THE Court of St. James's is a phrase that has been heard far and wide, and has carried fear into stout hearts. In Mexico and Peru, in Hindustan, and possibly by this time even at Pekin, and in every capital of Europe, it has been known as the designation of a power not to be trifled with. A foreigner who had formed his notions of the local habitation of this talismanic word from its universal prevalence and might, must at all times have been struck with astonishment on sceing it. The dingy plainness of the structure itself-the suttling-shop bulging from its front-the utter absence of architectural pretensions in the surrounding houses, and the familiar manner in which they squeezed in upon it, were anything but calculated to harmonise with the high idea of the residence of the kings of the "kings of Inde," who occupied a house of much greater pretensions -in the east, in Leadenhall Street. If not exactly such a shock as might be supposed to be received upon finding a monkey-god enshrined in a sanctuary rich with gold and jewels, the effect on the imagination was at least that produced by finding some very plain and homely person the central object of attention to a gorgeous train of richly-apparelled attendants.

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The phrase "Court of St. James's," if not, strictly speaking, one of the things we owe to our glorious Revolution," may at least be said to have come in with it. The ground on which the palace stands was acquired by Henry VIII., who erected thereon a "goodly palace," as was mentioned in our account of St. James's Park; and "St. James's Manor House," as it was long called, has ever since been part and parcel of the palatial establishment of the Kings of England. But it was not until the burning of Whitehall in the reign of William III. that

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it became the royal residence-the scene of levees and drawing-rooms—the recognised seat of royalty. William resided mostly at Hampton Court, though he occasionally held councils at St James's, and it was regarded as his town house. But Anne constantly resided there when in town; Caroline, Queen of George II., died there; George IV. was born there. The Court," technically speaking, was held at St. James's during the whole reign of George III. (it still continues to be held there), but the domestic town residence of that monarch was Buckingham House. St. James's is now merely the pavilion containing the apart ments used on occasions of state solemnity. The period during which it was a palace of Kings-a palace to live in as well as to see company in-includes only the reigns of William, Anne, and the two first Georges. The Palace of St. James's-the Court of St. James's-are phrases which belong to the Revolution era-to the time when, with the exception of one female, our sovereigns were foreigners. It is an age not to be despised, for it is the age of Swift, Steele, Arbuthnot, and Addison-of Hogarth and Fielding-of old Colley Cibber and of young Horace Walpole-and of the "charming Lady Mary Montague." And though the nation could not well understand its sovereigns—either their language or their habits—and the sovereigns were but partially acclimatised, as gardeners or introducers of a new kind of farm-stock would phrase it—they had excellent sturdy qualities of their own-grotesque enough to move our laughter, and with enough of moral power and goodness to command our respect. But we must first trace the history of the palace previous to the days of its greatest exaltation.

The Hospital of St. James, founded for the reception of "fourteen sisters, maidens, that were leprous, living chastely and honestly in divine service," although a religious foundation, seems to have been honestly acquired by Henry VIII. In the year 1532 he gave Chattisham and other lands in Suffolk in exchange for the site of the Hospital; and when, having thus become master of the house, he turned the sisterhood out of doors, he had the grace to settle pensions upon them. The architect of St. James's Manor House is not known, but it is understood to have been erected under the direction of Cromwell Earl of Essex, and Holbein is said to have furnished the plan, though this has been doubted. "Only a part," says Brayley in his Londiniana' (1829), "of Henry's building now remains, and that is in a purer style of architecture than any of the other designs of Holbein. In the filling in of the spandrils of some of the arches the Florentine (or rather the Flemish) manner is conspicuous, particularly in the chimney-piece of the Presence Chamber, the ornamented compartments over the arch of which contain Tudor badges and the initials H. A. united by a knot: from this latter circumstance we may infer that the palace was originally built for the reception of the unfortunate Anne Boleyn."

This association links the palace of St. James's with the culminating period of Henry's reputation. There was an ambition after good, or the appearance of it, that lent a certain degree of éclat to the first twenty years of his reign His entering the lists of controversial theology with Luther bespoke intellectual taste, if not talent. His love of stately and gorgeous pageants, like the field of the cloth of gold, stimulated men's imaginations. His bluff, bold, somewhat homely deportment, so long as his self-will had not ripened into the terrible, won the

hearts of the commonalty. As yet he had been a faithful, and, to all external appearance at least, a kind and loving husband. And if aught were amiss—if some things were done which men could have wished undone, and duties neglected which ought to have been performed-why there stood Wolsey at the King's elbow, a full-blown scape-goat, to carry all the sins of his royal master, as well as his own, on his broad shoulders away into the wilderness.

