“It should seem,” said Willoughton, “that no human force could lay low walls of such strength as these; yet, as one side of the tower is destroyed, while the other three remain nearly entire, it must have been assailed by some power more sudden and partial than that of time.” “Yes, Sir, yes,” said a man, who had been standing by, observing the strangers with attentive curiosity, “that part was pulled down by Cromwell’s soldiers, and, if they had had more time on their side, they would have pulled it all down; as it was, they did a mort of mischief.” Willoughton turned to look at his informer, and saw a tall, thin man, who appeared to be a villager, and who, without waiting for encouragement, proceeded: “I have heard say, they destroyed all that stood between Cæsar’s and John O’Gaunts tower there, at the end of the great hall, and a deal on the other side of the court, between the Whitehall and Lord Leicester’s buildings.” “Are those walls before us the remains of the great hall?” inquired Mr. Simpson, pointing to a picturesque mass of ruins, standing on the third side of the upper court and seen in perspective between the other two. “Yes, Sir,” said the man, “that there was the great banqueting-hall where”— “Leicester entertained Queen Elizabeth,” observed Willoughton. “How beautifully the ivy falls over those light Gothic window-mullions and that arched door-way, so appropriately and elegantly sculptured with vine-leaves! The sun now slopes its rays through the arch, as if purposely to show the beauty of its proportion and the grace of the vine that entwines it.” “Ay,” said Mr. Simpson, “many a pitcher of wine and many a baron of beef have been carried under that arch by the king’s yeomen, when Henry the Third kept his court here.” “I doubt whether by yeomen,” replied Willoughton, “for, though yeomen of the household are mentioned, about this time, yeomen of the guard, a part of whose office it afterwards became to carry certain dishes to the king’s table, do not occur till the reign of Henry the Seventh. However, it is probable, that, before the appointment of the latter, yeomen of the household might perform this business on state occasions, and in that very hall may have stood before the long tables, in double row, with wine ewers in their hands.” “Those were times worth living in,” observed Mr. Simpson. “Ay, those were jolly times! Sir,” said the stranger man; “it’s lonely and sad enough in that old hall now; nothing but briers and ivy. Why, there is an ivy tree now against that old wall there, partly as old as the wall itself. Look, Sir, it is as grey, and almost as sapless as the stone it crawls upon, though the trunk is such a size, and hardly shows a green leaf, spring or summer.”