nd
ourselves in a long gallery or hall, the finest and best-preserved room
in the castle, the state-apartment and ball-room of the lords of the
manor. Our admiration at once broke forth in words of surprise and
delight. The architecture of this room was of much more recent date than
that portion of the building which we had already visited. It was
Elizabethan in its style, and one of the finest specimens of the period.
It was floored and wainscoted with oak; its frieze richly carved and
adorned with boars' heads, thistles, and roses; its ceiling, also of
oak, beautifully panelled and ornamented. There was a great square
recess in the middle of the gallery, and along one side of it a row of
bow-windows, through whose diamond panes a fine view was afforded of the
quaint old garden and balconies below. Here, doubtless, knights and
dames of the olden time had danced, coquetted, quarrelled, and been
reconciled. Within those deep embrasures courtiers in ruffs and plumes
had sued for ladies' favors, and plotted deep intrigues of state. What
stories these walls could tell, had they but tongues to speak! What
dreams did their very silence conjure up!

Led by a more erratic spirit than that even of our child-guide, I am
afraid I lent an inattentive ear to her accurate statement of the
length, breadth, and height of the gallery in which we stood, the
precise date of its erection, the noble owners of the various
coats-of-arms carved above the doorway; for I remember only that she
seemed confident and well-informed, and recited her lesson faithfully
so long as she was suffered to follow the beaten track. How impossible
it was to extract anything beyond that from her we soon had proof.

She ushered us next into my lord's parlor, which nearly adjoined the
gallery. This room was hung with arras, retained a few articles of
ancient furniture, had one or two pictures hanging on its walls, and
presented, altogether, a more habitable look than any other portion of
the castle. Our little maid had got on well with her description of this
room, had pointed out the portrait of Prince Arthur, once a resident at
the hall, had introduced that of Will Somers, my lord's jester, as
glibly as if Will were a playmate of her own, had deciphered for us the
excellent moral precept carved in old English beneath the royal arms,
"Drede God and honour the King," and was proceeding rapidly with an
array of measurements and dates, when I unluckily interrupted