ladies caught cold, and the sandwiches were scarce and the gentlemen went home hungry-I am sure these little drawbacks were not to be imputed to the royal entertainers, who delighted to see their neighbours and dependants happy and joyous.

A few years passed over my head, and the scene was somewhat changed. The King and his family migrated from their little lodge into the old and spacious castle. This was about 1804. The lath and plaster of Sir William Chambers was abandoned to the equerries and chance visiters of the court; and the low rooms and dark passages that had scarcely been tenanted since the days of Anne were made tolerably habitable by the aid of diligent upholstery. Upon the whole, the change was not one which conduced to comfort; and I have heard that the princesses wept when they quitted their snug boudoirs in the Queen's Lodge. Windsor Castle, as it was, was a sad patchwork affair. Elizabeth took great pains to make it a royal residence, according to the notions of her time; but there were many difficulties in converting the old fortress into a fit scene for the gallantries of Leicester and Essex. I have seen, in the State Paper Office, a Report of the Surveyors of the Castle to Lord Burleigh, upon the subject of certain necessary reparations and additions, wherein, amongst divers curious matters illustrative of the manners of that age, it was mentioned that the partition separating the common passage from the sleeping-room of the Queen's maids of honour needed to be raised, inasmuch as the pages looked over the said partition before the honourable damsels had arisen, to the great scandal of her Majesty's most spotless court, &c. Charles II. caused Verrio to paint his crimson and azure gods and goddesses upon the ceilings in the state-rooms of Windsor; and he converted the old Gothic windows into hideous ones of the fashion of Versailles. Anne lived a good deal at the castle; but comfort was little understood even in her day; and from her time, till that of the late king, Windsor was neglected. The castle, as it was previous to the recent complete remodelling, was frightfully incommodious. The passages were dark, the rooms were small and cold, the ceilings were low, and as one high window gave light to two floors, the conversation of the lower rooms was distinctly heard in the upper. George III. took a fancy to occupy the castle himself, from finding James Wyatt the solitary inhabitant of some magnificent apartments on the north side. The architect gave up his spacious studio; the work of reparation began; and the king, in his declining years, took possession of a palace full of splendid associations with the ancient records of his country, but in itself a sufficiently dreary and uncomfortable abode. He passed very few years of happiness here; and it subsequently became to him a prison under the most painful circumstances which can ever attend the loss of liberty.

The late king and his family had lived at Windsor nearly thirty years, before it occurred to him to inhabit his own castle. The period at which he took possession was one of extraordinary excitement. It was the period of the threatened invasion of England by Napoleon, when, as was the case with France, upon the manifesto of the Duke of Brunswick, " the land bristled." The personal character of the king did a great deal towards giving the turn to public opinion. His uncon

querable perseverance, which some properly enough called obstinacyhis simple habits, so flattering to the John Bullism of the day-his straight-forward and earnest piety—and the ease with which he appeared to put off the farmer, and put on the soldier,-each and all of these qualities were exceedingly in accordance with the temper of the times. The doings at Windsor were certainly more than commonly interesting at that period; and I was just of an age to understand something of their meaning, and partake the excitement. Sunday was especially a glorious day; and the description of one Sunday will furnish an adequate picture of those of two or three years.

At nine o'clock the sound of martial music was heard in the streets. The Blues and the Stafford Militia then did duty at Windsor; and though the one had seen no service since Minden, and most undeservedly bore the stigma of a past generation; and the other was composed of men who had never faced any danger but the ignition of a coal-pit;-they were each a remarkably fine body of soldiers, and the King did well to countenance them. Of the former regiment George III. had a troop of his own, and he delighted to wear the regimentals of a captain of the Blues; and well did his burly form become the cocked hat and heavy jack-boots which were the fashion of that fine corps in 1805. At nine o'clock, as I have said, of a Sunday morning, the noise of trumpet and of drum was heard in the streets of Windsor; for the regiments paraded in the castle quadrangle. The troops occupied the whole square. At about ten the King appeared with his family. He passed round the lines, while the salute was performed; and many a rapid word of enquiry had he to offer to the colonels who accompanied him. Not always did he wait for an answer-but that was after the fashion of royalty in general. He passed onwards towards St. George's Chapel. But the military pomp did not end in what is called the upper quadrangle. In the lower ward, at a very humble distance from the regular troops, were drawn up a splendid body of men, ycleped the Windsor Volunteers; and most gracious were the nods of royalty to the well-known drapers, and hatters, and booksellers, who had the honour to hold commissions in that distinguished regiment. The salutations, however, were short, and onwards went the cortège, for the chapel bell was tolling in, and the King was always punctual.

