fordshire,
witnessed a still sadder funeral. Near that village stood an ancient
and stately hall, the seat of the Wentworths. The transept of the parish
church had long been their burial place. To that burial place, in the
spring which followed the death of Monmouth, was borne the coffin of the
young Baroness Wentworth of Nettlestede. Her family reared a sumptuous
mausoleum over her remains: but a less costly memorial of her was long
contemplated with far deeper interest. Her name, carved by the hand of
him whom she loved too well, was, a few years ago, still discernible on
a tree in the adjoining park.

It was not by Lady Wentworth alone that the memory of Monmouth was
cherished with idolatrous fondness. His hold on the hearts of the people
lasted till the generation which had seen him had passed away. Ribands,
buckles, and other trifling articles of apparel which he had worn, were
treasured up as precious relics by those who had fought under him at
Sedgemoor. Old men who long survived him desired, when they were dying,
that these trinkets might be buried with them. One button of gold thread
which narrowly escaped this fate may still be seen at a house which
overlooks the field of battle. Nay, such was the devotion of the people
to their unhappy favourite that, in the face of the strongest evidence
by which the fact of a death was ever verified, many continued to
cherish a hope that he was still living, and that he would again appear
in arms. A person, it was said, who was remarkably like Monmouth,
had sacrificed himself to save the Protestant hero. The vulgar long
continued, at every important crisis, to whisper that the time was at
hand, and that King Monmouth would soon show himself. In 1686, a knave
who had pretended to be the Duke, and had levied contributions in
several villages of Wiltshire, was apprehended, and whipped from Newgate
to Tyburn. In 1698, when England had long enjoyed constitutional freedom
under a new dynasty, the son of an innkeeper passed himself on the
yeomanry of Sussex as their beloved Monmouth, and defrauded many who
were by no means of the lowest class. Five hundred pounds were collected
for him. The farmers provided him with a horse. Their wives sent him
baskets of chickens and ducks, and were lavish, it was said, of favours
of a more tender kind; for in gallantry at least, the counterfeit was
a not unworthy representative of the original. When this impostor
was thrown into prison for his