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" Pleasure-ar-dancing--with you, eh?" muttered | “She is exceedingly pretty," remarked I; "there is the Hon. George, giving a little quick nod between each something peculiar in the expression of those beautiful word, and getting very red in the face.

blue eyes, which particularly pleases me; an carnest The young lady smiled a gracious assent, and saying, trustful look, which you will laugh at what I am going "I think they are forming a quadrille,—shall we take to say--which I have never seen before, except in the our places!"-marched him off in triumph.

eyes of a doc!” " Frank, are you provided, or can I do anything for “Oh! I know so well what you mean," replied my you ?" inquired Coleman.

partner, “ I have observed it often, but I never should * Who is that interesting looking girl, with dark have known how to express it. What a good idea !” hair?" asked I, in return.

May I ask whether you are very intimate with her? "What, the one with the white camelia in her head, lean- | Is she an old friend of your's ?” ing on the arm of that old fellow with a cast-iron face? “No, I never saw her till my uncle took this house ; - What a splendid pair of eyes she has got !--I'll find but Mr. Vernon sometimes brings her with him when out her name, and get you introduced,” replied Cole he drives over on business, and she comes and sits with man, disappearing in the crowd. In a minute or two me, while they are puzzling over their parchments. I he returned, and informed me the young lady's name like her so much, she seems as agreeable, and good, as was Saville. “ You've not made such a bad hit either," she is pretty." continued he; “they tell me she's to be a great heiress, L“ How is it,” asked I, “that my friend Freddy did and old Iron-sides, there, is her guardian. They say, not know her by sight, even?-he had to inquire her he keeps her shut up so close that nobody can see her ; name this evening."

he would hardly let her come to-night, only he's under “Why, Frederick is generally obliged to be in town, 1 some business obligations to my governor, and he per- you know; and I have observed that, when he is down

suaded him to bring her, in order to give me a chance, here, Mr. Vernon never brings her with him." I suppose."

“ He had better make a nun of her at once," said I. "What an expression of sadness there is in those “ Perhaps she won't be a nun !" said, or rather sang deep blue eyes of hers; I am afraid she is not happy, Lucy. And here we joined the waltzers again, and the foor thing !” said I, half thinking aloud.

conversation ended. "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 ber face lights up when

THE PARIA. she smiles-she's decidedly pretty. Well, will you be It is not our intention in this article to discourse introduced ?—they are going to waltz.” I signified my assent, and Coleman set off in search

on the impure castes of the Hindoos, with whose of his father, to perform the ceremony, not having cou

unfortunate condition every one is acquainted: we rage enough himself to face “old Stiff-back," as he irre- have merely adopted the term “ Paria,” as descripverently termed the young lady's guardian.

| tive of a class of persons common in society, who, “I am sorry to refuse your young friend, Mr. Cole

| because over-looked or despised by others, may man," was the reply to my introduction ; “but Miss Saville never waltzes."

fitly receive from us a few words of sympathy. “Come, don't be crabbed, Vernon ; young people We find it exceedingly difficult to express our ought to enjoy themselves; recollect, we were young meaning by a definition. We refer to those indiviourselves once !" "If old Time had dealt as leniently by me, as he

duals, frequently met with, who, suffering under seems to have done by you, Coleman, I should consider

some disgrace of nature or fortune, seem to stand myself young yet,” replied Mr. Vernon; “I believe I

isolated in the midst of their fellows, to have no have spoken my ward's wishes upon this point; but, if it / independent place in society, but to live 'only as would be more satisfactory to your friend to hear her accessaries to the happiness of others. But what decision from her own lips, I can have no objection.Clara, my dear, this gentleman, Mr. Fairleyh, does you

we mean will probably become more apparent in the honour of wishing to waltz with you.”

the sequel. Thus accosted, Miss Saville raised her eyes to my face Some naturalists, with a devotion to science for a moment, and instantly casting them down again, which calls for the admiration of all, have spent coloured slightly, as she replied—“If Mr. Fairlegh will weeks, months, and even years, in watching the excuse me, I had rather not waltz.”

habits of certain animals, of whom it happens that I could, of course, only bow in acquiescence, and the most insignificant are just those whose natural Fis turning away, when old Mr. Coleman stopped history it is the most difficult to fix. So is me with --" There, wait a minute, Mr. Fairlegh; my I the Paria. The difficulty of gaining explicit inforlittle niece, Lucy Markham, will be only too glad to

mation as to the habits of this part of our race, console you for your disappointment; she's never so happy as when she’s waltzing."

can only be known by the very few who have in.."If you are impertinent, uncle, I'll make you waltz

terested themselves in obtaining it. with me till you're quite tired, by way of punishinent!"

