nd we step from
the tomb of Charles in St. George's Chapel to that where George and
William slumber undisturbed in the tomb-house, elaborately decorated
by Wolsey. Wolsey's fixtures were sold by the thrifty patriots of
Cromwell's Parliament, and bought in by the republican governor of the
castle as "old brass." George was able, too, to add another story to
the stature of the round tower or keep that marks the middle ward
of the castle and looks down, on the rare occasion of a sufficiently
clear atmosphere, on prosperous and no longer disloyal London. This
same keep has quite a list of royal prisoners; John of France and
David II. and James I. of Scotland enjoyed a prolonged view of its
interior; so did the young earl of Surrey, a brother-poet, a century
removed, of James.

Leaving behind us the atmosphere of shackles and dungeons, we emerge,
through the upper ward and the additions of Queen Bess, upon the ample
terrace, where nothing bounds us but the horizon. Together, the north,
east and south terraces measure some two thousand feet. The first
looks upon Eton, the lesser park of some five hundred acres which
fills a bend of the Thames and the country beyond for many miles. The
eastern platform, lying between the queen's private apartments and an
exquisite private garden, is not always free to visitors. The south
terrace presents to the eye the Great Park of thirty-eight hundred
acres, extending six miles, with a width of from half a mile to
two miles. The equestrian statue at the end of the Long Walk is a
conspicuous object. The prevailing mass of rolling woods is broken by
scattered buildings, glades and avenues, which take from it monotony
and give it life. Near the south end is an artificial pond called
Virginia Water, edged with causeless arches and ruins that never were
anything but ruins, Chinese temples and idle toys of various other
kinds, terrestrial and aquatic. The ancient trees, beeches and elms,
of enormous size, and often projected individually, are worth studying
near or from a distance. The elevation is not so great as to bring
out low-lying objects much removed. We see the summits of hills, each
having its name, as St. Leonard's, Cooper's, Highstanding, etc., and
glimpses of the river and of some country-seats. St. Anne's Hill was
the home of Fox; at St. Leonard's dwelt the father of his rival and
rival of his father, and at Binfield, Pope, of whom it is so hard
to conceive as having ever been young,