the fish-house table a multitude of persons, rich and poor, with fresh fish every morning.

1825. When Lafayette completed the tour of all the states of the Union, as he said, by a visit to this State, and feelingly alluded to the time when he crossed this river in the dark days of the Revolution.

On the occasion of the reception of Lafayette, Judge Peters was present, and sang with the happiest effect, to the great delight of his old Revolutionary companions. Among the toasts that day were those which are always annually given: "The Memory of their Governor, Morris ;" "The Army;" "The Navy;" "Our Sister States;" "The State in Schuylkill;" "Our Country ;" and these:

"National Gratitude. The brightest jewel in the nation's diadem.

"Our Distinguished Guest, and the Nation's. The name of Lafayette is engraven on every heart-a worthy associate. of his great military father.

"The Heroes of the Revolution. Living or dead, their glory is imperishable.

"The Memory of our Father-Washington."

May 1, 1832.—The day of their centenary, a great festive occasion, made beautiful with tributes of flowers gathered on the banks of this river, and song, and honor to the dead of the Republic, and their own; and of good Izaak Walton, of blessed memory. Among their toasts that day he was not forgotten, as never are forgotten the fathers of the Revolution.

1860.-When the Governor of Pennsylvania (A. G. Curtin) was received by the Governor of this ancient State in Schuylkill, at the court-house, with such mutual formalities as befitted the representatives of these sovereignties; for no other of our States is more ancient, nor has been always so honest, wise, and temperate in its counsels, as the State in Schuylkill.

The name of the Schuylkill, given by the Dutch, is said to

express Hidden Creek, while from the Indians it bore the name of Manajung, or Manayunk. The river scenery was greatly enjoyed by Franklin, whose custom it was to go out there with his companions to take a walk on Sundays in the woods bordering it. Of this river and its Revolutionary memories I shall have more to say.

LII.

SEEKING AND FINDING THE GRAVES OF WILLIAM PENN AND HIS TWO WIVES AND FIVE CHILDREN AT JORDANS, NEAR WINDSOR CASTLE.

ON Monday, September 7, 1874, in company with Colonel Douglas D. Muter, editor of the Anglo-American Times, and his excellent lady, I fulfilled my promise to visit the grave of William Penn, the founder of Pennsylvania. Apart from this specific object, the jaunt itself was most agreeable. A ride of eighteen miles from London, over the Great Western Railway, brought us to Slough Station, and a short walk from that to one of the most famous of the old English inns, known as Botham's Hotel, Salt Hill. Imagine a long three-story brick house almost covered by the brilliant evergreen the Wistaria, planted in 1817 by the father of the present proprietor, and trained to the roof over most of the outer walls, while the gable of the house was sheathed in the joint growth of the Virginia creeper and the ivy. Mr. Botham himself was coming down the road as we reached his door, and gave us a hearty welcome. The view from this porch was full of history and of natural beauty.

Windsor Castle, with its royal towers, about two miles distant, appeared through an opening in the ancient trees of the garden opposite the hotel-a magnificent picture in a frame of

foliage. In the same perspective were the buildings of Eton College, founded by Henry VI. in 1446, the place of preliminary instruction for the sons of the nobility and gentry, of whom there are now about seven hundred and fifty pupils, a tithe being "foundation scholars." I had seen Windsor Castle twice before; the last time a few days previous. I had passed through its tapestried and pictured halls; had witnessed the stately Episcopal service in the splendid St. George's Chapel, hung with the banners of the Knights of the Garter, including the coatsof-arms of all the reigning monarchs, who are all members of this ancient order; had visited the stables of Victoria and seen her fine horses and carriages; but here we saw it two miles off, in the splendor of an English autumn, and a glorious panorama it was! Our host, Mr. Botham—a fine specimen of the old-school Boniface, who has grown rich by the increase of his property, looking more like a Sir Roger de Coverley than an innkeeper-took us up-stairs to the "King's Room," and there related his recollections of the days of post-coaches and turnpikes, long before the railroad pierced the valley and the steam-engine drove away the horses and stages, out of which his father and himself coined such large profits from the travelling nobility. He distinctly recollected when seventy-three coaches a day had stopped at his father's hotel or passed on the great road; now there is hardly one! On the walls of the "King's Room" were the portraits of the allied sovereigns who had breakfasted there in 1815, after the battle of Waterloo. Early in the century the roads were in a fearful condition, in many cases utterly impassable, and he told the story of a young nobleman who came to the inn one night, torn and bleeding, having been knocked down and robbed on Hounslow Heath hard by, on his way home. "If my boy had not run away and lost me," said the young lord, "I should have brought the highwayman with me." In a few minutes a one-horse chaise was at the door, and we started after the chief object of

