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214 rejoices in her King's Park, to which there is nothing equal for solitary grandeur and romantic seclusion within a like distance of a metropolitan city anywhere to be found,—and the mighty modern Babylon pours her pent-up population through the various avenues of her Parks. Well, indeed, and happily, have these been designated "."

There is not only much matter of historical importance connected with the several parks of London scattered about in the various statistical books of surveys, but a good deal of material for picturesque description. Why it is that the historical records have not, by some curious enquirer, been collected and arranged, or why the natural and artificial advantages of these charming retreats from the coil and hum of men have not been hitherto thought worthy of description, must, I suppose, be attributable to our habitual negligence of that which we see every day, and which, by being continually presented to our eyes, takes no hold upon the imagination or the memory, but is, as it were, of itself a continual picture, and of itself a perpetual record. We are not to be deterred from our proposed feeble attempt at description, by any dread of the suspicion of cockneyism. Nature is beautiful exceedingly, whether in the parish of St James's or the parish of St Kilda; and whatever contributes materially to the recreation and the health of numbers, is, by that circumstance alone, raised above the level of neglect, and has dignity sufficient to demand attention.

The Lungs of London, then, consist of several great divisions or lobes, embracing the west end of the town, and extending round to the northward, commencing, we may say, at the entrance to the Horse Guards, and extending through St James's Park, the Green Park, Hyde Park, and Kensington Gardens, forming a continued thoroughfare of several miles, in a direct line towards the north-west. To the north, the Regent's Park extends from the upper end of that noble avenue Portland Place, as far as the base of Primrose Hill, with a transverse diameter almost equal to its length, and containing within its circumference between five and six hundred acres of valuable land. This is the northern lobe of the Lungs of London. The eastern side of the city is lamentably destitute of breathing- places for the pent-up citizens, as is also the borough of Southwark. Lambeth is somewhat more open; its Bishop's Walk affording a pleasing view of the river, and an agreeable promenade of a too limited extent.

The several divisions of the great respiratory organs we have noticed are worth a distinct consideration; and, as we will understand them better by ocular demonstration, the curious reader will take his hat and stick. I will be his humble cicerone, and tell him all I know of the history of the Parks of our metropolis, as we go along.

Follow me, if you please, sir, through this little gate—take care of the steps—there are exactly six—now, give me your arm—this is the Birdcage Walk—that classic structure to our left the military chapel—to the right you see Storey's Gate—immediately in the rear are "our chambers," and exactly in front, half hidden by its own umbrageous foliage, is the charming enclosure step this way the charming enclosure of

When I enter this park, my notions of government, let me tell you, become highly monarchical. I touch my hat to the memory of our kings who devised and confirmed to us these places of harmless recreation, and am more and more established in my contempt for your close-fisted, shabby, commercial republicans, who, if they got their greasy paws upon this place once again, would cut down the timber (as they did before), steal the ducks, and sell the grounds by auction. Brother Jonathan, when he takes a stroll this way, forgets, for at least five minutes, to boast his "free and independent" citizenship, and begins to think that kings and queens, after all, are not quite so black as they are painted! For this park and the pleasure it affords us we are indebted to our monarchs—let us enjoy their munificent gift and be thankful. Let us remember that the citizens have never planted a shrub for our recreation—that they have never set apart an acre of their corporation lands to give us, our wives, and our children, a mouthful of fresh air; let