reign, Cabot discovered that country whence we make pilgrimages to look on the ancient landmarks of fatherland, even as I then gazed upon this abode of hereditary power; then the burly, amorous, figure, around whose memory cluster so many fair martyrs, and learned men, whose story is embalmed in immortal dramas, and identified with the beauty of Anne Boleyn, the sacrifice of Sir Thomas More, and Thomas à Becket, and the rise and fall of Wolsey; he who broke the ancient chain that linked the kingdom to the papacy, and united Wales and Ireland to the crown; the glorious reign of his daughter, with her galaxy of poets, and warriors, Shakspere, Bacon, Raleigh, Drake, Sidney, and Spenser; the beheaded monarch whose remains are inhumed beneath the floor of this chapel, where I thus mused; his gay and popular son; bloody Mary who here passed her honey-moon; Anne, with her Marlborough victories and Addisonian wits; the Georges and their statesmen, one flushed and sensual, another hoary and lunatic; William the sailor-king; good Adelaide; and now the loved Victoria: here, in the scene of their counsels, banquets and sepulture, their domestic life and rural seclusion, like shadows, yet seemed to hover in the temple consecrated to their devotions and their ashes.

It is the social environment of English royalty, that gives it distinctive interest in the retrospect.

When Henry VIII. is mentioned, we instantly think of Luther and the Reformation; the reign of Elizabeth means the age of Shakspere; of Anne, that of Pope and Swift; Charles I. is the prominent figure of a great transition era in politics and religion, to which he was the victim; George III. is best recalled through Pitt's statesmanship, as his son, when prince of Wales, is identified with Beau Brummel, intrigue, and excess, shamefully contrasted with the triumphs of modern science and letters, that signalized his own reign.

We perceive why, during the civil wars, this castle was the most effective military station, and witnessed the bloody feuds which resulted in Magna Charta. Richard II. here listened to the charge of high-treason, preferred by the duke of Lancaster against Mowbray. It was the last of Charles I.'s prisons; Cromwell moodily perambulated its walls; and James of Scotland passed within them, his long captivity. These are but a few of the memories that crowd upon the mind, lost in the reveries of St. George's chapel; but there were two places where the varied associations of Windsor castle concentrated, as it were, into a more definite sentiment; where the vague annals of royalty assumed a certain individuality; and the scene breathed names that came nearer personal sympathies than those of a long line of sovereigns, who only claimed a thought, as the agents of transmitted power,

which they used or abused in turn; and, at these places, I chiefly lingered; they were the terrace near Elizabeth's tower, and the tomb of the princess Charlotte; from the one was discernible a landscape, that, from the heart of its intrinsic beauty, shed abroad fragrant memories, and the other won regard by the image of a woman who was a sweet exception to the usual career of royalty.

The inconsistencies which attend kingcraft are the best evidences of its want of foundation in nature. Supremacy derived from genius or character is accompanied by the harmonies and unity that proclaim legitimate sway; but assumed greatness based on will, physical resources, or tradition, becomes more and more irrational as humanity develops. Thus St. George's chapel is dedicated to Christian worship, but the prayers for the queen, her mother, oldest son, and the Knights of the Garter, by recognising before God, in whose presence all are equal, an invidious distinction even between members of one family, strikes at the root of the religious sentiment, as embodied in the example of Jesus. Not less incongruous is the special petition that the Lord will keep her majesty "in health and wealth," the former blessing, which is a natural want, being profaned by association with the latter, which is artificial, and expressly denounced as an end by the founder of Christianity. A more affecting illustration, of the same kind, is realized

when we look upon the expressive mourning figure recumbent over the tomb of Charlotte. Why do all turn, with indifference or disgust, from the mausoleums of the Georges, to breathe a sigh at this sculptured memorial? Is it not because she asserted her womanhood-that, rising above the thraldom of station, she lived and loved as her own nature dictated? Not to the princess, but to the maiden and the wife, in whom regal title could not absorb these more sacred names, is this voluntary oblation paid; therefore, the eloquent Robert Hall pronounced her panegyric amid tears; and the impassioned bard, in his misanthropic exile, broke abruptly from his pilgrimage of song, to mourn the "fair-haired daughter of the isles," who was "good without effort, great without a foe." Her acquirements and charities, her generous and independent sentiments, her love of art and gracious manners, doubtless gained for her a certain popularity; but the rare achievement of domestic happiness in the shadow of a throne, the moral courage that insisted on a marriage of affection, and the beautiful union and simple tastes consequent thereon, combined with her early death, to sanctify her name to the common heart, which always rejoices to behold the human triumph over conventionalism and outward splendor.

A few moments transport us from the tomb of Charlotte to the rampart that overlooks the broad

meadows, and glancing river, where the haughty Elizabeth often paced to and fro, chafing, perhaps, at the infidelity of Leicester, or struggling with remorse for the persecution of Mary. There is not a feature of the scene, except the stone-bulwarks, to indicate the fierce passions that once darkened that lovely prospect. Indeed, we can not gaze long before the vision of crowns gives place to laurels, and the poetical associations of the landscape veil all remembrance of court intrigue.

Over this parapet Surrey may have leaned. All accounts agree in placing him at the head of the accomplished men of his day. He was educated at Oxford, and travelled in Europe; he early distinguished himself at a tournament in Italy, and at Westminster; a contemporary describes him as "the gallantest man, politest lover, and most perfect gentleman of his time." He married a daughter of the Earl of Oxford. Although the companion of the king's son at Windsor, he lost the monarch's favor because suspected of having designs on the princess Mary, and because he is said to have added some of the royal arms to his own; although justified by the heralds, he was impeached and beheaded. One of his effusions written in the dungeons of Windsor, quaintly alludes to this contrast of his youthful days and latter fate :

"When I in joy dyd passe,

Wythe a king's son, my chyldish yeres,