66

.....

"I then offered something in the vindication of both, and told him what was not only my own thought, but the general hopes of all who knew them; yet notwithstanding he solemnly charged me to make known what he had told me, when I saw a probability it might so fall out; and added a charge upon his blessing (which I received with a sad heart and tears) that I would do it. He then, it seems doubting my performance, superadded as his last and great charge, that I should not fail, as I should answer him at the dreadful day of judgment, when I must give an account. This he twice repeated. Then after some years, when I was informed that the now Lord Thomast had cut off the entail, (made by his father and grandfather, ult. mens., 13 Carolus,) for the settlement of the estate on the heir-male, charging the land for a complete provision for a daughter or daughters-he, the now Lord Fairfax, being then at Denton, in the very same room where I received my charge, I faithfully acquainted him with the passages as above said. He gave me my liberty without words of impertinency, or any appearance of distaste, and made me (then) more than verbal expression of a kind acceptance.

"Now, in testimony that this is (in substance) the very truth, I being on the very brink of eternity, and ready to embrace and shake hands with death,

* The Parliamentary General.

do..... attest that I do not prevaricate. CHARLES FAIRFAX."

Poor old Sir Thomas! "Walking in his great parlor at Denton.... much perplexed and troubled in his mind!" It is easy to understand why the prudent old gentleman was anxious—and the circumstances of the case remove from his prophecy much of its singularity. Tom," the Parliamentary General, had married the daughter of Lord Vere, and, being "much led by his wife," would most probably not be content to live in the rank" he was born in. The sagacious old gentleman saw that; but his prophecy was based upon a stronger foundation still-the character of "Tom." He was headlong, rash, utterly reckless, indeed, and seemed at times possessed almost by a devil. His fiery temper brooked no opposition, and, at the head of Cromwell's armies, he went through the stormy scenes of the Civil War like a thunderbolt, pausing for nothing-at the bidding of no peril. Haughty, obstinate, utterly headstrong, General Tom was not a man after his good grandfather's heart-that honest old man, who had labored so "to add a little to the heir-male of his house." The violent and furious general commenced by superseding his own father, rose rapidly in the estimation of the country, and, at the time of Charles the First's execution, was Commander-inchief of the Roundhead forces. He would not, however, be present at the trial-and the incident connected with his wife is well known. When the name of Fairfax was called among those of the other military judges, a woman's voice in the gallery cried out that " Fairfax had too much wit to be there;" adding, "Cromwell, thou art a traitor!" Her sex alone protected the courageous woman. The name of General Fairfax was at the head of the whole proceeding, however, though he declared that he regarded the trial "with abhorrence." What seems to the reader of his history, at the present day, an evidence that there was good in the general, was considered by the inexorable Cromwell only a weakness-an exhibition of cowardice. He never forgave Fairfax, and contemptuously dismissed him, as a tool

† Ibid.

which he had used and found deficient in metal, and so thrown aside, as no longer worthy of attention. The general retired to his estate of Denton, and heard, as we have seen, his grandfather's prediction, "without words of impertinency or any distaste," though he had already cut off the entail of "Nun-Appleton," one of the family estates, to make provision for his daughter.

The old grandfather had read General Tom's character with perfect truth. He would not be "content with our rank"-he would sacrifice the family estate to his ambition. Too true, good Sir Thomas! His daughter marries the Duke of Buckingham, and

Nun-Appleton goes. If General Tom had lived longer, he would probably have sold the old hall of Denton; but he dies at length, and the prophecy is only half fulfilled.

But the old man's foreboding, as to the fate of his house, was in due time justified. Denton, the only property now remaining to the family, descended duly to the fifth Lord Fairfax. This gentleman married Catharine, daughter of Lord Culpepper-by which alliance he obtained the fine estate of Leeds Castle, and some lands extending from the mouth of a river called the Rappahannock, to the source of another river called the Potomac, in that part of the American colonies known as Virginia

-doubtless a little strip of wildernesswhich Lord Culpepper had received from the Crown. This fifth lord never interested himself about the strip of wilderness, and died, leaving a son called Thomas-him of the present sketch. The guardians of the young man judged it best to cut off the entail of Denton, to relieve the Leeds Castle property of encumbrance. The young man afterwards willed the property away-and so the forebodings of the old earl were completely realized. The Fairfaxes were obliterated-not a foot of English soil remained in possession

of the family. The prophecy was fulfilled.