I account it one of the greatest blessings of my life, and a circumstance which gave a tone to my imagination, which I would not resign for many earthly gifts, that I lived in a place where the cathedral service was duly and beautifully performed. Many a frosty winter evening have I sat in the cold choir of St. George's chapel, with no congregation but two or three gaping strangers, and an ancient female or so in the stalls, lifted up to heaven by the peals of the sweetest of organs, or entranced by the divine melody of the Nunc Dimittis, or of some solemn anthem of Handel or Boyce, breathed most exquisitely from the lips of Vaughan. If the object of devotion be to make us feel, and to carry away the soul from all low and earthly thoughts, assuredly the grand chaunts of our cathedral service are not without their use. I admire-none can admire more-the abstract idea of an assembly of reasoning beings, offering up to the Author of all good their thanksgivings and their petitions in a pure and intelligible form

of words; but the question will always intrude, does the heart go along with this lip-service?-and is the mind sufficiently excited by this reasonable worship to forget its accustomed associations with the business, and vanities, and passions of the world? The cathedral service does affect the imagination, and through that channel reaches the heart; and thus I can forgive the solemnities of Catholicism, (of which our cathedral service is a relic,) which act upon the mind precisely in the same way. The truth is, we church of England people have made religion a cold thing by entirely appealing to the understanding; and then Calvinism comes in to supply the place of high mass, by offering an excitement of an entirely different character. -But where am I wandering?

St. George's chapel is assuredly the most beautiful gem of Gothic architecture. It does not impress the mind by its vastness, or grandeur of proportions, as York-or by its remote antiquity, as parts of Ely; but by its perfect and symmetrical beauty. The exquisite form. of the roof-elegant yet perfectly simple, as every rib of each column which supports it spreads out upon the ceiling into the most gorgeous fan-the painted windows-the rich carving of the stalls of the choirthe waving banners-and, in accordance with the whole character of the place, its complete preservation and scrupulous neatness-all these, and many more characteristics which I cannot describe render, it a gem of the architecture of the fifteenth century.

As a boy I thought the Order of the Garter was a glorious thing; and believed, as what boy has not believed?-that

The goodly golden chain of chivalry,

as Spenser has it, was let down from heaven to earth. I did not then know that even Edward the Black Prince was a ferocious and cruel spoiler of other men's lands; and that all his boasted meekness and magnanimity was a portion of the make-believe of those ages when the people were equally trampled upon by the victor and the vanquished. When, too, in the daily service of St. George's chapel I heard the words, "God bless our gracious sovereign, and all the knights companions of the most honourable and noble Order of the Garter,”though I thought it was a little impious to parade the mere titles of miserable humanity before the footstool of the Most High, I still considered that the honourable and noble persons, so especially prayed for, were the choicest portion of humanity-the very "salt of the earth" and that heaven would forgive this pride of its creatures. I saw the Installation of 1805; and I hated these words ever after. The old King marched erect; and the Prince of Wales bore himself proudly (he did not look so magnificent as Kemble, in Coriolanus);" but my Lord of Salisbury, and my Lord of Chesterfield, and my Lord' of Winchilsea, and half-a-dozen other lords-what a frightful spectacle of fat, limping, leaden supporters of chivalry did they exhibit to my astonished eyes! The vision of " throngs of knights and barons bold" fled for ever; and I never heard the words again without a shudder.

But I am forgetting my old Sunday at Windsor. Great was the crowd to see the king and his family return from chapel; for by this time London had poured forth its chaises and one, and the astonished

1829.]

NO. I. WINDSOR AS IT WAS.

inmates of Cheapside and St. Mary Axe were elbowing each other to see how a monarch smiled. They saw him well; and often have I heard the disappointed exclamation-" Is that the king?" They saw a portly man, in a plain suit of regimentals, and no crown upon his head. What a fearful falling off from the king of the story-books!

The terrace, however, was the great Sunday attraction ;-and though Bishop Porteus remonstrated with his Majesty for suffering people to crowd together, and bands to play on these occasions, I cannot think that the good-tempered monarch committed any mortal sin in walking amongst his people in their holiday attire. terrace was a motley scene.

The peasant's toe did gall the courtier's gibe.

