us through, went so fast as he explained things to us that it seemed as if I had only been looking at a panorama.

In riding up to the Tower, I was interested in looking at the loads of vegetables going to market. At a little distance they looked like bouquets, or terraces of flowers. Radishes about as big as plums, onions of the same size, and cauliflowers as large as dahlias. We also saw some carriages going to a funeral. The driver and footman of each carriage had crape enough around their hats and hanging down their shoulders, if sewed together, to make a long shawl for a tall lady. No sham about these English when they wear crape, you can see they wear crape. We also saw the Horse Guards coming through St. James's Park,— one troop passing out, and another coming in to take their place. Their steel corslets, helmets, and swords flashing in the sun; their white buckskin pants and long black boots reaching above the knee; all the men tall, and mounted on black horses,-it was a sight worth seeing.

I forgot to mention that we went to the Zoological Gardens yesterday. I wish you could see the large beds of tulips, all in full bloom. We saw all the animals of different parts of the world, fishes, beasts, and flying fowl, and children riding on camels and elephants. The restaurant looked more American than anything I have yet seen in London. Perhaps because it was lately built, and because the garden occupies the upper part of Regent's Park,—a park of four hundred and seventy-two acres, and therefore not covered with soot and smoke so completely as the older parts of London. Actually, I am afraid to take hold of anything, to raise the windows or touch the railing outside, for my gloves soon look as though I had been shoveling charcoal. The magnificent statues of kings, queens, and magnates in the public squares look to me like negro effigies. Really they ought to have bequeathed enough money to pay for washing the smoke off their faces at least once a month.

LONDON, April 30.-On Friday we took a carriage and rode to Hyde Park, our young gentlemen accompanying on horseback. I do not think this park as handsome as Central

Park, in New York. There were a great many carriages, and ladies and gentlemen on horseback, and servants mounted and riding behind them. When it sprinkled none seemed to mind, and when it rained they trotted under the trees, and as soon as it held up a little, rode on again. I noticed some grooms with ladies' waterproofs strapped in their belts, I suppose for use when a deluge of rain came. The rain coming too heavily for us, the carriage was closed, and we drove on to Kensington Museum, in Kensington Gardens, which adjoin Hyde Park. We passed hurriedly through this museum, which contains models of noted buildings and statues, and almost everything remarkable or curious in the world, and then drove back to Hyde Park in time to see the turn-outs in the afternoon, and were joined by our young gentlemen, who came up on full gallop. Most riders trot here, as they ride apparently for exercise and not for pleasure,-hard exercise, it seems to me, this rising in the stirrups. The ladies wear their riding-dresses much shorter than they do with us. Most of the dresses were dark blue. We also drove to Regent's Park. These parks have grand old trees, and the lawns are like velvet. Many of the trees show unmistakable signs of decay, and the grounds are so level they seem tame to me. It amuses me to see the attempts made here to have a few rocks and stones heaped up to add to the beauty of grounds and front yards. At first I wondered why they did not carry away the pile of stones lying in plain sight by the side of many gates.

I am not at all satisfied with my visit to the Tower, and so I intend to find some means by which we can have a warder to ourselves, and stay as long as we please,-confused or indistinct ideas are so disagreeable.

Yesterday morning we went to see Covent Garden market. It was a fine sight: the flowers, fruits, and vegetables. In the stall bearing the sign, "Purveyor to Her Majesty," there were strawberries as large as plums, pears which I am sure would weigh a pound, apples, and hot-house grapes. They have a singular kind of cucumber here, about half a yard long and an inch in diameter. On one side of the market, as far as I could see, were loads of radishes, in old-fashioned racks, such as were used in

our country for drawing hay with oxen. They were tied up neatly in bunches, and none of the radishes were larger than plums. I asked the price of a pear. Sixty-six cents! Cocoanuts were hanging up in their smooth outside shell, just as they were picked from the trees. Bananas and oranges were in great abundance. Oranges cost one-third less here than in New York. While I was walking around making general observations, the others were deep among the abundance of flowers, buzzing about like honey-bees intent on filling a hive in one day.

