INTRODUCTION xvii 



was in Beckford's time, and of course the greater part of the 

 structure dates to a much earlier period, the basement and 

 cellars being in existence when Elizabeth was queen. Though 

 I have read and admired this work for years, I had no idea 

 that the author's home was standing in its original condition 

 and contained personal relics of the man. My most sanguine 

 hope was to find an engraving of the old house and to look 

 on some new building that covered the site. Therefore my 

 joy and surprise was great to see the house itself, the intel- 

 lectual features of Peter Beckford in a life-size portrait, and 

 the excellent paintings of his hounds. 



My visit to Steepleton was unfortunately very short, but 

 I enjoyed every moment of the hour I spent there. The 

 grey stone walls whispered to me the tale of a country 

 gentleman's life more than a hundred years ago, and the 

 wood-crowned hill seemed to echo with the notes of Peter's 

 horn. The house is just what your imagination would 

 conceive Beckford's home to be — beautiful yet unpretentious, 

 with the picturesque surroundings that are only to be found 

 in England's ancient homes. I would gladly have lingered 

 on in the sunshine and the scent of flowers, looking at the 

 scene as it is to-day and filling in the details of the past as 

 my imagination painted them. The rumble of a not far- 

 distant train recalled to me the need for hurrying and the 

 time I was due back at Blandford. Following my guide 

 into the garden amongst flower-beds and shrubs, we dived 

 under a yew arch, and to my surprise there was the church — 

 a pretty little building covered with ivy and creepers, 

 seemingly shut off from the clamour of the outside world, 

 and with a look of restful repose that ought to be conducive 

 to devotions. Within the church one feels the presence of 

 the dead ; outside in the sunshine and beneath the trees 

 Peter lives ; but here in the peaceful shadows beneath 

 our feet lie his bones, and instinctively we tread lightly, 

 lest we should disturb his rest. 

 b 



