Entrance Hall
Contains large pictures by John Wootton,
representing the second Lord Weymouth,
several gentlemen, members of the hunt,
attendants, horses, hounds, etc. etc.
Library
No. 1 First Viscount Weymouth
Oval. Brown coat. Wig.
No. 2 Bishop Ken
BORN 1637, DIED 1711.
Oval. In Canonicals. Black skull-cap.
He was the youngest son of Thomas Ken, of Furnival’s Inn. Born at Berkhampstead, county Herts. The Kens were a family of great antiquity in Somersetshire. The future Bishop was educated at Winchester and New College, Oxford, and entered the University, about the year 1656, at the same time as Mr. Thynne (afterwards Lord Weymouth), who became the faithful friend of his whole (subsequent) life.
Oxford was at that time in a state of great disorder;—the Book of Common Prayer forbidden; ‘the Proctor a boisterous fellow at cudgelling, and foot-ball playing; the Vice-Chancellor in Spanish leather boots, huge ribbons at the knee, and his hat mostly cocked.’
But such examples were lost on Ken. He pursued his studies with sobriety, and diligence, and took his Degree. In 1666 he became a Fellow of Winchester College, and was made chaplain to Morley, Bishop of the diocese, who gave him a living in the Isle of Wight.
Here he was most zealous in his duties, allowing himself but little sleep, and (in the words of a near relation and friend) ‘so lively and cheerful was his temper that he would be very facetious to his friends of an evening, though he could scarce keep his eyes open, and he used to sing his morning hymn to his lute before he dressed.’ In 1669 he was appointed Prebendary of Winchester, and travelled to Italy with his nephew, who was also the nephew and namesake of the celebrated Izaak Walton; and in 1682 we hear of him on board the Tangiers fleet, with Lord Dartmouth.
The Princess of Orange (afterwards Queen Mary of England), whose chaplain he became, appreciated Ken’s straightforward and uncompromising character. But the Prince was very wroth with him on one occasion, when the Englishman stood forward as champion of a young lady, at the Dutch Court, who had been wronged.
Ken insisted that her seducer should marry her, and he carried his point, but William (with whom he had not been on friendly terms, before this event) resented the interference, and threatened to deprive his wife’s chaplain of his post.
The Princess was in despair when she found her favourite on the eve of departure, and endeavoured to compromise matters; but Ken would brook no half measures, and told his royal mistress roundly, that he would not remain in Holland unless requested to do so by the Prince, and that in person.
The matter was soon settled according to Ken’s own stipulations; but shortly afterwards he was back in England, and appointed to a royal chaplaincy by Charles II.
It seemed his fate, however, to fall out with his royal patrons, for the Court repairing to Winchester for the summer, Ken’s prebendal house was pitched on as a suitable residence for Madam Eleanor Gwynne; but the merry monarch had reckoned without his host, in every sense of the word, and no power on earth could persuade the Churchman to admit the siren.
It speaks well for Charles that he bore Ken no ill-will for his resistance, as he preferred him not long after to the See of Bath and Wells. But before the new Bishop entered on his Episcopal duties, the King fell sick, and Burnet bears testimony to the zeal with which Ken attended Charles’s deathbed, striving ‘to awaken his conscience, and speaking with great elevation, as of a man inspired.’
On the King’s death, the Bishop devoted himself to his Episcopal duties; he published several works, chiefly on divinity, and, disgusted with the ignorance of the people in his diocese, he founded several schools, trying, as he said, ‘to lay a foundation to make the next generation better.’
He was invariably courteous in his demeanour to all men, so much so, as to give some members of the Roman Catholic faith, a hope of his conversion; but he was a staunch Protestant, and withstood and denounced Popery, regardless of Court favour. Indeed, he spoke boldly from his own pulpit, but, more daring still, he admonished the Court on the subject, calling on them to hold fast by the reformed religion, and rebuking them for unmanly policy. James II. bore with Ken for a time, and was said to have done all in his power to gain over one, who was indeed a staunch champion of the creed, or opinion he professed; but Bath and Wells would listen to no overtures, and took his way to the Tower with the six other prelates. In spite of all these religious differences, Ken was loyal to the house of Stuart, and when William and the Revolution appeared, he refused to take the oath of allegiance, and was in consequence deprived of his bishopric—William perhaps not unwilling to pay off old scores.
Ken was much beloved in his diocese, and when he took his departure he was followed by the prayers and good wishes of all men; and now that the horizon had clouded over for him, there rose up a noble and faithful friend, ‘even like unto a brother, who was born for adversity.’
