"Pleasure-ar-dancing-with you, eh?" muttered the Hon. George, giving a little quick nod between each word, and getting very red in the face. The young lady smiled a gracious assent, and saying, "I think they are forming a quadrille, shall we take our places?"-marched him off in triumph. Frank, are you provided, or can I do anything for you?" inquired Coleman. Who is that interesting looking girl, with dark hair?" asked I, in return. "What, the one with the white camelia in her head, leaning on the arm of that old fellow with a cast-iron face? -What a splendid pair of eyes she has got -I'll find out her name, and get you introduced," replied Coleman, disappearing in the crowd. In a minute or two he returned, and informed me the young lady's name was Saville."You've not made such a bad hit either," continued he; "they tell me she's to be a great heiress, and old Iron-sides, there, is her guardian. They say, he keeps her shut up so close that nobody can see her; he would hardly let her come to-night, only he's under some business obligations to my governor, and he persuaded him to bring her, in order to give me a chance, I suppose." What an expression of sadness there is in those deep blue eyes of her's; I am afraid she is not happy, Foor thing!" said I, half thinking aloud. Why, you're getting quite romantic about it!" returned Coleman; "for my part, I think she looks rather jolly than otherwise;-see how she is laughing with my cousin Lucy; by Jove, how her face lights up when she smiles-she's decidedly pretty. Well, will you be introduced-they are going to waltz." I signified my assent, and Coleman set off in search of his father, to perform the ceremony, not having courage enough himself to face "old Stiff-back," as he irrcverently termed the young lady's guardian. "I am sorry to refuse your young friend, Mr. Coleman," was the reply to my introduction; "but Miss Saville never waltzes." "If old Time had dealt as leniently by me, as he seems to have done by you, Coleman, I should consider myself young yet," replied Mr. Vernon; "I believe have spoken my ward's wishes upon this point; but, if it would be more satisfactory to your friend to hear her decision from her own lips, I can have no objection.Clara, my dear, this gentleman, Mr. Fairlegh, does the honour of wishing to waltz with you." you Thus accosted, Miss Saville raised her eyes to my face for a moment, and instantly casting them down again, coloured slightly, as she replied "If Mr. Fairlegh will excuse me, I had rather not waltz." I could, of course, only bow in acquiescence, and was turning away, when old Mr. Coleman stopped me with "There, wait a minute, Mr. Fairlegh; my little niece, Lucy Markham, will be only too glad to console you for your disappointment; she's never so happy as when she's waltzing." "If you are impertinent, uncle, I'll make you waltz with me till you're quite tired, by way of punishment!" replied his niece, as she accepted my proffered arm. During a pause in the waltz, I referred to the refusal just received, and asked my partner (a lively little brunette, with very white teeth, and a bewitching smile) whether her friend Miss Saville were not somewhat of a prude? "Poor dear Clara-a prude?-oh no!" was the reply. "You mean because she would not waltz, I suppose?" I bowed my head in assent, and she continued: "I gave you credit for more penetration, Mr. Fairlegh; did you not see it was all that horrible Mr. Vernon, her guardian-he chose her not to waltz; and she is too mach afraid of him to dare to do anything he does not approve he would hardly let her come here to-night, only uncle Coleman worried him into it." "She is exceedingly pretty," remarked I; "there is something peculiar in the expression of those beautiful blue eyes, which particularly pleases me; an earnest trustful look, which-you will laugh at what I am going to say--which I have never seen before, except in the eyes of a dog!" "Oh! I know so well what you mean," replied my partner, "I have observed it often, but I never should have known how to express it. What a good idea!" May I ask whether you are very intimate with her? Is she an old friend of your's?" 66 No, I never saw her till my uncle took this house; but Mr. Vernon sometimes brings her with him when he drives over on business, and she comes and sits with me, while they are puzzling over their parchments. I like her so much, she seems as agreeable, and good, as she is pretty." "How is it," asked I, "that my friend Freddy did not know her by sight, even?