Hatfield is a very interesting seat, not only for its association with the past, but for its presenting, at this moment, a picture of the baronial life of two centuries and a half since. The Hall of the ancient Palace remains; the historic Oak is preserved; the vineyard was in existence when Charles I. was conveyed here a prisoner to the army, and its famous yew walk is left; and the deer are still numerous. The mansion has been restored to its pristine magnificence; the landscape gardening is fine. The noble owner of Hatfield has devoted a portion of his domains to the pastimes of the people; and on every occasion, whether it be the reception of royalty, or the entertainment of the toilers of the country, it is carried out in the generous spirit of olden English hospitality. And this princely place lies within a score of miles of the metropolis and its three million of people, who are brought almost to the park gates within an hour's railway journey. FOOTNOTES: [77] See _ante_, pp. 116, 124. [78] "Hatfield House and its Contents," _Builder_, 1859. THE GRAND REMONSTRANCE. The most memorable sitting in Parliament, in the fourth year of King Charles the First, was that of the House of Commons, on March 2d, 1629, which was pronounced by Sir Simonds D'Ewes as "_the most gloomy, sad, and dismal day for England that had happened for five hundred years_." The incidents of this day will be recollected by every one. Sir John Eliot is said, according to all accounts, to have made an indignant attack upon Lord Weston, the new Treasurer, and to have concluded by moving the adoption of a Remonstrance. The Speaker, Sir John Finch, declined to put the Remonstrance to the vote, and announced that he had received the King's command to adjourn the House until the 10th of March. The House paid little attention to the royal message, contending, first, that it was not the office of the Speaker to deliver any such command; and, secondly, that the power of adjournment belonged to the House, and not to the Crown. Regardless of these arguments, the Speaker prepared to obey the royal mandate. He rose and quitted the chair, when two members, Denzil Holles, son of the Earl of Clare, on the one side, and Benjamin Valentine, on the other side, stepped forward, and forced him back into his official seat. He appealed to the House with abundance of tears. Selden argued and remonstrated with him. Sir Peter Hayman disavowed him, we are told, "as a kinsman," and denounced him as a disgrace to a noble family. Again he endeavoured to quit the chair. Sir Thomas Edmondes, who was old enough to have been ambassador from Queen Elizabeth to Henry IV. of France--a man of small stature, but of great courage--with other privy councillors, pressed forward to the Speaker's help; but Holles violently held him in his chair, and swore, by what is termed Queen Elizabeth's oath, "God's wounds!" that he should sit still until it should please the House to rise.