We have thus briefly explored the dusty records of the old family, of which many worthy scions now reside in Maryland and Virginia-and our researches have at last brought us to the Lord Fairfax of "Greenway Court" here the son of the fifth lord and Catharine, daughter of Lord Culpepper, his wife.

The young man received his education at the University of Oxford, and afterwards obtained a commission in the royal regiment of the "Blues." From

the barracks, however, he passed, after a brief period, to the saloons of the metropolis-surrendering his warlike aspirations without a struggle, for the more congenial ambition of becoming a gentleman of fashion in the splendid society of London, to whose brilliant circles his birth provided him an easy entrance. Here he was soon caught in the whirl, and borne onward by the quick current, in the ceaseless round of dissipation and frivolity.

The "man about town" of this period has been painted for us at full length, by Addison and Steele. The keen and polished witticisms of these men and their brother satirists flashed, like scimitars of Damascus, in the perfumed atmosphere of the Court and the aristocracy no detail of character or manners escaped them, and we have in their serials a perfect picture of the times. Fairfax was about twenty-five at the time, and entered into the strange occupations of this strange society with the fullest zest. He went the round of dissipation with the heartiest enjoyment, and was considered one of the "prettiest fellows" of his day. He was well received by all classes-young noblemen, dissipating rapidly their patrimonial acres, found in him a congenial companion for their intrigues and revelscountesses permitted him to kiss their hands, all covered with jewels, and when he made his bow in their drawing rooms, his cocked hat gently pressed upon his heart, received him with their most brilliant smiles--at the play-house, he might invariably be seen on the first night of the new decent comedy, or the hundredth night of the old and very indecent piece-and at the clubs and coffee-houses he exchanged witty speeches with the wits, and gallants, and literary men of the time. At that period it was something to be a writer, however stupid-and if a young nobleman chanced to write a paper for the "Tattler" or "Spectator," really possessing wit, his reputation was achieved forever, and his importance in the dilletante circles of the aristocracy immensely enhanced. The authors of the time resided chiefly in the salubrious district familiarly known as "Grub street"and even Mr. Joseph Addison occupied a garret, where, with his pipe and his threadbare coat, he set his teeth hard against obscurity and want, greeting the world, however, with a smile from

the lips. When a real nobleman left his splendid revels to hobnob with such people as authors, his condescension was adequately acknowledged-and if the sprig of aristocracy had really some wit, the whole fraternity clapped their hands, and cried Ecce homo! The cry was caught up in the fashionable circles, and Belinda or Jocrissa advanced upon her high red heels to welcome the noble author when he came-the other fine gentlemen disappeared beneath a cloud-and the fortune of the illustrious gentleman-writer was made.

Young Fairfax secured this vogue by writing a paper or two for the "Spectator"-thus putting the finishing touch to his popularity as a pretty fellow and a wit. Envious history has not, indeed, handed down the number of his production; and not even an intimation of the subject remains. But Thomas Lord Fairfax is still known in literary history, and will continue to be known, as the co-laborer of Addison. Alas! times have changed since that period-authors are becoming respectable. Then it was the young nobleman who bestowed the favor of his society upon the poor writer-the threadbare coat thrilled with delight, when the aristocratic silk and lace and velvet of the youthful earl rubbed gently up against it, as he leaned on Mr. Addison's shoulder. My Lord Fairfax came into the obscure lodging like a sunbeam, and his presence lit up with a sort of glory the poor haunt of the literary man. A century

or so has modified the relative positions of the two men-one of the few incidents which preserve the name of the splendid youth from oblivion, is this connection, by accident, with the shabby author-the honor of having written a number of the "Spectator."

Young Fairfax found himself finally arrested in his brilliant round of pleasure, in the haunts of silk-stockings and hooped petticoats. He had revolved like a gaily-colored moth about many beautiful luminaries, without singeing his wings -but at last came the hour of fate. One of the beauties of the day transfixed him-he circled in closer and closer gyrations-his pinions were caught in the blaze, and as they said at the period, Stephan was a hopeless captive to the charms of Sacharissa. My Lord Fairfax no longer engaged in revels, or if he did, it was to get drunk in honor of his mistress, hiccoughing her name as he

fell beneath the table-he ceased to talk politics with my Lord Bolingbroke, taking no interest in foreign or domestic affairs-he sighed, and wrote sonnets, and looked sentimental, and became dull -in a word, Lord Fairfax was in love. One day, all his sighs and sad looks disappeared his friends "beheld him radiant"—the beauty had yielded to his siege, and declared herself the captive of love.

