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known. He married Graine, or Grace, the daughter of Rory (son of Colonel Manus O'Donnell, who was slain at Benburb, in 1646,) and half-sister of Colonel Manus O'Donnell, of Newport, by whom he had John and Charles, whose issue are extinct, and Hugh O'Donnell, of Larkfield, who was called "The O'Donnell," and even Earl of Tirconnell, by his cotemporaries; but he could not have been Earl according to the laws of England, as is very clear from Earl Rory's patent. After the defeat of King James II., this Hugh removed from the county of Donegal, and took refuge first at a place called Mullaghbane, near the head of Lough-da-ein, now Lough Macnean, in the county of Fermanagh, and shortly afterwards settled at Larkfield, near ManorHamilton, in the county of Leitrim. He married twice: first, Flora Hamilton, daughter of John Hamilton, Esq., of Cavan, and sister of John Count Hamilton, of the Austrian service, and he had by her two sons: first, Connell Count O'Donnell, Knight Grand Cross of the Order of Maria Theresa, Governor of Transylvania, and a Field Marshal in the Austrian service, who, on Leopold Count Daun being wounded, commanded the Imperial army at the battle of Torgau, and died unmarried in 1771; and, second, John Count O'Donnell, in the same service. This Hugh married, secondly, Margaret, daughter of Hugh Montgomery, Esq., of Derrygonnelly, in the county of Fermanagh, by whom he had Con O'Donnell, of Larkfield, the ancestor of the O'Donnells of Larkfield and Greyfield, of whom the Rev. Constantine O'Donnell, now a Protestant clergyman in Yorkshire, is the undoubted head. Of this Hugh O'Donnell, who died in 1754, and his sons by his first marriage, the venerable Charles O'Conor, of Belanagare, has the following notice in his "Dissertations on the Ancient History of Ireland," edition of 1753, p. 231:

"The Tyrconnell race produceth at this day persons who reflect back on their ancestors the honours they derive from them, particularly Conall and John O'Donnell, sufficiently recorded in our gazettes for their exploits in the late wars, in the service of the Empress-Queen of Hungary. These excellent general-officers are the sons of a worthy person, Hugh O'Donnell, the chief of the Tyrconnell line, and of Flora, the sister of the late General Hamilton, who, if I be well informed, died in the Imperial service.'

There is still extant, in the handwriting of James Maguire, already referred to, an Irish poem, addressed to this Hugh O'Donnell, by Father Patrick Duff O'Curnin, who calls him "the alumnus of heroes, the generous son of Connell, who hoarded not his wealth, grandson of John, great-grandson of the bountiful Hugh, who was the son of Con, who hoarded not his plunders ! the wide-spreading oak, which sheltered the poets and the feeble."

Con O'Donnell, of Larkfield, was, after the death of his father, Hugh, and his half-brothers, considered by his Irish neighbours as "The O'Donnell." He married Mary O'Donnell, sister of the first Sir Neil O'Donnell, of Newport, and had by her, 1, Hugh O'Donnell, of Larkfield, Esq.; and, 2, Connell O'Don

nell, who died at Liege, in Germany, without issue; 3, John, who died unmarried; 4, Con O'Donnell, who married Mary, second daughter of Denis O'Conor, of Belanagare, Esq., and sister of the late Owen O'Conor Don, M.P. for the county of Roscommon, and of the famous Dr. O'Conor, author of the Rerum Hibernicarum Scriptores, and had by her four sons: 1, Con O'Donnell, Esq., barrister-at-law; 2, John; 3, Connell, and 4, Neal. This family is now represented in the senior line by the Rev. Constantine O'Donnell, a Protestant clergyman in Yorkshire, who is the eldest son of Con O'Donnell, Esq., of Larkfield, who died in 1825, who was the son of Hugh O'Donnell, of Larkfield, Esq., son of Con, son of Hugh, son of Connell, the brother of Balldearg O'Donnell, whose history we have now laid before the public.

We have now completed the history and genealogy of the race of Hugh Boy, the son of Con. We have still to give the more recent and interesting history of the next branch of this great family, who have figured so conspicuously in the wars of Europe for the last century.

THE BANKS OF THE TOLKA, AND THE
BANKS OF THE THAMES.

