of this empire of air and water, are divided into four classes, who occasionally contest possession of certain spots and allotments. Of these, the most numerous are the gulls and guillemots, with their congeners, or cousin-germans, the razor-bills; but of them I shall speak more at large when we set foot on their favourite haunts in the South Stack, merely noticing them at present, as forming a conspicuous feature in this part of the scenery; dotting in fixed or movable patches, the rocks, the sky, or the sea, according to their immediate occupation of nursing, flying, or feeding. But though fewer in number, perhaps the most attractive and characteristic are the gloomy ominous forms of the shags and cormorants, and the stately, grave, and sedate figures of the herons. On the lower rocks, forming sunken ledges, with pinnacles just level with the water, or a few feet above, may be seen small assemblages of the former. Milton, though an excellent poet, makes but an indifferent remark for an ornithologist; he, I suspect, being the first who ever saw one of this sable tribe sitting on a "Tree, and highest there that grew ;" but he is truth itself, when he describes the foul fiend "Like a cormorant." |