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this, or was anything more than admiration, sedulously encouraged for the sake of rhyming. Cowley, who was never in love but once, and then had not resolution enough to tell his passion, thought him. self bound, as a true poet, to pay some homage at the shrine, aud published “ The Mistress," a collection of amorous poems, addressed to an imaginary beauty. Something of the same kind was the muchtalked-of love of Surrey for the young Geraldine. She was married in her fifteenth year to Sir Anthony Brown, but Surrey continued to rhyme, without offending either his own wife, or the lady's husband,--a circumstance which serves to show that the persons most concerned were fully aware of the real state of the case. The assertion that Henry VIII. took any jealousy or dislike to Surrey on ac. count of it is quite unfounded. The noble poet first saw the Lady Geraldine in 1541. In the following year, so high was he in his sovereign's favour, that he was made a Knight of the Garter. the invasion of France in 1544 by Henry, the vanguard of the army was commanded by the Duke of Norfolk, Surrey's father, while Surrey himself was appointed to the honourable post of Marshal of England. During the

progress of the war he was made commander of Guisnes, and afterwards of Boulogne ; in which latter post, in consequence of a panic terror among his men, he was defeated by the French. It was this circumstance, and not his pretended love for Geraldine, that first lessoned the good opinion which his sovereign entertained of him. The real cause of his condemnation and death has not been very clearly ascertained; but it is quite absurd to suppose that Henry's jea. lousy of him in the matter of Geraldine had anything whatever to do with it.

Edward VI. often resided at Hampton Court. The inhabitants of the neighbourhood were much attached to him, being proud that their village was the birth place of the King. When there was a ru. mour that the Protector, Somerset, entertained a design to seize his person, they armed, unsolicited, for his defence; a proof of their de. votion, which Edward strove to repay by relieving them from the inconvenience and annoyance of the royal chase, which inclosed a vast extent of country, and which had been formed in the latter years of his father's life, when he was old and fat, and unable to ride far in search of his sport. Mary and her husband, Philip, passed their honeymoon at Hampton Court, and afterwards gave a grand en. tertainment to the Princess Elizabeth, the presumptive heiress to the crown. Elizabeth, on her accession, also resided occasionally at Hampton Court; and there is a tradition that Shakspeare made his very first appearance on any stage before her, in a litile apartment of the palace set apart for theatrical representations.

In the reign of James, Hampton Court was the place of meeting of the celebrated conference on faith and discipline, between the divines of the Church of England and the Puritans, and in which the sign of the cross in baptisın, the ring in marriage, the use of the surplice, and the bowing at the name of Jesus, were severally attacked by the one, and defended by the other party. James presided, to his own great delight, over their deliberations, and gave so much satisfaction to the Church of England, that he was declared by the Archbishop of Canterbury to be a man who delivered his judgments by the special assistance of the Spirit of God.

During the prevalence of a severe plague in London, Charles I. and his family took refuge in this palace, where it was thought the air was more wholesome than in any other part of England. Fifteen years afterwards he was driven here by a pest of a different description, the riotous apprentices of the capital. In the year 1647, this place became, for a third time, his temporary prison for a few months, prior to his unfortunate escape to the Isle of Wight; an event which associates this building with the most remarkable incident in British history.

After the execution of the King, Cromwell occasionally resided here. The Long Parliament had issued their orders for the sale of the house and grounds; but the order was stayed, and it was voted as a residence for the Lord Protector. Here, in 1657, his daughter, Mary, was married to the Lord Falconbridge ; and here, also, in the year succeeding, his favourite daughter, Mrs. Claypole, expired, to the great grief of her sire.

At the Restoration, Hampton Court was given, as a reward, to the great instrument of that event, Monk, Duke of Albemarle. He wisely accepted a sum of money instead of a palace, which he had not revenues sufficient to inhabit in becoming state, and the place once more reverted to the Crown. Charles II., and his brother, both occasionally visited Hampton, and resided in it for months at a time ; but it was not until the reign of William and Mary that the palace again acquired the importance which it had in some measure lost since the days of the eighth Henry.

William III. and his illustrious consort were alike partial to this residence ; and under their superintendence various alterations were made from the designs of Sir Christopher Wren. Three of the old courts built by Wolsey, were pulled down, the present state-rooms and staircases were erected, and the pleasure-gardens laid out in the Dutch style, with the long canal, to put his Majesty in miud of his native country. The canal is forty feet broad, and more than half a mile in length; and, were it not quite so straight as the Dutch taste imperatively commands, would be a very pleasing object in view from the gardens. In this favourite residence, William, as is well known, met his death. He was riding from Kensington to Hampton Court ; and when he had arrived in his own grounds, his horse stumbled, and the King was thrown to the ground with such violence as to fracture his collar-bone. Being of a weakened constitution, he died from the effects of the accident fifteen days afterwards. The spot in the gardens is still shown where his horse stumbled.