-he had to inquire her name this evening." "Why, Frederick is generally obliged to be in town, you know; and I have observed that, when he is down here, Mr. Vernon never brings her with him." "He had better make a nun of her at once," said I. Perhaps she won't be a nun !" said, or rather sang And here we joined the waltzers again, and the Lucy. conversation ended. THE PARIA. IT is not our intention in this article to discourse unfortunate condition every one is acquainted: we on the impure castes of the Hindoos, with whose have merely adopted the term " Paria," as descriptive of a class of persons common in society, who, because over-looked or despised by others, may fitly receive from us a few words of sympathy. We find it exceedingly difficult to express our meaning by a definition. We refer to those individuals, frequently met with, who, suffering under some disgrace of nature or fortune, seem to stand isolated in the midst of their fellows, to have no independent place in society, but to live 'only as accessaries to the happiness of others. But what we mean will probably become more apparent in the sequel. Some naturalists, with a devotion to science which calls for the admiration of all, have spent weeks, months, and even years, in watching the habits of certain animals, of whom it happens that the most insignificant are just those whose natural history it is the most difficult to fix. So is it with the Paria. The difficulty of gaining explicit information as to the habits of this part of our race, can only be known by the very few who have interested themselves in obtaining it. For our own part, we confess that a peculiar turn of mind has induced us, more than others, to notice individuals of this class. With the great, the rich, and the prosperous, we have only a moderate degree of sympathy. We delight to be conducted through the rooms of some princely mansion, and deep is the gratification which our taste derives from the works of art which they when in some humble cottage we discover a docontain; but our heart is far more strongly touched, mestic group gathered round their tea-table, the parents sitting composedly at each end, and the children mounted on high chairs at their side. We read, without any great emotion, the description which our newspaper gives us of the dresses worn at some fashionable ball, but we gaze with deep interest on the scanty and patched wardrobe of some poor family, which, for the purpose of being dried, the careful mother has hung on the bushes, or spread on the beach; nay, we have occasionally, with our own literary hands, picked up and replaced some stray garment which the wind had carried away and, when we have been in the office of some thriving man of business, our attention has wandered from the lordly sentences of the principal, or the lively prattle of the gentleman clerk, who, arrayed in gold chains and rings, was edifying us with his profound observations on the weather, to rest upon some pale-faced underling, stooping over a desk in a gloomy corner. This infirmity of ours we the less scruple to confess, because we think it is harmless, and has sometimes been useful to others, if not to ourselves. But to return. Sometimes, too, when enjoying a season of relaxation at country lodgings, you often hear a strange step on the stairs, and are wished "good morning" by a civil-looking gentleman who meets you at the door. You, at length, inquire of the servant who the unknown person is, and you are told that "it is Mr. B., a single gentleman who has lived for many years in a room upstairs." The only further information that you can elicit is that "he is a very nice sort of man.” Another, and indeed the principal, thing which distinguishes the Paria, is that he is no favourite of nature or fortune. There is nothing, generally speaking, for which the world punishes an ind vidual so severely as for those infirmities which he cannot possibly help. A man may become the talk of the neighbourhood for his irregularities, or crush his dependents by his covetousness and tyranny, but he will be still received in society with smiles, and find many eager candidates for his favour. But let him be the subject of some natural defect; let his nose be awry or his legs uneven, let him falter in his speech or have a hump on his back, or let his nerves have been shattered, (in labouring, it may be, for the welfare of his fellows,) so that he has become diffident and easily embar-* rassed, and we shall see the fairest lips distorted by a curl of contempt at his approach; and, where the infirmity is apparent, the very children in the street will jeer at him as he goes by. Hazlitt candidly declared that he hated sick people: and by whom is not poverty considered as a crime? Under some The first circumstance, then, that we shall adduce as distinguishing the Paria, is the mysteriousness of his habits and employments, the difficulty of tracing how he lives and what he does, what are his opinions, and what are his enjoyments. Though a Paria, male or female, may be found in almost every large family, you may often pay many visits to a house which contains one before becoming aware of his or her existence. On grand occasions, or on general gatherings of kindred, the Paria comes forth from his concealment, passes behind the others like a shadow, or lingers unnoticed, like a piece of furniture, in their midst, and then re-heavy calamity of this kind, then, the Paria has to turns to his accustomed hiding-place. You call on a friend to congratulate him on the birth of a child: you (perhaps prudently,) have delayed your visit till the nurse has been dismissed and you find the child in the custody of a respectable female whom you have not before seen. The parents, occupied with themselves and their infant, and quite absorbed in the interesting event, which, in