ld to modern prejudice, and take
your ticket for Hatfield. Still, you have the satisfaction of knowing
that it was _Hetfelle_ when the Abbey of Ely held it by favour of King
EDGAR.

When Ely was made a bishopric, the Bishops lived at _Hetfelle_, which
presently came to be known as Bishops Hatfield, and a sumptuous palace
was built, that housed in turn a son of EDWARD THE THIRD, and the son
and heir of HENRY THE EIGHTH. The latter Prince coming to the throne,
under the title of EDWARD THE SIXTH, he gave Hatfield to his sister, the
Princess ELIZABETH. When, in due time, you arrive at Hatfield, your host
takes you out, leading you by the stately avenue to show you the oak
under which ELIZABETH was sitting, reading Greek, when news came to her
that MARY was dead, and ELIZABETH reigned in her stead.

"_La reine est morte; Vive la reine!_" you opportunely remark.

"Quite so," says the MARKISS, evidently struck by your readiness of
rejoinder.

You approach Hatfield House by the gateway near the Church, and enter an
oblong court bounded by the west wing of the Bishop's Palace, now a
stately wreck, with horses stabled in the Hall where one time Bishops
and Princes sat at meat. You feel inclined to linger here, and moralise
upon the theme. But you perceive your noble host awaiting you on the
broad steps of the magnificent Jacobean mansion, a picture worthy to be
set in such a framework. It is like a portrait of one of the earlier
CECILS stepped out of the frame in the Long Gallery. The stately figure
is attired in white doublet, trunks, and hose, embroidered with pearls.
On the purple surcoat, lined with red, gold buttons gleam. The white
ruff is fastened at wrist and throat with gold buttons: the black cap is
solely adorned with a knot of pearls; a golden cord hangs from the neck;
the right hand rests upon the head of a large dog, that has, perhaps, a
rather stuffed look; whilst the left negligently lounges on the hip
above the ready sword.

Is it THOMAS, Earl of Exeter? Or is it his half-brother, ROBERT, Earl of
Salisbury, joint ancestor of the two great branches of the CECIL family?
Or is it, perchance, ROBERT, Earl of Salisbury, or JAMES CECIL, first
MARKISS?

A familiar voice breaks the charm, and discloses the secret.

"Welcome to Hatfield, TOBY, dear boy; but don't suppose that every day I
am got up in this style. It is only in honour of your visit, and as soon
as you are gone, I doff my doublet and hose, put on an