shot on board the Bristol' on the 6th-too good an end for such cowards! As for bluff and bold Admiral Benbow, his bodily pain was aggravated by the disgrace that had tarnished the British flag, and it was soon decided at Port Royal that the shattered leg must be amputated. Inflammation and fever supervened and he died on November 4, 1702, grieving over the misconduct of his captains to the last, and lamenting their disgrace. Thus fell Admiral Benbow, a person of great temperance and great courage, an honour to the old town, and a pet hero of all old Shrewsbury boys down to the days of Lord Hill. Like his rival, Bart, he was not, perhaps, conciliatory, or supple and soft of speech, but his was the nature out of which great heroes are moulded, and his country's honour was always safe in his hands. The reader will find what follows in a note in Smollett, and it will speak for itself, whether Du Casse's letter be authentic or no : 'When one of his lieutenants expressed his sorrow for the loss of the Admiral's leg, "I am sorry for it too," replied the gallant Benbow, "but I had rather have lost them both than have seen this dishonour brought upon the English nation. But, do you hear? If another shot should take me off, behave like brave men, and fight it out." When Du Casse arrived at Carthagena he wrote a letter to Benbow to this effect: 'SIR, I had little hope on Monday last but to have supped in your cabin but it pleased God to order it otherwise. I am thankful for it. As for those cowardly captains, who deserted you, hang them up, for, by God! they deserve it. Yours, Besides the portrait of the admiral above-mentioned, there is one in the Newsroom at Shrewsbury, but little is known of his connection with his native town. As our historians report :-'Of the admiral's intercourse with his native town we have but little to relate. There is a traditional tale of his once coming to Shrewsbury after a very long absence, and not being recognised by his sister Hind, who kept a coffee-house in the River Street, till he made himself known to her. When he rose to distinction, he testified his affection to St. Mary's parish by an annual donation to its poor; and in 1694, being then called Captain Benbow, he contributed 10s. towards the bells and chimes.' It may be mentioned in conclusion that of his two sons, John and William, one was second mate in an East Indiaman and the other a clerk in the Navy Office. Over the door leading into the vestry of St. Mary's Church is a monument of the admiral, in white marble, erected by public subscription. It will be recollected that he was a native of this parish. He is not inaptly described as 'the Nelson of his times.' As before stated, my Talking Friend knew nothing more of the reign of William, nor was anything more known of him in the valley. Somewhat like he was, it is said, in shape and countenance and with his spare figure and aquiline nose, to his brave admiral, a summary of whose history I have just given. He died March 8, 1702, and was buried at Westminster, April 12. He was quite aware of his state, and had previously said to the Earl of Albermarle on his return from Holland, ' Je tire vers ma fin.' The Archbishop of Canterbury and Bishop Burnet were with him till he breathed his last. 'He was often,' says the latter, 'looking up to heaven, in many short ejaculations; between seven and eight the rattle began, the commendatory prayer was said for him, and as it ended he died, in the fifty-second year of his age, having reigned thirteen years and a few days. It cannot be said, great as he was in arms, even admitting his failures such as Steenkirke and Landen, that William was ever what might be called popular in England. The wellknown phrase 'I'd be a Dutchman else,' which originated in his reign, shows the contrary. But, if he was not the great idol Macaulay would make him, he was, nevertheless, a very great man, though a very ambitious one. The blots in his character have been alluded to before, such as the Massacre of Glencoe, and his desertion of the French Protestants, both of which implied a want of honourable and upright principle, notwithstanding the special pleading of Burnet as regards the latter. At the same time one could not receive such an invidious summary of his character as Smollett has drawn up. 