A GIRL'S DIARY OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. IN the vale of the Creedy River, surrounded by rich meadows and wood-crowned hills, stands the town of Crediton, once the cathedral city of Devon. A long irregular street follows the slope of the hill until it reaches the Grammar School, but the interest of the town is centred in the Norman Collegiate Church of the Holy Cross, the successor of the ancient Saxon cathedral. Its red sandstone walls, hewn from neighbouring quarries, have seen the coming and going of many who are now lying beneath stately altar tombs in the choir, or under the pavestones of the aisles. In the Priests' Chamber over the south porch, a library is becoming the prey of bookworms, who devour the old folios in a very material manner; but their progress will soon be checked by the restorers, who having begun their good work on this interesting building, will doubtless also rescue the library. There are two houses called the Palace and the Chantry near the church, but except the names, there are no relics of antiquity in the buildings that stand about the Palace Meadow.' The streets of Crediton soon end in deeply-cut lanes, and one of these leads to a small country house called Trobridge. Here a family of the same name flourished for centuries, and as early as the year 1411 a license was granted to them for a chapel for The Mansion.' The house, now dating apparently from Queen Anne's reign, may once have had greater pretensions. A field near goes by the name of the Beer Park, probably a clerical error for Deer Park, and another is called the Fishing Park, where ponds may have existed stocked with fish for fast days. But through their own extravagance and the unscrupulousness of others, trouble fell upon the family. The property sank ancle deep in mortgages, and at last cne George Trobridge branded the name with sacrilege. He pulled down the chapel, used the altar as a drinking board in an ale-house, the stones to mend the 1 kitchen floor, and carried off the bell. A grim indistinct legend connects his death with this bell. The property was then sold to its present possessors, the Yarde family; and in 1760 the house was inhabited by Mr.Giles Yarde, his wife Susannah and five children. A friend also found a home with them. Penelope Sydenham was the only surviving child of John Sydenham of Dulverton, a younger member of the family of that name, who possessed large estates in Somerset, Devon, and Yorkshire. Her father had died leaving all his worldly goods to his dearlyloved daughter,' with the exception of a few legacies to friends and old servants, and one hundred pounds to the Exeter Hospital. The name of Sydenham was already connected with this hospital, and Penelope must have been a child when her cousin Humphrey Sydenham, M.P. for the city of Exeter, laid the foundation stone and also furthered the laying of a great many more stones of this institution besides the first. Having lost both parents, the young heiress took up her residence with her friends the Yardes, attended by a maid and a manservant named Thomas Winton. She probably had two rooms set apart for her own use, and from the minute description of her furniture, and other personalities in her will, it is easy to picture her daily surroundings. The windows at Trobridge are large and pleasant, and when she set them open, the breezes from Dartmoor could blow about the Indian calicot curtains' of her bed. The counterpane was embroidered with yellow silk. 'A large looking-glass in a red Japan frame' was fixed on the wall. On a 'mahogany chest of drawers' near the bed stood her 'dressing-case, lined with blue silk.' In it she kept her 'silver buckles, a ring with five fine diamonds, jewelled buttons for sleeves set in gold, a diamond ring with an amethyst set in the centre, lockets set in gold, and a gold ring with a ruby in the shape of a heart.' A 'walnut chest,' near the window had been part of the furniture of her maternal grandmother's chamber before her marriage to the Vicar of Selworthy. On this was placed her library-a large Bible, a Prayer-book bound in black shagreen with chased silver clasps and corners; Nelson's 'Fasts and Festivals,' a parchment pocket-book, containing MS. prayers in her grandmother's distinct handwriting, and the 'Whole Duty of Man.' The MS. book bears marks of constant use, and the memorandums interspersed among the papers lead us back by the fine VOL. 85 (V.-NEW SERIES). NO. 508. 44 strings of sympathy into the sorrows and thanksgivings of a long silent generation. In it we find Penelope's grandmother rejoicing over her husband's 'safe return from great peril,' dated during the Civil War. Her thanksgiving 'for recovery from an illness, contrary to expectation.' Abbreviated records, easily deciphered, of the temptations that most assailed her. Passionate expressions of penitence and of thankfulness 'for rescue from her follies.' Penelope also made notes in her books, and inserted corrections in a prayer in the 'Whole Duty of Man,' so as to make it more applicable to herself. Whither, O Lord, shall a young woman go, or how shall she be able to escape all the snares which beset her?' These corrections are pathetic in their simplicity, and show the kind of accuracy consequent on a life of few events; but if we think little of the events and pleasures of Penelope's life, we find that she certainly possessed the capacity for enjoyment, which is far more interesting than the common experience of a life crowded with incident without that capacity. We are often surprised to find how many deaf, dumb, and blind beggars there are in the world. Penelope was not one of these, but she was not yet awake. What was there to