ONCE upon a time, a fit, so to speak, of genuine, hearty loyalty overtook us unawares; and during several successive days an observant companion might have overheard us ejaculating in a quite unusual strain, and calling down blessings on the head of our gracious sovereign, Queen Victoria. Such a "beautiful fytte," it must be confessed, never seized us in the course of our travels through the length and breadth of our own green isle, where, indeed, one's acclamations are far likelier to be, God help the poor! than, God save the Queen! Our home was many a mile left behind, when the current of our cogitations set in this new direction.

In order to explain how and why it was that her Majesty made such a step in our favourable opinion, it will be necessary to describe the sort of place we do live in, when we are at home. Well, then we do not live within the city bounds, as delineated by line of road or water-way; neither is our dwelling to be found in terrace, square, or cottage ornée of any of the fashionable suburbs. Ours is not a "rising" neighbourhood, nor a particularly desirable neighbourhood. Of course, having neither present prosperity to exult in, nor future bright prospects to look forward to, it is always apologetically said to have seen better days, and preserves traditions of its own, albeit unsupported by documentary evidence of any authority, referring to good old times, when it was much resorted to by families of taste and fortune, held its head high, and kept its rents up gloriously. However, even as it is, moderate people can live in it very cosily; nay, even a hands ɔme income could be got through without going very much out of one's way in the achievement. As is usual with localities of a gone-down aspect, the residents are of a

motley order, being indeed so diversified, and sometimes so unique in character and condition, that it only needs the pen of a Miss Mitford to make Our Avenue as famous now, as "Our Village" was in days gone by.

We are not going to violate the seclusion of our sanctum, by informing the general public whether it lies north, south, east, or west of the General Post Office. Suffice it to say, that we are not out of hearing of the booming clock of the said great national institution, but can readily distinguish the chimes when the wind is favourable; even the variations of "College time" are, under similar circumstances, made known to us by the deep-toned, sonorous call to chapel or commons. We can have rolls for our early breakfast with the glow of city ovens about them, and our morning paper is delivered in all its dampness before the dew is off the grass. In fine, most of the luxuries of civilized life are within reach; and if somewhat more withdrawn than the mere situation warrants, from the vortex of the busier metropolitan world, it is certainly our own fault, though we cannot acknowledge, our own misfortune. Be the reason what it may, we hold the position to be a good one, and from our vantage ground very comfortably look abroad from time to time, critically or observantly.

Our neighbours, properly so called, occupy us, however, very little. The state of things in an adjoining district, which we pass through or skirt along in our daily rambles, engages our attention somewhat exclusively; and we are much taken up tracing the causes of a very curious condition of affairs in that quarter, and devising schemes of amelioration. A roadway, a river, and a bridge form the boundary between a tolerably quiet, orderly neighbourhood, and a district notoriously different in repute—a thickly-inhabited territory, with far more than a fair proportion of drunkards and vagabonds, ragged shrewish women, and untamed, unwashed, untutored ragamuffins of either sex. Public opinion says that every body drinks, and that when a fellow goes to the bad, he is "no worse than the rest of us ;” public opinion asserts that it is nothing "off the common" for disorderly women to rob, and drink the plunder, and go about in the face of day as if they were anything but ashamed of themselves. Public opinion seems to imply that children may go to school or not as they fancy, and that parents have really no control over their offspring. Public opinion, in a word, is so conveniently constituted, that outlaws from other quarters find the district quite a desirable settlement, and so it becomes a drain for the blackguardism of distant townships. The customs and manners of the inhabitants have been moulded, as elsewhere, in accordance with surrounding circumstances. Small things lead to great, and a seeming accident stamps the character of a population.

Here, for example, the supply of water is at the lowest ebb; pipe-water conveyance is unknown, and there are no public drinking-fountains. At one extremity runs a brackish stream, at the other stagnates the canal; every drop of water used by the inhabitants of the inter