This

The barber from Eton and his seven daughters elbowed the Dean who rented his back parlour, when he was in the sixth form,-and who now was crowding to the front rank for a smile of majesty, having heard that the Bishop of Chester was seriously indisposed. The Prime Minister waited quietly amidst the crush, till the royal party should descend from their dining-room,-smiling at, if not unheeding, the anxious inquiries of the stock broker from Change Alley, who wondered if Mr. Pitt would carry a gold stick before the King. The only It was the time I saw that minister was under these circumstances. year before he died. He stood firmly and proudly amongst the crowd for some half-hour till the King should arrive. The Monarch, of course, immediately recognised him ;-the contrast in the demeanour of the two personages made a remarkable impression upon me-and that of the minister first shewed me an example of the perfect self-possession of men of great abilities.

After a year or two of this sort of excitement the King became blind;-and painful was the exhibition of the led horse of the good old man, as he took his accustomed ride. In a few more years a still heavier calamity fell upon him-and from that time Windsor Castle became, comparatively, a mournful place. The terrace was shut up; -the ancient path-way through the park, and under the castle walls, was diverted; and a somewhat Asiatic state and stillness seemed to usurp the reign of the old free and familiar intercourse of the Sovereign with the people.

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I was proud of Windsor ;-and my great delight was to show the lions to strangers. There were always two staple commodities of this nature-the Round Tower, and the State Apartments of the castlewhich were not affected by any of the changes of the times. The Round Tower has an historical interest of a certain kind about it, from having been the prison of the captive Kings of France and Scotland in the reign of Edward III. As we grow older this sort of charm becomes very worthless ;-for, after all, there is just as much philosophical interest in the wars of the Fantees and the Ashantees, as in those of the French and the English for the disputed succession to a crown, the owner or pretender to which never dreamt that the possession or the winning imposed the least obligation to provide for the good of the people from whom they claimed allegiance. However, I used to feel this sort of interest in the place;-and when they shewed me the armour of John of France and David of Scotland, (as genuine FEBRUARY, 1829.

M

I dare say as any of those which Dr. Meyrick has consigned to plebeian shoulders, and much later eras) I felt very proud of my country for having so gloriously carried fire and sword to the dwellings of peaceful and inoffensive lieges. The Round Tower is a miserably furnished, dreary sort of place; and only repays a visit by the splendid view from its top. But it once had a charm, which, like many other charms of our boyhood, has perished for ever. There was a young lady, a dweller within " the proud Keep," to whom was intrusted the daily task of expounding to inquiring visitants the few wonders of the place. Amongst the choicest of them was some dingy tapestry, which, for aught I know, still adorns the walls, on which were delineated various passages of the piteous story of Hero and Leander. The fair guide thus discoursed thereon, with the volubility of an Abbé Barthelemi, though with a somewhat different measure of knowledge :— "Here, ladies and gentlemen, is the whole lamentable history of Hero and Leander. Hero was a nun. She lived in that old ancient nunnery which you see. There you see the lady abbess chiding Hero for her love for Leander. And now, ladies and gentlemen, look at Leander swimming across St. George's channel, while Hero, from the nunnery window, holds out a large flambeau. There you see the affectionate meeting of the two lovers ;-and then the cruel parting. Ladies and gentlemen, Leander perished as he was swimming back. His body was picked up by Captain Vanslom, of his Majesty's ship Britannia, and carried into Gibraltar, where it was decently buried. And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the true history of Hero and Leander, which you see on that tapestry."-Alas! for the march of intellect, such guides are every day getting more and more scarce;→ and we shall have nothing for our pains in the propagation of knowledge, but to yawn over sober sense for the rest of our lives.

The pictures in the State Rooms at Windsor were always worth seeing. But the number exhibited has diminished of late years. I remember the Cartoons there; and also remember that I did not know what to make of them. The large men in the little boat, in the Miraculous Draught of Fishes, were somewhat startling;-but then again, the Paul preaching at Athens, and the Ananias, filled me full of awe and wonder. I have a remembrance of a Murillo (a Boy and Puppies), which I have not seen of late years, and which used to hang at the end of Queen Elizabeth's Gallery; and I was amazingly taken with those two ancient pictures, the Battle of Spurs (I think) and the Field of the Cloth of Gold, which afterwards went to the Society of Antiquaries. I never could thoroughly admire King Charles's Beauties. I dare say they were excellent likenesses; for amongst them all, from Lady Denham to the Duchess of Cleveland, there was a bold meretricious air-anything but the retiring loveliness which always finds a place in the dreams of youth. The Misers is a favourite picture with every body, for its truth of delineation and force of character; and yet there is no great skill of the artist in this celebrated work of the Blacksmith of Antwerp. It certainly looks very like what it is represented to be-the work of a self-taught genius, labouring with irrepressible enthusiasm for a great object. I wonder if he painted as well after he married the maiden, whose hand he is said to have won by this proof of his dedication to love as well as to art.