THE YOUNGER SON.

་

THE Lyffe of Sir Peter Carewe, late of Mohones Otrey, in the countie of Devon, Knyghte, whoe dyed at Rosse, in Irelande, the 27th of November, 1575, was read to the Society of Antiquaries of London, November 29th, 1838. At that reading, the yawning must have been terrific-the sleep profound. This Lyffe collected by John Vowell, al's Hoker, of the Cetie of Excester, Gent., partly upon the credyble reporte of others, and partly which he sawe and knewe hyme selffe '-occupies fifty-eight quarto pages the twenty-eighth volume of the Archæologia.' The world might have remained profoundly ignorant of the doings of Sir Peter Carewe, but for the exhumation of this MS. of John Vowell; and in truth this Lyffe' might have shared the common fate of antiquarian discoveries--a digging-up, and a re-interment-had there not been some lasting and general interest in the narrative. The early history of Peter Carewe is a remarkable example of ancient educational discipline. His story comes unbidden before us, when we think that Wisdom doth live with children round her knees-loving, and beloved. What was the daily life of a child in the days of Henry the Eighth? Shadow of Peter Carewe, instruct us!

About the year 1526, there is stir in the household of Thomas Hunte, draper, and Alderman of Exeter. Peter, a son of the worshipful Sir William Carewe, is expected to arrive, in charge of a faithful servant of the house, from Mohones Otrey. He is to lodge with Thomas Hunte, and daily to attend the grammar-school of the city. Wife," says the alderman, this is a heavy charge; the boy, I am

given to know, is pert and forward. He is the youngest son, and his father looks to his learning to bring him to some advancement. Sir William is a hard man. This is a heavy charge.'

The boy comes on horseback, the servant having a leading rein, greatly to Peter's annoyance. They stop at the draper's threshold. It is a mean wooden house; but well stocked with West of England stuffs. Welcome, young sir,' quoth the draper's wife. I am commanded by Sir William,' says the servant, to require you to keep a close eye upon my young master. You are to stand in the place of his father, Master Hunte. He must have no rude companions: he must go straight from your house to the school, and from the school to your house. If he be truant, flog him!' With this solace was Peter Carewe confided to the alderman.

་

he

We see the shadow of poor Peter in the grammar-school. One Freer is master; he is counted to be a very hard and a cruel master. Daily is that unhappy boy lacerated; no stripes can move him to learn. He sits doggedly with the open pages of Syntaxis' before him; but he will make no agreement between the nominative case and the verb. The noontide meal of Thomas Hunte is by him neglected; is off to the pleasant fields that lie around the city. He hath a book of ballads in his vest, which tells of the 'actes and faits' of chivalry-of the knight's prowess, and the lady's love. Hunte in vain lectures-Freer in vain flogs. At last he would never keep his school, but is daily truant, and always ranging.' On a certain day good Thomas Hunte is seriously alarmed-the boy has been missing through a summer's morning, noon, and eve. The alderman hath sent abroad to seek him, and, as twilight approaches, goes forth himself. Behind a buttress of the city wall is Peter hiding. 'Oh, varlet!' cries the furious. draper, have I caught you?' 'Not yet,' replies the truant. The boy climbs the wall-he looks out from the top of the highest turret: Let me be! Keep down. If you press upon me, I will surely cast myself headlong over

the wall, and then I shall break my neck; and thou shalt be hanged, because thou makest me to leap down.'

In a few days after, there is a strange sight in the streets of Exeter. Sir William Carewe has once more sat in the draper's best room. The boy stands trembling before him.. No word is spoken between father and son; a servant is is the background, with a chain and a collar. Bind him." is the one brief command. Through the streets of Exeter is the rebellious boy carried about, as one of his father's hounds; and they lead him home to Mohones Otrey like a dog.' The degradation does not end when the boy enters the house of his ancestors in this bestial guise Does the pitying mother intercede for her youngest child If she does-and we see a dim shadow of a lady kneeling before a silent husband-that intercession is bootless. Peter Carewe abides in a filthy outhouse, coupled to hound.