As they were to go shopping, I thought I would go to the British Museum. Being told it was not to be opened until next week, I sauntered on à la Dickens, and maybe I did not find it as he describes it. After walking leisurely for awhile it began to sprinkle, and then to pour. I took refuge in a book-store, and the first thing I laid my hand on was the Blue Book, or, in other words, the Court Directory. I found five families of our name, and took their address. Returning to the hotel, I found the others had not come in; so I went out, called a hansom, and, handing the list to the driver, told him to go to each of those places, and stop one minute before each door. We drove out to Hyde Park and on to Norfolk Crescent, a very handsome part of the city. The flowers, trees, and grass looked fresh, having just taken a good bath. Stopping a moment in front of the door, I saw a lady through the window, about my size, thin face, and long nose,-guess she was a cousin. The next place was Westbourne Park Villas, where Sir William lives. Then a long cir cuit round to Sir George's domicile, in Burton Crescent. From thence to Old Square, Lincoln's Inn, where lawyer Robert has his place of business. It seemed a long way from this to the Thames Embankment, along which we drove, passing the bridges called Blackfriars, Waterloo, Hungerford, (or Charing Cross,) and Westminster, said to be the handsomest bridge in the world; but on reaching Lambeth Bridge, I could not resist the wish to cross over and drive around old Lambeth Palace, after which returning, and still proceeding along the Thames until we reached Claverton Street, in which the admiral's widow lives,— hers is a large, stately-looking mansion. Satisfied that all of our

name were in comfortable circumstances, and apparently needed neither sympathy or assistance from me, I told the driver to return to the hotel. On our way back, we passed Buckingham Palace, the residence of Queen Victoria; Marlborough House, the residence of the Prince of Wales; and old St. James's Palace. I have no idea how many miles I had gone, but it seemed a long distance, and a good part of the way it rained fast. At dinner I gave an account of my afternoon's ride, and they laughed heartily over my expedition.

Sunday morning we went to Westminster Abbey; but being rather late, it was with difficulty I could hear the Lessons. Fortunately, however, the pulpit was much nearer, and I heard the archbishop's sermon, from the text, "Honor all men." A plain, practical, democratic sermon. If the occupants of some of the tombs near could have heard it, I fancy there would have been a clanking of battle-axes,-but Dr. Johnson might have expressed his approbation. The music was fine. I like these choral services; but I do not like the choir shut in by such high iron railings or screens. A verger stood at the gate of the railing, admitting or refusing admittance to those who came to the gate. I saw many vergers, in their black gowns, their rods of office in their hands, walking about in various parts of the building...

On our return we walked through the Horse Guards, where the soldiers are on duty, and then through St. James's Park, in which cows were tied, heaps of mown grass lying before them, as they were milked into cups, and the milk sold for the young children, who are brought here for fresh milk. This park seems especially intended for the common people. On reaching the hotel, we found some friends, who are stopping at Morley's. After a pleasant call and taking our lunch, we rode to St. Paul's, to hear Canon Liddon, the greatest preacher in the world we were told, and who preaches in St. Paul's once in three months; hence the rush for seats. A friend was to meet us at the south gate, who knew the verger stationed there, and he would let us in before the regular time for opening the doors. We were punctual, but the friend was not. Three persons had arrived before us; but in a short time there was a large crowd. I was

amused to see a little old lady alight with her maid from a hansom and slide along, apparently under the elbows of the throng, until she reached the threshold, upon which she sat down. She wore a black satin gown, bright purple gloves, a wide orange-colored ribbon around her neck, and a green silk cap, profusely trimmed with point-lace, or lace all points. Her hair was white, and her cheeks red. I could think of nothing but a parrot. The door opened slowly on a crack, through which she disappeared, and again the door was locked. Crowds continued coming, and at length I saw my friend, but we could not get near each other. A lady near me said if we kept near her she thought she would be able to find us a seat. No sooner was the door opened than a general foot-race commenced; such rushing and pushing I never saw in my life but once, and that was in Barnum's old museum.

The chanting in St. Paul's is heavenly, and they chant the Psalter faster than many people read, and yet it does not seem the least hurried. The canon preached without notes, and gave us an excellent sermon; but it was no better than many I have, heard at home. The Bishop of Peterborough sat in one of the stalls in the choir. It is said he ranks next to Canon Liddon as a sermonizer.

LONDON, May 1.-To-day, for a wonder, the sun has shone all day. After breakfast we went to St. Paul's again, to look at the building, the noblest building in the classic style in Great Britain. We walked around, admiring the cathedral, and looking at the monuments, which are interesting from the celebrated persons they are designed to commemorate. Some of the party went up into the whispering gallery; and when they returned, said the guide told them that George IV. once gave a dinner-party up in the dome. We went into the crypt, where we saw the tombs of Benjamin West, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and Sir Christopher Wren, the architect of St. Paul's. Lord Nelson is buried beneath the centre of the dome. The sarcophagus which contains his coffin was made at the expense of Cardinal Wolsey for the burial of Henry VIII. The Duke of Wellington's