[Illustration: RUINS OF KENILWORTH CASTLE.]

Tommy showed a great contempt for Frank's wonder-talk.

"I've found something now," he said, "that outdoes all the rest. It is
a letter written--"

"By Shakspeare?" asked Frank, in an animated way.

"No: _to_ Shakspeare."

"By whom?"

"Mr. Richard Quyney. You have often heard of him, I suppose?"

"He was probably a literary man," said Frank.

"Probably. He asked for a _loan_ of thirty pounds."

The next day's trip was to Kenilworth Castle, an ivy-hung ruin
associated with the whole of England's history, and traditionally with
the romances of King Arthur. The walls are broken, the great
banqueting hall has just fallen into decay, and where the coronals
flashed and astrals blazed at night, now shine only the dim light of
the moon and stars. Here Queen Elizabeth was entertained by her
favorite, the Earl of Leicester. The splendor of that reception has
rarely been equalled. The fete, which was one long banquet, broken by
a most wonderful series of dramatic representations, lasted seventeen
days. There were tilts and tournaments; the park was peopled with gods
and goddesses to surprise the Queen wherever she went; nymphs and
mermaids rose from the pools, and there was minstrelsy on every hand.
Thirty-one barons were present. Ten oxen were slaughtered every
morning, sixteen hogsheads of wine and forty hogsheads of beer were
consumed daily. There were lodged in the castle four hundred servants,
all of whom appeared in new liveries of velvet, and shared the
unrestrained hospitality.

"All the clocks in the castle were stopped during that long festival,"
said Master Lewis, "and the hands were all left pointing at the
banquet hour."

"But time went on," said Wyllys Wynn.

"Yes, time went on, and the maiden Queen grew old as all mortals must,
and there came a time when her vanity could no longer be deceived.
She sought to keep from sight the white hairs and wrinkles of age by
every art, but Nature did its work, as with Canute and the sea. When
her form and features began to lose whatever of beauty they once
possessed, she tried to banish from her mind the reality that she was
past her prime by viewing herself in false and flattering mirrors.

"But the wrinkles grew deeper, and the white hairs multiplied, and her
limbs lost their power, and her strength at last was gone. Her
flatterers still fed her fondness for admiration with their arts, and
while life offered her an