For our own part, we confess that a peculiar Teplied his niece, as she accepted my proffered arm.

turn of mind has induced us, more than others, to . During a pause in the waltz, I referred to the refusal notice individuals of this class. With the great, Jast received, and asked my partnera lively little brunette, the rich, and the prosperous, we have only a mo

with very white teeth, and a bewitching smile) whether derate degree of sympathy. We delight to be Ti her friend Miss Saville were not somewhatļof a prude? conducted through the rooms of some princely

"Poor dear Clara--a prude?-oh no!” was the reply. mansion, and deep is the gratification which our "You mean because she would not waltz, I suppose ?"

taste derives from the works of art which they I bowed my head in assent, and she continued :

contain; but our heart is far more strongly touched, "I gave you credit for more penetration, Mr. Fairlegh; did you not see it was all that horrible Mr. Vernon, her

when in some humble cottage we discover a doguardian?-he chose her not to waltz; and she is too

mestic group gathered round their tea-table, the much afraid of him to dare to do anything he does not

parents sitting composedly at each end, and the approve ;– he would hardly let her come here to-night,

children mounted on high chairs at their side. We only uncle Coleman worried him into it."

read, without any great emotion, the description

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which our newspaper gives us of the dresses worn' Sometimes, too, when enjoying a season of reat some fashionable ball, but we gaze with deep in- | laxation at country lodgings, you often hear a terest on the scanty and patched wardrobe of some strange step on the stairs, and are wished “ good poor family, which, for the purpose of being dried, morning" by a civil-looking gentleman who meets the careful mother has hung on the bushes, or you at the door. You, at length, inquire of the spread on the beach; nay, we have occasionally, servant who the unknown person is, and you are with our own literary hands, picked up and re- told that “it is Mr. B., a single gentleman who has placed some stray garmeut which the wind had lived for many years in a room upstairs." The carried away: and, when we have been in the only further information that you can elicit is that office of some thriving man of business, our atten- “ he is a very nice sort of man." tion has wandered from the lordly sentences of the Another, and indeed the principal, thing which principal, or the lively prattle of the gentleman distinguishes the Paria, is that he is no favourite of clerk, who, arrayed in gold chains and rings, was nature or fortune. There is nothing, generally edifying us with his profound observations on the speaking, for which the world punishes an inds weather, to rest upon some pale-faced underling, vidual so severely as for those infirmities which be stooping over a desk in a gloomy corner. This cannot possibly help. A man may become the infirmity of ours we the less scruple to confess, talk of the neighbourhood for his irregularities, or because we think it is harmless, and has sometimes crush his dependents by his covetousness and been useful to others, if not to ourselves. But to tyranny, but he will be still received in society wib return.

smiles, and find many eager candidates for bis The first circumstance, then, that we shall ad favour. But let him be the subject of some natural duce as distinguishing the Paria, is the mysterious defect; let bis nose be awry or his legs uneven, let ness of his habits and employments, the difficulty him falter in his speech or have a hump on his back, of tracing how he lives and what he does, what are or let his nerves have been shattered, (in labourhis opinions, and what are his enjoyments. Though ing, it may be, for the welfare of his fellows,) so a Paria, male or female, may be found in almost that he has become diffident and easily embarevery large family, you may often pay many visits rassed, and we shall see the fairest lips distorted by to a house which contains one before becoming a curl of contempt at his approach ; and, where the aware of his or her existence. On grand occasions, infirmity is apparent, the very children in the stree: or on general gatherings of kindred, the Paria will jeer at him as he goes by. Hazlitt candidly comes forth from his concealment, passes behind declared that he hated sick people : and by whom the others like a shadow, or lingers unnoticed, like is not poverty considered as a crime? Under some 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.

