(1) A side chapel used for burials, now attached to the Zytphen-Adeler family. ‘Bothwell’ was buried in it, and removed to the vault under the chancel when the Z.-A. family had some time adopted it. (2) The entrance porch, with a fine oak door ornamented with iron work representing the dragons of ‘Drags’-holm.] This church is, however, the one from which the castle of Dragsholm has ever, ecclesiastically, depended. Castle and church are at some distance: about twenty miles drive. The castle was formerly a royal one; it was so in Bothwellian times.[403] Little remains of the old building; it was burnt during the Swedish wars in the seventeenth century; and rebuilt by the Zytphen-Adeler family (of Dutch origin); it still belongs to them. Only the walls have been preserved; they are of red brick; but the actual owner has caused them to be whitewashed throughout. The characteristic great tower it used to have in Hepburnian times has been destroyed. Almost no trace of any style is left, and the house, big as it is, is plain enough. The park around it is fine, with plenty of deer, hares, &c. The sea is near at hand and you see it from the walls. As for the mummy, it lies in an oak coffin now preserved in a vault under the floor of the nave in the Faarvejle church. This vault is under the passage in the middle, near the step leading to the choir. The wooden planks on the floor are removed, a ladder is provided, and you find yourself in a subterranean chamber, with coffins piled on the top of one another, right and left. ‘Bothwell’s’ stands apart on the left; it is an oak chest; as it was in a bad state, the present Baron Zytphen-Adeler has caused it to be placed in another one, with a sheet of glass allowing the head to be seen. But he kindly allowed me to see the body complete. The man must have been rather tall, not very; the hands and feet have a very fine and aristocratic appearance; the mummifying process may have something to do with this appearance; yet I think some of it came from nature. The head is absolutely hairless; the face is close shaven; the skull has no hair. I noticed, however, on the top of it faint traces of reddish-brown hair, but extremely close cropped. Horace Marryat, who saw it in 1859, says (in the same innocent fashion as if he had been performing a pious rite) that he ‘severed a lock of his red and silver hair.’ If he really did so, he must have severed all that was left. (‘Residence in Jutland,’ 1860.)