“No, sir,” said the old man, “it would be a hard matter to find any thing of all that now. Cromwell’s people would have knocked all that o’ the head, when they drained off the water, if such things had been there then.” “Cromwell’s people again! However it is as well to remember them. What had the venerable scenes of Kenilworth to do with politics, or freedom? But thus it is; if even the leaders in political agitations have a better taste themselves than to destroy, for the mere sake of destruction, they let the envy and malice of their followers rage away against whatsoever is beautiful, or grand.” So said Willoughton to his friend, who smiled, as he perceived that the indignant admirer of antiquity had allowed himself to speak of a military operation, as though it had been a popular commotion. “Where went the line of the lake, my man of Kenilworth?” asked Simpson. “Why, Sir, it flowed round two sides of the castle, as I have heard say; it went from the tilt-yard, all along the valley here, for half a mile, and spread out at the foot of these banks,—as wide as to the woods yonder, on the hill side.” “What a noble sheet of water,” exclaimed Willoughton, “with lawns and woods sloping to its margin and reflected on its surface!” “Yes, Sir, all that on the opposite side was a deer-park then, as I’ve heard from the account of some book, except that low ground further on, and that was pasture for cattle.” “For cattle!” exclaimed Mr. Simpson,—“how they would poach such ground as that!” “But what a beautiful picture they helped to make from the castle windows here,” said Willoughton; “when, on a summer’s noon, they lay under those shades, or stood in the cool waters of the lake.” “Ay,” said Mr. Simpson, “to such as did not value the land.” “It was just opposite the Pleasant, yonder,” said the aged historian. “The _Pleasant_!” “Yes, Sir; if you look this way, I will tell you where it stood:—it was a banqueting-house on the lake.” “O! the _Plaisance_!” “It stood on the walls there, down in the valley, to the right of John O’Gaunt’s tower here, and not far from the Swan Tower; but it is so dusk now you can hardly see where I mean.” Willoughton inquired where the Swan Tower stood. “Further off, a good way, Sir; but there is nothing of it to be seen now. It stood at the corner of the garden-wall, just where the lake came up; but there is nothing to be seen of that garden either now, Sir, though we know the place where it was. Queen Elizabeth used to take great delight in the banqueting-house, as I’ve heard.” “It was pleasantly seated;” observed Willoughton. “Yes, Sir; but there was rare feasting and music too, I reckon. She used to be fond of sitting in this very window, too!” “How do you know all this, my friend?”