“I recommend you,” said Willoughton, “to avoid looking, just at this moment, towards the door at the bottom of the hall, lest you should see the stately form of Elizabeth in the archway; I had a glimpse of something like her just now; nay, I am not quite sure that I did not see the grave physiognomy of Leicester, under his small black velvet cap and feather.” “We shall not get to Warwick to-night,” said Mr. Simpson, fretfully. “They talk of the patience of a painful antiquary; think what the patience of his friend must be.” “I have not the honour to deserve the former title,” said Willoughton. “Between us, we approach to it; the painful part of it, you will allow, belongs to me.” “In the old sense of the word,” said Willoughton, “you do not claim it; and, as to the new one, your jests recompense you for your pain: I have all possible inclination to deserve the title, in its best sense; at least by cherishing those inquiries, which make us intimate with the characters and habits of our fellow creatures in past ages, which show them to us in their halls, their ceremonies, their tournaments, their banquets, their domestic usages and even in their monastic retirement. These picturesque visions, in which the imagination so much delights, and every discovery, however remote, awaken a peculiar kind of interest and of sentiment no less delightful, which render antiquity, of all studies, the least liable to the epithet of dry, though dull and dry people so liberally bestow it. Antiquity is one of the favourite regions of poetry.” “Nay,” said Mr. Simpson, “your woods and your meadows are the region for that. Who ever thought of looking for a muse in an old castle? But come, let us remember, that we are on the road for Warwick.” “Before we go, my friend here must show me his old manuscript; and I must see this fine ruin by moonlight.” “By moonlight!” exclaimed Simpson; “would you really stay for so romantic a purpose? We have seen it already by sun-light, and almost by no light at all?” “The moon is rising, now, Sir,” said the old man, “and by the time the gentleman has seen the book it will be risen high enough to give you light on your journey.” “Meanwhile, the horses will have no objection to a little corn,” remarked Willoughton; “nor the postilion to a little ale, if this good man will direct him where to get it.” Mr. Simpson having added, that he too should like a little Warwickshire ale, the old man replied, “The ale they sell is not much to brag on; but, if you please, gentlemen, I will direct the lad where he and the horses may rest themselves, and, if you will step with me, you can taste some of my home-brewed, and see the book at the same time.”