mediate cluster of cabins, has to be fetched from either reservoir; and the children of the district are, as a matter of course, and greatly to their hurt, kept from school and engaged in this service. They seem to be born to the vocation. As soon almost as they have a leg to stand on, a tin can, scarcely larger than a porringer, is delivered over to them, and they are sent up to the canal or down to the river, as the case may be. Gangs of young scapegraces are to be seen at certain hours of the day, and indeed at no hour fail entirely, rushing out wildly to the sound of tin kettles, crying and shouting, or returning laboriously with their thimbleful of liquid mud, which is generally reduced two-thirds by leakage on the way, if not altogether lost in a scuffle with other urchins of the same calling. Even the more grown portion of the population seem never to be thoroughly emancipated from this peculiar servitude; the habit of running for water sticks to them. The "boys" contrive to infuse a dash of variety into the daily routine, by firing off volleys of stones, to the danger and consternation of wayfarers, and fighting pitched battles, pitcher in hand, with rivals in the river. The young women recreate themselves with jests and jeerings none of the choicest, and a romp occasionally with the aforesaid "boys;" while the old wives enjoy a hearty gossip from time to time, as occasion permits, squatted on the kerb-stone. Our own acquaintance among the water-carriers includes "" a fool" of the male sex, a deaf and dumb girl, a young lady in a circle of crinoline, with gold-headed pins in her hair, who carries her can like an empress; and we have "heard tell" of a blind woman, who is as handy and judicious as her neighbours in the same pursuit.

On the banks of the canal all goes on smooth enough; a well-grounded fear of sudden immersion, as a consequence of indiscretion or a single false step, tends to produce a temporary gravity of deportment along that line of operation; besides, the tide of popular favour does not tend towards the canal for sound sanitary reasons, intimated in the belief, that "numbers of people does be drownded in it!" But the river has no terrors; and judging from appearances, every biped and quadruped of the vicinity is to be found in the midst some time or other in the twenty-four hours. Into that the watercarriers paddle knee deep, disputing the road, or rather the stream, with plunging horses, yelping terriers in an ecstacy of splashing, and jarveys bare to knee and elbow, vigorously mopping the "outsides" in the middle of the troubled waters. Bakers' and butchers' carts invariably take a turn in the river; we have seen a stylish M.D.'s pair of greys undergoing a cooling in the same fashion, and have witnessed the spectacle of a hearse with nodding plumes and yoke of coal-black steeds disporting with anything but a mournful air over the irregularities of the streamlet's narrow bed. The pure quality of the water may be inferred from these facts, and from the additional one, that, twice a day, "the salt sea water passes by," in due tidal course, changing, if not refreshing, the current of the stream.

So much for what may be termed the retail branch

of the business. There are also wholesale water-merchants who deal largely in the liquid element, conveying the supply from lane to lane, in open barrels fixed on carts of the rudest construction, and drawn by donkeys full from tooth to tail of the vices of their race. These nomadic establishments are usually served by girls; one barefoot draggle-tail, balancing herself in the midst of barrels and buckets, and dealing out pennyworths of water to her customers; whilst another, equipped in a manner equally worthy of the work, runs a foot, vigorously "whacking the baste." Overtures have more than once been made to these poor girls with the charitable intent of inducing them to quit their miserable occupation, to go to school, or learn a trade; but invariably without success. So utterly wretched is their condition, that they cannot afford to attend school or prepare for any industrial pursuit; for where would the morsel of food come from in case they lay by for a day? And besides, it is not easy to tame down to habits of civilization a girl grown to fifteen or sixteen in this gipsy sort of life. One solitary instance comes to mind of a girl of this kind having been persuaded to enter some other service, whom we afterwards used to see in the vicinity of her native alley, supporting an altogether new character, with boots, and no doubt stockings, and wearing a bonnet, visible at the back of her head. Great, however, was our disappointment to recognise her not long since, once more in command of the cart, rattling down the hill in a glorious din of cans, buckets, pitchers, and tin kettles-the old character once more assumed in the bare feet, shock head, and customary equipment of rags.

What the pig used to be in other parts of the country, the donkey is here, namely, the support and consolation of the family to which he belongs; ouly, in this case the sale or death of the animal is the signal of dire distress to the household. Never more than a few shillings are invested in such stock, and it is admitted all the world over that there is very little use in a dead donkey. A poor woman, who exc'aimed once in our hearing, "It is hard for nine of a family to live out of an ass!" we saw actually yoked herself to the cart, when death had released the said quidraped from his onerous responsibilities.

A fountain of simple construction, or a good pump at the head of each lane, would do more, we firmly believe, for the comfort, education, and civilization of this idle, vicious population than any scheme of general reform, or even the widest extension of the elective franchise. If five or six of the worthy citizens who ride past in their handsome carriages to their offices every morning, gave a moment's thought to the subject, the whole aspect of things might be changed, and at a marvellously trifling cost. The landlords of the district it seems vain to hope anything from. One of the largest proprietors in a quarter similarly situated, signalised himself, we underst ind, quite recently, by his violent opposition to the Dublin Water Works Bill, objecting, no doubt, to the slight increase of taxation which should fall to his own share, and apparently not appreciating

[September,

the immense benefit sure to arise to the multitude of his tenants, should a plentiful supply of water be brought to their very doors.

