THE NOBLE HOUSE OF WIN

CHESTER.

From the Lordship of Paulet, in Somersetshire, according to Collins, this family derives its surname ; its progenitor, Hercules, Lord of Tournon, in Picardy, having become proprietor on his coming to settle in England in the reign of King Henry I. That lordship, it appears from Collinson's History, was owned by Walter de Dowal, in the time of William the Conqueror, and from him it descended to the Paganels, Fitzhardings, Gaunts, and Gournays. The Paulets, however, it is certain, enjoyed, from a very early period, a manor in this parish, and thence no doubt took their name.

Sir John Paulet, knight, married Eliza. beth, daughter of Sir John Creedy, of Creedy; and dying in 1378, left two sons, Sir Thomas, the elder, progenitor of the Paulets, and William Paulet, the younger, of Melcomb Paulet, in Somersetshire, serjeant-at-law, from whom sprang the extinct ducal House of Bolton and Sir William Paulet, great grandson of John Paulet, Esq., by Constance de Poynings; Lord St John of Basing (at the decease of which noble lord the barony of Basing and Poynings fell into abeyance). Sir William enjoyed the confidence of Henry VIII, and was raised by that monarch to the Peerage, March 7th, 1538-9, as Baron St John of Basing, and at his Majesty's death his Lordship was appointed one of his executors. Lord St John continued a leading political character, and was created, in the ensuing reign, Jan. 12, 1549-50, Earl of Wilshire, and Oct. 12, 1551, Marquis of Winchester. He was installed a Knight of the Garter, and held the important office of Lord Treasurer of England during the reigns of Edward VI, Mary, and Elizabeth. Being asked how he had contrived to retain his office during the series of changes which had taken place, he is said to have made the frank, but not very magnanimous, reply, "By being a willow, and not an oak." He erected the magnificent seat in the county of Southampton, called Basing,

His

and married Elizabeth, daughter of Sir William Capel, Knight, of the City of London. He died at the age of 97, March 10, 1572, and was succeeded by his eldest son, John, who had been summoned to Parliament, as Lord St John, while his father was living. He was one of the Peers who sat in January, 1571-2, on the trial of Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk. lordship married first Elizabeth, eldest daughter and co-heiress of Robert Willoughby Lord Broke, by whom he had four sons and two daughters, and, secondly, Winifred, daughter of Sir John Burgess, Lord Mayor of London, and widow of Sir Robert Sackville, Knight. By her he had no issue. He died Nov. 4, 1576, and was succeeded by his eldest son William, the third marquis. He was a man of letters, and much esteemed as a poet. He married one of the daughters of Lord William Howard, of Effingham. He died Nov. 24, 1598, and was succeeded by his only son, of the same name. This nobleman, during one of her progresses, magnificently entertained Queen Elizabeth, at Basing. By that and other circumstances he grew much involved. He became the husband of Lucy, daughter of Sir Thomas Cecil, Earl of Exeter, by whom he had six sons. The second surviving son had issue, the descendant of whom was subsequently twelfth Marquis of Winchester. William, the last lord mentioned, died in February, 1628, and was succeeded by his eldest surviving son. This was Henry, the sixth marquis, who, on the breaking out of the civil wars, hoisted the royal banner on the battlements of Basing, and there maintained it till the place was in ruins, being carried by storm and burnt to the ground. The loss inflicted on the peer by this event, in plate, jewels, and other property, was estimated at 200,000l. He lived to see the cause of royalty triumph, and died at Englefield in 1674, where his monument bears the following epitaph, from the pen of Dryden :

"He who in impious times undaunted stood,

And 'midst rebellion durst be just and good,
Whose arms asserted, and whose sufferings more,
Confirmed the cause for which he fought before,

Rests here rewarded by a heavenly prince
For what his earthly could not recompense.
Pray, reader, that such times no more appear,
Or, if they happen, learn true honour here.
Ask of this age's faith and loyalty,

Which, to preserve them, heaven confined in thee.
Few subjects could a king like thine deserve,
And fewer such a king so well could serve.
Blest king, blest subject, whose exalted state,
By sufferings, rose and gave the law to fate;
Such souls are rare, but mighty patterns given
To earth, and meant for ornament to heaven."

