on a
gentle promontory overhanging the water. This is the "Music House," where
the Prince's band were wont to play in days "lang syne." Here we stop, and
leaving our jumper in charge of a farmer, stroll over the grounds.

That peculiar arrangement of lofty trees, sweeping lawns, and graceful
management of water, which forms the prevailing feature of English
landscape gardening, was at once apparent. Although there were no trim
walks, green hedges, or beds of flowers; although the whole place was
ruined and neglected, yet the magic touch of art was not less visible to
the practised eye. The art that concealed art, seemed to lend a charm to
the sweet seclusion, without intruding upon or disturbing the intentions
of nature.

Proceeding up the gentle slope that led from the gate, a number of
columbines and rose-bushes scattered in wild profusion, indicated where
once had been the Prince's garden. These, although now in bloom and
teeming with flowers, have a vagrant, neglected air, like beauties that
had ran astray, never to be reclaimed. A little further we come upon the
ruins of a spacious mansion, and beyond these the remains of the library,
with its tumbled-down bricks and timbers, choking up the stream that wound
through the vice-regal domains: and here the bowling-green, yet fresh with
verdure; here the fishing pavilion, leaning over an artificial lake, with
an artificial island in the midst; and here are willows, and deciduous
trees, planted by the Prince; and other rose-bushes and columbines
scattered in wild profusion. I could not but admire the elegance and
grace, which, even now, were so apparent, amid the ruins of the lodge, nor
could I help recalling those earlier days, when the red-coats clustered
around the gates, and the grounds were sparkling with lamps at night; when
the band from the music-house woke the echoes with the clash of martial
instruments, and the young Prince, with his gay gallants, and his
powdered, patched, and painted Jezebels, held his brilliant court, with
banner, music, and flotilla; with the array of soldiery, and the pageantry
of ships-of-war, on Bedford Basin.

I stood by the ruins of a little stone bridge, which had once spanned the
sparkling brook, and led to the Prince's library; I saw, far and near, the
flaunting flowers of the now abandoned garden, and the distant columns of
the silent music house, and I felt sad amid the desolation, although I
knew not why. For wherefore should