of the chapel, is now in
the last state of dilapidation. The wind whistles through the broken
windows of its funereal abode; and the plaster of the roof, detached
from its skeleton of laths, powders his enormous wig, and soils the
imperial robe that drapes his shoulders. But the spirit of the master of
Cannons may console itself; for in the verses of the poets are monuments
of infinitely greater durability than marble. And has not Pope sung:--

"True, some are open, and to all men known;
Others so very close, they're hid from none.
(So darkness strikes the sense no less than light;)
Thus gracious Chandos is beloved at sight."

_Essay_--"_Of the Characters of Man_."

On either side of the statue stand two long figures, clothed, like it,
in Roman costume. These are the first two wives of the Duke. But he
married a third wife, who has not, however, been permitted to enter the
sanctuary.

The story of this third marriage is worth telling you.

One day the Duke being on a journey, he saw, at the door of an inn at
which the horses were changed, a groom beating a young servant girl with
a horse-whip. Taking pity on the poor girl, the Duke went to interpose
between them, when he was informed that the groom and the girl were
married. This being the case, nothing could be said; for the law of
England at that time permitted husbands to beat their wives to any
excess short of death. The groom, who had noticed the movement of the
Duke, came up and offered to sell him his wife, if he would buy her; and
in order to save her from further punishment he did so. But when the
bargain was concluded, the Duke did not know what to do with his new
acquisition, and so he sent her to school. Soon after this the Duchess
of Chandos died, and the Duke took it into his head that he would marry
his purchase--so that eventually the poor servant girl, whom a groom
had beaten by the road side before every passer by, became Duchess of
Chandos, and comported herself in her new rank with perfect dignity.

* * * * *

But to return to Handel and to Cannons. One day, as he was going there,
he was overtaken by a shower in the midst of the village of Edgeware,
and took shelter in the house of one Powell, who was a blacksmith as
well as parish clerk of Whitchurch. After the usual salutations, Powell
fell to work again at his forge, singing an old song the while. By an
extraordinary phenomenon,