to herself the patronage of the church. It became, in 1197, the property of the see of Canterbury, by exchange transacted between Glanville, bishop of Rochester, and the archbishop Hubert Walter, though the palace is said to have been founded by Baldwin, in 188. Walter and Langton successively lived at the manor-house of Lambeth. The last improved it; but the building was afterwards neglected and became ruinous. No pious zeal restored the place, but the madness of priestly pride. Boniface, a wrathful and turbulent primate, elected in 1244, took into his head to become a visitor of the priory of St. Bartholomew, to which he had no right. The monks met him with reverential respect, but assured him the office did not belong to the bishop. The meek prelate rushed on the sub-prior, knocked him down, kicked, beat, and buffeted him, tore the cope off his back, and stamped on it like one possessed; while his attendants payed the same compliments to all the poor monks. The people enraged at his unpriestly conduct, would have torn him to pieces; when he retired to Lambeth, and, by way of expiation, rebuilt it with great magnificence.

This palace was very highly improved by the munificent Henry Chichely, who enjoyed the primacy from 1414 to 1443. He was a worthy man, but a bigot, as the Lollard's tower, built by him, evinces. Neither protestants nor catholics should omit visiting this tower, the cruel prison of the unhappy followers of Wickliffe. The vast staples and rings, to which they were chained before they were brought to the stake, ought to make protestants bless the hour which freed them from so bloody a religion.

After the civil wars of the last century, when fanatical was united with political fury, was found that every building devoted to piety, had suffered more than they had done in all the rage of family contest. The fine works of art, and the sacred me

morials of the dead, were, except in a few cases, sacrificed to puritanical barbarism, or to sacrilegious plunder.

The parish church of Lambeth is at a small distance from the palace, has a plain tower, and the architecture is of the gothic, of the time of Edward IV. It has very little remarkable in it, except the figure of a pedlar and his dog, painted in one of the windows. Tradition says, that the parish was obliged to this man for the bequest of a piece of land, which bears the name of the Pedlar's Acre.

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Before we go any farther, let us mention the sad example of fallen majesty in the person Mary d'Este, the unhappy queen of James II; who flying with her infant prince from the ruin impending over their house, after crossing the Thames from the abdicated Whitehall, took shelter beneath the ancient walls of this church a whole hour, from the rain of the inclement night of December 6th, 1688. Here she waited with aggravated misery, till a common coach, procured from the next inn, arrived, and conveyed her to Gravesend, from whence she sailed, and bid an eternal adieu to these kingdoms.

In the church-yard is a tomb, which no naturalist should neglect visiting; that of old John Tradescant, who with his son, lived in this parish. The elder was the first person who ever formed a cabinet of curiosities in this kingdom. The father is said to have been gardener to Charles I. Both father and son were great travellers; the father is supposed to have visited Russia and most parts of Europe, Turkey, Greece, many of the eastern countries, Egypt, and Barbary; out of which he introduced multitudes of plants and flowers, unknown before in our gardens. His was an age of florists: the chief ornaments of the parterres were owing to his labours. Parkinson continually acknowledges the obligation. Many plants were called after his name; these the

Linnæan system has rendered almost obsolete; but the great naturalist hath made more than reparation, by giving to a genus of plants the title of Tradescantia. On the monument of the Tradescants is

thisinscription;

Know stranger, ere thou pass, beneath this stone
Lay John Tradescant, grandsire, father, son;
The last dy'd in his spring; the other two
Liv'd till they had travell'd Art and Nature thro',
As by their choice collections may appear,
Of what is rare, in land, in sea, in air;
Whilst they (as Homer's Iliad in a nut)
A world of wonders in one closet shut:
These famous Antiquarians that had been
Both gardeners to the Rose and Lily Queen,
Transplanted now themselves, sleep here, and when
Angels shall with their trumpets wake men,

And fire shall purge the world, these hence shall rise,
And change this garden for a paradise.

From Lambeth, Mr. Pennant returned by the water-side, near the end of Westminster-bridge, along a tract, once a dreary marsh, and still in parts called Lambeth-marsh; about the year 1560, there was not a house on it, from Lambeth palace as far as Southwark. In a street called Narrow-wall, is Mrs. Coade's manufacture of artificial stone. Her repository consists of several very large rooms, filled with every ornament which can be used in architecture. The statue, the vase, the urn, the rich chimney-pieces, and, in a few words, every thing which could be produced out of natural stone or marble by the most elegant chisel, is here to be obtained, at an easy rate.

Notwithstanding the climate of Great Britain has at least of late years, been unfavourable to the production of wines; yet in the year 1635, we began to make some from the raisins or dried grapes of Spain and Portugal. Francis Chamberlayne made the attempt, and obtained a patent for fourteen years,

in which it is alleged, that his wines would keep good during several years, and even in a voyage under the very line. The art was most successfully revived, several years ago, by Mr. Mark Beaufoy, and the foreign wines most admirably mimicked. Such is the prodigality and luxury of the age, that the demand for many sorts exceeds, in a great degree, the produce of the native vineyards. We have skilful fabricators, who kindly supply our wants. The genial banks of the Thames, opposite to our capital, yield almost every species of white wine; and, by a wonderous magic, Messrs. Beaufoy pour forth the materials for the rich Frontiniac, to the more elegant tables; the Madeira, the Calçavella, and the Lisbon, into every part of the kingdom, besides immense quantities of vinegar made here.

This great work is carried on at Cuper's Gardens. On the first entering the yard, two casks rise before you, covered at the top with a thatched dome; between them is a circular turret, including a winding staircase, which brings you to their summits, which are above twenty-four feet in diameter. One of these conservatories is full of sweet wine, and contains fifty-eight thousand one hundred and nine gallons; or eighteen hundred and fifteen barrels of Winchester measure. Its superb associate is full of vinegar, to the amount of fifty-six thousand sevenhundred and ninety-nine gallons, or seventeen hundred and seventy-four barrels, of the same standard as the former. The famous tun of Heidelberg yields even to the last by the quantity of forty barrels.

Besides these, is an avenue of lesser vessels, which hold from thirty-two thousand five hundred, to sixteen thousand nine hundred and seventy four gallons each. After quitting this Brobdignagian scene, we pass to the acres covered with common barrels: we

cannot diminish our ideas so suddenly, but at first we imagined we could quaff them off as easily as Gulliver did the little hogsheads of the kingdom of Lilliput.

This ground, so profitable to the proprietors, and so productive of revenue to the state, was in the memory of Mr. Pennant the scene of low dissipation. Here stood Cuper's Garden, noted for its fire-works, and the great resort of the profligate of both sexes. This place was ornamented with several of the mutilated statues belonging to Thomas Earl of Arundel, which had been for that purpose begged from his lordship by one Boyder Cuper, a gardener in the family.

The great timber-yards, beneath which these antiquities were found, are very well worthy of a visit. One would fear that the forests of Norway and the Baltic would be exhausted, to supply the want of our overgrown capital; were we not assured, that the resources will successively be increasing, equal to the demand of succeeding ages.

In this parish are the vast distilleries, till of late the property of Sir Joseph Mawbey. There are seldom less than two thousand hogs constantly grunting at this place, which are kept entirely on the grains.

To the south are St. George's Fields, now the wonder of foreigners approaching by this road to our capital through avenues of lamps, of magnificent breadth and goodness. Mr. Pennant has heard that a foreign ambassador, who happened to make his entry at night, imagined that these illuminations were in honour of his arrival, and, as he modestly expressed, more than he could have expected. On this spot have been found remains of tessellated pavements, coins, and an urn full of bones.

On approaching St. George's Fields from West