will not undertake to decide, but I venture to say that Walpole accurately describes the impression which the house will make upon anybody who sees it for the first time. There is no one upon being brought suddenly in front of it who would not be astonished to learn that it was finished in the year 1597.

Inside, however, its true age begins to show itself by many signs-in the dark panelling of the rooms, the heavy oak staircases, and the curious little chapel, with its beautifully-worked tapestry round the altar, said to have come from the fingers of Mary Queen of Scots. It is marvellous how much tapestry this unhappy lady worked, and in how many different houses she was a prisoner. An old house can scarcely be said to be complete without a "Mary's dungeon" in it. It is sincerely to be hoped that she never saw the inside of half the chambers of horrors which legends have assigned to her. There is a fine statue of her in the entrance hall of Hardwicke, and a very striking portrait in the library, representing her in a black dress, with a wan, haggard face, painted, it is supposed, just before her execution. In the dining-room one of the most striking objects is the mantelpiece, with the initials "E. S." upon it, and the date 1597. "E. S.'s" abound all over the place, inside and out, some of those on the turrets outside being evidently new or "restored." Everybody who goes to Hardwicke will of course know that it was rebuilt by Elizabeth Countess of Shrewsbury, who was as manly a woman, with as good an eye for business and her own interests, as her namesake upon the throne. Two such

Elizabeths rarely adorn the world in the same generation. No wonder that Bess of Hardwicke took care to put her own initials everywhere, for apart from the fact that Hardwicke was hers by ancestral right, she had obtained a complete mastery over her third husband, the Earl of Shrewsbury, and even reduced him, as he complains, to the condition of a "pencyoner." pencyoner." On the 5th of April, 1585, he lamented in a letter to the Earl of Leicester, that the Queen had taken the part of his wife, and "hathe sett downe this hard sentence agaynst me, to my perpetual infamy and dishonour, to be ruled and overranne by my wief, so bad and wicked a woman.” The Bishop of Lichfield tried to console him by telling him that though his wife was accounted "a sharpe and bitter shrewe," yet that "if shrewdenesse or sharpnesse may be a just cause of separacion between a man and wiefe, I thincke fewe men in Englande woulde keepe their wiefes longe "a statement which perhaps concerns the unmarried rather than those who have already made themselves "happy for life."

A portrait of Bess of Hardwicke is in the diningroom-which, by-the-bye, has a floor of cement. There is also one of her second husband, Sir W. Cavendish, between whom and the present Lord Hartington the visitor will perhaps detect a resemblance. The diningroom contains some very beautiful tapestry, also the work of the ill-fated Mary; and I noticed a fine old oak chest just outside the room, and on the staircase some indifferent frescoes-one representing, as my guide informed me, "Juno the goddess of peacocks."

I was also much struck by some of the beautiful old doors, and by a table in the "State-room," with various games represented upon it in inlaid woods of divers kinds an ingenious piece of work. In a chamber called the "green bed-room," there is a curious old brass-bound trunk-an immense affair, capacious enough to satisfy a Saratoga belle, and strong enough to defy the most Herculean "baggage smasher" in the whole United States. Was this the trunk which "E. S." took with her when she buried one of her numerous husbands, and "moved in" to the new establishment? There is a room said to have been used by the Queen of Scots, and a quilt worked by her; also some bed-hangings; also some chair-covers; also some embroidery on velvet. It is clear, in fact, that the poor lady could never have spent an idle moment at Hardwicke.

There is a very long gallery in the house, filled chiefly with portraits, some of which are extremely interesting. A wonderful portrait hangs over a doorway, representing a Spanish gentleman (apparently) dressed in red-a red-lined cloak, red stockings, and so on-and with a most attractive and powerfully-painted face. I asked my guide who this was, but she said the portrait was "unknown." It is strange that neither the subject nor the painter of such a work as this has ever been traced. The portrait of Queen Elizabeth is curious, consisting chiefly of a gigantic farthingale. Ladies of the present day contrive to do with much less round their charming persons. No doubt the visitor will notice the very striking portraits of the Earl of Cumberland,

of Richard first Earl of Cork, of Lord Treasurer Burleigh, and of Sir Walter Raleigh. On one of the low book-shelves in this gallery I remarked a queer jumble of useless books, apparently the sweepings of a better library-but among them I turned up the first

(English) edition of "Vathek," and Woodfall's edition. of" Junius," beautifully printed. Also on a table there is a delightful kitchen for a child, the pots, pans, and other utensils being of silver, exquisitely made. I should like to have stopped a few moments and played with them myself, but the young woman who acted as

guide whisked me through the room at a break-neck pace. When she saw me looking at the books she tapped impatiently with her foot, but I recommended her to read "Vathek," and if she did so, I am sure that by this time she has forgiven me. The silver toy-set was presented by the late Duke of Devonshire to Lady Louisa Cavendish, and a happy child Lady Louisa must have been when she first set eyes upon it.

So much I remarked ere I was deposited at the outer door in a breathless condition. There I found myself in front of two more big sets of initials, planted in what I presume may be called the front garden, and said to have been originally dug in and sown there by E. S. herself. Not having anybody now to push me on, I sauntered about the garden, which is not important or pretty. Then I made towards the ruins, and nearly had my head bitten off by a tremendous dog-a dog with a mouth as large as a cavern, lined with fearful teeth. never saw such a dog before; it was a dog-fiend.

I

"Down, Tiger," said a man close by me, and if he had spoken only a few moments later I am convinced that I should have been continuing my journey, like the showman and his bear, inside the dog. "It is a bullmastiff, sir, and we need 'em here." The man was the chief gamekeeper, and lived in the cottage close by the ruins. I had opened the gate and was staring at the ruins with open mouth, when the dog opened his mouth too, and I nearly fell into it.

"What a horrible dog!" said I.

"I don't know what we should do here without him,"