sgate is situated about a mile to the right of the western road
from London, after you ascend the hill beyond Egham. To the left, St.
Anne's Hill, the favoured residence of Charles Fox, is a charming object;
and upon the ridge which the traveller ascends, is the spot which has
given a name to Denham's celebrated poem. "Cooper's Hill" is not shut out
from the contemplative searchers after the beauties of nature; and,
however the prospect here may be exceeded by scenes of wider extent, or
more striking grandeur, certainly the _locale_ of the earliest, and
perhaps the best, descriptive poem of our language, is calculated to
produce the warmest feelings of admiration, both for its actual beauty
and its unrivalled associations. From an elevation of several hundred
feet, you look down upon a narrow fertile valley, through which the
Thames winds with surpassing loveliness. Who does not recollect the
charming lines with which Denham describes the "silver river:"--

"Oh! could I flow thee, and make thy stream
My great example, as it is my theme;
Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull;
Strong without rage; without o'erflowing full."

Immediately at your feet is the plain of Runnemede, where the great
battle between John and the Barons was fought; and in the centre of the
river is the little fishing island, where Magna Charta was signed. At the
extremity of the valley is Windsor Castle, rising up in all the pomp of
its massive towers. We recollect the scene as Windsor _was_. Whatever Mr.
Wyattville may have done for its internal improvement, and for its
adaptation to the purposes of a modern residence without sacrificing all
its character of antiquity, we fear that he has destroyed its picturesque
effect in the distant landscape. Its old characteristic feature was that
of a series of turrets rising above the general elevation. By raising the
intermediate roofs, without giving a proportionate height to the towers,
the whole line has become square and unbroken. This was, perhaps, an
unavoidable fault; but it is a fault.

From Cooper's Hill, the entrance to Virginia Water is a walk of a quarter
of an hour. We were accustomed to wander down a long and close plantation
of pines, where the rabbit ran across with scarcely a fear of man. A more
wild and open country succeeded; and we then followed the path, through
many a "bosky bourn," till we arrived at a rustic bridge, which crossed
the lake at a narrow neck, w