Let us, then, suppose ourselves carried back, through the interval of some eight or nine centuries, to one of the provinces of France. Let the reader's imagination supply the place of those powers of enchantment whose existence was fully believed at the time of which we treat. We land in France in the eleventh century, and fancy ourselves walking on the banks of a river skirted by hills and woods. Yonder, on the summit of the rising ground, stands a stern looking castle, just catching the beams of the setting sun. It is a building of some considerable size, constructed of stone. The outer wall is flanked by towers, and a fosse, or ditch, runs round the enclosure, and communicates with the river. The chief entrance is through a gateway in the wall, guarded on each side by a tower, and spanned by a plain semicircular arch. On entering the gate, we observe the iron points of the immense portcullis ready to fall, in case of the fortress being attacked. On entering the castle-yard, the lofty keep stands before us, appropriated as the residence of the feudal owner and his family. It is the very type of stability, but has no pretensions to architectural taste and display. Safety, not elegance, is what the lord of this rough dwelling regards. Many of the apartments in the keep are small, and all are comfortless. The windows are mere loopholes, through which the light of heaven struggles for admission. The great hall is the chief room in the baronial residence, where, seated on the dais at the upper end, the lordly owner presides at the table of his family and household, and sometimes entertains his guests with banquets and festivities, in accordance with the character of the age. Rude, for the most part, is the furniture which even the best of the apartments contain, and when the nearest approach is made to magnificence, there is little of ease or comfort associated with it. Let us ascend the battlements of the tower, and look over the surrounding country, diversified by field and flood, all of which, far as the eye can reach, and far beyond, is subject to the owner of this castle. Gazing on the prospect, we at length perceive the gleaming of lances among the trees that skirt the road up to the barbican, or entrance of the fortress; a band of horsemen, some in plain mailed armour, ride up to the gate. It is the lord and his retinue, just returned from the sovereign's court, where he has been doing homage for his barony.