bow; and often, with a heart overcharged with love You call on a friend to congratulate him on the to all, he has to bear the open insult or ill-supbirth of a child: you (perhaps prudently,) have pressed derision of those whom he would put forth delayed your visit till the nurse has been dis- his utmost strength to serve. missed : and you find the child in the custody of all It is also a remarkable feature of the Paria's charespectable female whom you have not before racter, that, though, while able, he toils as much as seen. The parents, occupied with themselves and his neighbours, it is with this difference, that he their infant, and quite absorbed in the interesting seldom labours for his own benefit. The Paria event, which, in their opinion, is all-important, can nurses or educates the children of others: he helps scarcely be got to tell you who the stranger is. to build his neighbour's fortunes : and his very “ What! that lady!” the wife at length exclaims, calamities turn out, in some way or other, to ad“that is my sister. I thought you had seen her vance the welfare of other people. before.” On a closer inspection you discover all It must be observed, too, that the Paria is unlikeness, but the features wear an expression of married. The necessary consequence of the marresignation and mildness, strikingly contrasting riage of a Paria is the loss of caste. Even the with the complacent self-satisfied aspect of the union of two Parias is sufficient to deprive both of married dame. You enter into conversation with their distinctive character. “A single life," says her, and on general topics she is well-informed and | Dr. Johnson, “has no comforts:" this, then, must communicative, but as to herself you can obtain be the life of the Paria. If into his cup of humilialittle intelligence. In what obscure retreat she had | tion the pearl of marriage be melted, its bitterest hitherto lived you cannot exactly learn; but in the ingredient, solitariness, will be neutralized: and course of conversation she mentions a Mrs. A.., to whatever else he may become, he is no longer å whom she was paying a visit, when the birth of Paria, for he is no longer alone. her sister's child drew her, as by a kind of magnetic The Paria is distinguished by a peculiar fondness attraction, to the spot where you found her. for the animal creation. If he can afford it, he

In further illustration, we give the following has pets of his own; if not, he forms friendships conversation with the brother of a Paria. “But with those of other people, or with wild animals. pray, Mr. Smith, how is your brother?" “Oh, he Like Sterne's negro girl, he flaps away the flies, is very well." "Where is he now?” “He lives but does not kill them: and sometimes, when in with us.” “ What does he employ himself about?" bis walks he meets with a roaming snail, which, “ He assists us a little." “ But lie must have much instead of stopping in some safe corner, will persist vacant time, what can he do with himself?" "Il in carrying its spiral castle into the very middle of really don't know.” “Is he not very lonely and the path, and in directing its minute telescopes at unhappy?” “I really don't know.” “Has he anythie toes of the passer-by, he snatches it up, as a associates ?” “I don't know, indeed.” And so the mother would a child in danger of being run over, inquirer is obliged to give over his interrogation, and puts it out of harm's way. and the history of the Paria remains as great a The Paria occasionally writes poetry, the most secret as before.

| characteristic portions of which the world would

declare to be maudlin. Should his poems when 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, laps, 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 lard, may read some of his verses, and be encou O Sorrow! how do we shrink from the touch of raged by the voice of a companion in sorrow. 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 . 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 intirmity; sometimes a whole family are made Pa retlected: thou ailordest 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. Ofien 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 knowilmness. 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

M. N. arer a decent interval. The inquiries accordingly become less and less numerous, and at last cease altogether: his sympathizing friends are certain

OLD RECORDS OF NEW ROADS. that he has got well, and wondering that he should

No. III. sull persist in leading an idle life, soon forget him amid their own pressing engagements. He has

WIMBLEDON station is only five miles and three quarbecome a Paria.

ters 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 hite 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 that most prudent Councillor of State, Lord Burleigh, remains stranded on the shore. A celebrated writer, | built in the year 1588, when the Spanish Armada made Tio, for a short while, fancied himself in danger of saile upon the coast of England." 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 parliament, or advancing with a rapid step in the various

the curious engravings which accompany the description Foads of honour and fortune, I stood alone, im

of it, it certainly appears to have well deserved the praise morable and insignificant.” Hope, however, soon

of Fuller, who calls it “a daring structure, equal if not

superior to Nonsuch.” It stood on a rising ground, and springs up in the bosom of the Paria who has well

the ascent to the hall door was made by a succession of 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 Ireneral 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

Yet the Paria, despised though he may be, has of Flanders bricks,“ the angles, window stanchives, and peculiar claims on the respect and even applause of jammes were of ashled stone.” But all the rest of the the philosophic mind. After having shared with house was of “ excellent brick," a material then more the world the admiration excited by some act of prized in England than stone, as the use of it only becaring heroisın, or by a long series of successful came general at the death of James I., at which time exploits which coronets and wealth have rewarded; i

lod.! London was almost entirely built of wood. after having gazed wonderingly on the orator on

