emoved the dishes with the silence and deftness of long
training.

The room was a contrast to the bare plainness of Sir Stephen Timewell's
dining-hall at Taunton, for it was richly panelled and highly decorated
all round. The floor was formed of black and white marble, set in
squares, and the walls were of polished oak, and bore a long line of
paintings of the Somerset family, from John of Gaunt downwards. The
ceiling, too, was tastefully painted with flowers and nymphs, so that a
man's neck was stiff ere he had done admiring it. At the further end of
the hall yawned a great fireplace of white marble, with the lions and
lilies of the Somerset arms carved in oak above it, and a long gilt
scroll bearing the family motto, "Mutare vel timere sperno." The massive
tables at which we sat were loaded with silver chargers and candelabra,
and bright with the rich plate for which Badminton was famous. I could
not but think that, if Saxon could clap eyes upon it, he would not be
long in urging that the war be carried on in this direction.

After dinner we were all shown into a small ante-chamber, set round with
velvet settees, where we were to wait till the Duke was ready to see us.
In the centre of this room there stood several cases, glass-topped and
lined with silk, wherein were little steel and iron rods, with brass
tubes and divers other things, very bright and ingenious, though I
could not devise for what end they had been put together. A
gentleman-in-waiting came round with paper and ink-horn, making notes
of our names and of our business. Him I asked whether it might not be
possible for me to have an entirely private audience.

'His Grace never sees in private,' he replied. 'He has ever his chosen
councillors and officers in attendance.'

'But the business is one which is only fit for his own ear,' I urged.

'His Grace holds that there is no business fit only for his own ear,'
said the gentleman. 'You must arrange matters as best you can when
you are shown in to him. I will promise, however, that your request be
carried to him, though I warn you that it cannot be granted.'

I thanked him for his good offices, and turned away with the farmer to
look at the strange little engines within the cases.

'What is it?' I asked. 'I have never seen aught that was like it.'

'It is the work of the mad Marquis of Worcester,' quoth he. 'He was the
Duke's grandfather. He was ever making and devising such toys, but they
were never