sby, which stands about a quarter of a mile
from the site of its cold and damp predecessor, was built between 1864
and 1874. It is in the modern Elizabethan style, its walls of stone
quarried at Steetley, some miles away, and is surrounded by a rich and
beautiful park where may be seen many magnificent beeches and firs and
oaks. The mansion is rich in art treasures, and may be counted amongst
the most luxuriously furnished in the country; and the pleasure gardens
are stately and beautiful.

Fine herds of deer wander among the bracken and heath, and the trees are
haunted with happy squirrels. The park is thirteen miles in
circumference, and near the house the little River Meden spreads out
into a singularly picturesque lake, diversified with toy islands. The
Thoresby of to-day possesses an atmosphere of tranquil splendour: in its
neighbourhood one has some difficulty in evoking lively pictures of the
celebrated folk who inhabited its predecessors.

The great woman of Thoresby was Lady Mary Wortley Montague, who spent
there the greater part of her youth. The house in her time was a plain
and uninteresting building of red brick. This was destroyed by fire in
1745. From the record by Sir Harbottle Grimston of his tour in the
autumn of 1768, we find that--more than twenty years afterwards--the new
hall was not completed. Sir Harbottle writes: "This parke excels the
others much in beauty, having a very good turf, which in this country is
very much wanting. The house, which is not nearly finished, is rather
adapted for convenience than magnificence. It is fronted by a rising
lawn, on the top of which is a very fine wood. On one side a noble piece
of water, which supplies a cascade behind the house: the other side of
this house is beautified by plantations." Horace Walpole found this hall
dull, since he declared that "Merry Sherwood is a _triste_ region, and
wants a race of outlaws to enliven it, and as Duchess Robin Hood has
left her country, it has little chance of recovering its ancient glory".
This was obviously written after the famous Duchess of Kingston had
departed on her Continental tour.

Before me lie a pair of tiny shoes of sea-green silk, shot with an
undertone of flesh colour. For at least a century these were in the
possession of a yeoman family in the neighbourhood of Wortley village.
The toes are pointed, the heels high, and on the lappets are frayed
marks where the pins of the jewelled buckles pierced the fa