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The
quaint
back
streets
of
Kingston
,
where
they
came
down
to
the
water
's
edge
,
looked
quite
picturesque
in
the
flashing
sunlight
,
the
glinting
river
with
its
drifting
barges
,
the
wooded
towpath
,
the
trim-kept
villas
on
the
other
side
,
Harris
,
in
a
red
and
orange
blazer
,
grunting
away
at
the
sculls
,
the
distant
glimpses
of
the
grey
old
palace
of
the
Tudors
,
all
made
a
sunny
picture
,
so
bright
but
calm
,
so
full
of
life
,
and
yet
so
peaceful
,
that
,
early
in
the
day
though
it
was
,
I
felt
myself
being
dreamily
lulled
off
into
a
musing
fit
.
I
mused
on
Kingston
,
or
"
Kyningestun
,
"
as
it
was
once
called
in
the
days
when
Saxon
"
kinges
"
were
crowned
there
.
Great
Caesar
crossed
the
river
there
,
and
the
Roman
legions
camped
upon
its
sloping
uplands
.
Caesar
,
like
,
in
later
years
,
Elizabeth
,
seems
to
have
stopped
everywhere
:
only
he
was
more
respectable
than
good
Queen
Bess
;
he
did
n't
put
up
at
the
public-houses
.
She
was
nuts
on
public-houses
,
was
England
's
Virgin
Queen
.
There
's
scarcely
a
pub
of
any
attractions
within
ten
miles
of
London
that
she
does
not
seem
to
have
looked
in
at
,
or
stopped
at
,
or
slept
at
,
some
time
or
other
.
I
wonder
now
,
supposing
Harris
,
say
,
turned
over
a
new
leaf
,
and
became
a
great
and
good
man
,
and
got
to
be
Prime
Minister
,
and
died
,
if
they
would
put
up
signs
over
the
public-houses
that
he
had
patronised
:
"
Harris
had
a
glass
of
bitter
in
this
house
;
"
"
Harris
had
two
of
Scotch
cold
here
in
the
summer
of
'
88
;
"
"
Harris
was
chucked
from
here
in
December
,
1886
.
"
No
,
there
would
be
too
many
of
them
!
It
would
be
the
houses
that
he
had
never
entered
that
would
become
famous
.
"
Only
house
in
South
London
that
Harris
never
had
a
drink
in
!
"
The
people
would
flock
to
it
to
see
what
could
have
been
the
matter
with
it
.
How
poor
weak-minded
King
Edwy
must
have
hated
Kyningestun
!
The
coronation
feast
had
been
too
much
for
him
.
Maybe
boar
's
head
stuffed
with
sugar-plums
did
not
agree
with
him
(
it
would
n't
with
me
,
I
know
)
,
and
he
had
had
enough
of
sack
and
mead
;
so
he
slipped
from
the
noisy
revel
to
steal
a
quiet
moonlight
hour
with
his
beloved
Elgiva
.
Perhaps
,
from
the
casement
,
standing
hand-in-hand
,
they
were
watching
the
calm
moonlight
on
the
river
,
while
from
the
distant
halls
the
boisterous
revelry
floated
in
broken
bursts
of
faint-heard
din
and
tumult
.
Then
brutal
Odo
and
St.
Dunstan
force
their
rude
way
into
the
quiet
room
,
and
hurl
coarse
insults
at
the
sweet-faced
Queen
,
and
drag
poor
Edwy
back
to
the
loud
clamour
of
the
drunken
brawl
.
Years
later
,
to
the
crash
of
battle-music
,
Saxon
kings
and
Saxon
revelry
were
buried
side
by
side
,
and
Kingston
's
greatness
passed
away
for
a
time
,
to
rise
once
more
when
Hampton
Court
became
the
palace
of
the
Tudors
and
the
Stuarts
,
and
the
royal
barges
strained
at
their
moorings
on
the
river
's
bank
,
and
bright-cloaked
gallants
swaggered
down
the
water-steps
to
cry
:
"
What
Ferry
,
ho
!
Gadzooks
,
gramercy
.
"
Many
of
the
old
houses
,
round
about
,
speak
very
plainly
of
those
days
when
Kingston
was
a
royal
borough
,
and
nobles
and
courtiers
lived
there
,
near
their
King
,
and
the
long
road
to
the
palace
gates
was
gay
all
day
with
clanking
steel
and
prancing
palfreys
,
and
rustling
silks
and
velvets
,
and
fair
faces
.
The
large
and
spacious
houses
,
with
their
oriel
,
latticed
windows
,
their
huge
fireplaces
,
and
their
gabled
roofs
,
breathe
of
the
days
of
hose
and
doublet
,
of
pearl-embroidered
stomachers
,
and
complicated
oaths
.
They
were
upraised
in
the
days
"
when
men
knew
how
to
build
.
"
The
hard
red
bricks
have
only
grown
more
firmly
set
with
time
,
and
their
oak
stairs
do
not
creak
and
grunt
when
you
try
to
go
down
them
quietly
.
