ery wrong," said the
steward.

"Pray don't scold her. I dare say Sir Philip would not have refused me a
permission he might not give to every idle sightseer. Fellow-travellers
have a freemasonry with each other; and I have been much in the same
far countries as himself. I heard of him there, and could tell you more
about him, I dare say, than you know yourself."

"You, sir! pray do then."

"The next time I come," said Margrave, gayly; and, with a nod to me,
he glided off through the trees of the neighbouring grove, along the
winding footpath that led to the lodge.

"A very cool gentleman," muttered the steward; "but what pleasant ways
he has! You seem to know him, sir. Who is he, may I ask?"

"Mr. Margrave,--a visitor at L----, and he has been a great traveller,
as he says; perhaps he met Sir Philip abroad."

"I must go and hear what he said to Mrs. Gates; excuse me, sir, but I am
so anxious about Sir Philip."

"If it be not too great a favour, may I be allowed the same privilege
granted to Mr. Margrave? To judge by the outside of the house, the
inside must be worth seeing; still, if it be against Sir Philip's
positive orders--"

"His orders were, not to let the Court become a show-house,--to admit
none without my consent; but I should be ungrateful indeed, doctor, if I
refused that consent to you."

I tied my horse to the rusty gate of the terrace-walk, and followed
the steward up the broad stairs of the terrace. The great doors were
unlocked. We entered a lofty hall with a domed ceiling; at the back of
the hall the grand staircase ascended by a double flight. The design was
undoubtedly Vanbrugh's,--an architect who, beyond all others, sought
the effect of grandeur less in space than in proportion; but Vanbrugh's
designs need the relief of costume and movement, and the forms of a more
pompous generation, in the bravery of velvets and laces, glancing amid
those gilded columns, or descending with stately tread those broad
palatial stairs. His halls and chambers are so made for festival and
throng, that they become like deserted theatres, inexpressibly desolate,
as we miss the glitter of the lamps and the movement of the actors.

The housekeeper had now appeared,--a quiet, timid old woman. She excused
herself for admitting Margrave--not very intelligibly. It was plain
to see that she had, in truth, been unable to resist what the steward
termed his "pleasant ways."

As if to escape from a scolding, she talked