“‘Whereat, I crave,’ then said the King, ‘That thou wilt tell to me?’ ‘At such a butt, sire, as we wont To use in our countrye.’ “Then William, with his brethren twain, Stept forth upon the green, And there set up two hazel rods, Twenty score pace between.” The reader will recollect that Locksley upbraids his adversary, after his unsuccessful shot, for not having made an allowance for the pressure of the breeze. Cloudeslea gives a caution to the spectators no less minute: “He prayed the people that were there That they would all still stand; ‘He that for such a wager shoots, Has need of steady hand;’” and, having chosen a “bearing flane,” splits the wand. KENILWORTH CASTLE. “KENILWORTH.” KENILWORTH CASTLE was in former times one of the most magnificent piles in England. In the days of its prosperity it took a military part, and it still retains traces of a warlike character,—though the foliage which overspreads its remains, has softened down the ruins into the appearance of a peaceful mansion. It was first destroyed by Cromwell, in revenge of its possessor having favoured the royal cause. Since then it has been gradually decaying, and another century will probably bring it to the ground. History mentions Kenilworth so early as the reign of Henry I. At that time it was private property, but afterwards fell into the hands of the Crown, in which it continued till Elizabeth bestowed it upon her favourite, Leicester. This nobleman, profuse and extravagant to the last degree, is said to have expended upon it no less than £60,000. One of the most remarkable events in the history of this castle is the entertainment given by the latter proprietor to Elizabeth, which forms the groundwork of the beautiful romance of “Kenilworth.” The traditionary recollection of this grand festivity still lives in the country, such having been the impression made upon the minds of the country people by the grandeur of the occasion, that, in a lapse of 250 years, it has not decayed in their remembrance. The following is an account, given by an eye-witness, of her Majesty’s reception:— “On the 9th of July, 1575, in the evening, the Queen approached the first gate of the castle. The porter, a man tall in person, and of stern countenance, with a club and keys, accosted her Majesty in a rough speech, full of passion, in metre, aptly made for the purpose, and demanded the cause of all this din, and noise, and reeling about, within the charge of his office. But upon seeing the Queen, as if he had been struck instantaneously, and pierced, at the presence of a personage so evidently expressing heroical sovereignty, he fell down on his knees, humbly prays pardon for his ignorance, yields up his club and keys, and proclaims open gates and free passage to all.