1 The interior of this mansion was still more costly; one whose lips a multitude has hung in breathless rap- and arched" with grey stone or marble. The wainscot

| gallery on the ground floor, 108 feet long, was “ pillored · ture; after having read of the hair-breadth escapes | was varnished with green, and “ spotted with starres of : and bold enterprises of some persevering traveller

| gold;" and “benched all along." But the ornament of Whose steps thousands, in imagination, follow, we this gallery which would seem most strange now, was a ould also think of the lowly individual,

grotto in the middle of it, “wrought in the arch and "Whose virtles walk their narrow round,

sides thereof with sundry sorts of shells of great lustre,

and ornaments;" also“ fortie sights of seeing glass sett Nor make a pause, nor leave a void,"

together in one frame, much adorning and setting forth 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,” | (1628)-in that very year, the last of Buckingham ornamented with paintings; and the floors were of black meteoric life, nearly the whole of the mansion was burnt and white marble. In this room was also “a fayre and to the ground, by the accidental blowing up of some rich paire of organs." Other parts of the house con- gunpowder mills in the neighbourhood. Yet it has tained pictures, described as “landscapes of battayles, soon rebuilt by its then owner, Viscount Wimbledon, anticks, heaven and hell, and other curious works.” One with increased splendour, for we are told that on its ré compleat room, called the “ Den of Lyons," was paintednovation the outside was painted in fresco by Sir Thoall round with lions and leopards. Other apartments mas Cheyne, and, when it passed from his heirs to the were designated as “ The King's Chamber," “ The possession of Charles, it was included in the inventory Queen's Chamber," “ The Duchess's Chamber," "The of his "jewels and pictures." Countess of Denbigl's Chamber," “ Lord Willoughby's! Such being the case, it is scarcely matter of surprise Chamber,” “ The Summer Chamber,” &c., but in the that this princely residence should have attracted the whole house I find but one chimney-piece mentioned, cupidity of that government which professed to be estab which stood in the middle of a gallery on the second lished on the ruins of the aristocracy. It was minutely floor, and was “very fayre and large, of black and surveyed and valued, by Commissions (1649) appointed whyte marble, engraved with coates of armes, adorned by Parliament, and the result of this tyrannical infringe with severall curious and well-guilded statues of alabaster, ment on private property by republican usurpers was, that with a foot-pace of black and whyte marble.” This gal- | the manor and its gorgeous palace was bestowed on the lery was 109 feet long, floored with cedar-boards “ cast. regicide, General Lambert. ing a pleasant smell.” The walls of another gallery were This occurred in the same year that Charles was beornamented with several “compendious sentences," and headed. That unfortunate monarch, blind to his imanother room was “particularly admired for a lytle win-pending fate, only a few days before his trial, ordered dow to looke into the greate kitchen." Why this parti- the seeds of some Spanish melons to be sown“ in his cular prospect should have been thus preferred, seems garden of Wimbledon.” That royal garden, fated so the more strange, as there were several gardens, consisting soon to pass into the hands of his bitterest foe !-and is of “Mazes," “ Wildernesses,” “Knots," “ Allies,” &c.” | it not a strange coincidence that Lambert (according to There was a fine orangerie, and, “furthermore, a way cut Coke,)“after he had been discarded by Cromwell betook out of the parke, planted on each side thereof with elms himself to Wimbledon-House, where he turned florist, and other trees, in a very decent order, extending itself and had the finest tulips that could be had for love or in a direct line, from thence quite through the park, money ?" northward, into Putney Common, being a very special | | But the rede of Wimbledon was not yet read. It had ornament to the whole house."

been the appanage of queens, and at the return of And a strange witchery it was which seems to have Charles II. it was restored to his consort. But, as the cast a spell over that old manor house, making its his crown of England was fated to rest on many beads of tory an epigram of that of its successive owners. Brief different families, so did this manor pass to many suc as brilliant, its splendour essentially contributed to the cessive owners. At last it was purchased by Sarah, renown of the times in which it shone, whilst its short- Duchess of Marlborough, who gave it to her grandson, lived glories terminated, like the titles of its possessors, John Spencer, Esq., ancestor to the present Earl Spencer. by passing into families aliens to the first founders of Again the palace was burnt down to the ground, but its its honours.

| splendour was never to be renewed. The ruins were The first remarkable person who was owner of Wim- cleared, and the ground levelled, so as not to leave s bledon, was Thomas Cranmer, and as both rose from trace of its foundation ; whilst such of the offices as te comparatively small beginnings, so both perished by mained were converted into a portion of the present fire. For, after the obscure student of Cambridge, who, mansion. It is worthy of remark that Wimbledonfrom solicitude about his health, used to change his po- House in Southwark was also burnt down and never sition and his room every half-hour-after this man had rebuilt. risen to the highest pinnacle of fortune, and, as arch-1 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, a mansion, in which he frequently resided, for some who, at different times, showed the greatest weak- of his letters, as Sir William Cecil, Secretary of State, ness, and the greatest fortitude, finally perished at the are dated from Wimbledon (1599); and, as Lord Bur: stake.

