mmense bloodhounds at night, which all last night were yelling and
howling at the moon. "I call the dog Gorer," said Sir Pitt; "he's
killed a man that dog has, and is master of a bull, and the mother I
used to call Flora; but now I calls her Aroarer, for she's too old to
bite. Haw, haw!"

Before the house of Queen's Crawley, which is an odious old-fashioned
red brick mansion, with tall chimneys and gables of the style of Queen
Bess, there is a terrace flanked by the family dove and serpent, and on
which the great hall-door opens. And oh, my dear, the great hall I am
sure is as big and as glum as the great hall in the dear castle of
Udolpho. It has a large fireplace, in which we might put half Miss
Pinkerton's school, and the grate is big enough to roast an ox at the
very least. Round the room hang I don't know how many generations of
Crawleys, some with beards and ruffs, some with huge wigs and toes
turned out, some dressed in long straight stays and gowns that look as
stiff as towers, and some with long ringlets, and oh, my dear! scarcely
any stays at all. At one end of the hall is the great staircase all in
black oak, as dismal as may be, and on either side are tall doors with
stags' heads over them, leading to the billiard-room and the library,
and the great yellow saloon and the morning-rooms. I think there are
at least twenty bedrooms on the first floor; one of them has the bed in
which Queen Elizabeth slept; and I have been taken by my new pupils
through all these fine apartments this morning. They are not rendered
less gloomy, I promise you, by having the shutters always shut; and
there is scarce one of the apartments, but when the light was let into
it, I expected to see a ghost in the room. We have a schoolroom on the
second floor, with my bedroom leading into it on one side, and that of
the young ladies on the other. Then there are Mr. Pitt's
apartments--Mr. Crawley, he is called--the eldest son, and Mr. Rawdon
Crawley's rooms--he is an officer like SOMEBODY, and away with his
regiment. There is no want of room I assure you. You might lodge all
the people in Russell Square in the house, I think, and have space to
spare.

Half an hour after our arrival, the great dinner-bell was rung, and I
came down with my two pupils (they are very thin insignificant little
chits of ten and eight years old). I came down in your dear muslin
gown (about which that odious Mrs. Pinner was so rude, because you gave