awaken a country girl in the 18th century No constant supply of books or magazines, and newspapers, to stir a craving for the Unknown. The days fulfilled an even course. The chicken had to be fed, the children to be amused, the herbs to be picked and dried, or preserves made and arranged in the store-room, and the pies baked for the most important meal of the day, the supper. Then the men came in from hunting, or the home farm, and told long stories of the find in Armour Wood, and the run to Kennerleigh, and the ladies went early to bed, and slept away the hours until a day of the same routine began again. When the 'Whitehall Evening Post' made its rare appearance, how could the bare facts that Mr. Pitt (afterwards Lord Chatham) had resigned, or that the ambassadors of France and Spain had withdrawn from Lisbon, be more than dead language stories to women leading such lives? Probably Mrs. Yarde and Penelope thought the miscellaneous column in the Annual Register' and the account of the Cockpit Lane Ghost, the only things worth reading in the winter of 1761. Sometimes Penelope's life was varied by a ride on a pillion behind Thomas Winton to visit her farms at Thelbridge, a neighbouring parish, and probably she and Mrs. Yarde always rode in this fashion to Crediton Church. The depth of Devonshire lanes is as proverbial as their beauty, and in the last century, West country roads were execrable and almost impassable for carriages, so that the celebrated Devonshire pack horses, bay with a black stripe from mane to tail, were constantly in requisition, either for carrying heavy pillion saddles, or saddle boxes slung on either side like panniers. Life at Trobridge may have been monotonous, but it was not selfish, and a golden deed of Giles Yarde's shines out of the past. If the old possessor committed sacrilege the new possessor was a repairer of the breach, and in conjunction with Mr. Buller of Downes, he rebuilt the desecrated chapel. This work was proceeding while Penelope was living at Trobridge, and she also tried to build up pillars for the Church by providing 'that the children of Thelbridge should learn to read the Bible.' Penelope's own accomplishments were probably limited to those of the country girl described in one of Shadwell's plays :'To feed ducklings, to cram chicken, to make clouted cream and whipt syllabubs, a carroway cake, and raised pye-crust, and to learn the top of her skill in syrup, sweetmeats, acqua mirabilis and snayl water. Great cunning in cheesecakes and almond butter. The dancing by a master that has a travelling circuit of thirty miles, and plays on his kit, while his pupils dance before him. For music an old singing man, riding ten miles from his cathedral, who can teach Scotch songs, and to twinkle out Lilliburlero upon an old pair of virginals. The dancing master also taught a particular behaviour at the tea table.' Such words conjure up old world scenes. Not long since, the spinnet on which Penelope played was still at Trobridge, and we know by her will that she possessed a 'Pontipool tea-table' of her own. It was placed in the sunny parlour set apart for her use. On it she kept some of her treasures. 'The miniature of her grandfather Sir William Pole in a gold case, a silver mounted shagreen case with a penknife and other things in it, and a large gold seal with the family arms.' Portraits of grandfathers and grandmothers on the walls seemed to watch her with grave moving eyes as she came and went, and a large looking-glass with work on white satin round it,' reflected the clipped yew hedges, the lavender and the marigolds in the garden outside, and sometimes her bright young face. A massive carved oak chest, from the hall at Selworthy, stood on one side of the room, and in it she kept a strange medley. Homespun damask tablecloths and fine flaxen sheets. Silver half-pint mugs, bowls, cups, punch ladle and butter boats. Quaint old pieces of silver that test the ingenuity of later generations to prevent their being mere side-board ornaments. In this room Penelope, in a 'white lutestring gown,' with her 'large gold watch and equipage' hanging at her side, used to entertain her friends at tea. 'Fine East Indian cups and saucers' were arranged on the Pontipool waiter that matched the table. The Dutch tea-kettle with its lamp and stand' sung cheerily, and no doubt Penelope was equal to 'the particular behaviour at the tea-table' taught by the dancing master. The conversation over the Bohea at 12s. 6d. a pound took few flights beyond the events of yesterday, until one day Penelope had an astounding piece of news to announce. She was going to London, with the Yardes, she was to be presented at Court, and she would keep a diary of all she saw and did. This diary has grown into an heirloom. Rough scraps of paper sewn together. A memorandum fastened to it, with a rusty odd-shaped pin, and enclosed in a rumpled paper cover. A shabby little waif, that has been preserved for one hundred and thirty-one years. The journey was made in two post-chaises, by the coach road between Exeter and London. Besides Mr. and Mrs. Yarde and Penelope, there must have been at least one other friend travelling with them, whose name is not mentioned, though he is spoken of as one of the gentlemen.' He must have been young, for what old gentleman would have had the folly to take 'prawns from one who was eating of them,' at an inn, because Penelope wished to have some? Her composed description of the deed gives a glimpse of the manners of the day, when the barbaric principle of the sparrow and the fly held a still uncontested position : "Nein," sagte der Mörder. "Du bist mein, Here are Penelope's own words, with her spelling corrected: |