of shrubbery and flowers, all walled in, but a private walk communicates with the beautiful gardens attached to the Royal Lodge. On returning to the gamekeeper's rural cottage, and again partaking of his hospitality, we mounted to visit "Runnymeade," the spot where King John signed the document called “ Magna Charta," the 19th of June, A. Ď. 1215. 66 CHAPTER XLVI I. Windsor Castle; Its Park; Runney Meade; King John; The Barons; Magna Charta; Snow Hill; Queen's Equipage; Herne's Oak; The Gardens; Court Promenade; Queen's Band; King and Queen of Belgium; Lord Melborne; Eton College; Ancient Appearance; Windsor; Lunatic Asylum; Duke of Sutherland's Palace; Tom Dibdin; His Sea Songs; British Ingratitude, &c. ABOUT six miles from Windsor Castle, in Windsor Park, is a small stone pillar designating "Runney Meade," the spot where King John stood on the 19th of June, 1215, when he signed" Magna Charta," (which now hangs in St. Mary's Hall, Coventry.) in presence of the proud Barons of England, in full armour, whose clanging war-cry and neighing of their restless chargers, mingled with the shouts of their men-at-arms, made Windsor Court and its hills echo and re-echo with the gladsome, soul-thrilling sounds. Where are they now? The sighing of the evening zephyrs through yon towering pine whispers, Where? the cooing of the ring-dove amid its murmuring branches answers, Where? and the distant cascade from Virginia Waters, borne softly on the southerly evening air, whispers, Where? Where? Ask the ravens and midnight owls, that nestle on the battlements of yon once lordly castles, which still frown from the summit of some lofty crag on the vale below; or the now fearless eagle who boldly returns to his eyry on that crag from which arose the shouts of the midnight revels and the clang of arms,-all, all answer, as they wing their circling flight around the ruined and deserted turrets, Where? Where? Where? On leaving Runney Meade, we turned toward the castle; a half hour's ride brought us back to Snow Hill, and while examining the Equestrian Statue on its summit, from which there is a splendid view of the castle through the Queen's Walk, the Queen in her pony phaeton, with Prince Albert driving, came up the hill accompanied by two outriders, one of whom was Col. Wildman, owner of Newstead Abbey; as they passed, the usual salutations were given and promptly returned, with smiles, by all the party, the gentlemen raising their hats. Half way to the castle from Snow Hill, we turned into the Park to see "Herne's Oak" so called in the days of Queen Elizabeth, on account of her forest-keeper, named Herne, who hung himself one night on this oak, and Shakspeare in his "Merry Wives of Windsor," has converted a tradition respecting a tree in Windsor Park, current among the peasantry, into one of his happiest dramatic incidents: "There is an old tale goes that Herne, the Hunter, Walk round about an oak, with great rugged horns; 66 Marry, this is our device, That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us, Disguised like Herne, with huge horns on his head." The gardens of the castle are laid out in the most chaste and beautiful style, decorated with numerous bronze and marble statuary, and exquisitely carved vases, and in the centre a beautiful fountain. There is also an orangery on a most extensive scale, which fills the air with its sweet perfume. The whole is enclosed by a pentagon terrace, having bastions at the angles. Half an hour before sunset, the Queen's band entered the gardens, and while playing "God save the Queen," her majesty, having the arm of her uncle, King Leopold, came down the steps of the castle into the gardens, for her usual promenade, dressed in plain black, followed by the Queen of Belgium, on the arm of Prince Albert, the Duchess of Sutherland with Lord Palmerston, and many others of the Queen's guests, all following in the train of Victoria. Lord Melborne was among the crowd in the gardens, and as the train approached the angle of the fountain where I was standing, all uncovered, including Lord Melborne, who was the third person from me, and as the Queen was passing, smiling on all around, her majesty stopped a moment and spoke in a whisper to his lordship who immediately left the gardens, and the courtly train passed, their dresses brushing the crowd, as they continued, all in merry glee, and soon after ascended the lofty steps of the castle; on arriving at the upper landing, the Queen turned and faced the crowd with a smile, King Leopold raised his hat, and all entered the grand portal of the castle for the evening. Eton College, near Windsor, is a venerable pile of some five centuries standing, forming two large quadrangles of brick, and facing the river Thames. Old Eton has planted the seeds of learning and piety in the expanding mind of youth for many centuries, and the records of whose favoured Alumni contain a host of names distinguished not only in the field, but the cabinet and the varied pursuits of life. The number of scholars is generally about six hundred. The library is on the south side of the cloisters, and consists of three fine apartments divided by fluted Corinthian columns. A small postern gate, luxuriantly mantled with ivy, forms an opening from the cloisters into an extensive