appeared and disappeared
amid the high grass, like poppies bowed by the gentle breath of the
passing breeze. The sheep, ruminating with closed eyes, lay lazily about
under the shadow of the stunted aspens; while, far and near, the
kingfisher, clad in emerald and gold, skimmed swiftly along the surface
of the water, like a magic ball, heedlessly touching, as he passed, the
line of his brother angler, who sat watching, in his boat, the fish as
they rose to the surface of the sparkling stream.

High above this paradise of dark shadows and soft light arose the palace
of Hampton Court, which had been built by Wolsey--a residence which the
haughty cardinal had been obliged, timid courtier that he was, to offer
to his master, Henry VIII., who had frowned with envy and feelings of
cupidity at the aspect of the new palace. Hampton Court, with its brick
walls, its large windows, its handsome iron gates, as well as its
curious bell-turrets, its retired covered walks, and interior fountains,
like those of the Alhambra, was a perfect bower of roses, jasmine, and
clematis. Every sense, of sight and smell particularly, was gratified,
and formed a most charming framework for the picture of love which
Charles II. unrolled among the voluptuous paintings of Titian, of
Pordenone, and of Vandyck: the same Charles whose father's portrait--the
martyr king--was hanging in his gallery, and who could show upon the
wainscots of the various apartments the holes made by the balls of the
puritanical followers of Cromwell, on the 24th August, 1648, at the time
they had brought Charles I. prisoner to Hampton Court. There it was that
the king, intoxicated with pleasure and amusement, held his court--he
who, a poet in feeling, thought himself justified in redeeming, by a
whole day of voluptuousness, every minute which had been formerly passed
in anguish and misery. It was not the soft greensward of Hampton
Court--so soft that it almost resembled the richest velvet in the
thickness of its texture--nor was it the beds of flowers, with their
variegated hues, which encircled the foot of every tree, with rose-trees
many feet in height, embracing most lovingly their trunks--nor even the
enormous lime-trees, whose branches swept the earth like willows,
offering a ready concealment for love or reflection beneath the shade
of their foliage--it was none of these things for which Charles II.
loved his palace of Hampton Court. Perhaps it might have been that
beauti