ampton Court, situated on the
Thames. The river is not, at that spot, the boastful highway which bears
upon its broad bosom its thousands of travelers; nor are its waters
black and troubled as those of Cocytus, as it boastfully asserts, "I,
too, am cousin of the old ocean." No, at Hampton Court it is a soft
and murmuring stream, with moss-fringed banks, reflecting, in its broad
mirror, the willows and beeches which ornament its sides, and on which
may occasionally be seen a light bark indolently reclining among the
tall reeds, in a little creek formed of alders and forget-me-nots. The
surrounding country on all sides smiled in happiness and wealth; the
brick cottages from whose chimneys the blue smoke was slowly ascending
in wreaths, peeped forth from the belts of green holly which environed
them; children dressed in red frocks appeared and disappeared amidst
the high grass, like poppies bowed by the gentler breath of the passing
breeze. The sheep, ruminating with half-closed eyes, lay lazily about
under the shadow of the stunted aspens, while, far and near, the
kingfishers, plumed with emerald and gold, skimmed swiftly along the
surface of the water, like a magic ball heedlessly touching, as he
passed, the line of his brother angler, who sat watching in his boat
the fish as they rose to the surface of the sparkling stream. High above
this paradise of dark shadows and soft light, rose the palace of Hampton
Court, built by Wolsey--a residence the haughty cardinal had been
obliged, timid courtier that he was, to offer to his master, Henry
VIII., who had glowered with envy and cupidity at the magnificent
new home. Hampton Court, with its brick walls, its large windows, its
handsome iron gates, as well as its curious bell turrets, its retired
covered walks, and interior fountains, like those of the Alhambra, was
a perfect bower of roses, jasmine, and clematis. Every sense, sight and
smell particularly, was gratified, and the reception-rooms formed a very
charming framework for the pictures of love which Charles II. unrolled
among the voluptuous paintings of Titian, of Pordenone and of Van Dyck;
the same Charles whose father's portrait--the martyr king--was hanging
in his gallery, and who could show upon the wainscots of the various
apartments the holes made by the balls of the puritanical followers of
Cromwell, when on the 24th of August, 1648, at the time they had brought
Charles I. prisoner to Hampton Court. There it was th