But to make up for the scarcity of water in this locality, strong drinks abound, and can be had for the customary equivalent. There are five houses wherein refreshment of this kind can be obtained, along a line of road scarcely a quarter of a mile in length. Every facility is indeed afforded for the indulgence of thirsty souls who love whiskey, an 1 jovial spirits who delight in a row; even the case of the weak-minded is provided for, so that such wayfarers as have resisted a first temp. tation, have an opportunity afforded of falling into a secon 1, third, fourth, or fifth. In go the customers, well balanced, with head erect; out they come, in a wondrously short time, in their transformed condition, cursing, swearing, reeling, drivelling. On Sunday, of course, by virtue of the law, front doors are not open till after church hours. This, at any rate, looks decorous, and is highly creditable, and the Sabbath is honoured thereby. But, where there is a will there is a way; and "first mass" is scarcely over when a trusty underling may be seen occasionally thrusting his he id out of a side door, to be sure that no member of the Metropolitan police force is in view, and proceeding to admit with all caution the wretched strollers who are this ready betimes to begin the Sunday carouse. As the clock strikes two, bolts and bars are withdrawn; parties of men-many of them comfortably clad-who have been loitering ia expectation of the signal at the corner of the lanes, now walk in without reproach, and from that out may drink away their senses, never violating any law of the land. Many of the natives-it is no secre-have commenced overnight; and the interior of their cabins in the early afternoon, when the church bells have ceased ringing, must be a picture of delight to the whiskey-demon. The broken-down mother is there in a state of unspeakable dirt and disorder, having "no clothes to go to mass;" the children are crawling about unwashed, and all but unclad; and a breathing heap of insensibility-the father of the family-'ies in a corner unable to rise, having got through the feat of drinking his wages the previous night. In too many cases the women drink also; and we even know some instances of the wives of sober men being confirmed tipplers. Such characters are laughed at, but not shunned.

At night, when the public-houses are forcibly cleared, the high road is often a scene of wild disorder-natives and strangers in altercation, and the air laden with blasphemy. It is a rule that men coming here to drink from other parts of the town, must either fight, or submit to be mercilessly beaten; so that unfortunate carmen who have stopped for a glass too late in the evening, are often fearfully maltreated upon leaving the scene of their folly. There is no police-station in the vicinity, and, generally, things have come to the worst before the services of the force are in requisition. The natives flatter themselves that the police are afraid to approach too near; but be that as it may, it is ludicrous to see them

coming down with their long swords when the slaughter is well nigh over, and carrying off the already vanquished with due solemnity. The constabulary, to be sure, are not far off. But non-interference is their standing order; they should be "called out" in due form; and, moreover, are generally in bed before the serious business of the evening begins. The establishment of a police-station is, after all, neither impossible nor very difficult; it could be done on the application of a few respectable persons living in the neighbourhood, and would be of considerable use in keeping at least the seasoned reprobates in order.

Perhaps, however, the greatest want is that of a large room and field, as a place of shelter and recreation for the young men of the locality. Painful and ominous it is to see lads of from twelve to twenty years of age collected in groups on the road side when work is over, or stupidly loitering away the whole length of the Sunday, crouching for shelter in cold weather uuder the eaves of corner houses, and in summer stretched full length under the presumed shade of the low mud-wall that skirts the dirty road. The proximity to the public-house is like to be fatal, while their sole amusement consists in the vicious jeering of the passers by, the fun of seeing the drunken revellers tumbling out of those scenes of disorder, and the exciting vicissitudes of pitch and toss. We have sometimes noticed zealous advocates of the temperance movement taking their rounds through this benighted region, lamenting, as may well be supposed, the depravity which is visibly the consequence of almost universal intemperance; and often it has struck us how all but hopeless is the endeavour to reason or coax into virtuous courses hoary-headed bond-slaves of the Evil One, and how much better it would be to forego the glory of converting scoundrels of old standing, and adopt the far completer plan of stopping the growth of vice by saving the young, in giving them other objects of interest and other amusements than those their wretched fathers pos· sessed. Whenever allusion is made to the necessity of doing something for the benefit of this particular class, dark hint is thrown out about night schools, or purely religious associations are proposed. This is too high a flight for the situation. School benches are not considered the softest seat after a hard day's work; and to ask a poor labouring boy to give the residue of his hours of toil to praise and prayer, risks the chance of a pointblank denial. It is amusement of a healthy kind he wants. If it be not provided he will divert himself with what is neither safe nor profitable. Should a plan be asked for, suitable to circumstances such as have been described, it is easily given. Advertisements and flourish of trumpets are not necessary; neither should the fir-t step-as happens but too often in Ireland-be the investment of capital in bricks and mortar, and the erection of an imposing institution, with portico and Ionic pillars. A roofed-in building, hardly better than a shed, would answer, supposing it to contain one large room with fire-places. Here the frequenters might sit and lounge, and warm themselves, and read if they could or would, by cheerful gas-light, Without, there should be

