chess of York; they must have encountered her
at Whitehall, and noted her dimpled cheeks, and small bright laughing
eyes; and contrasted her unaffected child-like bearing, with the
boisterous arrogance of the Duchess of Cleveland, and the cat-like
cunning of the French _courtezan_, (the Duchess of Portsmouth,) who
could not with all her arts detach the sovereign from poor Nell, whose
genuine wit, generosity of mind, as well as purer life, and careless
buoyant humor, were reliefs to the caprices and eternal French
cabals,--which troubled his unenergetic nature, in the gorgeous _salon_
of the most extravagant of his favorites. From such women as Madame de
Grammont and Lady Ossory the untitled actress could have met no offence;
for women of high virtue are merciful; women who affect it, are not.

[Illustration: Another View of the Manor House.]

We could fancy Nell's silver laugh, passing along those damp walls of
Sandford Manor House; we could imagine her leaning from that window,
conversing with, and rallying, her royal "lover," who stands beneath,
amid the flowers, once so bright and abundant, where only weeds and
stinging thistles were to be seen this winter-time. As for him, wisdom
came not with years; "consideration" never whipped the offending Adam
out of him--in his character there was no "nettle," but there was no
"strawberry." What does he reply to her merrie rallying as she dallies
with her looking-glass? He leans his white and jewelled hand upon his
hip, and, with a faded smile, listens to her mingled love and reproof.
She talks of the old soldiers, and wonders why the builders pause in the
erection of the Hospital, for lack of cash, when certain ladies sport
new diamonds, and glitter in fair coaches; and he tells her he will take
her, if she likes, from where she is, and give her the palace by the
water-side, in exchange for her sweet words and sweeter smiles. She will
none of this, but answers she would rather content her in the humblest
house in his dominions, so that the soldiers who fought his battles
should be worthily lodged in their old age. He repeats to her the last
bit of Sedley, and diverts her with news of a new play, for well he
knows those who once lived by the buskin love the buskin still:[H] and
she listens, and is pleased, but returns to her first theme; and,
provoked at last by an indifference she cannot understand, she becomes
bitter, and then Charles laughs at "little pig-eyed Nelly." "Ah,