his family. In Russell Square we have even a Whig nobleman and a Whig statesman. But Charles's statue is the most conspicuous and in the most conspicuous and crowded place of any in London; and Charles Fox would not be allowed to confront him in the Parliament Avenue, where he has at least as much right to appear. Even a Whig sovereign is not allowed to see fair play; which is surely unthankful in one quarter, and not eminently unslavish in another. In a thoroughfare behind Whitehall (skulking out of sight, but "insinuated," as it were, "into the boxes") is a statue of James the Second!

All the noble thoroughfare, now called Whitehall, with the buildings on either side, extended along the river as far as Scotland Yard on one side, and up to the street turning into Spring Gardens on the other, occupies the ground of the immense palace formerly existing under the same name. It was begun by the Earl of Kent in the reign of the third Henry, and became the palace of the Archbishops of York, and the residence of Wolsey. It is the scene of the masquerade in Henry the Eighth. A great masquerade has been played there by Time. Here Wolsey, that magnificent "Jack-priest of the world," displayed his pomps and vanities, grew fat and diseased with debauchery, gave out imperial healths in his gold cups; and at last burst like a bubble. Henry condescended to buy the house, and went swelling both it and himself in his turn, till he became too fat to write his name.* The various exercises which he pursued in

An historical fact. He had a seal made to stamp with instead, and must be imagined moving his body and arm round to achieve the signature, like a porpoise with something stuck in his fin.

this place (for there were a tennis-court, tilting-yard, cock-pit, and bowling-green, and he was fond of robust games) appear to have only been made subservient to the prodigiousness of his appetites. Eating and drinking, gallantry and divinity, he fell to them. all with the thirsty self-will and iron nerves of an athlete; only his divinity made him careful to marry before he murdered.*

The pomps and vanities of Elizabeth were better warranted, though she lectured a bishop out of her pew for alluding to them. Her three thousand dresses (for such was the number found in her wardrobe) have almost as many excuses, when we recollect what a noise she made as queen and woman, and what a number of high and gallant tastes were prepared to admire her. It is true, she had "too much sense," was too great a queen," &c., but in these matters too much sense is very apt not to be enough; nor do we find that women, or even men, of the greatest and gravest sense, are above the little artifices that

* Fuller, in his Church History, tells a good story of Henry the Eighth and his fool. "King Henry," says the old divine, "had lately set forth a book against Luther, endeavoring the confutation of his opinions as novel and unsound." None suspect this king's lack of learning (though many his lack of leisure from his pleasures) for such a design; however, it is probable some other GARDENER gathered the flowers (made the collections), though King Henry had the honor to wear the posy, carrying the credit in the title thereof. To requite his pains the pope honored him and his successors with a specious title, "A Defender of the Faith." There is a tradition, that King Henry's fool (though more truly to be termed by another name), coming into the court, and finding the king transported with an unusual joy, boldly asked of him the cause thereof; to whom the king answered, it was because that the pope had honored him with a style more eminent than any of his ancestors. "O, good Harry," quoth the fool, "let thou and I defend one another, and let the faith alone to defend itself." - ED.

help to set off their persons. Age and misfortune make a difference, but the misfortune must be new indeed that diminishes the vanity of a throne. In those times pomp and splendor were thought to belong as much to the person of the sovereign as the state; though nothing, it must be confessed, was omitted or discontinued that could bring round the world to a different way of thinking. Here, in the tilt-yard at Whitehall, did Elizabeth, "in her sixtyfifth year, wrinkled face, red periwig, little eyes, hooked nose, skinny lips, and black teeth," preside over the chivalrous exercises, and receive the homage of her gallant knights, who stormed allegorical forts to get at her "beauty," and died in all sorts of eloquent despairs if she averted the heaven of her looks. It was a set of poetical grown children "making believe," and more grave and self-deceiving than smaller ones. For we must not suppose that the self-deception was confined to Elizabeth. Her adoring courtiers would marry secretly against her will, and occasionally be moved into a prosaical sense of her age and her skinny lips; but one charm stands instead of another, and serves the latter with its own results. Elizabeth being a great queen, and able to gratify ever in so many ways the self-love of her admirers, would remain an attractive woman long after all pretensions had ceased in any other station. Wit and good nature have done as much for women; and even deformity has been held by some a fascination; so much has mere sensation to do in most extreme cases, beyond any other impulse.

James the First, that slatternly pedant and very ill

contrived personage, kept up the spectacles of the tiltyard, and was the cause of much finery in others. But the great patron of martial exercises was his son Henry. After the filial fashion of heirs apparent, Henry affected a policy quite opposite to that of his father; and, like all heirs apparent who die before they come to the throne, was a popular and hopeful prince. It is to James the First the public are indebted for the noble banqueting-house built by Inigo Jones. I have sometimes stood and looked at it till I thought that, by one of the hidden analogies between the fine arts, the beautiful proportions of the upper part of the front affected me like a piece of music. Let the reader stand and measure with his eye the proportions between the windows and the spaces about them, and imagine this or that part to be contracted or enlarged, and he will feel how injurious would be the alteration. The glory of Whitehall was at its height in the time of James and Charles the First; Inigo Jones built for the court, Rubens and Vandyke painted for it,* and Ben Jonson wrote for it. Royalty had not found out its weak side, nor learnt to become jealous of natural greatness. Genius was thought only an accessary to "the fair State," and was allowed to put forth its full lustre. Louis the Four

teenth told Boileau that he had always a quarter of an hour to spare for his conversation whenever he chose to visit the court. And this was thought a won

* Holbein was employed at Whitehall under the Tudors. He died there of the plague, and is supposed to have been buried in the churchyard belonging to St. Catherine Cree, near the India House. Vandyke also died in England, and was buried in Old St. Paul's. The Academy should give him a monument in the New.

derful favor; and so it was, as times went; yet what was it more than a good bargain made for himself by a dull gentleman with a man of wit? This, however, was nothing to poor Racine, who languished like a lily and died, because the king was displeased with him. Painting is still more welcome at court than poetry. Poets, with all their flattery, have arrogant ways; assume crowns of laurel, and talk of bestowing immortality. They jostle the sovereign in his throne with another sovereignty, which is of a suspicious character, and disdains the common fashions of mortality. But painting takes its place as part of the show. It offers the most visible and ornamental display of genius with the least pretensions to it, and with the greatest flattery to places and persons; and accordingly has always been welcome. Even an American and half Republican (the late Mr. West) was liked at Windsor; though perhaps there was a particular zest in having an American for a royal painter. In the time of the Stuarts there was a generosity in the treatment of artists, which argued much for the intelligence of the patrons.

Rubens (who was employed in negotiations) carried his art with such a high hand, that it seems doubtful whether he was an ambassador condescending to be an artist, or an artist submitting to be an ambassador. His pupil Vandyke married the daughter of a British earl. It has been said that architecture was not appreciated, though good architects were employed. The court had the good fortune to light on a man of genius; but his pay, they say, shows what was thought of his art. Now it is true that