a good field, where they could have their games of skittles and knocks, and cricket and foot-ball, There should, moreover, be rough-hewn seats at intervals, and an inexhaustible pump, in case the river did not happen to run that way. Very little money would be needed to set this going; the penny-a-week subscriptions of the members would eventually cover the rent; and depend upon it, a diversion would soon be made of a kind not serviceable to the licensed vintners, Albeit, hoping against hope, we are always full of the idea that the Catholic young men's societies, or the gentlemen of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, may some time or another undertake and supervise the working of some practical plan of this nature. Let it be remembered that the poor man's leisure is a precious interval. Rarely indeed is his daily toil demoralising in its nature or results. He is comparatively safe while at work, and falls into real danger and fatal mischief only when he is abandoned to his own devices for amusement.

But the Queen-God bless her!-we entirely forgot all this time. In fact, we never concerned ourselves about her Majesty's private opinions, or guessed there might be any sympathy between the Sovereign of these realms and ourselves, until good fortune brought us not long since to the banks of the Thames, and left us to roam and dream beneath the shadow of the Palace and the chestnut groves of Hampton Court. To tarry any time in London without setting apart a day for an excursion to this charming scene, which the past has so wondrously peopled, would be equally opposed to our principles and our practice. So true a peace reigns within the old building, so pleasant a stillness pervades the wellcared gardens and royal parks, that, even in a physical sense, it is a thoroughly refreshing retreat from the roar and restlessness of the huge capital of England; whilst the tranquilizing effect on the mind is no less sensibly felt by the sojourner-such marvellous events have swept by, such wild vicissitudes of fortune, such keen sufferings and such vivid joys have left their mark in history since Wolsey planned this pleasure Palace! So much is changed and lost, yet so much remains unharmed, almost untouched, in the midst of the revolutions of life and time! On the occasion referred to we lingered many days; became acquainted with every winding way through the plantations; felt quite at home in the long suite of state apartments; grew familliar with the faces of the servants in care of the Palace, and the dragoons-men on guard at the gates; got, too, our favourite pictures in every room copied by a process faster than Daguerre ever dreamed of, and hung up in our own private gallery, where memory has charge of them.

The river we learned to know and admire under every aspect. It is a beautiful river here; sufficient in its own beauty and the graceful sweep of the banks which it has here and there fertilized into velvet lawns, or made a pleasant growing-place for willows and sallows, and such thirsty trees as can never get too near the nursing river. Truly, it boasts of no mountain back-ground, or castles on the cliff, or towns of storied interest clustered on the

borders; and it can do without all these. It is deepchannelled enough, with wayward currents of its own, to make those take heed who venture in a tiny craft upon its "silent highway." It is clear enough to reflect and intensify the colours of the sunset; and calm enough to receive and retain the massy shadows cast athwart its bosom by the waving heads of the forest giants of the Home Park. On the left bank stretch the Palace gardens and terraces, till they open into the wider expanse of lawn and park-a quiet by-path separating the railed enclosure from the river. In the evening, when all living things seem to grow familiar, as if sympathising in the one great need and comfort-the coming rest of night-the deer come close up and thrust their pretty faces through the bars, as if wanting to see what is going on below there in the river. Out from their hidden nests in the reedy islets, sail the stately swans, "floating double, swan and shadow,"-stately, yet familiar; or it may be, trebly vigilant, when an idle boatman, taking the shallow side of the island sanctuary, approaches too near, leaving the mark of oars in the sandy margin, or doing damage to the slender border of rushes. Then, indeed, the bird on guard, with crested neck and loosened wing, bears down upon the intruder, and sails in company with the unwelcome boat until all danger is for the moment passed. The swans have pleasant times of it here. They seem to consider themselves part of the spectacle, and on holidays, when the Londoners have come down in full force, they are in the thick of the ferryboats. Nevertheless, we have often been surprised to meet them out so late in the still evening, dropping down with the stream as if merely come out for a breath of fresh air, or otherwise triumphantly breasting the current, returning home, to all appearance, with news of branches of the family settled in reedy homes of their own about Kingston or Ditton,

