at the king,
intoxicated with pleasure and adventure, held his court--he, who, a poet
in feeling, thought himself justified in redeeming, by a whole day of
voluptuousness, every minute which had been formerly passed in anguish
and misery. It was not the soft green sward of Hampton Court--so soft
that it almost resembled the richest velvet in the thickness of its
texture--nor was it the beds of flowers, with their variegated hues
which encircled the foot of every tree with rose-trees many feet in
height, embracing most lovingly their trunks--nor even the enormous
lime-trees, whose branches swept the earth like willows, offering a
ready concealment for love or reflection beneath the shade of their
foliage--it was none of these things for which Charles II. loved his
palace of Hampton Court. Perhaps it might have been that beautiful sheet
of water, which the cool breeze rippled like the wavy undulations of
Cleopatra's hair, waters bedecked with cresses and white water-lilies,
whose chaste bulbs coyly unfolding themselves beneath the sun's warm
rays, reveal the golden gems which lie concealed within their milky
petals--murmuring waters, on the bosom of which black swans majestically
floated, and the graceful water-fowl, with their tender broods covered
with silken down, darted restlessly in every direction, in pursuit
of the insects among the reeds, or the fogs in their mossy retreats.
Perhaps it might have been the enormous hollies, with their dark and
tender green foliage; or the bridges uniting the banks of the canals in
their embrace; or the fawns browsing in the endless avenues of the park;
or the innumerable birds that hopped about the gardens, or flew from
branch to branch, amidst the emerald foliage.

It might well have been any of these charms--for Hampton Court had them
all; and possessed, too, almost forests of white roses, which climbed
and trailed along the lofty trellises, showering down upon the ground
their snowy leaves rich with soft perfumery. But no, what Charles II.
most loved in Hampton Court were the charming figures who, when midday
was past, flitted to and fro along the broad terraces of the gardens;
like Louis XIV., he had their wealth of beauties painted for his gallery
by one of the great artists of the period--an artist who well knew the
secret of transferring to canvas the rays of light which escaped from
beaming eyes heavy laden with love and love's delights.

The day of our arrival at Hampton