The divorce of Queen Catherine must have startled people a little at first; but then it was set off by the downfall of Wolsey, and the countenance which, from that time, was lent by the court to the innovating spirit abroad in the nation. Queen Catherine, a good, kind, pious lady, bore her wrongs in retirement, and the people, triumphant on account of the overthrow of a hated minister and the progress of popular doctrine, crowded round their monarch in the ripeness of manly strength, with his young and beautiful wife at his side, and all the splendour of his court around him. Allowance is always made for the waywardness of kings, and here was present popularity and a past good character to render men yet more tolerant, and much magnificence to obliterate the memory of the past; and the cold waves of the world's forgetfulness closed over the head of a wronged woman-but her God did not forget her. Poor Anne Boleyn, who sinned through vanity and want of thought, must have thought bitterly of the meekness of the queenly sufferer, and her own forgetfulness of woman's rights, when sharp sorrow was working out her own regeneration.

From 1527, when Henry first set his affections on Anne Boleyn, till 1536, when he caused her head to be chopped off, there was a deflection from the right path which might cause uneasiness to the stern moralist; but though the pillars of right principle were shaken, and a sense of insecurity must have pervaded the brilliant dream of those nine years, there was no omen or portent to warn men of the eleven years of blood and brutality that were to ensue. A young man may wander from the straight path, and, after some hard lessons from experience, scramble in again; but when one who has maintained a tolerably decent deportment begins to go wrong at forty, we may rest assured he will go on with his sinning. Such reflections, however, are always made too late. In Henry's case, as usual, men were too much taken up watching the run of luck in the great game they were playing, and at that time the public was winning. It was the holiday of victory over an old hierarchy, the triumph of free thought proclaiming itself abroad, not whispering, as before, in fear and trembling, in closets and corners. And the young Queen, to whom this change was in great part attributed, stood like Venus among her handmaids, the fairest of them all. And there were stately masques and solemn tournaments. And More's elegant learning and playful wit graced a part of the time, and Holbein survived it. And the chivalrous poet Surrey was yet unthreatened. These nine years were the time during which the drunkenness of absolute power was growing upon the faculties of Henry; and as wit, good-fellowship, and proud aspirations flash out most glowingly as the wine goes round-the bright lightning which presages approaching danger—so did Henry walk with a more free and stately bearing, and display his splendid tastes to more advantage, while, casting off his early sobriety, he allowed the intoxication of self-will to grow upon him. St. James's Manor, with the presence chamber, and its intertwined cipher of the monarch lover and his swan-like bride, was

one of the devices of this inspired time. It has stood a monument of the brief raptures bought by trampling upon sacred ties, and a witness of the retribution which fell on his children and lineage. It is not necessary to go back to the tale of the Atridæ or of Edipus for mysterious and terrific tales of fatality attendant upon regal houses: if rightly read, the cycle of events which dates from the lawless union of Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn presents as splendid and awful a pageant as either we have named. The premature death of the puny Edward-the isolated and gloomy life of Mary, who had a heart and a faith, but finding none who could render affection for affection, dwindled in peevishness, grew weak and cruel, and left the name of Bloody Mary behind-the more vigorous Elizabeth, whose early feelings too were chilled, and whose mingled course of glory and meanness was lost, like the waters of some mighty stream in a parched desert-all might have traced the worm which gnawed at their hearts to the false position in which the vices of their father had placed them. And that development of popular intellect and popular power which he had encouraged, not out of generous sympathy, but because it seemed to favour his private lusts, spread and grew strong, till, after having quenched the proud self-will of one of his race in his own blood, it finally shook the family in the direct line of inheritance from the throne.

