s of these lordly apartments, and while the
company were examining buhl cabinets, and all other deliciousness of the
place, I looked down the old gray walls into the amber waters of the
Avon, which flows at their base, and thought that the most beautiful of
all was without. There is a tiny fall that crosses the river just above
here, whose waters turn the wheels of an old mossy mill, where for
centuries the family grain has been ground. The river winds away through
the beautiful parks and undulating foliage, its soft, grassy banks
dotted here and there with sheep and cattle, and you catch farewell
gleams and glitters of it as it loses itself among the trees.

Gray moss, wall flowers, ivy, and grass were growing here and there out
of crevices in the castle walls, as I looked down, sometimes trailing
their rippling tendrils in the river. This vegetative propensity of
walls is one of the chief graces of these old buildings.

In the state bed room were a bed and furnishings of rich, crimson
velvet, once belonging to Queen Anne, and presented by George III. to
the Warwick family. The walls are hung with Brussels tapestry,
representing the gardens of Versailles as they were at the time. The
chimney-piece, which is sculptured of verde antique and white marble,
supports two black marble vases on its mantel. Over the mantel-piece is
a full-length portrait of Queen Anne, in a rich brocade dress, wearing
the collar and jewels of the Garter, bearing in one hand a sceptre, and
in the other a globe. There are two splendid buhl cabinets in the room,
and a table of costly stone from Italy; it is mounted on a richly carved
and gilt stand.

The boudoir, which adjoins, is hung with pea-green satin and velvet. In
this room is one of the most authentic portraits of Henry VIII., by
Holbein, in which that selfish, brutal, unfeeling tyrant is veritably
set forth, with all the gold and gems which, in his day, blinded
mankind; his fat, white hands were beautifully painted. Men have found
out Henry VIII. by this time; he is a dead sinner, and nothing more is
to be expected of him, and so he gets a just award; but the disposition
which bows down and worships any thing of any character in our day which
is splendid and successful, and excuses all moral delinquencies, if they
are only available, is not a whit better than that which cringed before
Henry.

In the same room was a boar hunt, by Rubens, a disagreeable subject, but
wrought with wonderf