Queen Anne spent much of her time in this palace, where, according to Pope, sbe sometimes took counsel, and sometimes tea. Pope him. self was a frequent visiter to the gardens, where he used to amuse himself in walking about for hours at a time, sometimes alone, and sometimes in cornpany with an agreeable maid of honour, Miss Lepel, afterwards Lady Hervey.

George I. gave several grand entertainments here, and had plays performed for the amusement of his visiters. George II. had similar tastes; and, in the year 1718, caused Wolsey's grand hall to be fitted up as a theatre, for the performance of Shakspeare's plays. Among others, it is recorded that “ Henry VIJI.” showing the fall of Wolsey, was enacted by the express command of his Majesty. During the life-time of this monarch he allowed his son, the Prince of Wales, and VOL. IV.

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the father of George III, to reside occasionally at Hampton Court. George III. was more partial to Windsor ; and, though he visited Hampton, never slept in it. It has never since been honoured by the residence of the Kings of England. William IV., when Duke of Clarence, was appointed ranger of Bushy Park adjoining, in 1797, and steward of the honour ; and the former office is still held by his widow, the Dowager Queen Adelaide, who has a pretly residence in the Park.

Thanks to the liberality and kind feeling of the Government, the palace, with its pictorial treasures, is open five days in the week, for the inspection of the public. Three pleasant hours were those which we passed in the state apartments, looking first at the portrait of one departed King or hero, and then at another ; or viewing the resemblances of the fair and the witty, who captivated the heart, or pleased the vanity of the susceptible Charles, or at the more unfortunate Jane Shore, who enslaved the affections of a truer lover, King Ed. ward IV.

At last we came away without seeing the one-fiftieth part of what was to be seen. One hour, at least, of that time we spent in the gal. lery built by Sir Christopher Wren, for the reception of the seven cartoons of Raphael ; and, had not hunger and thirst, and all the necessities of the world and the flesh, interfered with us, and with our faculty of admiration, we might have remained there to this day.

As we walked leisurely through the various apartments, we noticed that of the royal beds, which are still preserved there in the same state as when their occupants were alive,—those of William III. Queen Anne, and George II., attracted much more attention from many people then the pictures. One couple especially we noticed, apparently servant-girls, who stopped before each bed for several minutes. They took no notice whatever of the pictures ; and we were curious to hear what remarks they made. We kept as close to them as possible, for that purpose ; and, when they stopped opposite the state-bed of Queen Anne, we listened to their conversation, and heard a piece of very common, but very true and valuable philosophy, which we certainly did not expect.

“Oh! a very fine bed, to be sure !” said one ; " and must have cost a thousand guineas, all complete."

" I shouldn't wonder,” replied the other ; " but, Lord ! what does it matter? A hundred years hence, and you and I will sleep in as good a bed as Queen Anne. Queens and poor cooks all sleep in the grave at last."

If there is one thing more than another which we hate as impertinent and ungentlemanly, it is to turn round after passing a woman, and look her in the face ; but we could not repress our curiosity to have a glance at the face of this one. We expected to find some pensive pretty countenance, cheeks pale with thought, and a bright intelligent eye; but we were disappointed. The speaker was a vul. gar little woman, with a snub-nose almost hidden between a pair of such fat red cheeks as we have seldom seen, and her little grey eyes looked dull and sleepy. “ 'Tis a pity we looked,” was our first thought; but we discouraged it with the reflection that beauty and philosophy were not necessarily companions, and that this ugly cook. maid was, perhaps, as kind as she was sensible.

Having lingered so long in the interior, we took a stroll into the

gardens, that we might glance at all the curiosities of the place. Passing the tennis court, the finest in England, we entered by a small gate into a place called the “ Wilderness,” laid out originally under the direction of King William III. to hide the somewhat unseemly and irregular brick walls at this side of the palace. This part of the gardens is arranged into the most natural wildness; and, during a hot summer's day is a delightful retreat, cool as water, and all alive with the music of a thousand birds.

