the park, and coaches drawn by blooded horses. Soldiers and policemen are around here, as they are everywhere in London. Before us spreads the stream, with its water-fowl, ducks and swans. Sharp-pointed boats dart from under the bridge, and skim away as gracefully as the water-fowl themselves. A few sail boats shoot in and out, as if playing amid the splendid elms which line the stream, and which in clumps all through this park throw their shadows deep and inviting. Walks are distributed about in negligent precision. Boys with water spaniels and mimic ships are laughing away merry May hours in their pastimes. But these elms, how perfect each one appears! It is remarkable to one used to seeing nature in her unpruned, careless dress, how much like leafy architecture a noble tree may be made.

A perfect study for the Painter is each old elm, its long branches intertwisted neatly and gracefully; its shadows and lights conspicuous as those in a Gothic Minster; bending over to its sustaining mother, the earth, with a freight of foliage, and bestowing upon her verdurous bosom a rich gift of shade.

Far off, before me, yet clear as if in reach, stands the Duke Wellington in bronze, upon his lofty steed against the blue sky. Here come some of his class—a troop of soldiers in hats nearly as big as themselves. The lofty towers of Apsley House, the Duke's residence, are about his monument. Let the eye skim around to the right, until it meets between the trees the glittering palace, full of its throbbing life and myriad illustrations of life-results. At least tenscore of flags-white, blue, red and variegated, waver to the mild wind; while the transept at both ends is surmounted proudly with England's ensign 100 feet above the concave ! The colors of the iron work are but dimly seen from here, yet most gratefully do they task the eye. The Park is speckled for miles with gayly-dressed women and soldiers.-Sheep, too, lazily lie about the lawns. Just behind yon trees, shut in by a gate guarded by soldiers, are at least count, 500 carriages and their liveried attendants, awaiting the pleasure

of their masters and mistresses.—" Thank God," I mentally ejaculated, "I am no man's man." Could we not put these tight-legged, gold-tipped, hat-laced, powder-headed, bow-scraping, velvet-pawed footmen and drivers to a better account in Ohio? Make men out of them, albeit apparent manikins now? They do not know any better. If they could only feel what it is to have a free heart beating beneath the meanest vesture-but Pshaw! Velvet Paw must needs be Velvet Paw; else England's aris tocracy would have to wait on itself, a degradation which would knock the underpinning out of one branch of the Constitution, and perhaps out of another. Look from the ignoble growth of men, to the noble growth of those old knotty, shaggy, twisted, Elms-Centuries of storms they have stood. They have been like true men, gnarled into greatness!

But we must be going homeward. Having bid farewell to this glorious Park, those graceful swans, whom I have just called to the bank and fed; to the Crystal Palace, in which a whole education has been mine, I strike for Victoria gate, thence through Sussex to Hampstead road. The scenes, however, in this English Park must remain written here forever. Our only drawback is that no more of our friends are along, to see the same beauties and enjoy the same delights which we have, in this Park. Would that my descriptions could convey one tenth of the satisfaction to my readers which I have felt within its bound.

VII.

Westminster and Dover.

"Traveller!

Remember these our famous countrymen,

And quell all angry and injurious thoughts."

Southey.

HERE are two spots to be visited before leaving England, that deserve especial mention. They have often been described; but every traveller observes them under peculiar oircumstances. Westminster Abbey and Dover Heights-classic in association; do they not thrill to the inmost heart?

On Sabbath we went to Church in Westminster. It was a rare moment when we passed beneath that crumbling arch, and entered that venerable pile. Black and streaked with age; with the tracery and sculpture corroded by time; the very image of venerableness and awe, Westminster Abbey stands confessedly before the eye, the selectest spot of interest upon English ground. We stood in the midst of the consecrated fabric.—aisle opening within aisle, niches around, and the sculptured forms erected near the tombs of the buried great, lifelike, standing and reposing about us, and all richly painted with a dim and mellow lustre from the lofty circular window before us. The Abbey within is in the shape of a cross. From one branch came the organ tones and the singing, responsive to the service at the opposite end. All around were seen the trophies and arms, the scrolls and images, with their Hebrew, Latin, and English inscriptions.

We were compelled to stand during service. However much I wanted to hear a specimen of English preaching, yet I could

not tear my eyes from the inscriptions around. We stood near the poets' corner. I turned about, and the first name I saw was GARRICK. There he stood, the English RosCIUS-parting the marble tapestry, revealing the bust of Shakspeare; while below him are female figures, one of Comedy, fitting on the sock; the other of Tragedy, with dishevelled hair. It was a fine piece of sculpture; but it could not detain the eye long. Next I saw the name of CAMDEN; then Sir GEOFFREY KNELLER; then the monument of MAJOR ANDRE; then that erected by Massachusetts Colony to GENERAL HOWE. From my position, I could not see much of the poets' corner, although standing near. But whose monuments are those, heavy with dust, their images in repose, apart from the ordinary tombs of knights and abbots? These are the royal line of England.

Service over, which was performed by a large, hearty minister, who apparently enjoyed a fat living, and who preached about making self-sacrifices and cross-bearing-we leave. We are permitted to pass out along the damp, cold tombs, beneath and around us. Here lie abbots buried in the tenth and eleventh centuries. The statue of Charles James Fox reposing, with certain forms about him, is conspicuous. These forms are intended to be emblematic of his services in the cause of negro emancipation. They represent negroes, with all the appurtenances of curly hair, flat nose, large lips and low brows; but they are in white marble! They kneel at the feet of Fox, raising the whites of their eyes (done to the life) in thankfulness to their benefactor. The taste, thus developed, is questionable. Indeed, it almost confirmed an idea long pondered, that the province of the chisel lies exclusively in the Ideal realm. The pure forms of the stainless marble seem to require a spirituality, uch as speaks from the lip, and in the mien of the Apollo Belvidere, or such as dwells in the gentle melancholy of the Greek Slave.

The panting heart left the immense repertory of the glorious dead, thrilled to its minutest fibre. The long corridors open