some romantic escapades,
which have contributed, I believe, to the entertainment of many novel
readers.

Just what Haddon Hall is to the baronial life and society of England five
hundred years ago, is Chatsworth to the full stature of modern
civilization and aristocratic wealth, taste and position. Of this it is
probably the best measure and representative in the kingdom; and as such
it possesses a special value and interest to the world at large. Were it
not for here and there such an establishment, we should lack way-marks in
the progress of the arts, sciences and tastes of advancing civilization.

EATON HALL [Footnote: From "English Note Books." By permission of, and by
arrangement with, the publishers of Hawthorne's works, Houghton, Mifflin
Co. Copyright, 1870 and 1898.]

BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

The Church of St. John is outside of the city walls of Chester. Entering
the East gate, we walked awhile under the Rows, bought our tickets for
Eaton Hall and its gardens, and likewise some playthings for the children;
for this old city of Chester seems to me to possess an unusual number of
toy-shops. Finally we took a cab, and drove to the Hall, about four miles
distant, nearly the whole of the way lying through the wooded Park. There
are many sorts of trees, making up a wilderness, which looked not unlike
the woods of our own Concord, only less wild. The English oak is not a
handsome tree, being short and sturdy, with a round, thick mass of
foliage, lying all within its own bounds. It was a showery day. Had there
been any sunshine, there might doubtless have been many beautiful effects
of light and shadow in these woods. We saw one or two herds of deer,
quietly feeding, a hundred yards or so distant. They appeared to be
somewhat wilder than cattle, but, I think, not much wilder than sheep.
Their ancestors have probably been in a half-domesticated state, receiving
food at the hands of man, in winter, for centuries. There is a kind of
poetry in this, quite as much as if they were really wild deer, such as
their forefathers were, when Hugh Lupus used to hunt them.

Our miserable cab drew up at the steps of Eaton Hall, and, ascending under
the portico, the door swung silently open, and we were received very
civilly by two old men--one, a tall footman in livery; the other, of
higher grade, in plain clothes. The entrance-hall is very spacious, and
the floor is tessellated or somehow inlaid with marble. There was statua