their opinion, is all-important, can scarcely be got to tell you who the stranger is. "What! that lady!" the wife at length exclaims, "that is my sister. I thought you had seen her before." On a closer inspection you discover a likeness, but the features wear an expression of resignation and mildness, strikingly contrasting with the complacent self-satisfied aspect of the married dame. You enter into conversation with her, and on general topics she is well-informed and communicative, but as to herself you can obtain little intelligence. In what obscure retreat she had hitherto lived you cannot exactly learn; but in the course of conversation she mentions a Mrs. A., to whom she was paying a visit, when the birth of her sister's child drew her, as by a kind of magnetic attraction, to the spot where you found her. In further illustration, we give the following conversation with the brother of a Paria. "But pray, Mr. Smith, how is your brother?" "Oh, he is very well.” "Where is he now?" "He lives with us." "What does he employ himself about?" "He assists us a little." " But he must have much vacant time, what can he do with himself?" "I really don't know." "Is he not very lonely and unhappy?" "I really don't know." "Has he any associates?" "I don't know, indeed." And so the inquirer is obliged to give over his interrogation, and the history of the Paria remains as great a secret as before. bow; and often, with a heart overcharged with love to all, he has to bear the open insult or ill-suppressed derision of those whom he would put forth his utmost strength to serve. It is also a remarkable feature of the Paria's character, that, though, while able, he toils as much as his neighbours, it is with this difference, that he seldom labours for his own benefit. The Paria nurses or educates the children of others: he helps to build his neighbour's fortunes: and his very calamities turn out, in some way or other, to advance the welfare of other people. It must be observed, too, that the Paria is unmarried. The necessary consequence of the marriage of a Paria is the loss of caste. Even the union of two Parias is sufficient to deprive both of their distinctive character. "A single life," says Dr. Johnson, "has no comforts:" this, then, must be the life of the Paria. If into his cup of humiliation the pearl of marriage be melted, its bitterest ingredient, solitariness, will be neutralized: and whatever else he may become, he is no longer a Paria, for he is no longer alone. The Paria is distinguished by a peculiar fondness for the animal creation. If he can afford it, he has pets of his own; if not, he forms friendships with those of other people, or with wild animals. Like Sterne's negro girl, he flaps away the flies, but does not kill them: and sometimes, when in his walks he meets with a roaming suail, which, instead of stopping in some safe corner, will persist in carrying its spiral castle into the very middle of the path, and in directing its minute telescopes at the toes of the passer-by, he snatches it up, as a mother would a child in danger of being run over, and puts it out of harm's way. The Paria occasionally writes poetry, the most characteristic portions of which the world would declare to be maudlin. Should his poems when I receives but a meagre recompense; or of the victim printed find no purchasers, the Paria comforts him- of sickness, suffering in his chamber a lengthened self with the thought that some specimens may be agony, compared with which the toilsome campaign preserved in the inside of trunks; and that, per- and the hardships of travel are light things. Yes, haps, some disconsolate schoolboy, opening his box to success and greatness worship is eagerly paid; on the first day at a new school, or some solitary but how few are there who recognise the august traveller, unpacking his little wardrobe in a distant majesty of patient endurance land, may read some of his verses, and be encouraged by the voice of a companion in sorrow. O Sorrow! how do we shrink from the touch of thy skeleton fingers, and yet, perhaps, it is to some The ways of becoming a Paria are various. Some- pleasant resting-place that thou art desirous of times, the individual is born under some hereditary leading us. Thou hast the key of the soul's most reproach, which makes him a Paria from his very generous emotions: thou holdest the magic mirror birth; sometimes he is made so by some natural in which we see our moral features the most clearly infirmity; sometimes a whole family are made Pa- reflected: thou affordest a bond of union whereby rias for a time by the second marriage of their hearts are knit together almost as closely as by parent; and sometimes continued ill-health intro- love's golden fetters. Often art thou like the duces a person to this society. In the latter case, ocean-gale, beating roughly on the brow, and roarit is curious to observe how gradually the change ing in the ears of the wanderer, and yet carrying is brought about. A man occupying a tolerably health and vigour into every nerve of his frame. prominent station in life, is seized with a sudden The mysterious secrets of human nature, the knowillness. At