Violent remedies must necessarily be brief. Peter Carewe and the hound part company. Another proof of the rebellious boy is to be made. He sits upon a form in St. Paul's School, but he is still more desirous of liberty than of learning;' and 'do the schoolmaster what he would. he in no wise can frame the young Peter to smell to a book, or to like of any schooling.' The father again comes to town. The sensible schoolmaster persuades him to put his son to some active employ. In Paul's Walk is Sir William musing; the boy standing in awe behind him. Sir William there meets with an old friend, then serving in the French court. This friend offers to take the boy for a page, and use him like a gentleman, and do as much for him as if he were his own child. The offer is accepted. The father is rid of his troublesome son-the son is freed from the terror of his father.

Peter Carewe is for some time caressed by his new friend. He has gay clothes-feeds well-partakes of courtly exercises. And yet Peter is ill at ease. He is little suited for routine duties. He sinks, gradually from

the hall to the stable. His fine apparel is worn and spent. His master will provide him no more. He becomes a mulet, to attend his master's mules, and so in the order of a mulet did attend and serve his master. Howbeit, the young boy, having by these means some liberty, is contented with his estate.' Oh, Peter! we see thy shadow, as thou art roystering with thy brother mulets-learning their uncourtly language, treasuring up their low experiences, but at length doing something useful. Thou hast work to do, and thou dost it. Thy real education is beginning. Thou hast hours of leisure, and then thou learnest many a virelay, and art merry in the dance; and thou readest for delight, and not at another's command--thou readest Froissart and Comines;-gradually thou lookest back with shame on thy past obduracy. We see thy shadow weeping, for thou art thinking of thy mother.

There is a gentleman come with letters of commendation from Henry VIII. to Francis I., and he is received of the French king, and has a charge of horse given him. It is John Carewe, of Haccombe, a kinsman to Sir William Carewe. He is riding to the court, and, coming before the court-gate, where there are sundry lackeys and horse-boys playing together, he hears a boy call out, Carewe Angloys! Carewe Angloys!' Which is Carewe Angloys?' says John Carewe, of Haccombe. Come forth, our Peter! Thou art evil apparelled, thy clothes are all to-ragged and very simple, the stains of the stable are upon thee. Who art thou? I am the youngest son of Sir William Carewe, of Devon, Knight. My name is Peter. I offended my father, who sent me here to be a page. My master was not pleased with me, and I am now a poor muleter. Thou injured boy, I will be to thee as a father.'

Peter Carewe is now a willing scholar. Kindness, which opened his heart, has fashioned his intellect. His kinsman and the bold boy have no break in their affections. They march together in the army which Francis I. sends against Charles V. On the march, John Carewe dies; but Peter is not desolate.

He has made friends. The Marquis of

Saluces takes him into his company. At the siege of Pavia. Francis I. is taken prisoner, the marquis is slain, the French army is scattered. In his rough career, Peter has attaine that practical wisdom which the school of Exeter might have failed to teach him. He has learnt to act for himsel He goes boldly to the emperor's camp; and becomes favourite with the Prince of Orange. The boy that was coupled with a hound is grown into a young man, so hone in his conditions, so courteous in his behaviour, so forwar in all honest exercises, and especially in all prowess and virtue, that he has stolen the hearts and gained the love of all persons unto him, and especially of the princess.'

A few years pass on, and Peter Carewe is in England, He has come with letters from the Princess of Orange t the court of Henry VIII. He is taken at once into favour: for young Carewe has not only the French tongue, which is as natural to him as his own English tongue, but he is very witty, and full of life.' And so, he is-first a henchman. and then one of the Privy Chamber. But Peter has natural longings, which hard usage has not extinguished. He asks permission to make a journey; and he sets forth with a goodly company of attendants.

Sir William and Lady Carewe are sitting alone in a par lour of their manor-house of Mohones Otrey. There is trampling of horse without. In a few minutes the door is opened, and a gentleman, dressed in all the costly luxury f the period, and surrounded with the gayest of followers, falls upon his knees. My father, my mother, your blessing!

·

He holds out a letter. Sir William is dumb with surprise he with difficulty whispers to his wife, It is Peter Carewe!" -No-no-my poor Peter is dead and forlorn.' 'Mother, father, it is indeed your Peter!'

Thus leave we the shadow of Peter Carewe. Of his after worth and greatness let the record of Master Vowell suffice. He did creditable things on land and at sea. The latter chivalry produced many such heroes. His shadow never comes before us in its panoply of loyalty and valour But we have seen him, in an idle hour, as he is described