to-day, he would make his fifty-second visit to-morrow!

While at Warwick one must make a point of seeing St. Mary's Church, a delightful perpendicular building; but on no account make your only visit on a Sunday, for on that day one cannot see the most interesting feature of the church, the celebrated Beauchamp Chapel. In the centre is the high tomb of its founder, Richard Beauchamp. Leading from this chapel is a fascinating little oratory, where for years the whole duty of one priest was centred, saying mass day and night for the soul of the worthy centrepiece who lies in brass and marble in the chapel.

Here, among other monuments, is the figure of the "noble Impe," the son of Earl Robert of Leicester, a child who died before he was four years old. Tradition has a dark tale of poison administered by a bribed nurse on account of the deformity of the child, but this story is not told by the authorities in whom one places most confidence. The tomb of Robert Dudley himself is against the wall, and is highly ornate, having pertinently been described as a "mountain of Confectionery."

Evelyn speaks of this church: "Warwick is a faire olde towne, and hath one church full of

ancient monuments." The chimes at St. Mary's play every four hours, and the tune is usually some old English song. Among these are "The Blue Bells of Scotland," and "Warwickshire Lads and Lasses." The tune is changed each day.

Another beautiful spot in Warwick is the old Leicester Hospital, just at the top of the steep street, one of the beam and plaster buildings for which Warwickshire is justly famous. Here are to be seen numerous old pensioners, enjoying local hospitality. On twelve old soldiers may be seen badges which have descended from the days of Queen Elizabeth, when, through the influence of Her Majesty, Robert, Earl of Leicester, founded this excellent institution. "Such an institution," says Henry James,

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seems indeed to exist primarily for the sake of its spectacular effect upon Americans!"

The little village of Leek Wooton, on the road between Warwick and Kenilworth, deserves more notice than it receives, on account of its extreme picturesqueness. Soon after leaving it on the road, one comes to the wooded slope on which stands the monument erected to Piers Gaveston, on the spot where he was killed. The inscription is as follows: " In the hollow of this

rock was beheaded, on the first day of July, 1312, by barons as lawless as himself, Piers Gaveston, Earl of Cornwall, the minion of a hateful King; in life and death a memorable instance of misrule."

This is one of the few "Stones of Infamy erected in England. In Italy, especially in Genoa, I recall others. The head of Gaveston is said to have rolled down the hill, and to have been picked up by a friar-hermit, possibly one living in the cell of Guy, and taken away and kept by him. It may have served as the regular property skull" with which a hermit's cell was always fitted.

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A driver who took us from one town to another in Warwickshire was quite a character. He gave himself completely to our entertainment, and the Earl of Leicester himself could not have more generously explained to Queen Elizabeth every item of the royal progress to Kenilworth than he did. His body turned mechanically at the waist, so that, although sitting at ease on the box, with his legs carelessly crossed, he faced us, in the Victoria behind him, for conversational purposes whenever it suited his whim. With one hand he held a loose rein over an intelligent and willing steed, and with the other he gracefully supported his weight

upon the iron rail behind his seat. It was almost the feat of a contortionist. He wore light tweed clothes, and a large straw hat, which appeared to have no relation to the size of his head, but was supported entirely by his ears. At intervals during his monologue his finger rose instinctively to the brim of his hat, especially when, to explain some personal allusion, he observed, "They call me Cairlie, sir." He was a cheerful soul, and a certain emanation of good nature and considerateness made a polished gentleman of him.

Although there are numerous other associations in history connected with Kenilworth, it is natural and easy, and perhaps profitable, to forget them all, and take Scott in hand, and go and sit in the ruins, and read, thus reviving the scenes and the stories which he has there enshrined. Follow Amy Robsart "upstairs and downstairs" (whether they are the actual stairs or not), and watch Queen Elizabeth arrive on her stately progress to make her historic visit to Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, and you have the real message of Kenilworth, and the true sensations which belong to that shattered pile of vanished splendour. Even the Little One was moved to expression in verse after spending an afternoon among the ruins.