The ancient palace of the Savoy had changed its destination as a royal residence only in his father's time. With the single exception of Westminster--if indeed that--the most magnificent palace which the hand of liberality ever raised, which the finger of taste ever embellished. Various indeed have been the changes to which it has been doomed, and now not one stone remains on another to say that such things have been. Now--of the thousands who traverse the spot, scarce one, at long and far distant intervals, may glance at the dim memories of the past, to think of the plumed knights and high-born dames who revelled in its halls; the crowned and anointed kings who, monarch or captive, trod its lofty chambers; the gleaming warriors who paced its embattled courts; the gracious queen who caused its walls to echo the sounds of joy; the subtle heads which plodded beneath its gloomy shades; the unhappy exiles who found a refuge within its dim recesses; or[114] the lame, the sick, the impotent, who in the midst of suffering blessed the home that sheltered them, the hands that ministered to their woes. No. The majestic walls of the Savoy are in the dust, and not merely all trace, but all idea of its radiant gardens and sunny bowers, its sparkling fountains and verdant lawns, is lost even to the imagination in the matter-of-fact, business-like demeanour of the myriads of plodders who are ever traversing the dusty and bustling environs of Waterloo-bridge. In our closets we may perchance compel the unromantic realities of the present to yield beneath the brilliant imaginations of the past; but on the spot itself it is impossible. 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.