all over ornamented with monftrous Horns of Animals, about twenty broken Pikes, ten or a dozen Blunderbuffes, and a rusty Match-lockmusket or two, which, we were informed had ferved in the civil Wars. Here is a vast arched Window, beautifully darkened with divers Efcutcheons of painted Glass, one fhining Pane in particular, bears date 1286, which alone preferves the Memory of a Knight, whose iron Armour is long fince perished with Ruft, and whose alabafter Nofe is mouldered from his Monument. The Face of Dame Eleanor in another Piece, owes more to that fingle Pane, than to all the Glaffes fhe ever confulted in her Life. After this, who can fay, that Glass is frail, when it is not half fo frail as human Beauty, or Glory! And yet, I cannot but figh to think, that the most authentic Record of fo ancient a Family, fhould lie at the Mercy of every body that fings a Stone. In former Days there have dined in this Hall gartered Knights, and courtly Dames, attended by Ufhers, Sewers and Senefchals; and yet it was but laft Night that an Owl flew hither and took it for a Barn. This Hall lets you up and down over a very high Threshold into the great Parlour. Its Contents are a broken-belly'd Virginal, a couple of cripled velvet Chairs, with two or three mildew'd Pictures of mouldy Ancestors, who look as difmally, as if they came fresh from Hell with all their Brimftone about them. These are carefully fet at the other Corner; for the Windows being every where broken, make it so convenient a Place to dry Poppies and Mustard Seed, that the Room is appropriated to that Ufe. Next this Parlour, as I faid before, lies the Pidgeonhoufe, by the Side of which runs an Entry, which

4

Jets

lets you on one Hand or other, into a Bedchamber, a Buttery, and a small Hole called the Chaplain's Study; then follow a Brewhouse, a little green and gilt Parlour, and the great Stairs, under which is the Dairy, a little farther on the Right-hand the Servants Hall, and by the Side of it up fix Steps, the old Lady's Clofet for her private Devotions, which has a Lettice into the Hall, that at the fame Time the prayed, the might have an Eye on the Men and Maids.. There are upon the Ground-floor in all, twenty fix Apartments, among which I must not forget a Chamber which has in it a large Antiquity of Timber, that feems to have been either a Bedftead, or a Cyder-prefs. The Kitchen is built in form of the Rotunda, being one vaft Vault to the Top of the Roof, where the fame Aperture ferves to let out the Smoke, and let in the Light. But by the Blackness of the Walls, the circular Fires, vaft Cauldrons, yawning Mouths of Ovens and Furnaces, you would think it either the Forge of Vulcan, the Cave of Polypheme, or the Temple of Moloch. The Horror of this Place, has made fuch an Impreffion on the Country People, that they believe the Witches keep their Sabbath here, and that once a Year the Devil treats them with infernal Venifon, a roafted Tyger stuffed with Ten-penny Nails. Above Stairs we have a. Number of Rooms, you never pafs out of one into another, but by the Afcent or Descent of two or three Stairs. Our beft Room is very long and low, of the exact Proportion of a Band-box:: in moft of thefe, there are Hangings of the finest Work in the World, that is to fay, which Arachne fpins from her own Bowels: were it not for this enly Furniture, the whole would be a miferable.

Scene

Scene of naked Walls, flawed Cielings, broken Windows, and rufty Locks. The Roof is fo decayed, that after a favourable Shower of Rain, we may expect a Crop of Mushrooms between the Chinks of our Floors; all the Doors are as little and low as thofe to the Cabbins of Packet-boats. Thefe Rooms for many Years have had no other Inhabitants than certain Rats, whofe very Age renders them worthy of this Seat; for the very Rats of this venerable House are grey: fince thefe have not quitted it, we hope at leaft, that this ancient Manfion may not fall during the small Remnant the poor Animals have to live, who are now too infirm to remove to another. There is yet a fmall Subfiftence left them, in the few remaining Books of the Library. We had never feen half what I have defcribed, but for a ftarched, grey-headed Steward, who is as much an Antiquity as any in this Place, and looks like an old Family-picture walked out of its Frame; he entertained us as we paffed from Room to Room, with feveral Relations of the Family, but his Obfervations were particularly curious when we came to the Cellars. He informed us where ftood the triple Rows of Butts of Sack, and where were ranged the Bottles of Tent for Toafts in a Morning; he pointed to the Stands that fupported the Iron-hoop'd Hogfheads of Strong-beer; then ftepping to a Corner, he lugged out the tattered Fragments of an unframed Picture: This, fays he, with Tears in his Eyes, was poor Sir Thomas! once Mafter of all this Drink! he had two Sons, poor young Mafters! who never arrived to the Age of his Beer; they both fell ill in this very Room, and never went out on their own Legs; he could not pafs by a Heap of

broken

broken Bottles without taking up a Piece to fhew us the Arms of the Family upon it. He then led us up the Tower by dark winding StoneSteps, which landed us into feveral little Rooms one above another. One of these was nailed up, and our Guide whispered to us, as a Secret, the Occafion of it. It seems the Course of this noble Blood was a little interrupted about two Centuries ago, by a Freak of the Lady Frances, who was here taken in the Fact with a neighbour→ ing Prior; ever fince the Room has been nailed up, and branded with the Name of the Adulterychamber. The Ghoft of Lady Frances, is fupposed to walk there, and fome prying Maids of the Family report, that they have seen a Lady in a Fardingale through the Key-hole, but this Matter is hufht up, and the Servants are forbid to talk of it. I muft needs have tired you by this long Description; but what engaged me in it, was a generous Principle to preserve the Memory of that which itself, muft foon fall into dirt; nay, perhaps, part of it before this reaches your Hands. Indeed we owe this old House the fame kind of Gratitude that we do to an old Friend, who harbours us in his declining Condition, nay even in his last Extremities. How fit is this Retreat for uninterrupted Study, where no one that paffes by, can dream there is an Inhabitant, and even those who would dine with us, dare not stay under our Roof! Any one who fees it, will own I could not have chosen a more likely Place to converse with the Dead. I had been to blame indeed, if I had left your Grace for any one but Homer. But when I return to the Living, I fhall have the Senfe to endeavour to converfe with fome of the

best

best of them, and fhall therefore as foon as poffible, tell you in Perfon how much I am,

HA

I am, &c.

LETTER LXVI.
Queen Mary to the Princess Anne.

AVING fomething to fay to you, which I know will not be very pleafing, I chufe rather to write it firft, being unwilling to furprize you; though, I think, what I am going to tell you, fhould not, if you give yourself the Time to think, that never any body was fuffered to live at Court in my Lord Marlborough's Circumftances. I need not repeat the Cause he has given the King to do what he has done, nor his Unwillingness at all times to come to fuch Extremities, though People do deserve it.

I hope, you do me the Juftice to believe, it is as much against my Will, that I now tell you, that, after this, it is very unfit Lady Marlborough should stay with you, fince that gives her Hufband so just a Pretence of being where be ought

not.

I think, I might have expected you should have spoke to me of it. And the King and I, both believing it, made us ftay thus long. But feeing you was fo far from it, that you brought Lady Marlborough hither laft Night, makes us refolve to put it off no longer, but tell you, fhe muft not stay; and that I have all the Reason imaginable to look upon your bringing her, as the ftrangeft Thing that was ever done. Nor could all my Kindness for you (which is ever ready to turn all you do the best way, at any other time)