| leigh, he entertained Queen Elizabeth at his house of Before, however, Cranmer had reached the apex of his Wimbledon for threc days." fortune, he exchanged, for other lands. “ the Grange or ! It is certainly presumptuous in me to differ from such Farm of Wimbledon, with the Manor of Mortlake," with an authority as Mr. Lysons. But the letter, written by Henry VIII., who granted it to Thomas, Lord Cromwell, Lord Burleigh himself, in vindication of the charge of Earl of Essex, whom Camden emphatically calls “one of extravagance, made by his political enemies, and more the flouting stocks of fortune.” After his attainder, it especially that of his numerous houses, affords at least was settled on Queen Catherine Parr for her life ; negative proof that Wimbledon was not one of them, Queen Mary gave it to Cardinal Pole ; and Queen Eliza- as in it that house is not mentioned. In this letterbeth bestowed it, first on Sir Christopher Hatton, and speaking first of Theobalds-he says, “which was begun afterwards on Sir Thomas Cecil, Earl of Exeter, in ex- | by me with a mean measure, but increased by reason of change for an estate in Lincolnshire.

her Majesty's often coming, whom to please I never He left Wimbledon to his third son, Sir Edward Cecil, | would omit to strain myself to more charges than is created Viscount Wimbledon and Baron Putney, and on that of my building; and yet, without some special his death his heirs sold it again to the Crown, and directions of her Majesty, upon fault found with the Charles I., settled it as (in part) dowry on his queen small measure of her chamber, which was in good meaHenrietta Maria.

sure for me, I was forced to enlarge a room for & Meantime the splendid Manor-House of Wimbledon larger chamber, which need not be envied of any for had experienced similar fortunes to those of its various riches in it, more than the show of old oaks, and such owners, or rather its fate seemed ominous of theirs--for trees, with painted leaves of fruit. For my house in it chanced that, in the very year when the doomed | Westminster, I think it so old as it should not stir Charles, intoxicated with recent power, threw the any, many having of later times built larger by far, torch of discord over the land, and, under the councils both in city and country. My house of Burghley is on of Buckingham, fanned rebellion into a flame,- | my mother's inheritance, who liveth, and is the owner


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 quantities of meat, and other viands, provided, The only other residence which it is ascertained that during these visits of Elizabeth, for her Majesty's use, Lord Burleigh possessed, were his “lodgings at Court,” almost surpass belief. But some idea of the extravaprobably an office appended to his employments there; gant expenditure may be formed from the supplies for but in all, the arrangements of his household were her household, provided by the laws of purveyance, equally regular and magnificent. In his house in the which imposed such intolerable burthens on the diffeStrand (or, as he calls it, Westminster) he had eighty rent counties of England, that at last she made a compeople in his family, exclusive of those who attended | promise, or agreement, with her subjects, settling the him at Court, and there his expenses were 301. a week proportion each county should “yearly serve," in oxen, in his absence, and between 401. and 501. when there calves, &c. The amount for only one parish in Midhimself. At Theobalds his expense was the same; but dlesex was thus rated :-“ 200 quarters wheat, 140 veals, there he allotted 101. a week for the employment of the 20 dozen geese, 10 dozen coarse capons, 20 dozen poor in his gardens, and the expenses of his stables hens, 20 dozen pullets, 40 dozen chickens, 202 loads of were a thousand marks a year. He kept a standing hay, 180 loads of litter, 211 quarters and 2 bushels oats, table for gentlemen, and two others for persons of and 200 loads of wood.” The expenses of her Majesty's meaner condition, which were always served alike, household amounted, at the end of her reign, to the whether he were in town or country. About his person sum of 55,0001. annually. he had people of distinction, insomuch that he could | But feasting and good cheer were not the only amusereckon twenty gentlemen retainers, who had each 1,0001.ments provided for the royal guest on these expensive 4-year, and as many amongst his ordinary servants who visits to her subjects. It was customary to present the were worth from 1,0001. to 20,0001. a piece. His chari- | | most costly gifts to Elizabeth, as well as to provide the ties were on a not less munificent scale, and in these different amusements in which she delighted. Her he was fully seconded by his amiable wife. She was a | taste for theatrical exhibitions was such, that at Windsor daughter of Sir Anthony Cook, and proved the faithful | Castle she had a private stage erected for the performcompanion of her husband in all his fortunes, from ance of plays, chiefly those of the immortal Shakspeare; their first rise in the reign of Henry VIII., till their and it is scarcely probable that similar entertainments completion in that of Elizabeth. Nor was her learning should not have been equally at her command elsewhere. -especially in Greek-less than her benevolence ;--four Chess was also in vogue at Court; and Shakspeare times in every year she relieved all the poor prisoners for introduces that game in the Tempest. Elizabeth also debt in London. She maintained for many years two made a present of a gold chess-queen to one of her scholars at St. John's College, Cambridge, and before courtiers. She was fond of music, and played on the her death perpetuated this charity by a grant of lands. virginals, but dancing appears to have been her favourite She likewise gave to the Company of Haberdashers, in diversion, and Sir Christopher Hatton (Lord Burleigh's London, a sum to enable them to lend to six poor men predecessor) owed much of her favour to his skill in 201. a piece, and a similar charity of 20 marks to six that accomplishment, which gained for him the appellapoor people at Waltham and Cheshunt in Hertford-tion of the Dancing Chancellor. shire, besides other acts of kindness, that fully entitle. There is a curious picture still extant, representing her to the praises so lavishly bestowed on her memory“ Lord Burleigh" playing at cards with three other by different writers.