'William was a fatalist in religion, indefatigable in war, enterprising in politics, dead to all the warm and generous emotions of the human heart, a cold relation, an indifferent husband, a disagreeable man, an ungracious prince, and an imperious sovereign.' True enough he entailed upon the nation a growing debt, and other political ills, but he was a much greater man, and a better man, too, than is implied in in the above description. Exceptis excipiendis, I should not be disinclined to accept this extract from Luttrell's 'Diary,' certainly at the time—that is, under April 2, 1692. The following is given as a character of King William: Great without pride, true to his word, wise in his deliberation, secret in his councils, generous in his attempts, undaunted in dangers, valiant without cruelty, and unchanged under all events; he loves justice with moderation, government without tyranny, religion without persecution, and devotion without hypocrisy.' It is a question if William ever thoroughly understood the English character, though he estimated their bravery well when he cried out in the tug of battle, 'See how my English fight! see how my English fight!' No doubt it is a hard character, more especially for a foreigner, to read aright. Wordsworth is just to him. WILLIAM THE THIRD. Calm as an undercurrent, strong to draw With the wide world's commotions) from its end Had mortal action e'er a nobler scope ? The hero comes to liberate, not defy; And, while he marched on with righteous hope, Shrinks from the verdict of his steadfast eye. CHAPTER XLII. GOOD QUEEN ANNE. In the trait of honesty Which ever in the end we see succeed, DANIEL, To the Lord Henry Howard, As in the hush of eve, a sudden wind Thrills through a grove and bows the crest of pines, So crept a murmured hum Thro' the grave banquet, and plumed heads bent downward. Till hushed each whisper and upraised each eye, As from a door behind the royal daïs Into the conclave came, The priest Teleutias leading the king's daughter! BULWER'S Last Tales of Miletus, ANNE, Princess of Denmark, succeeded to the throne on March 8, 1702, in the thirty-eighth year of her age. She had married George, son of Frederick III. King of Denmark. The loss of their son, Prince George-he died July 29, 1700, aged eleven years-was her heavy sorrow. Under the date of March 12, Luttrell tells us, 'Yesterday the Queen came to the House of Peers and made a speech to Parliament, which is printed. The Earl of Marlborough carried the sword before her, and his lady accompanied Her Majesty in the coach.' Like our own gracious Queen, VICTORIA, she had, Burnet tells us, a musical voice, and pronounced her first speech 'with a softness of voice and sweetness in the pronunciation that added much life to all she spoke.' The valley of the Rea, however, was little interested in the succession. Meanwhile, upon inquiry, my Talking Friend told me that a good and simple-minded old clergyman still lived at Hanwood, or, as a Saxon would have called it,' Hean,' or Highwood, the upper portion of the parish being, even at this time, forest. And, probably, this old man (Evance, or another, I cannot say) was the last of a very worthy race of men. In later years I know nothing so like the account I have picked up in friendly converse with the Old Oak, as the account given by Charles Boner in his 'Transylvania' of the Saxon clergyman's home at Hammersdorf: 'At Hammersdorf I for the first time visited a Saxon village, and became acquainted with a Saxon clergyman. In his time there was the homely arrangement that one would find in the dwelling of a substantial farmer in the South of England - everything simple, neat, and orderly, very plain, and without the least pretension. The pastor's wife soon brought in a plate of honey-comb-but such honey-comb!— cakes, bread, grapes, and wine. "One must not leave a Saxon clergyman's home without some refreshment," said our host, on my remonstrating about the abundance of good things offered; and, in truth, it was all very enjoyable. Honey like that of Transylvania I have never yet tasted-so pellucid and aromatic, so flowing, too, and delicately flavoured. This was indeed food for the fairies. The cells were of the finest consistence, the waxen walls being as transparent as the luscious amber drops within. Both here and in the other Protestant villages I was struck by the relations-that of a tried and valued friend-in which the clergyman and his parishioners stood to each other. In his manner was genuine kindness, in theirs perfect confidence. They showed him the deference due to a higher teacher and man of education, but withal there was not familiarity, for that implied something else. but the tone of intimacy which esteem and long acquaintance will give, and which is most pleasant and gratifying to hear.' I may add here as by the by, that in speaking of the Wallachs of Transylvania-the original dwellers who call themselves Rouman, i.e. Roman, as opposed to Wallachian, who is but an inhabitant of the country-Mr. Boner makes a remark which my time-honoured Old Friend readily |