He was thrice married; first to Jane, the daughter of Thomas Viscount Savage, by whom he had one son, Charles, his successor; and secondly, to Honora, daughter of Richard, Earl of St Alban's and Clanricarde, by whom he had four sons and three daughters; and thirdly, to Isabel, daughter of William Howard, Viscount Stafford.

His successor, Charles, the sixth Marquis, was created Duke of Bolton, April 7, 1689. He is described to have been a man

of singular habits. Burnet says of him, "He had the spleen to an high degree, and affected an extravagant behaviour; for many weeks he would not open his mouth till such an hour of the day when he thought the air was pure. He changed the day into night, and often hunted by torch light, and took all sorts of liberties to himself, many of which were very disagreeable to those about him. He was a man of profuse expense, and of a most ravenous avarice to support that; and though he was much hated, yet he carried matters before him with such authority and success, that he was in all respects the great riddle of the age. He married twice; first, the daughter of John Frecheville, of Stavely, afterwards Lord Frecheville, by whom he had no surviving issue; and secondly, Mary, illegitimate daughter of Emanuel Scroop, Earl of Sunderland, and widow of the Hon. Henry Carey. By his second consort he had two sons and three daughters. His eldest son, Charles, succeeded him as second Duke, and was Lord Lieutenant of Ireland in 1717. In 1679 he married Margaret, daughter of George, Lord Coventry, and subsequently Frances, daughter of William Ramsden, Esq., of Byrom, county of York, by whom alone he had issue. That lady bore him two sons and two daughters. He married for his third wife, Henrietta Crofts, youngest natural daughter of James Scot, Duke of Monmouth, and Eleanor, youngest daughter of Sir Robert Needham, Knight. One son was the offspring of this marriage.

Charles, the eldest son of the last peer, became the third Duke, and succeeded to the title in 1699. He was Constable of the Tower, and Lord Lieutenant of the Tower Hamlets. His first wife was Anne, daughter and sole heiress of John Vaughan, Earl of Carberry, by whom he had no issue. He then married Mrs Lavinia Bestwick, an actress who was much admired as Polly

had no legitimate issue by her, but she brought him three sons during the life of the former Duchess. On his death, August 25, 1754, his brother Harry succeeded him as fourth Duke. This peer being married to Catherine, daughter of Charles Parry, Esq., of Oakfields, Berks, had two sons and two daughters. The former, Charles Harry married Henrietta, daughter of and Harry, successively inherited the title. Nunn, Esq., of Eltham, by whom he had one daughter, and afterwards Catherine, daughter of Robert Lowther, Esq., and sister of James, Earl of Lonsdale. By her he had two daughters. At his death, December 24, 1794, the dukedom expired, but the marquisate and minor honours descended to his kinsman, George Paulet, Esq., of Amport, the descendant of the second son of the fourth Marquis. He married Martha, daughter of Thomas Ingoldsby, Esq., by whom he had issue Charles Ingoldsby and Henry. The latter became Vice-Admiral of the White; the

former succeeded to the title on the death

of the Marquis, who died April 2, 1800. He married Anne, second daughter of John Andrews, of Shotney Hall, in the county of Northumberland, by whom he had five sons and two daughters. His Lordship was premier Marquis of England. died November, 1843, and was succeeded by his eldest son John, LieutenantColonel in the army, born June 3rd, 1801.

He

What a Christian ought to be.-The Rev. Sydney Smith has been long known as a wag, and many have spoken of him as if he had a greater claim to admiration for his wit than for his religion. Eight or nine weeks since, the Rev. James Tate, canon residentiary of St Paul's and vicar of Edmonton, an eminent scholar, died, and by that event his family was almost suddenly deprived of the whole of that competence they had enjoyed a short time, after almost half a century of straitened circumstances. By the death of Mr Canon Tate the living of Edmonton fell to the disposal of Mr S. Smith. It appears from the Clergy List that this gentleman possèsses no benefice but a small chancery living in Somersetshire, under 300l. a year. Edmonton is upwards of 1,500l. He might have appropriated it to himself, but without solicitation, he, within a very few days of the death of his friend the father, bestowed the living on the son, Mr Thomas Tate. It was an unexpected solace to the afflicted -a home to the family-and a fortune to those who had sustained a severe deprivation. Such an act must greatly extend the fame of the reverend humorist, and it proves that the castigation lately bestowed on the repudiating Americans, was prompted, not by love of money, but by abhorrence of fraud.

