carried out with a total disregard of the with the principal rooms, and an undercost. A subterranean ballroom, one hun- ground railway to complete the display of dred and sixty-six feet long, forms part of ingenuity and eccentricity which everythe number, and for festive delight it where abounds. Another underground would be difficult to imagine a more per- excursion through one of the most "invitfect apartment. The walls are hung with ing" tunnels, if such dark passages can mirrors of great value, with beautifully be so termed, ends at the new riding. adorned alcoves wherein the "whirlers" school, built by the "invisible nobleman can retire and seek seclusion from the to supersede the one just described. Exarena of gaiety. The decoration is artis-ternally the edifice presents the appeartically pleasing, and the visitors can roam about from one underground conservatory to another, or be "lifted" without effort to the upper air. The doors are of enormous weight and size, and, like the famous Chatsworth "garden gate," are so perfectly hung that they respond to the lightest touch, and close with a precision accurate and astonishing. Through these subterranean apartments the visitor can roam until wonderment becomes entirely satiated; passing through a magnificent library into a spacious billiard chamber, with reception rooms and writing-rooms in proximity to these superb salons of delight. In every detail the most refined taste has been displayed, and the furniture compares favorably with the elegance of the decorations. The absence of fireplaces is a noticeable feature, the underground palace being warmed without visible flame or annoying draught. Passing along one of the underground passages which honeycomb the foundations of the Abbey, the visitor reaches the handsome structure which is generally known as the Duke of Newcastle's riding school. The only daughter of this nobleman was given in marriage to the second Earl of Oxford and Mortimer, whose only daughter married the second Duke of Portland, and brought the Welbeck estates to the already opulent Bentincks. The riding-school with which the Cavendish Duke of Newcastle was associated was not constructed on strict lines of architectural beauty, and was afterwards converted into a picture-gallery one hundred and eighty-two feet long and well proportioned. The four great glass chandeliers in this vast apartment, each weighing a ton, are perhaps the most noteworthy features, and it was in this awe-striking room that the last Duke of Portland piled his magnificent collection of paintings, the works of the most celebrated masters of the Flemish and Italian schools, against the wainscoting, to mildew and rot in their undignified oblivion. Beneath the oaken floor immense wine cellars were constructed with cast-iron bins, and subterranean passages to connect the cellars ance of a gigantic public hall, and is of massive and portentous aspect. Undoubtedly the building is the finest ridingschool in the world, and an internal view is absolutely startling. A perfect forest of columns serves to support the finely arched roof, and the bewildered spectator would immediately come to the conclusion that he had been suddenly transported into a large railway station, if it were not for the artistic features which prevail throughout the interior. The roof is of glass and highly ornamented iron, with cornices beautifully decorated with foliage and fantastic groups of birds and beasts. The school is three hundred and seventynine feet in length by one hundred and six feet in width, and fifty feet in height, so that some idea may be gained of its enormous capacity; and some fifty horses can easily be exercised within its area. Upwards of eight thousand gas jets are employed to illuminate the building, and when so illuminated a sight is presented which is truly marvellous. A little further on are the stables, coach-houses, etc., and the covered "gallop" of one thousand feet long another of the wonders of Welbeck. Around these buildings are picturesque dwellings, forming a little village, and chiefly occupied by stablemen and others. The houses are models of elegance and comfort, and as much care has been bestowed in their construction as in any of the marvels which are every where present in the vast domain. Not less remarkable are the extensive kennels, the cow-yards, cow-houses, and dairies, while the gardens of Welbeck, stretching down to the edge of the lake, with a peachwall a thousand feet long, and an avenue of fruit trees of similar length, are features which no visitor would care to pass unnoticed. Since the death of the eccentric nobleman, which took place a few years ago, to whose ingenuity and skill these marvellous achievements are mainly due, and the advent of the present Duke of Portland, a young man now about twenty-five years of age, and at the time of succeeding to the inheritance holding an important commission in the army, the palace of Welbeck has not been so effectually obscured from the eyes of the public. With a generosity which has earned its reward the young duke threw open the barred gates, and allowed the public to inspect a domain which for years had been invisible. The princes of the blood royal, and the scions of noble houses, who had stood at the gate like the peri at the gate of Paradise, claiming impossible admission, were quickly invited to inspect the wonders of the place, and many availed themselves of the noble owner's proffered hospitality. The reception accorded to the Prince of Wales when he visited the Abbey was brilliant and imposing, and the Welbeck welkin rang with shouts of festivity such as had not been experienced for years before. The fine park was thrown open, and the public walked at will through the beautiful grounds, entering the hitherto sacred place with a wondering and astonished gaze. From The Athenæum. THE following letters of Charles Lamb are printed by the courtesy of a correspondent: DEAR SIR,- Some draughts and boluses have been brought here which we conjecture were meant for the young Lady whom you saw this morning, tho' they are labelled for Miss Isola Lamb. No such person is known on the Chase side, and she is fearful of taking medicines, which may have been made up for another patient. She begs me to say that she was born an Isola and christen'd Emma. Moreover that she is Italian by birth, and that her ancestors were from Isola Bella (Fair Island) in the Kingdom of Naples. She has never changed her name, and rather mournfully adds that she has no prospect at present of doing so. She is literally I. SOLA, or single, at present. Therefore she begs that the obnoxious monosyllable may be omitted on future phials, an innocent syllable enough you'll say, but she has no claim to it. It is the bitterest