compassing the destruction of the state, put all their hopes upon nothing else but dissentions. But this <g>Castle</g>, through the bountifull munificence of Queene Elizabeth, was given and granted to <g>Robert Dudleie</g>, Earle of Leicester, who to repaire [Illustration] and adourn it spared for no cost; insomuch, as if a man consider either the gallant building or the large parkes, it would seem as it were to be ranged in a third place amongst the Castles in England.” Such is the concise description and historical epitome of this celebrated Castle, as recorded by the author of the “Britannia.” But many changes have occurred since then; its walls have been dismantled, its apartments thrown open to the weather, siege and storm have alternately expended their fury on its iron strength, and mutilated what they could not overthrow; for it is too firmly seated, too massive in its structure and materials, to feel the wasting hand of time, and happily too well cemented to be turned into a profitable quarry. The northern Ariosto, however, has done more to preserve it from further dilapidation than its own lords--he has invested its courts and halls with a charm which nothing can dissolve; and we have good reason to believe that the scenes which Scott has now rendered classic, the taste and patriotism of Clarendon will transmit unimpaired to posterity. “Dim peering through the vale of night, Yon murky forms bring back a crowd Of images that seek the light, That leap from out the misty shroud Of ages--picturing as they glide Athwart the tablet of my thought, What did of good or ill betide These walls, and all the deeds here wrought.”--LEATHAM.