CHARACTERS.-No. VII.

BARON DE LA MOTHE FOUQUE. THE father of the baron had been forced to leave France when the infamous revocation of the edict of Nantes, by Louis the Fourteenth, compelled his Protestant subjects to fly in all directions. He was descended from one of the most ancient families in Normandy. He became the friend of Frederick William of Prussia, while he was Prince Royal, and distinguished himself in the Prussian and after. wards in the Danish service. He was a member of a sort of Bayard club, an asso. ciation founded on the principles of the Chevalier, sans peur and sans reproche, and in 1760 became provost of the cathedral of Brandenburg. In that city he closed

his life.

A few days before his death he seemed to have a kind of prescience of its approach, which, from his age, may easily be accounted for. His behaviour on this occasion, though peculiar, does honour to his character as a Christian.

After attending divine worship on Sunday, at the French church, as was his constant custom, he fixed on the spot in which he was determined to be interred; and the next day gave orders to have his grave prepared, with particular directions concerning the manner in which it should be done. After this he resolved to have his coffin made; and one day, when he seemed to be rather more than commonly cheerful, had eaten heartily, and expressed great satisfaction in the pleasure which this circumstance gave to those around him, he suddenly dismissed the servants that attended, and desired M. Buttner to order his coffin home. When it came, he went into the apartment in which it was placed, examined it with great composure, then, uncovering his white hairs, sat down on it, and ordered one of his attendants to read a German hymn, which begins with an expression to this purpose: "Behold the grave! this is the bed on which I must embrace death." Never, says M. Buttner, shall I forget this venerable old man, this knight, without fear and without reproach, thus sitting, surrounded by his family, who in vain endeavoured to conceal their tears.

He then settled all his temporal affairs, and thought of nothing but his approaching passage to eternity. Four days before his decease, he desired that the Lord's Supper might be publicly administered in his chamber; and, after partaking of this with his whole family, and several members of the community, he solemnly blessed his children, and took leave of all the attendants. On the 2nd of May, 1774, as his attendant was reading a prayer to him, his son came into his chamber, and offered to relieve the reader. His father tenderly

one side, fell asleep. "I make use of this expression," adds his biographer, "because I know none more proper to represent the insensible transition of this great man from life to death."

Reviews.

Pictorial History of France. Part XX. THE twentieth and concluding part of this publication is now before us, and the whole work may be had complete in two octavo volumes. Its embellishments are numerous, and the reader of history need not be told that the annals of France abound

in narratives that startle and affect with

the thrilling varieties of a stirring drama. Always brave, but unhappily always restless, France, through many centuries, when not engaged in a contest with what was conceived her natural enemy, England, was always violently agitated within herself.

How strangely different her attitude at different periods. Now proud and impetuous-overpowering all authority, and thundering fierce defiance in the ear of her sovereign, and now submissively giving way to the insolent assumption of despotic power, and humbly bending before the throne of absolute royalty!

The opening scenes of the revolution, which brought the unhappy Louis the XVI to the scaffold, find a place in this part. They are melancholy in the extreme, and their gloom is anything but relieved by the horrible burlesque connected with deeds of blood. The wanton folly which prompted some of the absurdities in which the frantic treachery of the excited mob indulged are almost as disgusting as the dreadful crimes of which they are the accompaniment. Some of the passages in the following extract, were the date concealed, it might be supposed belonged to the twelfth or fifteenth, rather than to the close of the eighteenth century:

"The first rays of light, on the following morning, had scarcely fallen on the abode of led on by some of the deputies in disguise, the king, when a rabble of men and women,

broke into the chateau, and filled in an instant the terrace, the gardens, and the courts. Frightfully discordant sounds were heard. 'Give us the head of the queen!' 'Down with the queen!' Louis shall no longer be king!' The Duke of Orleans shall reign over us!" 'He will give us bread!' were

some of the cries of the banditti. The market women, with their fierce screams, added to the odious confusion of the tumult. her to us dead or alive!' 'Let us see Marie 'Where is that **** wretch?' 'Bring Antoinette-she has often danced here for her own pleasure, now we will make her dance for ours!" Let us cut off her head! We will devour her heart!' were some of

their ferocious expressions, mingled with others too offensive to decorum to be here repeated. Two of the body guards, who were faithful to their duty, were struck down, and left on the ground covered with wounds. The crowd forced their way into the building. Two ladies in attendance on the queen, whose attachment had caused them to remain near her all that night, being suddenly awaked, gave the alarm. Her majesty hastily slipped on a petticoat, threw a mantle over her shoulders, and passed by a passage to the king's apartment. She heard the intruders exclaim, We must hang her!' We will cut her throat!' Scarcely had she quitted her chamber, when it was invaded. A thousand imprecations were breathed by the disappointed assassins, at finding that the queen was not there. Fearing for the life of his son, the king had hastened to the chamber of the dauphin, and carried him off in his arms.

