Here is also her father, Lord Burlington, celebrated by Pope, (who has dedicated to him the second of his epistles "on the use of riches,") and styled by Walpole, "the Apollo of the Arts," which he not only patronised, but studied and cultivated; his enthusiasm for architecture was such, that he not only designed and executed buildings for himself, (the villa at Chiswick, for example,) but contributed great sums to public works; and at his own expense published an edition of the designs of Palladio and of Inigo Jones. In one picture of Lord Burlington there is a head of his idol, Inigo Jones, in the background. There is also a good picture of Robert Boyle, the philosopher, a spare, acute, contemplative, interesting face, in which there is as much sensibility as thought. He is said to have died of grief for the loss of his favourite sister, Lady Ranelagh; and when we recollect who and what _she_ was--the sole friend of his solitary heart--the partner of his studies, and with qualities which rendered her the object of Milton's enthusiastic admiration, and almost tender regard, we scarce think less of her brother's philosophy, that it afforded him no consolation for the loss of _such_ a sister. On the other side hangs another philosopher, Thomas Hobbes, of Malmsbury, whose bold speculations in politics and metaphysics, and the odium they drew on him, rendered his whole life one continued warfare with established prejudices and opinions. He was tutor in the family of the first Earl of Devonshire, in 1607--remained constantly attached to the house of Cavendish--and never lost their countenance and patronage in the midst of all the calumnies heaped upon him. He died at Hardwicke under the protection of the first Duke of Devonshire, in 1678. This curious portrait represents him at the age of ninety-two. The picture is not good as a picture, but striking from the evident truth of the expression--uniting the last lingering gleam of thought with the withered, wrinkled, and almost ghastly decrepitude of extreme age. It has, I believe, been engraved by Hollar. I looked round for Henry Cavendish, the great chemist and natural philosopher--another bright ornament of a family every way ennobled--but there is no portrait of him at Hardwicke. I was also disappointed not to find the "limned effigy," as she would call it, of my dear Margaret of Newcastle. There are plenty of kings and queens, truly not worth "sixpence a-piece," as Walpole observes; but there is one picture I must not forget--that of the brave and accomplished Earl of Derby, who was beheaded at Bolton-le-Moor, the husband of the heroic "Lady of Lathom," who figures in Peveril of the Peak. The head has a grand melancholy expression, and I should suppose it to be a copy from Vandyke.