And there is a further tradition that, on seeing his master fall, Anthony at once clapped John Grenville (afterwards first Earl of Bath), then a youth of sixteen, on his father's steed in order to prevent the Royalist troops from being discouraged. Anthony measured, so it is said, seven feet two inches in height. He was present, not only at Lansdowne, but at the fight on Stamford Hill, and remained on the field that night to assist in burying the dead, after his master had returned home to Stow. At the 'Tree' Inn, Stratton (said to have been the headquarters of the Royalists on the night preceding that battle), the hole in the ceiling is still shown through which, years afterwards, the corpse of poor Anthony was removed from the room in which he died--his coffin being too long to be taken out of the window or down the stairs in the usual way. Thus did the worthy retainer write to his mistress on the terrible day of Lansdowne fight; at least so Mr. Hawker assures us: 'Honored Madam. Ill news flieth apace. The heavy tidings no doubt hath already traveled to Stow that we have lost our blessed master by the enemy's advantage. You must not, dear lady, grieve too much for your noble spouse. You know, as we all believe, that his soul was in heaven before his bones were cold. He fell, as he did often tell us he wished to die, in the great Stewart cause, for his Country and his King. He delivered to me his last commands, and with such tender words for you and for his children as are not to be set down with my poor pen, but must come to your ears upon my best heart's breath. Master John, when I mounted him upon his father's horse, rode him into the war like a young prince, as he is, and our men followed him with their swords drawn and with tears in their eyes. They did say they would kill a rebel for every hair of Sir Bevill's beard. But I bade them remember their good master's word when he wiped his sword after Stamford fight: how he said, when their cry was "Stab and slay!"--"Halt, men! God will avenge." I am coming down with the mournfullest load that ever a poor servant did bear, to bring the great heart that is cold to Kilkhampton vault. O! my lady, how shall I ever brook your weeping face? But I will be trothful to the living and to the dead. 'These, honoured Madam, from thy saddest, truest Servant, 'ANTHONY PAYNE.'