THE routes to the Royal Palace of Hampton Court are various, and all agreeably diversified. The tourist from town may take advantage of the South-Western or Southampton Railway as far as New Kingston, whence conveyances may be had without difficulty to the palace; or he may proceed to the Ditton or Esher station of the same railway, thence making his way to Thames Ditton, East or West Moulsey, crossing the river by bridge or ferry, and so to Hampton Court; or, ascending the Thames to Richmond, he may make his selection from one of the many conveyances that ply between "delightful Sheen" and the former palace of the magnificent Wolsey.

A delightful route is that by the Thames as far as Twickenham, thence

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to Teddington along the river road, or by way of Strawberry Hill-a choice of routes, adapted for the pedestrian, of which the latter is rather shortest,

but less interesting. Yet, even a couple of miles of dusty road, in a hot summer's day, make but indifferent preparation for the enjoyment awaiting us at Hampton Court, whither we should study to repair fresh and unfatigued, that no sensation of uneasiness may detract from the bountiful feast of eye and mind there awaiting our coming.

We therefore decidedly recommend the reader who does not keep his own carriage, and who really wishes to make the most of his day at Hampton Court-and a day is by far too little to bestow upon it-that at St. Paul's Churchyard, or the White Horse Cellar in Piccadilly, according to his location in town, he take a place by one of the omnibuses, or better still, the short stages, as they are called, that in great numbers await his selection. By one of these he will reach without trouble or fatigue the place of his destination; and the drive through a rich, varied, and classic country, (upon which we have in the former parts of this work sufficiently dilated) will be an agreeable preparation for the not unpleasing toil he will have to undergo in rambling through the state rooms, inspecting the pictures, and strolling through the gardens so munificently preserved, and set apart, for the general enjoyment of the people.

By adopting the course we recommend-not without experience the tourist will avoid the unseemly struggling for places in the omnibuses which so often occurs on quitting the railway stations. He will escape the ramble

along two miles of dusty road, to which he will be condemned if he reach Twickenham by steam-boat; but above all, he will arrive at his destination without change of conveyance, difficulty, or unreasonable delay.

In whatever point of view we regard Hampton and its palace, we must at once acknowledge, that within the same distance of our metropolis, we can boast no two places possessing together half the interest that attaches to this spot.

Let us reflect, for a moment, on the high gratification well regulated and generous minds will receive from a visit to this classic pile and its delightful vicinage—the gratification, namely, of witnessing the innocent pleasure and rational recreation thousands upon thousands of our metropolitan population derive from holidays spent in contemplating the beautiful in art and nature, with which Hampton Court so bounteously supplies them. To those who, wrapped up in the selfishness of exclusion, find pleasure in scenes to which the privileged classes alone can gain access, the judicious and truly liberal indulgence by which the public at large are admitted here may be distasteful and offensive. Luckily, this is a matter of no moment; the public good is to be preferred before the exclusive gratification of individuals. Hampton Court, its gardens, pictures, statues, flowers, walks, now serve the purposes of a normal school, where recreation ministers to instruction, and where eye and mind are at once delighted and improved.

It is a pleasing sight to those who are not afraid to come in contact with ordinary humanity, to see the roads crowded with numbers of holidaymakers on their delighted way to Hampton Court, emancipating themselves, their wives and children, for the day, from the contagion of the town, or the sensual gratifications of suburban pot-houses, and devoting the few hours they may have to spare from the daily-recurring necessity of toil, to gratifications in which the intellectual predominates over the animal, and in which relaxation from labour is made subservient to the inculcation of purer tastes, and enjoyments more refined.

We live in hopeful times, when our palaces become places of popular resort, and when our people are found worthy of the privilege accorded them of making palaces their own. It is strange, when we pause to think upon it, that this noble pile, once the retreat of the Knight Templars— where Wolscy lived in more than royal state-whence the eighth Harry chased the country round, converting fertile plains, the property and means

of sustenance for its peaceful inhabitants, into a wilderness of beasts and birds of game; where Elizabeth called a Shakspeare to entertain her on the stage, and the first James indulged himself in profitless religious controversies; where the unhappy Charles found himself less than the servant of his subjects; where Cromwell led an unquiet life of suspicion and neverceasing fear the polished floors, once silent beneath the mincing steps of courtiers, are now trodden by humblest men; the treasures of art, formerly reserved for royal eyes alone, are now gazed upon by admiring thousands; the faces of historical personages become as familiar to the vulgar as their lives and actions to the learned; this palace has in truth become a palace for the people.

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Not only in a moral and educational, but in a political point of view, do we recognise the wisdom of this indulgence. The veriest economist cannot object to the expense of preserving, at the public charge, places so conducive to public advantage; nor will the permission so unreservedly given to the people by the government, be without its advantage in the popular acknowledgment of the value and advantage of such permission.

If we forget everything about Hampton Court save its richness in merely natural beauty, we shall still find abundance to admire. The happy situation of the place, occupying a delightful peninsula, which the Thames delights almost to encircle, and which looked at upon the map seems a huge emerald set in silver; the mighty masses of its foliage, filling up the distance of the landscape on whichever side you cast your eye; the plains covered with richest verdure in one place, with the stubborn grasses intermingled with ferns and heath, where the wild deer love to haunt, in another; the magnificent colonnades of mighty chesnuts, shooting upward millions of pyramidical cones of wax-like snowy blossoms; the huge thorn-treesveterans of centuries, filling the air, almost to oppressiveness, with their luscious fragrance; the green alleys, with their lengthened vistas, their verdant carpets, and their ever-changing effects of shade and sunlight; the groups of happy holiday-makers moving athwart the glades, or reclining under some oak of "army shade,” enjoying themselves in contented oblivion of the working world they have for that day left behind; then, the intermingling song of various birds; wild creatures flitting to and fro; the timid deer, the hum of bees, the wandering flight of butterflies. To these add the pure elastic air, the azure firmament overhead, or, still better, fleecy