Lord Weymouth, who had been his fellow-collegian at Oxford, gladly availed himself of the plea that Longleat was in the diocese, and cordially bade the outcast welcome. In that beautiful home did the ex-Bishop reside for twenty years, treated with the greatest kindness and consideration, his own apartments assigned him (near the old library), allowed to come and go at his own free will, to enjoy perfect leisure, to choose and receive his friends, and pursue his literary labours in peace. Lord Weymouth’s only son, who died before his father, was of a studious and scholarly turn of mind, and he and Ken had friends in common, among others the celebrated Elizabeth Rowe, daughter of a Nonconformist minister at Frome of the name of Singer. She showed great talent at an early age, and Mr. Thynne took much pleasure in giving her lessons in Latin and French, when she came over to Longleat.
Dr. Harbin, Lord Weymouth’s chaplain, and the Rev. Izaak Walton of Poulshot, Ken’s nephew, were also members of this pleasant society. Had it not been for the failure of his health, the learned divine might have spent the evening of his days in peace and rest.
Perhaps we may say he did so, in spite of his sufferings, for he accepted every trial in a truly Christian spirit, and in a collection of hymns he called ‘Anodynes’ (seeing that their composition afforded him solace when unable to prosecute works which required more research and continuity of work), there is a most pathetic poem on pain, in which he blesses the pangs that bring him nearer his God. He says—
‘One day of pain improves me more
Than years of ease could do before.
By pain God me instructs;
By pain to endless bliss conducts.’
And many such passages indicating his entire submission to the Divine will. His descriptions also of his sleepless nights show us, we were indebted to that very sleeplessness for his hymns for morning, evening, and midnight.
There is a tradition that he composed one of these sacred songs at least while reposing on the beautiful hill which overlooks the house, and is familiarly and fondly called ‘Heaven’s Gate.’ In truth, it is a spot to inspire a poet as well as a painter, more especially when radiant with autumnal tints.
Ken had had enough to do with political troubles, and wisely abstained from interference in public affairs, from the moment of his retirement. He refused to acknowledge his first successor to the see, Dr. Kidder; but on that prelate’s death in 1703, he requested Dr. Hooper to accept his congratulations, signing himself ‘Late Bishop of Bath and Wells.’
The Queen had a great admiration for Ken’s intellectual and moral reputation, and made him an allowance. But his bodily infirmities increased; he went to the hot wells at Bristol, and afterwards to pay a visit to Mrs. Thynne, near Sherborne, where he had a stroke; and wishing to go to Bath, he set forward, but halted at Longleat, where he died. Surely no one could be better prepared to meet death, which he called his final friend. The day before he breathed his last, he told his friends to look in his portmanteau and they would find his shroud, which he always carried with him, saying it might as soon be wanted, as any other of his habiliments.
He was buried, by his own desire, in the nearest parish within his diocese; and there, in Frome churchyard, under the east window of the chancel of St. John’s, a quaint tomb covers the mortal remains of Thomas Ken. Many are the pilgrims who still visit that stone coffin, surmounted by a mitre and pastoral staff.
Some years after his death, four volumes of miscellaneous works were published—theological, devotional, secular, in prose and verse. In consequence of the rumours which had been circulated of a leaning towards Roman Catholicism, an extract from his will was made public:—‘I die in the Holy Catholic and Apostolic faith; more particularly, I die in the communion of the Church of England, as it stands distinguished from all Papal and Puritanical denominations, as it adheres to the doctrines of the Cross.’
Professor Keble, in speaking of his forerunner in sacred lyrical composition, pays a graceful tribute to Thomas Ken when he says:—‘We shall scarcely find in all ecclesiastical history a greener spot than the latter years of this courageous and affectionate pastor, persecuted alternately by both parties, and driven from his station in his declining age, yet singing on with unabated cheerfulness to the last.’
From all we hear and read indeed of Ken, it would seem as if he had reached nearer his own ideal than is the lot of most men. In his description of what a poet should be, he says—
‘Prophets and poets were of old
Made in the same celestial mould;
True poets are a saint-like race,
And with the gift receive the grace,
Of their own songs the virtue feel, etc.
A poet should have heat and light,
Of all things a capacious sight,
Serenity with rapture joined,
Aims noble, eloquence refined,
Strong, modest, sweetness to endear,
Expressions lively, lofty, clear.
Such graces can nowhere be found
Except on consecrated ground,
Where poets fix on God their thought,
By sacred inspiration taught,
Where each poetic votary sings
In heavenly tones of heavenly things.’