persons, apparently of distinction, each having two or was Lord Burleigh's private character less esti- rings on the same fingers of both their hands. The inable, however his public conduct may have subjected cards are marked, as at present, but arc longer and bim to reproach. Certain it is that his loyalty and narrower than modern cards. Eight of these lie on devotion to Elizabeth were unbounded, and her esteem the table, with the blank sides uppermost, whilst four

for him was equally so. Whether Wimbledon manor remain in the hand of each player, and heaps of gold | house was the scene of any of her Majesty's visits or and silver coin lie on the table. This picture originally not, it is certain that she frequently conferred that belonged to the great and good Lord Falkland, and was distinguished honour on Lord Burleigh, remaining four painted by Zuccaro, who also took a likeness of Eliza

or five weeks at a time, at a cost to her loving subject beth. As the first Lord Burleigh is said to have entirely ! that averaged between 2,0001. and 3,0001. cach visit; devoted his time to business and study, taking no and these visits were repeated twelve times.

diversion but that afforded by his gardens, of which Of these royal feasts it is scarcely possible to form he was both fond and proud, it is to be supposed that any idea at the present day, as neither the style of the this painting was not his portrait, though mistaken for entertainment, nor the etiquette on these grand occa- | his, as was the ownership of the old manor-house of slons, can easily be paralleled in modern times, for no Wimbledon. one spoke to her Majesty without kneeling, and wher. And there lics Wimbledon Common ! how well do ever she turned her eyes, every one fell on their knees. I remember, when a child, looking with awe and wonder Her table was covered and served by noblemen, who at the working of the first huge shapeless telegraph neither approached, nor retired from it, without kneel. | erected there. And there, too, stood the gibbet, on ing, and two of her ladies tasted every dish before which hung in chains the skeleton of the noted highpresenting them to her, and then carried them to her, wayman Abershawe-a spectacle more apalling to the and offered them on their knees to her Majesty, where innocence of childhood, than to the seared consciences she sat apart on a dais, or throne.

of his own fraternity; for, at the period I allude to In those days the Court, and upper classes, dined at (some fifty years ago), highway robberies were so comnoon, and supped at five or six o'clock in the evening. mon in that neighbourhood, that I unconsciously wit Silver plate was then both general and profuse-that nessed, from a drawing-room window, one committed left by Lord Burleigh, at his death, was valued at on Lord Onslow, whose carriage was stopped at 11 42,0001. sterling; whilst, on the other hand, the use of o'clock in the day by two highwaymen on horseback, in knives was so little understood, that they were suspended sight of the house I was in, and within call of several

from ladies' girdles with their purses, as ornaments of labourers who were at work in an adjoining field, and i dress, in the beginning of the 16th century, and first who, like me, believed it impossible to be a robbery at used at table towards the end of Elizabeth's reign. such an hour, and thought, as I did, that the young Potatoes were not used till the second year of her suc- man in the red jacket, who was at the window of the Cessor, and forks were first brought from Italy in the chariot, was the postboy with Lord Onslow's letters. beventh year of James (1610), though not generally The highwaymen owed their safety to their hardihood,

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