first, his friends are frequent and ledge of others and of ourselves, the true appreciaanxious in their inquiries: instead of having lost tion of earth's cares and pleasures; these are thy ground in their affection by his malady, he appears lessons: humility, tender-heartedness, resignation, to have gained; for he is become an object of far self-denial, and a readiness to forgive; these are greater solicitude than before. But his illness con- thy proper fruits: a lively sympathy with the inues. To go on inquiring after a person's health meanest thing that breathes, an all-embracing chafor months, and even for years, seems to them ab-rity, and the hope of a final refuge in a better surd: the very lapse of time they think must have world; these are thy rewards! cured him; or, at all events, he ought to have died after a decent interval. The inquiries accordingly become less and less numerous, and at last cease altogether: his sympathizing friends are certain that he has got well, and wondering that he should still persist in leading an idle life, soon forget him amid their own pressing engagements. He has become a Paria. OLD RECORDS OF NEW ROADS. No. III. M. N. that most prudent Councillor of State, Lord Burleigh, built in the year 1588, when the Spanish Armada made saile upon the coast of England." WIMBLEDON Station is only five miles and three quarters from London by the railway, though nearly double The most gloomy moments of the Paria are those, that distance by the old road. To the right lies Wimblewhen he looks around on others who commenced don park, worthy on every account to be the observed of life at the same time with himself, and compares all observers, for there formerly stood "that goodly house their prosperity with his own misfortunes. The so beautifull for building, and so delectable for fair proswaves of life have borne the vessels of their for-pect, and which Sir Thomas Cecill, Knight, sonne to tunes on to fame, wealth, or comfort, while his bark remains stranded on the shore. A celebrated writer, who, for a short while, fancied himself in danger of becoming a Paria, has expressed these sentiments The splendour of this ancient manor-house is minutely in his Memoirs. "While so many of my acquaint-recorded in the tenth volume of the Archæologia, and, from ance," says Gibbon, "were married, or in parlia- the curious engravings which accompany the description ment, or advancing with a rapid step in the various of it, it certainly appears to have well deserved the praise roads of honour and fortune, I stood alone, im- of Fuller, who calls it "a daring structure, equal if not movable and insignificant." Hope, however, soon springs up in the bosom of the Paria who has well the ascent to the hall door was made by a succession of superior to Nonsuch." It stood on a rising ground, and learnt his lesson in the school of affliction, that he five courts or terraces, one above the other, to which may yet add his little aid to the advancement of the seventy steps gave entrance, they being distributed in a general happiness, and be permitted to bless, very graceful manner. Some of those "steppes" and all though he be, for a time, forbidden to enjoy. the balustrades were of freestone. But the pavement was of Flanders bricks, "the angles, window stanchives, and jammes were of ashled stone." But all the rest of the house was of "excellent brick," a material then more prized in England than stone, as the use of it only became general at the death of James I., at which time London was almost entirely built of wood. gallery on the ground floor, 108 feet long, was "pillored and arched" with grey stone or marble. The wainscot was varnished with green, and "spotted with starres of gold;" and "benched all along." But the ornament of this gallery which would seem most strange now, was a grotto in the middle of it, "wrought in the arch and sides thereof with sundry sorts of shells of great lustre, and ornaments;" also "fortie sights of seeing glass sett together in one frame, much adorning and setting forth Yet the Paria, despised though he may be, has peculiar claims on the respect and even applause of the philosophic mind. After having shared with the world the admiration excited by some act of daring heroism, or by a long series of successful exploits which coronets and wealth have rewarded; after having gazed wonderingly on the orator on whose lips a multitude has hung in breathless rapture; after having read of the hair-breadth escapes and bold enterprises of some persevering traveller whose steps thousands, in imagination, follow, we Would also think of the lowly individual, "Whose virtues walk their narrow round, Nor make a pause, nor leave a void,” The interior of this mansion was still more costly; one and who yet never hears the voice of praise, and the splendour of the roome.' In the hall the ceiling was of "fret or fancye work," ornamented with paintings; and the floors were of black and white marble. In this room was also "a fayre and rich paire of organs." Other parts of the house contained pictures, described as "landscapes of battayles, anticks, heaven and hell, and other curious works." One compleat