*Ubc ©l& Squire ot Dorset' 295 



stone structure, with a broad square tower, and a 

 massive ivy-clad gateway. The days of portcuUisses 

 and moats had long passed away before Sir John 

 Vanbrugh numbered Eastbury Park House among his 

 triumphs. A natural wall of laurel, laburnum, and 

 lime trees, flanks the stable yard on one side, and joins 

 on with that belt of plantation which encircles the park, 

 and amid which, undisturbed by traps and strychnine, 

 many a gallant fox-cub has been reared in its day. 

 The house itself — near whose back door three or 

 four hogsheads of old and pale ale had begun to 

 know no rest from pilgrims before noon — is only a 

 solitary left wing ; and the remainder of it, which 

 passed through three or four families into Mr 

 Farquharson's hands, has long since disappeared. 

 The deserted wine cellar, with its prostrate door, its 

 rustic gratings and its mouldering ceiling, under whose 

 now battered and lead -coloured rose many a stoup of 

 Burgundy or Canary must have been drained dry, 

 alone remains to testify to the hard drinking spirits 

 who of yore sounded the reveillee for the roe-hunt from 

 Grange or Houghton Woods, and killed the yellow- 

 breasted marten for the hem of the robes of their 

 dames or lady-loves in the pleasant purlieus of Cran- 

 bourne Chase. 



' We care not to go into the details of that day. We 

 have elsewhere told how the Dorsetshire men sat cheer- 

 ing on the wall, and ejaculated '^ Hyde for ever !" as Mr 

 Radcliffe formed the new pack ; how they assured Mr 

 Arkwright publicly, when he bought the Banker lot, 

 that " Jie wouldn't leave a mouse in covert ; " how they 

 conjui"ed Mr Scratton to " mind and take care of Rosa- 

 mond — she's an uncommon good bitch — / know her well ; ' 



