nine secret letters all with the same direction on them, I am apt to conclude that the hundredth letter will have a similar one."

"But he will be so meezeraable,” said Adèle.

"I dare say he'll get over it, miss. At all events, whether he does or he don't, he will get no help from me."

"But it is the very last one," pleaded Adèle. "I have told him in it that I shall nevare write to him no more."

Mrs. Bone found her principles going, she had to shake herself together. "This is one time too many, miss. Sir Lionel is come with your approbation, for you were not drove in the least manner, and any letters to M. De Valognes must go in the post-bag." So saying, she hoisted the coal-basket, and departed to toil up-stairs with it.

Adèle was very much vexed. Hers was a very innocent little letter. She merely told Valognes in effect that she was engaged to Sir Lionel Somers, that it was her father's wish, that she thought she should like it, that bye-gones were bye-gones, and that she would ever hold him as one of her dearest friends, or words to that effect. But she wanted him to have it, for she was really in her way very fond of him, and wished to prevent mistakes. Lady Somers of Ashurst would be a very fine lady indeed. And Valognes was very poor; and Sir Lionel was very charming and young. And so she wished particularly that Valognes should have the letter.

Her father would be absolutely furious at the idea of her writing to Valognes. Still it must go, and go secretly. And Mrs. Bone was recalcitrant. What could she do? She sat at the table, pondering.

William the Silent came in. Would he do? Very doubtful indeed; but she was determined to try him.

I need not say that she was infinitely above trying any personal acts of persuasion with a man in his rank of life. She took the letter, laid it on the table, and put a guinea on it.

said,

Then she

"When you take the other letters to the post I wish you would take that one for me," was all she said.

William remained perfectly silent. Adèle tried to help crying, but she could not. At last, when William had finished what he was about, he took the guinea and put it on the table before her, and placed the letter in his pocket.

She pushed the guinea towards him again, and in pushing it back it rolled down and fell on the floor. At this moment the outside door was hastily opened, and some one, coming hastily round the corner of the screen, advanced towards them.

It was Sir Lionel. William was picking up the guinea, which he handed to Adèle, who was crying; but the letter was safe in his pocket.

(To be continued in our next.)

MONG the many places of historic and traditional interest in the neighbourhood of London, Ham House, in the parish of Petersham, stands conspicuously forward. Built for Henry, Prince of Wales, elder brother of the ill-fated King Charles, the residence of the haughty Duchess of Lauderdale, and, during her second husband's lifetime, the head-quarters of the Cabal, the appointed asylum for the deposed James II., and the birthplace of the great statesman and general John Duke of Argyll,— it well merits a prominent place in the rank of England's relics of the past. It is full of memories; and its peaceful aspect on a bright summer's day, with its sunny meadows in front stretching down to the Thames, cannot fail to fill the beholder with a sense of mysterious longing to know the tales its dark red walls enclose, and to recall the powerful minds and stately figures who moved amid the shade of the trees which surround it, and soften while they throw out the bold and graceful outline of the time-worn building. And And yet Time's ruthless hand has here done less to mark its flight than in many another structure; it has not been suffered to fall into decay, and the proofs of the magnificence of the period in which it was erected remain undisturbed and yet untarnished, for the work was well and solidly done, down to the minutest details, as some of the bellows and brushes of pure silver can attest.

The house does not stand high, and it is only on a near approach that its beauty is seen to advantage; and then it appears, as indeed it is, most difficult of entrance, for it is quite surrounded by high walls, except where an apparently open space is guarded by some very handsome old iron gates, of admirable design, and of great mas

siveness; and even were they opened—an operation which it is more than probable has not been effected for many long years-a sunk fence still prevents all access from the front. A small side door, however, answers the purpose, and admits the visitor who is fortunate enough to have his passport into the gravelled court.

Now, while standing on the outside of the building, is the time to examine into its past history, of which we shall find many traces in the interior. It was built about the year 1610, by Sir Thomas Vavasour, and is said to have been designed as a residence for Henry Prince of Wales, though it does not appear that he ever inhabited it, owing, possibly, to his early death at the age of nineteen. From Sir Thomas Vavasour it passed into the hands of the Earl of Holderness, whose family sold it to William Murray; and on the 22nd of May, 1651, it was surrendered to the use of Sir Lionel Tolmache, who had married Elizabeth, daughter of William Murray, and who was created Countess of Dysart in her own right. From that day to this it has remained in the family of the Tollemaches, Earls of Dysart, who still retain it.