room, called the " Den of Lyons," was painted all round with lions and leopards. Other apartments were designated as "The King's Chamber," "The Queen's Chamber," "The Duchess's Chamber," "The Countess of Denbigh's Chamber," "Lord Willoughby's Chamber," "The Summer Chamber," &c., but in the whole house I find but one chimney-piece mentioned, which stood in the middle of a gallery on the second floor, and was "very fayre and large, of black and whyte marble, engraved with coates of armes, adorned with severall curious and well-guilded statues of alabaster, with a foot-pace of black and whyte marble." This gallery was 109 feet long, floored with cedar-boards" casting a pleasant smell." The walls of another gallery were ornamented with several "compendious sentences," and another room was "particularly admired for a lytle window to looke into the greate kitchen." Why this particular prospect should have been thus preferred, seems the more strange, as there were several gardens, consisting of "Mazes," Wildernesses," "Knots," "Allies," &c." There was a fine orangerie, and, "furthermore, a way cut out of the parke, planted on each side thereof with elms and other trees, in a very decent order, extending itself in a direct line, from thence quite through the park, northward, into Putney Common, being a very special ornament to the whole house." And a strange witchery it was which seems to have cast a spell over that old manor house, making its history an epigram of that of its successive owners. Brief as brilliant, its splendour essentially contributed to the renown of the times in which it shone, whilst its shortlived glories terminated, like the titles of its possessors, by passing into families aliens to the first founders of its honours. (1628)-in that very year, the last of Buckingham's meteoric life, nearly the whole of the mansion was burnt to the ground, by the accidental blowing up of some gunpowder mills in the neighbourhood. Yet it was soon rebuilt by its then owner, Viscount Wimbledon, with increased splendour, for we are told that on its renovation the outside was painted in fresco by Sir Tho mas Cheyne, and, when it passed from his heirs to the possession of Charles, it was included in the inventory of his "jewels and pictures." Such being the case, it is scarcely matter of surprise that this princely residence should have attracted the cupidity of that government which professed to be estab lished on the ruins of the aristocracy. It was minutely surveyed and valued, by Commissions (1649) appointed by Parliament, and the result of this tyrannical infringe ment on private property by republican usurpers was, that the manor and its gorgeous palace was bestowed on the regicide, General Lambert. This occurred in the same year that Charles was be headed. That unfortunate monarch, blind to his impending fate, only a few days before his trial, ordered the seeds of some Spanish melons to be sown in his garden of Wimbledon." That royal garden, fated so soon to pass into the hands of his bitterest foe !—and is it not a strange coincidence that Lambert (according to Coke,) "after he had been discarded by Cromwell betook himself to Wimbledon-House, where he turned florist, and had the finest tulips that could be had for love or money?" But the rede of Wimbledon was not yet read. It had been the appanage of queens, and at the return of Charles II. it was restored to his consort. But, as the crown of England was fated to rest on many heads of different families, so did this manor pass to many suc cessive owners. At last it was purchased by Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, who gave it to her grandson, John Spencer, Esq., ancestor to the present Earl Spencer. Again the palace was burnt down to the ground, but its splendour was never to be renewed. The ruins were cleared, and the ground levelled, so as not to leave a trace of its foundation; whilst such of the offices as remained were converted into a portion of the present mansion. It is worthy of remark that WimbledonHouse in Southwark was also burnt down and never rebuilt. The first remarkable person who was owner of Wimbledon, was Thomas Cranmer, and as both rose from comparatively small beginnings, so both perished by fire. For, after the obscure student of Cambridge, who, from solicitude about his health, used to change his position and his room every half-hour-after this man had risen to the highest pinnacle of fortune, and, as arch- Mr. Lysons asserts, that the first-justly called the bishop and ambassador, had not only performed the great-Lord Burleigh, had a grant of lands at Wimmarriage ceremony of one king, and the coronation of bledon, the patent for which is dated so early as the another, but had likewise, during the minority of Ed-reign of Edward VI.; and that on these lands "stood ward VI., acted as co-regent of the kingdom-this man, who, at different times, showed the greatest weakness, and the greatest fortitude, finally perished at the stake. Before, however, Cranmer had reached the apex of his fortune, he exchanged, for other lands," the Grange or Farm of Wimbledon, with the Manor of Mortlake," with Henry VIII., who granted it to