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commanders, who were connected with the battle of Waterloo. It is lighted from the top, through a lantern of ground glass, extending the whole length of the room. The furniture is of richly carved oak. In this room King William gave the dinners commemorative of the battle, surrounded by the surviving military commanders who were engaged in it. This room contains thirty-seven portraits, some of which are full length ; among them are the following :-Frederick Duke of York, George III., George IV., William IV., Archduke Charles, Prince Schwartzenberg, Charles X. of France, Metternich, Duke de Richelieu, Pope Pius VII., Alexander Emperor of Russia, Francis II. of Austria, Frederick III. of Prussia, Blucher, Wel. lington, Castlereagh, &c. The grand banquetinghall is the finest apartment; it is 200 feet by 34. The whole ceiling is divided off into 312 panels, or bays, as they are called, each bay containing two shields, emblazoned with the armorial bearings of the Knights of the Garter, from the first institution of the order to the present time, a period of nearly five hundred years. An immense table extends the whole length of the room, on which dinner is served on state occasions.
The Round Tower, the oldest part of the castle, interested me very much. It was here that John, King of France, and David, King of Scotland, were confined. A long flight of stone steps leads to the top, from which the view is very fine. On every side the country was clothed with a rich carpet of green. This view extends for miles over as beauti. ful a landscape as ever met human gaze. Imme. diately at the base of the hill on which the castle stands, lies the town of Windsor, through which the Thames meanders in silent beauty. A little beyond lies the village of Eton, with its venerable and illustrious seminary. This celebrated school was founded in October, 1440, and for upwards of four hundred years has been one of the most noted places in English history. There are at present about seven hundred pupils within its precincts. Further on shoots up to heaven the spire of Stoke Poges church, with its “country church-yard,” the same which suggested the immortal elegy of Gray, and near whose venerable walls the remains of the poet lie.
"Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
A little to the right, in the distance, was discernible. the house in which William Penn was. born; while on the opposite side stretch away for miles the parks where Windsor Forest, so classic in fictitious and poetic lore, formerly stood.
“France hath twice too well been taught
The “ moral lesson'' dearly bought-
From London I proceeded to Paris by the mail route, via Dover and Calais, leaving London at half-past eight, P. M., and reaching Paris at nine next morning. We arrived at Dover, by the railway, about half-past eleven, and thence crossed the channel in a little steamer. The night was a most beautiful one. A full moon shining in a cloudless sky—the white cliffs of Dover springing up from the water's edge, and gradually receding as we glided over the billows, sparkling in the moonbeams, all conspired to render the scene one of unusual loveliness. We were an hour and a half in crossing, the distance being about twenty-two miles. I felt, for the first time since I left home, when I leaped ashore at Calais, that I was in a strange country,
the people were so different in appearance, speech, and dress. Some strange scenes took place in getting the passports countersigned—the Englishman trying to make the Frenchman understand, and vice versa. Calais, one of the oldest towns in France, celebrated in history as having been so long held by the English, contains now a population of about twelve thousand, but has little in it of special interest to the traveler. From Calais to Paris the country is very level. The peculiarities of the people were apparent at once. Instead of the substantial stone dykes and bushy hedges of the English, here the fences were composed of little sticks, like rustic work, which, though rather pretty, must be very fragile.
The Hotel Meurice, where I put up, and to which the English and Americans usually resort, is large and commodious. It is built in a square form, with a court in the centre. The entrance is under a large arch, through which the omnibusses and carriages drive into the yard, to take up and put down those staying at the hotel. I immediately procured a guide, and we set off together to Versailles. There are two railways to this place, one on each bank of the Seine. The dis