my visit. The ride to Stoke-Pogis, about two miles, and the lonely old church and the church-yard where Gray, the author of the "Elegy," is buried, near the sacred elms and, yewtrees he immortalized, and the view of the monument to his memory in the grounds of Stoke Park, were all charming. This was not the estate of William Penn, but of his relatives. Some of them were buried in the church. I sat in the great "Penn pew," like a small drawing-room, beautifully furnished, and now used by the present owner of the estate, Mr. Coleman, and noted the evidences of a near approach to ritualism in the decoration of the main interior. I read the inscription on the old tombstone which covered the remains of Thomas Gray and his wife, walked through the old house in which he wrote one of his best poems, and took a long look at the monument on which were carved three of the verses of his "Elegy." The great house of the place—an estate of eight hundred acres— showed finely in the background; and the herds of deer, the artificial lake, and the spacious green stretches of the finished lawn and fields, relieved by aged yet vigorous trees, made the fitting decorations around the sepulchre of one of the sweetest of English poets.

And yet there was not a trace in all this splendor of William Penn! His name had been confounded with his Church-of-. England kindred; but I saw that he was regarded as the founder of the chief mansion, and even as the man who had erected the monument to Gray! At length I ventured to ask, "Can you tell me of a place called Jordans?" Nobody knew. Finally Mr. Simpson, the intelligent manager of the estate, thought we could find it by driving over to Beaconsfield, about eight miles off, and, so directed, we drove through the odorous lanes of beeches to the village famous as the country residence of Mr. Disraeli, the ex-Prime-minister of England, originally his late wife's property, and now his own. It seems quite extensive, and the house is evidently one of the oldest and

best. But what a sleepy village! Broad, clean streets, yet no signs of thrift or work; all dull and cheerless. Here we stopped to have our horse shod; but nobody could tell us about "Jordans;" nobody had heard of William Penn; even the driver, after going a mile farther, confessed that he had no clew to it. Could we have passed it? "What is that?" I said to Colonel Muter, pointing to a small field or lot with a few tombstones shining white through the beeches. "That is evidently a family graveyard,” said my friend, leaping out to prove it, and, running down a narrow lane to the gate, he exclaimed, "Here it is!" We followed to find "Jordans,” and a more secluded and desolate spot you could not conceive. The brick Quaker meeting-house was shut, and as we looked in through the dirty windows we found a dreary silence, hardly relieved by vacant benches. The old woman who lived in the front rooms was out, and there was nobody to talk to us but the few white headstones in the adjacent lot; and this is what they said:

First row five stones over five graves. On the first was "William Penn, 1718, and Hannah Penn, 1726;" on the second, "Gulielma Maria Penn, 1689;" on the third, "Mary Pennington, 1682;" on the fourth, "Isaac Pennington, 1679;" on the fifth, "Isaac Rule, 1765," and directly across the path, opposite to "William Penn and Hannah Penn," was a stone marked "Five Children of William Penn," placed at the head of the first of five small graves. On the row behind William Penn and his first and second wives, Hannah and Guli, were five other headstones, marked successively “Letitia Penn" (no date); "Springett Penn, 1690;" "Mary Freame" (no date); "John Pennington, 1710;" "Mary Ellwood, 1708;" "Thomas, 1713;" "William Masterman, 1848; Lydia Masterman." It was evident that these stones had been put there recently, and that the graves had all been raised. From the local history I extract the following note, which partially sustains this view.