Thomas, Lord Cromwell, Earl of Essex, whom Camden emphatically calls "one of the flouting stocks of fortune." After his attainder, it was settled on Queen Catherine Parr for her life; Queen Mary gave it to Cardinal Pole; and Queen Elizabeth bestowed it, first on Sir Christopher Hatton, and afterwards on Sir Thomas Cecil, Earl of Exeter, in exchange for an estate in Lincolnshire. He left Wimbledon to his third son, Sir Edward Cecil, created Viscount Wimbledon and Baron Putney, and on his death his heirs sold it again to the Crown, and Charles I., settled it as (in part) dowry on his queen Henrietta Maria. Meantime the splendid Manor-House of Wimbledon had experienced similar fortunes to those of its various owners, or rather its fate seemed ominous of theirs--for it chanced that, in the very year when the doomed Charles, intoxicated with recent power, threw the torch of discord over the land, and, under the councils of Buckingham, fanned rebellion into a flame, a mansion, in which he frequently resided, for some of his letters, as Sir William Cecil, Secretary of State, are dated from Wimbledon (1599); and, as Lord Burleigh, he entertained Queen Elizabeth at his house of Wimbledon for three days." It is certainly presumptuous in me to differ from such an authority as Mr. Lysons. But the letter, written by Lord Burleigh himself, in vindication of the charge of extravagance, made by his political enemies, and more especially that of his numerous houses, affords at least negative proof that Wimbledon was not one of them, as in it that house is not mentioned. In this letterspeaking first of Theobalds-he says, "which was begun | by me with a mean measure, but increased by reason of her Majesty's often coming, whom to please I never would omit to strain myself to more charges than is that of my building; and yet, without some special directions of her Majesty, upon fault found with the small measure of her chamber, which was in good measure for me, I was forced to enlarge a room for a larger chamber, which need not be envied of any for riches in it, more than the show of old oaks, and such trees, with painted leaves of fruit. For my house in Westminster, I think it so old as it should not stir any, many having of later times built larger by far, both in city and country. My house of Burghley is of my mother's inheritance, who liveth, and is the owner 169 thereof; and for the building these I have set my walls | adopted till a considerable time afterwards. Our modern on the old foundation. Indeed, I have made the rough diners-out would not willingly dispense with any of stone walls to be of square; and yet one side remaineth these luxuries. as my father left it." The only other residence which it is ascertained that Lord Burleigh possessed, were his "lodgings at Court," probably an office appended to his employments there; but in all, the arrangements of his household were equally regular and magnificent. In his house in the Strand (or, as he calls it, Westminster) he had eighty people in his family, exclusive of those who attended him at Court, and there his expenses were 30l. a week in his absence, and between 40l. and 50%. when there himself. At Theobalds his expense was the same; but there he allotted 10l. a week for the employment of the poor in his gardens, and the expenses of his stables were a thousand marks a year. He kept a standing table for gentlemen, and two others for persons of meaner condition, which were always served alike, whether he were in town or country. About his person he had people of distinction, insomuch that he could reckon twenty gentlemen retainers, who had each 1,000l. a-year, and as many amongst his ordinary servants who were worth from 1,000l. to 20,000l. a piece. His charities were on a not less munificent scale, and in these he was fully seconded by his amiable wife. She was a daughter of Sir Anthony Cook, and proved the faithful companion of her husband in all his fortunes, from their first rise in the reign of Henry VIII., till their completion in that of Elizabeth. Nor was her learning -especially in Greek-less than her benevolence;-four times in every year she relieved all the poor prisoners for debt in London. She maintained for many years two scholars at St. John's College, Cambridge, and before her death perpetuated this charity by a grant of lands. She likewise gave to the Company of Haberdashers, in London, a sum to enable them to lend to six poor men 201. a piece, and a similar charity of 20 marks to six poor people at Waltham and Cheshunt in Hertfordshire, besides other acts of kindness, that fully entitle her to the praises so lavishly bestowed on her memory by different writers. Nor was Lord Burleigh's private character less estimable, however his public conduct may have subjected him to reproach. Certain it is that his loyalty and devotion to Elizabeth were unbounded, and her esteem for him was equally so. Whether Wimbledon manorhouse was the scene of any of her Majesty's visits or not, it is certain that she frequently conferred that distinguished honour on Lord Burleigh, remaining four or five weeks at a time, at a cost to her loving subject that averaged between 