"In the first moment of attack, two of the gardes du corps, who would not abandon their post, were massacred. Their heads were taken off, mounted on pikes, and carried about in triumph. The wretch who decapitated them was a man who wore a long black beard. His aspect was savage, his arms were naked, his hands and clothes were stained with blood, and he proudly exhibited the axe, the instrument of his cruelty. This monster, whose name was Nicholas Jourdan, was accustomed to sit as a model to the academy for painting and sculpture. His labours that day obtained for him the surname of head cutter. The gardes du corps were assailed, and compelled to assume the caps of the grenadiers to save their lives. Eighteen of them, about to be savagely butchered, were spared through the interference of La Fayette, who called upon them to take the oath of fidelity to the king and the nation, and ordered them to hold up their hands in token of their being content to do so. La Fayette then waited upon the king, and informed him that it was the wish of the people that he should on that very day take up his residence in Paris. painted to him in glowing colours the danger to which he would expose himself by a refusal. The king yielded, and announced from the balcony that he was about to ceed with his family to the capital. Let the queen show herself,' some of the multitude called out. She immediately stepped forward, leading the dauphin in one hand, and the princess royal in the other. No children, roared the same voices, and the royal infants were withdrawn. The queen remained alone. Her grace and firmness commanded the admiration of the crowd, and the assassins were for a moment discon

certed.

He

pro

"All being ready for their departure at one o'clock, the king, the queen, the young princess, Monsieur, Madame, Madame Elizabeth, and the Marchioness de Tourzel, entered the carriage which drew up for their reception. Their cortege consisted of trains of artillery, munitions of war, provisions, brigands armed with pikes, and drunken females covered with mud. Some of their guards were on horseback, others on foot,

variously armed with muskets and sabres. The soldiers and the mob raised dismal cries, and frequently sung indecent songs. The carriage was immediately surrounded by a body of cavalry, mingled with foot soldiers, national guards, and women. Cannon, loaded with grape shot, were constantly pointed at them. The livid heads of the two guards who had been slaughtered were carried before them, and the monsters who bore them seemed proud of their atrocity. His axe on his shoulder, the horrible head cutter was conspicuous in the crowd, his face red with blood. Their cruelty was associated with such wantonness, that,' according to M. Hue, 'passing through the village of Seves, they stopped to have the hair of the two gory heads dressed and powdered,' to heighten the disgusting extravagance of the spectacle."

SCIENTIFIC NOTICES.

PARIS ACADEMY OF SCIENCES.--A paper was read to substitute the oxide of anti

mony for white lead. Among its advantages, it is as pure in colour as the most beautiful silver white; it forms with oil an unctuous and cohesive mixture, and as a coating to wood or any other article is superior to white lead; when dry it preserves its brilliancy, and, mixed with other colours, produces a much better effect than white lead; it is also two-thirds cheaper. M. de Ruolz states, that in the preparation of the flower of antimony, there is no danger to the operator, and that in using it as a paint none of those emanations take place which make white lead so dangerous.-A communication, in connexion with that made by M. de Ruolz, relative to the substitution of flower of antimony for white lead as paint, was made by M. Rousseau. For some time past this gentleman has been endeavouring to extract the sulphur from pyrites, and, having succeeded in his experiments, he stated the result. His mode of operating is simple, being an imitation of the natural reaction by which oxygen is fixed on oxidable_substances, by the influence of steam. It suffices to pass over sulphurets of iron, lead, copper, and antimony, a double stream of air and steam, for the pyritous mass to be reduced entirely to a sulphurous acid and metallic oxide, in the form of an impalpable powder. Thus, the unproductive mines of antimony in France may be turned to immediate account, as this oxide is, without further preparation, in a fit state for mixing with oil, to be used as paint.

