Who can stand in Wellington-street, on the verge of Waterloo-bridge, and fancy it a princely mansion from the lofty battlements of which a royal banner is flying, while numerous retainers keep watch below? Probably the sounds of harp and song may be heard as lofty nobles and courtly dames are seen to tread the verdant alleys and flower-bestrewn paths which lead to the bright and glancing river, where a costly barge (from which the sounds proceed) is waiting its distinguished freight. Ever and anon are these seen gliding along in the sunbeams, or resting at the avenue leading to one or other of the noble mansions with which the bright strand is sprinkled.
Of these, perhaps, the most gorgeous is York-place, while farthest in the distance rise the fortified walls of the old palace of Westminster, inferior only to those of the ancient abbey, which are seen to rise, dimmed, yet distinct, in the soft but glowing haze cast around by the setting sun.
And that building seen on the opposite side of the river? Strangely situated it seems, and in a swamp, and with none of the felicity of aspect appertaining to its loftier neighbour, the Savoy. Yet its lofty tower, its embattled gateway, seem to infer some important destination. And such it had. The unassuming and unattractively placed edifice has outlived its more aspiring neighbours; and while the stately palace of the Savoy is extinct, and the slight remains of Westminster are desecrated, the time-honoured walls of Lambeth yet shelter the head of learning and dignify the location in which they were reared.
Eastward of our position the city looks dim and crowded; but, with the exception of the sprinkled mansions to which we have alluded, there is little to break the natural characteristics of the scene between Temple-bar and the West Minster. The hermitage and hospital on the site of Northumberland House harmonise well with the scene; the little cluster of cottages at Charing has a rural aspect; and that beautiful and touching memento of unfailing love and undiminished affection—that tribute to all that was good and excellent in woman—the Cross, which, formed of the purest and, as yet, unsoiled white marble, raised its emblem of faith and hope, gleaming like silver in the brilliant sky—that—would that we had it still!
Somewhat nearer, the May-pole stands out in gay relief from the woods which envelop the hills northward, where yet the timid fawn could shelter, and the fearful hare forget its watch; where yet perchance the fairies held their revels when the moon shone bright; where they filled to the brim the “fairy-cups” and pledged each other in dew; where they played at “hide and seek” in the harebells, ran races in the branches of the trees, and nestled on the leaves, on which they glittered like diamonds; where they launched their tiny barks on the sparkling rivulets, breathing ere morning’s dawn on the flowers to awaken them, tinting the gossamer’s web with silver, and scattering pearls over the drops of dew.
Closer around, among meadows and pastures, are all sounds and emblems of rural life; which as yet are but agreeably varied, not ruthlessly annihilated, by the encroachments of population and the increase of trade.
Truly this is a difficult picture to realise on Waterloo-bridge, yet is it nevertheless a tolerably correct one of this portion of our metropolis at the time of “The Field of the Cloth of Gold.”
FOOTNOTES:
[112] Henry.
[113] Strutt’s Manners and Customs.