has indeed necessitated the fitting up of two tall,
narrow recesses at the other end of the room, each
neatly hidden by a long tapestry curtain. A tender
light comes into Mrs. Lyon Linton's face as she points
out three photographs hanging on the wall. The first
is of her beloved brother, "without fear or favour,
who died of a broken heart after the death of an
adored wife; the second is of her father" Landor;
and the third is of Mr. Linton—" brother, father,
husband," she says, with infinite tenderness for the
memory of all three.
Asking if you may be allowed to see the famous view from the drawing-room, which you had heard "looks over St. James's Park and Carlton Terrace, and embraces the whole of the park from Buckingham Palace to the Horse Guards," "Did embrace it," amends Mrs. Linton, mournfully, "but come and see." She takes you to the opposite side of the flat, into a rather long drawing-room, the windows of which look due south over the uninterrupted view one might reasonably have expected to see. Alas! a tall and ugly erection of bricks and mortar has sprung up to the left, obscuring a portion of the prospect. "They have given me only a vista," says Mrs. Lynn Linton, "where I once had a view." What is left, however, is very fine, and from the great height above ground the people look like pigmies dotted about. Queen Caroline once talked of shutting up this lovely park, and converting it into a noble garden far the palace. She consulted Walpole as to the probable cost; the witty minister replied, "Only three crowns, your Majesty," and the idea was abandoned.
