Doubtless they sat in some stately parlour looking upon the gardens, where the work of homely Queen Mary adorned the couches, and the ceiling displayed the genius of Signor Verrio or Sir James Thornhill. A game of ombre beguiles the afternoon, and all goes happily till
"On one nice trick depends the gen'ral fate."
Belinda triumphs and
"exulting fills with shouts the sky.
The walls, the woods, and long canals reply."
Coffee relieves their excited feelings and inspires the Baron to a dauntless deed. The sylphs in vain interpose to check the robber or rouse the thoughtless fair. He draws nearer with the glitt'ring Forfex; her looks remain fixed on her coffee-cup of rich "china earth," or on the long expanse of garden, canal, and wood. In a moment the crime is committed, and the severed lock is in the hands of the victor. As for the "wretched maid," she
"spread her hands and cry'd,
While Hampton's echoes, wretched maid! reply'd."
The Palace itself is cursed by her tragic misfortune, and only an apotheosis of the lock can satisfy the maiden and poetic justice alike.
It is impossible to pass up the Thames to the river front, which Mr. Railton has so charmingly imaged, without memories of Pope's lines. Hampton
