Hundreds of thousands of bottles of wine--chiefly port, claret, and burgundy--are in bins here, and a most admirable place for the purpose it is. The underground Adelphi is absolutely dry--save for the one spot mentioned--and the temperature does not vary five degrees in the course of a year. Here, also, are many hundreds of cases of champagne, and here the jaded Londoner--if he be sufficiently favoured--might come and feast his eyes on some few dozens of bottles of "white port"--a wine which is not in fashion in these degenerate days, but which, I rejoiced to learn, is still sent hence to a certain royal household. Strange as it may seem, there is a strong air of royalty about these dimly-lit vaults. What between the secret entrance to the old premises of the great bankers--Messrs. Coutts are the bankers for his Majesty and for the Queen[1]--and the "white port" which gives its benefit to illustrious persons of royal lineage, there is a distinct feeling that one is moving on an exalted plane when, paradoxical as it may seem, we are in this subterranean place. The distinctly regal air which pervades these caves of silence may have given rise to a certain statement that hereabouts--half a dozen yards from the royal stock of "white port"--Lady Jane Grey was cast into a dungeon deep and carried thence to the dreaded Tower, there to be beheaded. But the "Nine Days' Queen" knew only her gardens and her flowers when she lived in Durham House--the predecessor of the Adelphi. Here, in May, 1553, the Duke of Northumberland married his son, Lord Guildford Dudley, to Lady Jane, in pursuance of his design for altering the succession from the Tudor to the Dudley family. The unfortunate girl of scarce seventeen summers certainly left Durham House for the Tower--but it was with great pomp and circumstance, in order to be proclaimed Queen. Her execution followed hard upon, but she knew not imprisonment in what is now the Adelphi. On the other hand, the haunt of a wretched woman is still to be seen in this gloomy spot. "Jenny's Holes" figure on the plan to this day, and are not likely to be obliterated therefrom. Into one or other of these places--recesses by the main arches--the outcast came to sleep and, finally, to die; some say, indeed, that she was murdered here. "Jenny" has no history, but the vague tradition of her misery still haunts these "dark arches." Nor is the story at all improbable. The "dark arches" are forbidding enough now, and, even in the day-time, the sparse gas jets only serve to make darkness visible. So recently as the early seventies, when Mr. George Drummond came into the property, cows were kept in the underground passages of the Adelphi.