rank luxuriance seen in our American growth. Having unfortunately
exhausted the English language on the subject of grass, I will not
repeat any ecstasies upon that topic.

After descending from the tower we filed off to the proper quarter, to
show our orders for the private rooms. The state apartments, which we
had been looking at, are open at all times, but the private apartments
can only be seen in the queen's absence, and by a special permission,
which had been procured for us on this occasion by the kindness of the
Duchess of Sutherland.

One of the first objects that attracted my attention when entering the
vestibule was a baby's wicker wagon, standing in one corner; it was
much such a carriage as all mothers are familiar with; such as figures
largely in the history of almost every family. It had neat curtains
and cushions of green merino, and was not royal, only maternal. I
mused over the little thing with a good deal of interest. It is to my
mind one of the providential signs of our times, that, at this stormy
and most critical period of the world's history, the sovereignty of
the most powerful nation on earth is represented by a woman and a
mother. How many humanizing, gentle, and pacific influences constantly
emanate from this centre!

One of the most interesting apartments was a long corridor, hung with
paintings and garnished along the sides with objects of art and _virtu_.
Here C. and I renewed a dispute which had for some time been pending,
in respect to Canaletto's paintings. This Canaletto was a Venetian
painter, who was born about 1697, and died in London in 1768, and was
greatly in vogue with the upper circles in those days. He delighted in
architectural paintings, which he represents with the accuracy of a