diversified by a few undulations of barer uplands, and here and there a line of light vapoury smoke, with a tower or spire, marking the site of a goodly town or humble village. In the midst the broad placid river, studded with islets, and its surface alive with flocks of swans, and innumerable pleasure-skiffs, winds gracefully away till lost among the foliage, only to be occasionally tracked afterwards by a glittering thread of silver, seen, as the sun glances suddenly upon it, between the dark trunks of the trees; and something of majesty is added to the exceeding loveliness by Windsor's royal towers, which loom out so finely on the distant horizon. Nothing, however, but poetry can properly describe the surpassing beauty of the prospect, and the poetry that does well describe it-that of Thomson-will at once recur to every one who ascends "thy hill, delightful Sheen." From the terrace, a few steps brings us to the gates of Richmond Park; close to which stands the Star and Garter, of which we may say, as Scott said of the Black Bear at Cumnor, "so great is its fame, that, to have been in Richmond without weting a cup at it, would be to avouch oneself utterly indifferent to reputation as a traveller." Richmond Park was enclosed by Charles I., and was originally called the Great or New Park, to distinguish it from the Old or Lower Park, near the palace. The formation of the park caused a considerable ferment at the time; and the particulars were thought of sufficient importance to be related at length in Clarendon's 'History of the Great Rebellion.' From his account it appears that Charles, being excessively affected to hunting and the sports of the field, had a strong desire to make a great park for red as well as for fallow deer between his palaces of Richmond and Hampton Court. He had large wastes of his own which he wished to enclose, but it was also necessary to obtain some gentlemen's houses, and farms, and some commons or waste lands belonging to the several parishes within the limits of his intended park. The king was willing to purchase these properties for larger sums than their marketable value, and most of the owners readily consented to dispose of them, but others steadfastly refused; and when the king proceeded to carry round the boundary wall, a fierce clamour arose; "and it was too near London not to be the common discourse there." Lord Cottington, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Laud, Bishop of London, who was then Lord Treasurer, and others of the king's councillors, strove to induce him to abandon his design; but he refused; and the park was completed, and the Earl of Portland appointed ranger in 1637. In 1649 the park was presented by the parliament to the corporation of the city of London, to be preserved as a park, and so to remain as an ornament to the city, and a mark of the parliament's great favour to the same. At the Restoration it was immediately transferred to Charles II.; the corporation at the same time assuring him that they had kept it with no other purpose than to preserve it for his use. In the reign of George II., while the Princess Amelia was ranger, the park again became the cause of contention between the inhabitants of its vicinity and the sovereign. It was proposed to shut up the park, across which there had hitherto been free way allowed in various directions. The people of Richmond and the neighbouring parishes were much excited by the proceeding, and in one or two places made breaches in the wall; but the ranger persisted, until a brewer of Richmond, named John Lewis, had the courage to bring the matter to an issue by an action at law. The cause came on for trial at Kingston, in April, 1758, Sir Michell Foster presiding as judge. A verdict was returned for the prosecutor; thereby establishing a right of footway; and ladder-gates were in consequence affixed at the entrances. Sub sequent suits were instituted to obtain a coach and a bridle-way, but they failed: both have, however, been recently conceded, and now every proper facility is afforded to the public. Lewis, the gallant opponent of the encroachment, became, in after life, reduced in circumstances; when the inhabitants of Richmond acknowledged the obligation by settling upon him an annuity, which he enjoyed till his death in 1792. Richmond Park is spacious, being ht miles in circumference, and containing 9253 acres; the surface is broken into wide glades and gentle undulations; it is well stocked with timber-trees, chiefly oaks and elms, many of which are of large size; there are also several considerable sheets of water; and great numbers of red and fallow deer are kept in it. As may be supposed, therefore, it affords many very beautiful "bits" of park scenery. Sometimes we come upon a quiet spot where a herd of deer are browsing among the tall ferns-and magnificent trees on every side close in the view; or a bolder scene opens, where one or two veteran oaks that have withstood many a storm, though not without loss of some goodly limbs, stand as sentinels on a rough bank which overlooks a wide expanse or deep dell; or, again, a far-reaching extension of open glades leads the eye to some lovely glimpses of distant country, to which the tall trunks on either side, and the overhanging branches, serve as a frame. Besides the views that are obtained in the more secluded parts of the park, there are many of great beauty, that fall within the reach of every visitor. On entering the park-gates, the terraces on the right afford a continuation, with some changes-variations, as it were, on a favourite air-of the noble prospects of the hill. These are uncommonly beautiful as the sun is setting. If the path that leads to Roehampton Gate be taken, the circle, as described in Thomson's lines, may be completed. Lofty Harrow," and the "sister hills" of Highgate and Hampstead, are seen to great advantage, and some fine glimpses are ever and anon caught of "huge Auguste"-and all appears the more beautiful because only seen transiently between masses of rich foliage, or above the dips of hills. Sometimes, too, over London may be observed the most exquisite aërial effects—such as a painter would glory to be able to fix on his canvas. Sir Robert Walpole and Lord Sidmouth lived in the Great Lodge across the Park. This smaller Lodge, on the brow of the hill, is the retreat of Lord John Russell. What a delicious nook, nibbled out of the Park, is that wooded eminence! Mighty oaks standing upon shaven lawns, and looking down complacently upon lilacs and laurels! Pass we Lord John Russell's Goshen, and look down from the hill upon Sudbrook. There dwell the water-drinkers. We could almost venture to encounter the perils of hydropathy, for the morning walk up this charming ascent into Richmond Park, which the drenched and swilling martyrs daily earn. Here each may stretch"his listless length at