The kitchen and its adjuncts are of magnificent dimensions, and indicate an amplitude in the way of provision for good cheer worthy an ancient house; and what struck me as a still better feature was a library of sound, sensible, historical, and religious works for the servants.

We went into the beer vaults, where a man drew beer into a long black jack, such as Scott describes.  It is a tankard, made of black leather, I should think half a yard deep.  He drew the beer from a large hogshead, and offered us some in a glass.  It looked very clear, but, on tasting, I found it so exceedingly bitter that it struck me there would be small virtue for me in abstinence.

In passing up to go out of the house, we met in the entry two pleasant-looking young women, dressed in white muslin.  As they passed us, a door opened where a table was handsomely set out, at which quite a number of well-dressed people were seating themselves.  I withdrew my eyes immediately, fearing lest I had violated some privacy.  Our conductor said to us, “That is the upper servants’ dining room.”

Once in the yard again, we went to see some of the older parts of the building.  The oldest of these, Caesar’s Tower, which is said to go back to the time of the Romans, is not now shown to visitors.  Beneath it is a dark, damp dungeon, where prisoners used to be confined, the walls of which are traced all over with inscriptions and rude drawings.

Then you are conducted to Guy’s Tower, named, I suppose, after the hero of the green dragon and dun cow.  Here are five tiers of guard rooms, and by the ascent of a hundred and thirty-three steps you reach the battlements, where you gain a view of the whole court and grounds, as well as of the beautiful surrounding landscape.

In coming down from this tower, we somehow or other got upon the ramparts, which connect it with the great gate.  We walked on the wall four abreast, and played that we were knights and ladies of the olden time, walking on the ramparts.  And I picked a bough from an old pine tree that grew over our heads; it much resembled our American yellow pitch pine.

Then we went down and crossed the grounds to the greenhouse, to see the famous Warwick vase.  The greenhouse is built with a Gothic stone front, situated on a fine point in the landscape.  And there, on a pedestal, surrounded by all manner of flowering shrubs, stands this celebrated antique.  It is of white marble, and was found at the bottom of a lake near Adrian’s villa, in Italy.  They say that it holds a hundred and thirty-six gallons; constructed, I suppose, in the roistering old drinking times of the Roman emperors, when men seem to have discovered that the grand object for which they were sent into existence was to perform the functions of wine skins.  It is beautifully sculptured with grape leaves, and the skin and claws of the panther—­these latter certainly not an inappropriate emblem of the god of wine, beautiful, but dangerous.