The still evening, did we say? Still! Was there ever, in all the world, heard such an outburst of song? Blackbirds, and thrushes, and "minor minstrels" of the feathered tribe, all carolling in such melodious concert! Far overhead, on the topmost spray of the great trees which stand in file along the banks, they call and answer from either side. The height at which the choristers are perched, and the harmonizing influence of the expanse of intermediate water, toning down the outpouring of note and cadence, and harmonizing all. Anything like this singing of birds we never heard; chorus succeeding chorus, and the high solo parts taken by favourites of the forest. Sometimes a little bird would fly down and perch quite tamely, not on oar's length off, on a stone by the river's side; or a winged messen ger would dart across the evening blue on an embassy, as it were, from chorus to double chorus. By and by the last faint glory of the sunset melts from the sky, and the joy of the many-voiced choir likewise faints away, leaving the nightingale, which is joyful longer than its fellows, "in full-throated ease" to while away the transient summer night.

But there is something pleasant about this place every hour of the day, and every season of the year. The

knack of always looking well belongs to it. In summer, of course, all looks royally splendid in the shine of foliage and sunshine. But even when the rain falls there is an air of dignity preserved; the pinnacles and oruametal chimney-shafts of the palace buildings stand out in solid stately fashion against the murky sky; the nob!; east front of deep-red brick, with its white stone carvings and decorations, seems incapable of receiving harm even from such adverse "skyey influences;" the grass changes to a more vivid green before one's very eyes; and the blue mist gathering round the roots of the trees in the long avenues of chestnut and elm, somehow ap. pears to add to the height of these wide-armed children of the woodlands. Even in winter, the evergreen plantations, the long lines of yew, the luxuriant ivy twined about the trunks and branches of the leafless trees, contrive to cheat the rigid season of its inherent right to disarray and desolate. We have made visits to the palace in the early forenoon, before strangers arrived; have seen Wolsey's hall without a soul in it; have been all alone with Raphael's cartoons; and have listened to our own footsteps re-echoed through the solitary courts. At a later hour we have been amidst the throng of visitors, amused with their looks of wonder and delight, and the odd remarks thrown out as they passed along. Whilst again, we have tarried in the long line of the state apartments until the signal for closing was given, and the servants appeared with their mops and dusters, and night-coverings for the precious old-world furniture. The gardens and the lovely terrace-walk overlooking the Thames, we many times lingered in till nightfall, hurrying home through dim courts and gas-lit passages, and clearing the last gate just as the palace clock struck ten. But even in the loneliest hours how the solitude was peopled with shapes and processions filing off through the centuries! What names would come to mind at every turn!-names, too, familiar to every school-boy. To be here is like getting an objectlesson in the by-paths of English history.

Cardinal Wolsey absolutely haunts the place. He was in the very zenith of his glory, when, indulging his passion for building, he planned out this princely structure, and purchasing the site from the Knights-Hospitallers of St. John of Jerusalem, set the warden of the Cinque Ports to superintend the works, and furnish, as best he could, supplies for the necessary outlay. Here he lived for a short season, in truly royal splendour, eight hundred persons in his suite, and young lords and the sons of gentlemen, with retainers of their own, in daily attendance on him whom the king delighted to honour. Old chroniclers love to dwell on the magnificence of the pageants, masques, and banquets, with which the Cardinal entertained his visitors, When the French ambassadors arrived to confirm the peace between the three great sovereigns of Europe, all the artistes of London seem to have been summoned to Hampton Court, and occupied hanging the presence chambers and banqueting halls with "very rich arras, and a sumptuous cloth of estate;" setting up silk beds; and "nobly garnyshing" sleeping apartments for two hundred and

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