pill of the seven you have sent her. When a Lady loses her good why does not wine choke us? could Nature have made that sloping lane, not to facilitate the down-going? She does nothing in vain. You know that better than I. You know how often she has helped you at a dead lift, and how much better entitled she is to a fee than credit. Still there is something due to manyourself sometimes, when you carry off the ners and customs, and I should apologize to you and Mrs. Asbury for being absolutely carried home upon a man's shoulders thro' Silver Street, up Parsons Lane, by the Chapels (which might have taught me better) and then to be deposited like a dead log at Gaffer Westwood's, who, it seems, does not "insure against intoxication. Not that the mode of it is more easy than a one-horse chaise. Ariel, conveyance is objectionable. On the contrary, in "The Tempest," says : — On a Bat's back do I fly But Now I take it, that Ariel must sometimes have she allows me to abate a little of the true. ... By the way is magnesia good on these occasions? 3 iii. pol. med. sum, ante. noct. in rub. can. The I am no licentiate, but know enough of simples to beg you to send me a draught after and maids at your house will say) that it is not this model. But still you'll say (or the men home a pick-a-back. Well, maybe it is not. a seemly sight for an old gentleman to go But I have never studied grace. I take it to be a mere superficial accomplishment. I regard more the internal acquisitions. great object after supper is to get home, and whether that is obtained in a horizontal posture, or perpendicular (as foolish men and apes affect for dignity) I think is little to the purpose. The end is always greater than the means. Well, she must swallow it as well as she can, but begs the dose may not be repeated. name, what is to become of her? Yours faithfully, CHARLES LAMB (not Isola). DEAR SIR, It is an observation of a wise man, that "moderation is best in all things." I cannot agree with him "in liquor." There is a smoothness and oiliness in wine that makes it go down by a natural channel, which I am positive was made for that descending. Else, Here I am, able to compose a sensible here? I have just sense enough to remember rational apology, and what signifies how I got I was very happy last night, and to thank our kind host and hostess, and that's sense enough, I hope. N B. what is good for a desperate headache? why, Patience, and a determination not to mind being miserable all day long. And that I have made my mind up to. Yours truly, C. LAMB. (Addressed) J. V. Asbury, Esq. For EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage. Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co. Single Numbers of THE LIVING AGE, 18 cents. A SPRING SONG. Blossom, white on the waving tree, Robin, singing your heart's delight, Rippling and foaming in sheer delight, Heart, that cannot, for cares that press, As the flowers may, blooming sweet, Golden Hours. THE PRAYER OF SOCRATES. Καὶ εὔχετο δὲ πρὸς τοὺς θεοὺς ἁπλῶς ταγαθὰ δι GRANT, O Olympian gods supreme, JOHN STUART BLACKIE. From The Contemporary Review. Metaphysical Philosophy." But Maurice's interest in man was moral and not properly literary. It seemed to fail at the very point at which Cardinal Newman's rice followed man with ardent interest in exhibits its greatest force and play. Mau taken comparatively little pleasure in the mere natural history of his character and mind, and to have understood less of it THE special intellectual greatness of Cardinal Newman is, I think, more due to the singular combination of a deep insight into man with a predominant pas-his search for wisdom, but seems to have sion for theology, than to any other single cause. And when I speak of a deep insight into man, I mean an insight not merely into man's higher moral nature, the best side of man, though that he has too, but the literary feeling which a dramatic poet has for man's grotesque weaknesses and his sometimes equally grotesque virtues, the pleasure such a poet has in tracking the wayward turns and quaint wilfulness of his nature, the delight he takes in what may be called the natu ral history of the emotions, the large forbearance he displays with the unaccountable element in human conduct and feeling. It is this side of Cardinal New man's mind which has made a great theological and religious writer so fascinating to the world at large, so full of that variety and play of thought which is rare among theologians, and which forms so striking a contrast to his habitual sense of the absolute predominance of the will that is the same yesterday, to-day, and forever. I can explain better, perhaps, what I mean if I refer to the writings of another remarkable man, whose biography a singularly admirable one - has just been given to the world, and by whose faith my own mind has been even more powerfully influenced than by Cardinal Newman's itself I mean the late Frederick Denison Maurice. Maurice, like Cardinal Newman, and I venture to think even more strikingly than Cardinal Newman, was haunted from the opening to the very close of his life by a sense of the predominance of the divine will. Maurice, like Cardinal Newman, and not less than Cardinal Newman, took the utmost delight in following the windings of human thought on those great subjects which form the borderland between the human and the divine. There is probably hardly a book in the language that represents a more discriminating and more laborious study of the human aspects of the search for wisdom, than Maurice's " Moral and He writes than almost any writer known to me of ner of forbearance in him for his own idio Hardly his voice at its best It is not so with Cardinal Newman. Even in his Oxford Sermons, even in his theological poems, even in his controversial lectures, you have the keenest sense of the literary flexibility of his mind — of the humor, the vivacity, the sympathy with what is essentially due to the structure of our nature, as well as with what is due to the struggles of our wills, by which his predominant theological interests are relieved. This is why I have been so fascinated by his writings since I was a lad of nineteen or twenty. This is why I have often said that if it were ever my hard lot to suffer solitary confinement, and I were given my choice of books but were limited to one or two, I should prefer some of Dr. Newman's to Shakespeare himself. Not, of course, that there is any comparison possible between the two; but while Shakespeare's supreme vitality would undoubtedly inflame the natural restlessness of captivity, Dr. Newman's influence would help me, as none other of equal richness, variety, and play of mind, would help me, to realize the comparative indifference of outward circumstances in a |