exclusive of the Watch Tower on its summit, which makes the height in that part twenty-five feet more; thus rendering the castle much more conspicuous than formerly as a distant object. The architect's work has been much animadverted on: the details and strange intermixture of the earliest and latest styles of Gothic are very objectionable; and, as to general effect, Canon Bowles objected that the renovated pile looked as if it had been washed with soap and water! Nevertheless, it is a stately pile; the venerable Canon, just named, says of it: "Windsor Castle loses a great deal of its architectural impression (if I may use that word) by the smooth neatness with which its old towers are now chiselled and mortared. It looks as if it was washed every morning with soap and water, instead of exhibiting here and there a straggling flower, or creeping weather-stains. I believe this circumstance strikes every beholder; but, most imposing indeed is its distant view, when the broad banner floats or sleeps in the sunshine, amidst the intense blue of the summer skies; and its picturesque and ancient architectural vastness harmonizes with the decaying and gnarled oaks, coeval with so many departed monarchs. The stately, long-extended avenue, and the wild sweep of devious forests, connected with the eventful circumstances of English history, and past regal grandeur, bring back the memories of Edwards and Henries, or the gallant and accomplished Surrey." In 1825, Canon Bowles, who had been chaplain to the Prince Regent, and writes himself down as not a Laureate, but "a poet of loyal, old Church of England feelings," sung as follows:-- "Not that thy name, illustrious dome, recalls The pomp of chivalry in banner'd halls, The blaze of beauty, and the gorgeous sights Of heralds, trophies, steeds, and crested knights; Not that young Surrey here beguiled the hour, With eyes upturn'd unto the maiden's tower.[28] Oh! not for these, and pageants pass'd away, I gaze upon your antique towers, and pray-- But that my SOVEREIGN here, from crowds withdrawn, May meet calm peace upon the twilight lawn; That here, among these grey, primeval trees, He may inhale health's animating breeze; And when from this proud terrace he surveys Slow Thames revolving his majestic maze, (Now lost on the horizon's verge, now seen Winding through lawns, and woods, and pastures green,) May he reflect upon the waves that roll, Bearing a nation's wealth from pole to pole, And feel (ambition's proudest boast above) A KING'S BEST GLORY IS HIS COUNTRY'S LOVE!"