The history of St. James's Palace, from the death of Henry to the Revolution, is merely a succession of scenes in this terrible drama-some of them deeply tragic, some of them gay, with a transient light like that which at times gilds for a moment the fierce black waves breaking over a stranded ship. To enumerate all would be to write a history of the government during that period; but we may be allowed to recall a few to the memories of our readers as contributing to lend a moral interest-to inform, with a human soul of sympathy and intelli gence, those very commonplace walls which stand at the foot of St. James's Street, more like a county prison than a royal mansion.

The stream of events ran away rather from St. James's during the years of Edward, Mary, and Elizabeth, but with the prolific race of Stuarts it came to be used as a royal nursery. The Manor House, with all its appurtenances, except the Park and the Stables at the Mews, were granted, in 1610, to Prince Henry, who occupied them till his premature death in 1612. He was succeeded by his brother, afterwards Charles I., who retained through life a partiality for the mansion. In it was deposited the collection of statues which, with the assistance of Sir Kenelm Digby, he began to form. Here most of his children were born. And in the Chapel Royal, which he had fitted up in it, he attended divine service before he "walked through the Park, guarded with a regiment of foot, to Whitehall," on the morning of his execution. This theme has been often enough harped on. Its interest is undeniable;-it is we confess a sad sign of human inconstancybut there has been so much emphatic moralising and sentimentalising, that we turn from the story of the father to welcome, as a change, the less hackneyed story of one of his son's adventures.

The Duke of York was taken prisoner when Fairfax entered Oxford in 1646. On the 20th of April, 1648, being then in his fifteenth year, he effected his escape from St. James's, as is narrated in the Stuart Papers :

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All things being in readiness on the night of the forementioned day, the

Duke went to supper at his usual hour, which was about seven, in the company of his brother and sister, and when supper was ended they went to play at hideand-seek with the rest of the young people in the house. At this childish sport the Duke had accustomed himself to play for a fortnight together every night, and had used to hide himself in places so difficult to find, that most commonly they were half an hour in searching for him, at the end of which time he came out of his own accord. This blind he laid for his design, that they might be accustomed to miss him before he really intended his escape; by which means, when he came to practise it in earnest, he was secure of gaining that half-hour before they could reasonably suspect he was gone. His intention had all the effect he could desire; for that night, so soon as they began their play, he pretended, according to his custom, to hide himself; but instead of so doing, he went first into his sister's chamber, and there locked up a little dog that used to follow him, that he might not be discovered by him; then slipping down by a pair of back stairs which led into the inmost garden, having found means beforehand to furnish himself with a key of a back-door from the said garden into the Park, he there found Bamfield, who was ready to receive him, and waited there with a footman who brought a cloak, which he threw over him, and put on a periwig. From thence they went through the Spring Garden, where one Mr. Tripp was ready with a hackney-coach." It is needless to pursue the adventure further in detail: suffice it to say that the Duke, in female attire, succeeded in reaching a Dutch vessel which was waiting for him below Gravesend.

There is something inexpressibly touching in this picture of the young Duke of Gloucester ́and his sister the Lady Elizabeth entirely taken up with their childish sports within the walls of what to them was a prison. Their father was a man aware of the deadly struggle in which he was engaged, but they knew not the jealous eyes that were upon them-they felt not the ruin impending over them. While all was dark around, their childish minds were lit up with gleetwin glowworms shining in the dark, stormy night. The premature closeness and self-command of their brother is a less pleasing object. Hard necessity had taught him selfishness and duplicity before his time. The craft he had to practise in self-defence in youth, and the success attending it, possibly encouraged him to engage in riper years in an undertaking beyond his very commonplace abilities. At the same time it is impossible to help enjoying the consternation caused among the greybeards who thought they had him in safe keeping on finding themselves outwitted by a mere boy. James himself has recorded, with a natural feeling of triumph, the pottering search set on foot as soon as he was missed. "He had not gone," he says, "above an hour before they began to miss him and to search for him in every room of the house, where not finding him, they sent immediate notice of it to Whitehall and to the General, Sir Thomas Fairfax. Thereupon there were orders issued out that all the passages about London, especially the northern road, and those towards Wales, should be watched-imagining he had either taken that way or towards Scotland." Orders were also issued to guard all the ports, but James had left Gravesend before the despatches arrived. The pursuit was not relinquished till news arrived of his landing in Holland.

After the Restoration James occupied this building, which must have continually recalled the gratifying recollection of his first successful exercise of that