THE QUACK AND HIS HERALD. "My father cures all sorts of pains," Bawls out the Quack's attendant youth: "That lad," the latter says, "has brains, And more, a love of sacred truth."

ODD CUSTOMS OF THE CHIPPEWA INDIANS.

Students have often read of the cackling of the sacred geese among the Romans, but it is not so well known what an important part the owl acts in the camp of the Chippewas. We find that this bird is held in such veneration that, when in the night an owl is heard sounding its note, or calling to its mate, some person in the camp will rise, and taking a quantity of glicanican, or Indian tobacco, strew it on the fire, thinking that the ascending smoke will reach the bird, and that he will see they are not unmindful of his services, and of his kindness to their ancestors. This custom originated in the following incident, which tradition has handed down:

It happened when they were engaged in a war with a distant and powerful nation, that a body of their warriors was in the camp fast asleep, no kind of danger being apprehended. Suddenly an owl sounded the alarm; and all the birds of the species were alert at their posts, all at once calling out, as if saying "Up! danger! danger!" Obedient to their call, every man jumped up in an instant, when, to their surprise, they found that their enemy was in the act of surrounding them, and they would all have been killed in their sleep if the owl had not given them this timely warning.

Speaking of their wars, it is an awful spectacle to see the Indian warriors return home from a successful expedition, with their prisoners and the scalps taken in battle. It is not unlike the return of a victorious regular army from the field with the prisoners and colours taken from the enemy, but the appearance is far more frightful and terrific. The scalps are carried in front, fixed on the end of a thin pole, about five or six inches in length; the prisoners follow, and the warriors advance shouting the dreadful scalp-yell, which has been called by some the death halloo. For every head taken, dead or alive, a separate shout is given. In this yell or whoop there is a mixture of triumph and terror; its elements seem to be glory and fear, so as to express at once the feelings of the shouting warriors, and those with which they have inspired their enemies.

Different from this yell is the alarmwhoop, which is never sounded but when danger is at hand. It is performed in quick succession, much as with us the repeated cry of fire! fire! when the alarm is very great, and lives are known or believed to be in danger. Both this and the scalp yell consist of the sounds aw and oh, successively uttered, the last more accented, and sounded higher than the first; but in the scalp-yell this last sound is drawn out at great length, as

long, indeed, as the breath will hold, and is raised about an octave higher than the former; while in the alarm-whoop it is rapidly struck on, as it were, and only a few notes higher than the other. These yells or whoops are dreadful indeed, and well calculated to strike with terror those whom long habit has not accustomed to them. It is difficult to describe the impression which the scalp-yell, particularly, makes on a person who hears it for the first time.

The preliminary cruelties inflicted on prisoners when they enter an Indian village with the conquering warriors are very severe when a particular revenge is to be exercised, but otherwise, in many instances, it is rather a scene of amusement than a punishment. Much depends on the courage and presence of mind of the prisoner. On entering the village he is shown a painted post at the distance of from twenty to forty yards, and told to run to it and catch hold of it as quickly as he can. On each side of him stand men, women, and children with axes, sticks, and other offensive weapons, ready to strike him as he runs, in the same manner as is done in the European armies when soldiers, as it is called, run the gauntlet. If he should be so unlucky as to fall in the way he will probably be immediately dispatched by some person longing to avenge the death of some relation or friend slain in battle; but the moment he reaches the goal he is safe and protected from further insult until his fate is determined.

If a prisoner in such a situation shows a determined courage, and when bid to run for the painted post, starts at once with all his might and exerts all his strength and agility until he reaches it, he will most commonly escape without much harm, and sometimes without any injury whatever, and, on reaching the desired point, he will have the satisfaction to hear his courage and bravery applauded. woe to the coward who hesitates, or shows any symptoms of fear! He is treated without much mercy, and is happy at last if he escapes with his life.

But

A scene of this description happened to three American prisoners in April, 1782, who were one day brought in by fourteen warriors from the garrison of Fort M'Intosh. As soon as they had crossed the Sandusky river, to which the village lay adjacent, they were told by the captain of the party to run as hard as they could to a post which was shown to them. The youngest of the three, without a moment's hesitation, immediately started for it, and reached it fortunately without receiving a single blow; the second hesitated for a moment, but recollecting himself, he also ran as fast as he could and likewise reached the post unhurt; but the third, frightened