being every where broken, make it so convenient a place to dry poppies and mustard feed, that the room is appropriated to that use. Next this parlour, as I faid before, lies the pigeonhouse, by the fide of which runs an entry, which lets you on one hand and t'other into a bed-chamber, a buttery, and a small hole called the chaplain's study: then follow a brew-house, a little green and gilt parlour, and the great stairs, under which is the dairy; a little further on the right the fervants hall, and by the fide of it up fix steps, the old lady's closet for her private devotions; which has a lettice into the hall, intended (as we imagine) that at the same time as she prayed, fhe might have an eye on the men and maids. There are upon the ground floor in all twenty-fix apartments, among which I must not forget a chamber which has in it a large antiquity of timber, that feems to have been either a bedstead, or a cyder-prefs. The kitchen is built in form of the Rotunda, being one vast vault to the top of the house; where one aperture serves to let out the fmoke, and let in the light. By the blackness of the walls, the circular fires, vaft cauldrons, yawning mouths of ovens and furnaces, you would think it either the forge of Vulcan, the cave of Polypheme, or the temple of Moloch. The horror of this place has made fuch an impreffion on the country people, that they believe the Witches keep their Sabbath here, and that once a year the Devil treats them with infernal venifon, a roafted Tiger ftuffed with ten-penny nails. Above Above ftairs we have a number of rooms: you never pass out of one into another but by the afcent or defcent of two or three stairs. Our best room is very long and low, of the exact proportion of a Band-box. In most of these rooms there are hangings of the finest work in the world, that is to say, those which Arachne fpins from her own bowels. Were it not for this only furniture, the whole would be a miserable fcene of naked walls, flawed ceilings, broken windows, and rufty locks. The roof is fo decayed, that after a favourable fhower we may expect a crop of mushrooms between the chinks of our floors. All the doors are as little and low as those to the cabbins of Packet-boats. Thefe rooms have for many years had no other inhabitants than certain rats, whose very age renders them worthy of this Seat, for the very rats of this venerable houfe are grey: fince these have not yet quitted it, we hope at least that this ancient mansion may not fall during the small remnant these poor animals have to live, who are now too infirm to remove to another. There is yet a small fubfiftence left them in the few remaining books of the Library. We had never feen half what I have described, but for a starched grey-headed Steward*, who is as much an antiquity as any in this place, and looks like an old family picture walked out of its frame. He entertained * Old Vellum; fo naturally painted by Addifon; who, in truth, always painted naturally. entertained us as we paffed from room to room with feveral relations of the family; but his obfervations were particularly curious when he came to the cellar: he informed us where stood the triple rows of butts of fack, and where were ranged the bottles of tent, for toasts in a morning; he pointed to the stands that fupported the iron-hooped hogfheads of strong beer; then stepping to a corner, he lugged out the tattered fragments of an unframed picture: "This (fays he, "with tears) was poor Sir Thomas! once master* "of all this drink. He had two fons, poor young "masters! who never arrived to the age of his beer; "they both fell ill in this very room, and never went " out on their own legs." He could not pass by a heap of broken bottles without taking up a piece, to fhew us the Arms of the family upon it. He then led us up the Tower by dark winding stone steps, which landed us into feveral little rooms one above another. One of these was nailed up, and our guide whispered to us as a fecret the occasion of it: it seems the course of this noble blood was a little interrupted about two centuries ago, by a freak of the Lady Frances, who was here taken in the fact with a neighbouring Prior, ever fince which the room has been nailed up, and branded with the name of the Adultery-Chamber. The ghost of Lady Frances is supposed to walk there, and fome prying maids of the family * Not master of this manfion, but of all this drink! The ftone steps, and the haunted chamber, and arms on the bottles, are admirable. family report that they have seen a lady in a fardingale through the key-hole; but this matter is hushed up, and the fervants are forbid to talk of it. I must needs have tired you by this long defcription: but what engaged me in it, was a generous principle to preserve the memory of that, which itself must foon fall into duft, nay perhaps part of it before this letter reaches your hands. Indeed we owe this old house the fame kind of gratitude that we do to an old friend, who harbours us in his declining condition, nay even in his last extremities. How fit is this retreat for uninterrupted study, where no one that paffes by can dream there is an inhabitant, and even those who would dine with us dare not stay under our roof! Any one that fees it will own I could not have chofen a more likely place to converse with the dead in. I had been mad indeed if I had left your Grace for any one but Homer. But when I return to the living, I fhall have the sense to endeavour to converfe with the best of them, and fhall therefore as foon as poffible tell you in perfon how much I am, etc. LETTER XIII. THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM TO MR. POPE. You defire my opinion as to the late dispute in France concerning Homer*: and I think it excufable (at an age, alas! of not much pleasure) to amufe myself a little in taking notice of a controversy, than *The mildnefs, civility, and politenefs with which La Mottewrote against the opinions of Mad. D'Acier, make his Difcourfe on Homer a model of controverfy. The lady replied to him with acrimony and vehemence. If he had infinuated that she had wrinkles, or that she had weakened her eyes by poring over Aldus's Ariftophanes, fhe could not have been more exafperated. La Motte, not understanding Greek, was certainly an incompetent judge; and his chief objections arise from the manners of Homer not being like the French manners. The profe of La Motte is far superior to his verfe. His Abridgment of Homer is imperfect and uninteresting. He was one of the chief combatants in the great controverfy concerning the refpective merits of the ancients and moderns. He was honoured with the friendship of Fenelon ; whofe letters to him abound in good fterling judgment, and exquifite tafte; particularly one, in which Fenelon makes objections to rhyme, that appear unanswerable. "La rime gene plus qu'elle n'orne les vers. Elle les charge d'epithétes; elle rend fouvent la diction forcée, & pleine d'une vaine parure; en allongant les difcours, elle les affoiblit. Souvent on a recours à un vers inutile, pour en amener un bon.' La Motte was fo great an enemy to rhyme, that he addressed an Ode to Cardinal Fleury, in blank verfe; in which measure alfo he wrote the Tragedy of Edipus, and defended his practice in a fpirited preface against some strong objections of Voltaire. His other tragedies in rhyme were, Romulus, the Maccabees, and Ines de Caftro; a story on which the Elvira of Mallet is founded. |