Fairfax saw thus a long future of happiness open before him, and the real sweetness and depth of his nature reIvealed themselves from beneath the miserable wrappings of frivolity and vice. He gave up everything which had pleased him, for this woman-and all that he now asked was permission to take his bride away from the dangerous atmosphere of the Court, and live with her, peacefully, as a good nobleman of the provinces. He loved her passionately, and wished to discard all that threatened to interfere with the exclusive enjoyment of her society. All his resources were taxed to supply the most splendid marriage gifts-and, absorbed in this delightful dream of love, the young man scarcely walked upon solid earth-his happiness raised him to the empyrean. He was destined to have a sudden waking from his dreama terrible, almost mortal, fall from his cloudland. He had expended the wealth of his deep and earnest nature upon a mere coquette-his goddess was a woman simply, and a very shallow one-she threw Fairfax carelessly overboard, and married a nobleman who won her by the superior attractions of his ducal coronet.

From the events which followed this shameless breach of faith, it is plain that Fairfax never recovered from the blow. From that moment he lost his illusions-shrunk from the very presence of women-and determined to exile himself forever from that society, a member of which had treated him with such terrible cruelty. To his despair, another deepening shadow was communicated by the action of his guardians some time before. They had cut off the entail of the manor of Denton, in order to relieve from encumbrance the estate of Leeds Castle, which the young man inherited from his mother. To one of his pride of ancestry and position, this was a heavy blow. It was no consolation that the fine estate

of Leeds Castle was thus preserved to him—the alienation of the old family house of Denton and the manor was the obliteration of the Fairfax name and influence from the soil upon which it had so long flourished--and the young man could not regard the affair in a dif ferent light.

Thus struck doubly in his pride and his love, Fairfax looked around him in despair for some retreat to which he might fly, and forget in a measure his sorrows. London was hateful to him— the country no less distasteful-he could not again plunge into the mad revelry of the one, nor rust away in the dull routine of the other. His griefs demanded action to dissipate themadventure, new scenes, another land were needed. This process of reflection turned the young man's thoughts to the lands in far-away Virginia, which he held in right of his mother, the daughter of Lord Culpepper, to whom they had originally been granted; and finally Lord Fairfax bade adieu to England and came to Virginia. Such were the events in the early life of this gentleman which brought him to Virginia, where he lived and died.

The house of "Belvoir," to which Lord Fairfax came, was the residence of Sir William Fairfax, his cousin-to whom he had intrusted the management of his Virginia lands. It stood upon the Potomac, a few miles below Mount Vernon. Lawrence Washington, the elder brother of George, had married a daughter of Sir William: and here commences the connection of the already aged nobleman, and the boy of sixteen who was to lead the armies of the Revolution. Washington became an inmate of the house, to which his brother's connection and the friendship of Sir William attracted him; and the boy was the chosen companion of the old Lord in his fox-hunting expeditions, of which he was passionately fond. Fairfax had retained this passion, and in the reckless sports of the field he seemed to find the chief solace for his griefs. Time slowly dissipated his despairing recollections, however; and now, as he approached the middle of that century, the dawn of which had witnessed so much of his misery, the softer traits of his character returned, and he was, to those whom he felt regard for, a most delightful and instructive companion. Almost every trace of personal attraction

command. He had seen all the great characters of the period of his youthhad watched the unfolding of events, and seen their causes-all the social history, the scandalous chronicles, the private details of celebrated personages had been familiar to him; and his conversation thus presented a brilliant picture of the past. Something of cynical wit still clung to him, and the fireside of Belvoir was the scene of much satiric comment between the old nobleman and his cousin. But Fairfax preserved great fondness for youth, and took especial pleasure in the society of George from Mount Vernon. He not only took him as a companion in his fox-hunts, but liked to have the boy with him when he walked out; and it may easily be understood that the conversations of the exile had a deep effect upon young Washington.

At this time the boy of sixteen was laboring under profound melancholy, produced by a hopeless attachmentthe object of his love is supposed, with good reason, to have been the lady who afterwards became Mrs. Lee, the mother of "Light Horse Harry," the Revolutionary General, and favorite of Washington-it may be from the Chief's old tenderness for his mother. Certain it is, however, that the boy was melancholy from the cause indicated-dissatisfied, restless, and desirous of engaging in some active employment. We call him "boy"-but in reality he was no longer such, or so regarded. He was tall, with a fully developed person, great physical vigor, and a manner of striking gravity, seriousness and decorum, the result of the singularly rigid code of "Rules of Conduct," which, as all know, he early framed for his guidance. Thus