ith it associations of gaiety, politeness, good company, and all the
attributes of a first-rate wit, except the almost inevitable ill-nature.
There is in the physiognomy of Charles II. that melancholy which is
often observable in the faces of those who are mere men of pleasure.

De Grammont found himself completely in his own sphere at Whitehall,
where the habits were far more French than English. Along that stately
Mall, overshadowed with umbrageous trees, which retains--and it is to be
hoped ever will retain--the old name of the 'Birdcage Walk,' one can
picture to oneself the king walking so fast that no one can keep up with
him; yet stopping from time to time to chat with some acquaintances. He
is walking to Duck Island, which is full of his favourite water-fowl,
and of which he has given St. Evremond the government. How pleasant is
his talk to those who attend him as he walks along; how well the quality
of good-nature is shown in his love of dumb animals: how completely he
is a boy still, even in that brown wig of many curls, and with the
George and Garter on his breast! Boy, indeed, for he is followed by a
litter of young spaniels: a little brindled greyhound frisks beside him;
it is for that he is ridiculed by the '_psalm_' sung at the Calves' Head
Club: these favourites were cherished to his death.

'His dogs would sit in council boards
Like judges in their seats:
We question much which had most sense,
The master or the curs.'

Then what capital stories Charles would tell, as he unbent at night
amid the faithful, though profligate, companions of his exile! He told
his anecdotes, it is true, over and over again, yet they were always
embellished with some fresh touch--like the repetition of a song which
has been encored on the stage. Whether from his inimitable art, or from
his royalty, we leave others to guess, but his stories bore repetition
again and again: they were amusing, and even novel to the very last.

To this seducing court did De Grammont now come. It was a delightful
exchange from the endless ceremonies and punctilios of the region over
which Louis XIV. presided. Wherever Charles was, his palace appeared to
resemble a large hospitable house--sometimes town, sometimes country--in
which every one did as he liked; and where distinctions of rank were
kept up as a matter of convenience, but were only valued on that score.

In other respects, Charles had modelled his court very much on