nowhere but in England. What this princely castle was in its palmy days, what it is now, and how many historic names are associated with it, cannot be better told than in the following passage from "Kenilworth."

"The outer wall of this splendid and gigantic structure enclosed seven acres, a part of which was occupied by extensive stables, and by a pleasure garden, with its trim arbors and parterres, and the rest formed a large base-court or outer yard, of the noble castle. The noble structure itself, which rose near the centre of this spacious enclosure, was composed of a huge pile of magnificent castellated buildings, apparently of different ages, surrounding an inner court, and bearing in the names attached to each portion of the magnificent mass, and in the armorial bearings which were there blazoned, the emblems of mighty chiefs who had long passed away. A large and massive keep, which formed the citadel of the castle, was of uncertain, though great antiquity. It bore the name of Cæsar, perhaps from its resemblance to that in the tower of London so called. On the exterior walls frowned the scutcheon of the Clintons, by whom they were founded in the reign of Henry I., and of the yet more redoubted Simon de Montfort, by whom, during the Barons' wars, Kenilworth was long held out against Henry III. Here Mortimer, Earl of March, famous alike for his rise and his fall, had once gaily revelled in Kenilworth, while his dethroned sovereign, Edward II., languished in its dungeons. Old John of Gaunt, time-honored Lancaster,' had widely extended the castle, erecting that noble and massive pile which yet bears the name of Lancaster's buildings; and Leicester himself had outdone the former possessors, princely and powerful as they were, by erecting another immense structure, which now lies crushed under its own ruins, the monument of its owner's ambition. Beyond the lake which

adorned and defended the castle on the south and west sides, lay an extensive chase, full of red deer, fallow deer, roes, and every species of game, and abounding with lofty trees, from among which the extended front and massive towers of the castle were seen to rise in majesty and beauty.

"Of this lordly palace, where princes feasted and heroes fought, now in the bloody earnest of storm and siege, and now in the games of chivalry, where beauty dealt the prize which valor won-all is now desolate. The massive ruins of the castle only serve to show what their splendor once was and to impress on the musing visitor the transitory value of human possessions, and the happiness of those who enjoy an humble lot in virtuous contentment."

Entering the enclosure near its north-east angle, by a gatehouse, or barbican, erected at enormous cost by Leicester, and almost in itself a castle, I stood in the base-court, directly in front of the main structure. Cæsar's Tower, the most ancient part of the pile, was at my right; Leicester's Buildings, the most modern, but the most dilapidated, at my left; and, between them, but farther from me, and in rear of what was formerly the inner court, were Lancaster's Buildings, erected by John of Gaunt. The sheep, feeding peacefully in the shadow of the ruined towers, and the quiet of the rural scenery around, formed a strange contrast to the purpose and the history of these gray and massive structures.

With the aid of a guide-book, I soon traced out all the interesting localities; such as the Pleasaunce where the fiction, deviating in this instance from local accuracy, represents the unhappy Countess as taking shelter the Banqueting-hall, Mortimer's tower, the Gallery-tower, and, between these last, the Tilt-yard, where the tournaments were held. During the first hour of my visit, I was repeatedly driven for shelter to the more protected parts of the building,

by showers of rain, coming up with a suddenness peculiar to that climate. When these had passed by, I climbed to the highest accessible part of the ruin, and, while the gusty breeze rendered my position almost perilous, gazed on the lovely landscape, its vivid green at one moment bathed in sunlight, and then veiled in the shadow of flitting clouds.

The description given in the romance, of the "princely pleasures of Kenilworth," on occasion of the Queen's visit to the castle of her favorite in 1575, is founded on authentic history. An eye-witness has left on record a graphic account of the festivities-which were kept up nineteen days, at an expense to Leicester of 1,000l. a day; the great clock of the castle, meanwhile, being stopped, "as if time had stood still, waiting on the queen, and seeing her subjects enjoy themselves." An inventory (still extant) of the furniture of Kenil-worth, in the days of the Earl of Leicester, displays a lavish sumptuousness, that throws all modern luxury into the shade.

As I stood beneath the gray and time-worn remains of these once proud towers, the gorgeous scenes and the illustrious personages of other days seemed to rise before me. "Time-honored Lancaster," and that unhappy king, Edward II.-with whose miserable death the half history, half romance of Goldsmith had made me familiar in childhoodwere present to my thoughts. There, too, where I was standing, Queen Elizabeth had stood, surrounded by the nobility and beauty of the land. These winding turret-stairs of stone which I was ascending, had been trodden by the feet of warriors and statesmen, long since vanished from the earth, but whose names still live on the rolls of fame. What sounds of mirth and revelry had the walls of this banquetingroom often echoed! My thoughts went back to the ninth of July, 1575, and to the countless multitude that then thronged every avenue to this ancient castle, hastening to

witness the festive visit of the queen, and eager to catch a glimpse of the "princely pleasures of Kenilworth." What a sea of human faces was then visible from these battlements, beneath that summer sun! These battlements still stand, majestic even in ruin; that summer sun still shines upon the fair scenery of nature; but those human hearts have ceased their throbbings-those material forms have long since mixed with the elements.

"The clouds and sunbeams o'er their eye
That once their shades and glory threw,
Have left in yonder silent sky

No vestige where they flew."

The ruin of Kenilworth is singularly rich in the romance of authentic history; but the creative genius of Scott has thrown around it a still deeper enchantment, and imagination loves to trace the more doubtful connection between its ivymantled walls and the tragic story of the ill-fated countess. That the general voice of the times accused Leicester as the cause of her death, is certain; and her loveliness and her cruel fate had been the theme of pathetic poetry before the time of Scott. Yet, even where the great Magician evidently follows only the guidance of his fancy, we still delight to follow him, and to cherish the temporary illusion. Though conscious that no such scene ever actually occurred on that spot, still it is when standing on the threshold of the crumbling ruin that bears the name of the proud Earl, that one most feels the power of that passage, where the incensed queen drags before Leicester the pale and sinking form of his almost expiring wife. "In a voice that sounded to the ears of the astounded statesman like the last dread trumpetcall, she demanded, 'Knowest thou this woman?' As, at the blast of the last trumpet, the guilty shall call upon the mountains to cover them, Leicester's inward thoughts in

voked the stately arch, which he had built in his pride, to burst its strong conjunction, and overwhelm them in its ruins. But the cemented stones, architrave and battlement, stood fast; and it was the proud master himself, who, as if some actual pressure had bent him to the earth, kneeled down before Elizabeth, and prostrated his brow to the marble flagstones on which she stood."

It was interesting, too, to recall on the spot, the description of the approach of the forlorn countess to that castle, of which she was rightfully the mistress, at the time when all were in breathless expectation of the arrival of the queen. "When the lady obtained the first commanding view of the castle, with its stately towers rising from within a long sweeping line of outward walls, ornamented with battlements, and turrets, and platforms, at every point of defence, with many a banner streaming from its walls, and such a show of gay crests and waving plumes, disposed on the terraces and battlements, and all the gay and gorgeous scene, her heart, unaccustomed to such splendor, sank and died within her, and for a moment she asked herself what she had offered up to Leicester, to deserve to become the partner of this princely splendor. But her pride and generous spirit resisted the whisper which bade her despair. I have given him,' she said, 'all that woman has to give. Name and fame, heart and hand, have I given the lord of all this magnificence at the altar, and England's queen could give him no more.'

The poetic version of the story gives these simple but pathetic lines, as the lament of the forsaken countess :

"If that my beauty is but small,

Among court ladies all despised,

Why didst thou rend it from that hall,

Where, scornful Earl, it well was prized!