playing-ground, shaded by lofty ancient elms, and bounded on one side by the Thames. In the vicinity of Windsor is the Lunatic Asylum, on an immense scale, and conducted on such principles, that the most scrupulous need not be under any apprehension in sending to this institution their unfortunate friends or relatives. It is an ornament to the County, and under very different arrangements from Old Bedlam, in Surrey. The grounds around are most tastefully laid out and spacious, for the amusement and exercise of the patients. Windsor is a very ancient town and remarkably pleasant; a bridge over the Thames connects Windsor with Eton. It is a noble structure, two hundred feet in length, and thirty in width, is on iron arches and granite piers. Windsor contains about 7,000 souls, exclusive of two regiments stationed there. Besides its ancient churches, it has its ancient Town Hall, Theatre Royal, and several charitable institutions, well worthy of a few hours' time to examine, all of them having costly paintings and statuary, the former, monuments of very ancient date. In St. George's Chapel, lie the remains of Henry the Eighth, and his Queen, Lady Jane Seymour, King Charles the First, an infant of Queen Anne, and others of royal blood. For six shillings, the tourist can leave London, pass the day at Windsor and its environs, as described, and return the same evening by railway, and he will never regret his time or the expense, the whole distance is picturesque, and the view of the castle from the railway is magnificent. On my return from Windsor Castle, I called the next morning, agreeably to invitation, at Stafford House, the splendid palace of the Duke of Sutherland, in St. James's Park, adjoining the princely mansion of the Duchess of Kent, mother of Queen Victoria. Inquiring of the sentry at the gate of the Duchess, if the Duke of Sutherland had rode out, and receiving a reply that he had passed out an hour before, in his carriage, I turned to go back, but as time was precious, having much to attend to, I concluded to leave my card, and giving the usual summons, handed the card to the polite attendant, stating my regret in not having the good fortune to find the Duke at home. (the Duchess being with the Queen at Windsor Castle,) as it would have afforded me great pleasure to have seen his superb gallery of paintings. On examining the register, my name was found among those invited to Stafford House, and was accordingly ushered in and conducted not only to the paintings, but all over the palace which is considered to be the most splendidly furnished mansion in London, and its gallery of paintings, for a private one, not surpassed in the kingdom. The Duke is one among the most wealthy nobleman in England, and all his fashionable and costly furniture he purchased himself in Paris. The ballroom requ res 1500 wax lights to assist the gas burners in lighting it. The saloons are covered with the most costly silk velvet embroidered with gold as a substitute for paper or paint. The immense doors throughout, are white with gold panels and silver hinges. In the dining room are the celebrated paintings of the Crossing the Red Sea, by Danby, and the Subsiding of the Waters, by Martins. The reception-hall is very imposing, from which, branching off to the right and left, are grand stairways to the saloons above, the hall stairs and passages covered with rich crimson carpets, all lighted at night by gas from a rich dome with downward reflectors, from which issues soft music from an invisible private band, on gala nights, which must have an enchanting effect on the guests as they ascend to the magnificent saloons above. On leaving Stafford House, I walked through the park to Hyde Park corner, and turning down Grosvernor Place on the left, was, in a few minutes, at "Tattersall's," the noted Auction Mart. There was a large assemblage of the nobility and gentry present, and spirited bids on horses and hounds. The blood horses were noblelooking animals, and bids from £100 to £150 were freely made. All horses on sale are kept in separate stalls or rooms, no two are allowed to be together, each room having its separate door of entrance, and the grooms appear to make as much of the horse under their charge as if it was their own. It is a rich treat for an American to visit" Tattersall's" on a sale day, especially when a "green" from the country bids off a jaded hack for a trotting blood, which is ofttimes the case, ending in a merry laugh and adjournment to a neighbouring ale-house, to settle the disappointment. While walking through Covent Garden Market one morning, with my friend Mr. R., the stall was pointed out to me where once stood, in his latter days, the celebrated Tom Dibdin, of National Song memory, selling his sea-songs at a penny a piece to keep him from the poor-house. Sailors from Wapping, and the invalids from Greenwich Hospital, were in the habit two or three times a week of coming up to Covent Garden to shake honest Tom by the hand, listen to one of his patriotic songs, join heartily in the chorus, to the amusement of the market people, then purchase a goodly number to take back to their friends to sing to their children at their own fire-side and on board the hulks. England was, in a great measure, indebted for her many signal |