2,000l. and 3,000l. each visit; and these visits were repeated twelve times. Of these royal feasts it is scarcely possible to form any idea at the present day, as neither the style of the entertainment, nor the etiquette on these grand occasions, can easily be paralleled in modern times, for no one spoke to her Majesty without kneeling, and wherever she turned her eyes, every one fell on their knees. Her table was covered and served by noblemen, who neither approached, nor retired from it, without kneeling, and two of her ladies tasted every dish before presenting them to her, and then carried them to her, and offered them on their knees to her Majesty, where she sat apart on a dais, or throne. In those days the Court, and upper classes, dined at noon, and supped at five or six o'clock in the evening. Silver plate was then both general and profuse-that left by Lord Burleigh, at his death, was valued at 42,000l. sterling; whilst, on the other hand, the use of knives was so little understood, that they were suspended from ladies' girdles with their purses, as ornaments of dress, in the beginning of the 16th century, and first used at table towards the end of Elizabeth's reign. Potatoes were not used till the second year of her successor, and forks were first brought from Italy in the seventh year of James (1610), though not generally The quantities of meat, and other viands, provided, during these visits of Elizabeth, for her Majesty's use, almost surpass belief. But some idea of the extravagant expenditure may be formed from the supplies for her household, provided by the laws of purveyance, which imposed such intolerable burthens on the different counties of England, that at last she made a compromise, or agreement, with her subjects, settling the proportion each county should "yearly serve," in oxen, calves, &c. The amount for only one parish in Middlesex was thus rated :—“ 200 quarters wheat, 140 veals, 20 dozen geese, 10 dozen coarse capons, 20 dozen hens, 20 dozen pullets, 40 dozen chickens, 202 loads of hay, 180 loads of litter, 211 quarters and 2 bushels oats, and 200 loads of wood." The expenses of her Majesty's household amounted, at the end of her reign, to the sum of 55,000l. annually. Her But feasting and good cheer were not the only amusements provided for the royal guest on these expensive visits to her subjects. It was customary to present the most costly gifts to Elizabeth, as well as to provide the different amusements in which she delighted. taste for theatrical exhibitions was such, that at Windsor Castle she had a private stage erected for the performance of plays, chiefly those of the immortal Shakspeare; and it is scarcely probable that similar entertainments should not have been equally at her command elsewhere. Chess was also in vogue at Court; and Shakspeare introduces that game in the Tempest. Elizabeth also made a present of a gold chess-queen to one of her courtiers. She was fond of music, and played on the virginals, but dancing appears to have been her favourite diversion, and Sir Christopher Hatton (Lord Burleigh's predecessor) owed much of her favour to his skill in that accomplishment, which gained for him the appellation of the Dancing Chancellor. There is a curious picture still extant, representing "Lord Burleigh" playing at cards with three other persons, apparently of distinction, each having two rings on the same fingers of both their hands. The cards are marked, as at present, but are longer and narrower than modern cards. Eight of these lie on the table, with the blank sides uppermost, whilst four remain in the hand of each player, and heaps of gold and silver coin lie on the table. This picture originally belonged to the great and good Lord Falkland, and was painted by Zuccaro, who also took a likeness of Elizabeth. As the first Lord Burleigh is said to have entirely devoted his time to business and study, taking no diversion but that afforded by his gardens, of which he was both fond and proud, it is to be supposed that this painting was not his portrait, though mistaken for his, as was the ownership of the old manor-house of Wimbledon. And there lics Wimbledon Common! how well do I remember, when a child, looking with awe and wonder at the working of the first huge shapeless telegraph erected there. And there, too, stood the gibbet, on which hung in chains the skeleton of the noted highwayman Abershawe-a spectacle more apalling to the innocence of childhood, than to the seared consciences of his own fraternity; for, at the period I allude to (some fifty years ago), highway robberies were so common in that neighbourhood, that I unconsciously wit nessed, from a drawing-room window, one committed on Lord Onslow, whose carriage was stopped at 11 o'clock in the day by two highwaymen on horseback, in sight of the house I was in, and within call of several labourers who were at work in an adjoining field, and who, like me, believed it impossible to be a robbery at such an hour, and thought, as I did, that the young man in the red jacket, who was at the window of the chariot, was the postboy with Lord Onslow's letters. The highwaymen owed their safety to their hardihood, |