After the death of Sir Lionel the house underwent great alterations, and many additions were made to it by his widow, on whom the peerage was conferred; but it was furnished at great expense in the taste of the time of Charles II., and the parquet flooring in one, at least, of the drawing-rooms bears the monogram of this lady in the double L, which was her initial as Duchess of Lauderdale. She possessed great political influence even during Sir Lionel's life, through the intimacy existing between herself and the then Earl of Lauderdale; for, according to Burnet, "their correspondence was of an early date, and had given occasion to censure. For when he was a prisoner after the battle of Worcester, in 1651, she made him believe that he was in great danger of his life, and that she saved it by her intrigues with Cromwell. Upon the king's restoration she thought the earl did not make the return which she expected, and they lived for some years at a distance; but, after her husband's death, she made up all quarrels, and they were so much together that the earl's lady was offended at it, and went to Paris, where she died three years after. The Lady Dysart got such an ascendency over him at length that it lessened him in the esteem of the world, for he delivered himself up to all her humours and caprices." They were married in 1671, and then "she took upon herself to determine everything. She sold all places, and was wanting in no methods.

that would bring her money, which she lavished with the most profuse vanity. They lived at a vast expense, and she carried all things with a haughtiness that would not have been easily borne from a queen; and talked of all people with such ungoverned freedom that she grew at length to be universally hated. She was a

woman of great beauty, and of far greater parts. She had a wonderful quickness of apprehension, and an amazing vivacity in conversation. She had studied not only divinity and history, but mathematics and philosophy. She was violent in everything she set about: a violent friend, but a much more violent enemy. She had a restless ambition; was ravenously covetous, and would have stuck at nothing by which she might compass her ends." It was during the lifetime of her second husband that Clifford, Ashley, Buckingham, and Arlington met there, and in the house of their host, whose initial gave the last necessary letter to the notorious Cabal, formed those iniquitous schemes which have procured for Charles II.'s ministry the infamous reputation they have so long and justly borne, On entering the house the first of its many treasures that claims

attention is a beautiful portrait, by Sir Joshua Reynolds, of a Countess of Dysart, so unfortunately placed, that every time the hall door is opened wide its handle adds to the size of a hole which it has already made in a prominent part of the picture. The large hall in which it hangs contains several other good pictures; it occupies the whole of the centre of the house, and has a gallery round it, the upper walls of which are ornamented with more portraits; amongst them, one of General Tollemache, a sternlooking warrior, who was killed at Brest in 1694-and thereby hangs a tale, which, if true, tarnishes the fair fame of the Duke of Marlborough. Tradition says that the great duke was jealous of the talents of this officer, whom he hated, and on whose ruin he was determined. When he summoned a council of war to consider the question of an attack on Brest, General Tollemache warmly opposed it as totally impracticable, which the duke, in his heart, also believed it to be. Still he upheld the project, over-ruled the objections, and finally appointed General Tollemache himself to the command of the expedition in such a manner that he could not, consistently with honour, decline the proffered post. The duke, by this manoeuvre, secured his defeat at least, and fortune granted him even more, for not only was the attack completely repulsed, but the general himself died of a wound received during the fight.

Adjoining the hall is perhaps the very smallest chapel ever seen. Evidently the duchess, however large in most of her ideas, and in spite of her divinity studies, did not consider a chapel as an appendage of much importance. Still it contains its point of interest, for the prayer-book was the gift of King Charles. Near the chapel door, in a sort of vestibule at the bottom of the staircase, hangs a large picture of the battle of Lepanto. A quaint and extraordinary picture it is; the name of the artist is unfortunately unknown, as it does credit to his imagination and originality, if not to his truth and consistency. The broad stairs possess very handsome balusters of walnut wood, and up and down them the ghost of the Duchess of Lauderdale has been seen to walk, clad in the rustling silks and gorgeous fashions of Charles II.'s luxurious days. The large open hall is surrounded by suites of apartments filled with beautiful furniture, and with rare cabinets; one of remarkable fineness is of ivory, and lined with cedar. Many of the chairs are of handsome carved wood, and the cushions are covered with old cut velvet of rich dark colours; and in all possible corners lurk the double L's. The