The gray towers of ancient Haddon are beautifully situated, on a rocky eminence, in the valley of the Derbyshire Wye, one of the many lovely streams in that picturesque county. It is surrounded by a park, abounding with ancient oaks of gigantic size, and a terrace garden of the greatest beauty. This noble old place, although long since abandoned by the family of the Duke of Rutland, for the more modern and magnificent Palace of Belvoir, in Lincolnshire, is still kept in perfect order and repair, and is probably the most perfect specimen of a baronial residence extant in England. The tapestries, teeming with subjects from holy writ and heathen mythology, still adorn the walls, covering the wainscotings and doors; and any one wishing to exemplify the scenery of Shakspeare, where Hamlet slays Polonius behind the arras, has only to visit Haddon and find a true original of that from which the immortal poet painted his terrific scene. The antique heir-looms of the Vernons and Rutlands are all in place as they stood centuries ago. The lofty state-bed, with its gorgeous but faded hangings, worked by the fair hands of lady Katherine De Roos, wife of Sir George Manners, is a splendid specimen of the period. The suits of ancient armor, in which many a gallant knight did battle during the wars of the rival roses, are hanging on their original pegs in the armory under the long gallery. The chapel, in the crypt of the castle, the most ancient part of it, exhibits huge pillars coeval with the times of the Saxons, whilst the walnut tree pulpit and pews are richly carved with the symbols of the catholic faith. The silver dogs, or and_irons_, are yet on the ample hearths of the long gallery, and, at the upper end of the banqueting hall, on the _dais_, or elevated part of the floor, still stands, firm as a rock, the huge long oak table on which, heretofore, the lord of the mansion feasted his friends and tenants. Over one side of this hall is the music gallery, where the minstrels of yore played and sang, its antique and curious front highly adorned with gothic carving. Against the door post of the banqueting hall is the _hand bolt_—used in the old times as a mode of punishing the domestics who had been guilty of irregularities. It consists of an iron ring, by which the wrist of the offender can be locked in, and secured, as high as he can reach, above his head; and the unlucky culprit who refused to take off his horn of liquor in turn, or committed any petty offence against the laws of conviviality, had the alternative presented to him of quaffing a beaker of salt and water, or having his arm bolted in, whilst a quantity of cold spring water was poured down the upraised sleeve of his doublet, until it ran over the tops of his boots. The iron cresset is yet fixed on the loftiest pinnacle of the watch-tower, wherein the beacon fires blazed during alarms in the civil wars. All, all are there; and it is