While here, we could not, of course, refrain from visiting the famous Maze, also formed by King William III. We tried our skill to discover the secret of the labyrinth, and saw many boys and girls, and not a few children of larger growth, and of both sexes, busily engaged in the same attempt, shouting and laughing each at the failure of the other, and panting with the unusual exertion. We were not more suc. cessful than the rest, until we took the little guide-book usually sold in the palace, out of our pocket, when after some little difficulty, we unravelled the mystery by the aid of the map and a pencil. It is full of " passages which lead to nothing," and a pleasant spot, we should, think for frolicsome lovers, either just before, or in the first fortnight of the honeymoon. For our part we saw no fun in it, more especially as we were growing hungry, and had visions of roast-fowl and flasks of claret dancing before our eyes. We therefore took a hasty farewell of the Maze and the Palace, and proceeded to the Toy Inn, where our dinner awaited us.

LONDON BY MOONLIGHT.

The midnight hour has pass'd away, and yet
The Queen of Night still holds her starry court ;
The tangled clouds sail swiftly by,—and now
She bathes the city in a flood of light.
Far other, than the proud and garish day,
Like Charity, her mild and gentle beams
Soften, or hide, each rude and broken line ;
Prisons and palaces! And stately domes,
And hovels mean !

The dreaming poet loves
To muse 'mid shady groves, and by the side
Of clear and murmuring streams ; but, surely here
May Contemplation find enough to dwell
On man,-God's latest, and most wondrous work.
And thou, proud river! I can scarcely heed
That on thy shores, where thou dost wander 'mid
The green and smiling field,—the shepherd lays
His crook, and slumbers in the noon.day heat :
For, on the stream which flows, like molten lead
Beneath the moonbeams, I behold a grove
Of masts against the starry sky. The wealth,
The argosies of princely merchants here,
That to the ear of fancy whisper tales
Of far-off climes, and England's power and pride.
Yon stately vessel only waits the dawn
To raise aloft her snowy sails, that then
Shall bear her, “ like a thing of life" away,
Though now she rests like a fond child upon
A doting mother's breast. And all is still,
Save the soft ripple of the rising tide.
Thou gorgeous city of our pride and love !

But yonder abbey wakens other thoughts,-
The hearts of kings and statesmen, warriors, bards,
Lie there entomb'd—the mighty of the earth,
The dust for rolling centuries revered,
And they the honour'd of a recent age :
He of the rude, untaught, nletter'd mind,
Innately great, beside the darling child
Of arts advanced, and years more wonderful !
In this alike the lesson which they teach,
That Death shall level all. And yet, methinks,
It is a soul-inspiring thought to lure
The adventurous spirit on to noble deeds,
The thought, that all which ever did belong
To earth, perchance shall rest beside the good
And great ; while faithful records shall enshrine
The subtler part within the grateful hearts
Of future unborn ages.

Turn we now
To yon large gloomy pile--the abode of guilt
And wretchedness. Yet Virtue stays to weep;
For she is all too wise and pure to fear
That tears, e'en for the guilty, e'er can stain
One dazzling fold in which herself is wrapt.
Oh ! Virtue stern and cold were liker far
A statue, than the warm and breathing form
Which mortals long to clasp. Alas ! she knows
The tempter's power, which comes in equal strength,
Though vary'd guise, unto the silken couch
And pallet rude,-and, though she dares not touch
The scale of Justice, turns aside to weep.

Mark you the faint and glimmering light which falls
From yonder casement dim ;--is it the watch
Untiring love still keeps beside the bed
Of death or sickness ?-or doth there the young
Aspiring student seek to hive the store,
The golden priceless store, from wisdom's page ?
Or doth an aching heart forbid the eye
To close ? Imagination quickly weaves
A thousand unsubstantial webs, -and now
The sleeping city, in its hush'd repose,
Looks like the phantom of its waking self !

There is a burst of revelry that breaks
Upon the solemn stillness of the hour;
But near the boisterous crew which homeward wends
Gaunt Famine stalks, and holds the shrivell’d hand.
Ah, yes ! they turn, the homeless wretch relieve
I cannot hear her low and broken words ;
But they, the young and gay, are silent now,-
The chord of sympathy, by pity waked,
Has dull'd their selfish mirth !

But morning breaks
In all its glory. See ! the silver moon
Has doff'd her shining crown, and all the stars,
That made the sky a jewell’d mirror, melt
In the pale azure of the early dawn.
Man wakes again to joy, and peace, and hope,
Day-dreams, and bright reality,--to toil,
Or ease and luxury-alas ! as well
To pain and sin, to care and suffering!

CAMILLA TOULMIN.

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