noontide," far away from the loungers on the Hill, its barrel-organs, its white mice, and guinea-pigs. In five minutes they may be deep in the shade of old avenues, worn by time and accident into irregularity; or plunge into a glen wild with brambles and fern, with little sunny glades of the softest green, where a solitary deer sometimes steals away from the distant herd, panting "for the water-brooks" which the hydropathists enjoy to repletion. We now, from these quiet thickets, look no longer on nature in her full dress. That rough barren plain is Ham Common. Looking from Richmond Hill, who would think that there was an unfertile spot in all that wide expanse? And yet is Surrey one of the least densely-peopled of our counties, with longer ranges of uncultivated land than most other districts. Here is a mound-perhaps an artificial elevation-where fair ladies sat with cross-bow in hand, and aimed at the hart as he galloped noiselessly by. The romance of deer-shooting is gone-in the South, at least. You see that rude ladder leading up into the bole of an oak, where the spreading limbs form a natural the seat. There, as evening tempts the herd to feed luxuriously and securely, "bounds along, and the treacherous keeper bides his time till "the hart of grease rifle stretches him on the turf,-honoured in death, with two inches of fat upon his haunch. Now, we are in a hawthorn dell. Where are the lads and lasses " to fetch in the May?" They are gone for ever-together with the Palace, where tournaments and galliards were once rife, and which was a chosen seat of song in the days of "Those flights upon the banks of Thames Which so did take Eliza and our James." There is an old view, engraved in Nicholls' Progresses,' of Richmond Hill and the Palace, in its turretted splendour. On the opposite shore, now known as Twickenham Park, the print shows us a merry group of Morrice-dancers with the Hobby-horse. These, too, are gone with the Mayers. Well; let us endeavour to keep the spirit, if not the forms, of old English cheerfulness. A merry peal is ringing out from some distant church tower. There is the tower-that of Kingston-seen through the frame of those noble oaks. Another mile-by a charming lodge embosomed in lilacs and laburnums-will carry us down the hill, out of the Park at the Kingston gate. The Imagine Kingston passed through. It is a nice quiet town, with some pretty houses on the Thames bank, and moreover has something to say about early kings. But our present business is with the ever-during freshness of the teeming earth. We are in Hampton Wick-on the edge of BUSHY PARK. Somewhere on the banks of the Thames, in a public-house, not a hotel, have we seen the immortal representation of the man who gave us the right of entering Bushy Park by this easy stile. Cobbler of Hampton Wick, Timothy Bennett, was a real patriot in the days when a minister's gold did its straightforward work effectually-the good old days of honest pay for willing hire. The print of Timothy Bennett, ætat. seventy-five, in the year 1752, tells us, if we remember rightly, that he, “being unwilling to leave the world worse than he found it, by a vigorous application of the laws of his country, obtained a free passage through Bushy Park, which had long been withheld from the people." Honour to the Hampton Wick cobbler-the "village Hampden," who the great "tyrant of his fields withstood." It was no joke to battle with the Crown; but the Cobbler was triumphant. Thus has everything good in our institutions been won, inch by inch. Well; the man who was unwilling to leave the world worse than he found it, had the good taste also to prefer a wide park to a dusty road under a dreary wall. How he must have rejoiced, in his victorious old age, when he rested himself under the shadow of that forest of hawthorns-the slow growth of centuries -that he had opened these enjoyments to the common people. Perhaps he was only thinking of a shorter cut to Teddington. Be it so. Taste is sure to follow in the steps of a well-directed utility. But the Chestnut avenue of Bushy! We have come thus far to look upon it. We But these are limes! have passed the hawthorn thicket, and are in the avenue. True. Another avenue: but these are limes and elms blended! Are they not of wondrous beauty, in their loftiness and gracefulness? But the Chestnut avenue ! Look then across the road, upon those dark masses of a single tree, with thousands of spiral flowers, each flower a study, powdering over the rich green from the lowest branch to the topmost twig. Look up and down this wondrous avenue. length seems a span;-but from one gate to the other, there is a double line of unbroken green, with flowers, rich as the richest of the tropics, contending for the Its mile mastery of colour. Saw you ever such a gorgeous sight? Fashionable London even comes to see it; but in the Whitsun-week, and during the some twenty days of the glories of the chestnut, thousands of those who have "the true city calenture" will come here to rejoice in the exceeding beauty of this marvel of nature, which the art of the Dutch gardeners, whom William of Nassau brought to teach us, have left as a proud relic of their taste. Never ought the "prolixity of shade" to be "obsolete," whilst it can produce such scenes as this great avenue of Bushy! When London is crammed to overflowing in the spring of 1851, the Chestnut avenue of Bushy Park will amply repay a ten miles trip by railway or boat-for one spring "certifieth another." GREENWICH PARK. The Greenwich Railway is the quickest conveyance; the steam-boat the most attractive. For a few pence the same miles of water may be passed over that once saw the pageants of kings as a common incident. Between Westminster and the Tower, and the Tower and Greenwich, the Thames was especially the royal road. When Henry VII. willed the coronation of his Queen Elizabeth, she came from Greenwich, attended by "barges freshly furnished with banners and streamers of silk." When Henry VIII. avowed his marriage with Anne Boleyn, she was brought by "all the crafts of London" from Greenwich to the Tower, "trumpets, shawms, and other divers instruments, all the way playing and making great melody." The river was not only the festival highway, but the more convenient one, for kings as well as subjects. Hall tells us, "This year (1536), in December, was the Thames of London all frozen over, wherefore the king's majesty, with his beautiful spouse Queen Jane, rode throughout the city of London to Greenwich." The interesting volume of the "Privy Purse Expenses of Henry VIII." contains item upon item of sums paid to watermen for waiting with barge and boat. The barge was evidently always in attendance upon the king; and the great boat was ever busy, moving household stuff and servants from Westminster to Greenwich or to Richmond. In 1531 we have a curious evidence of the king being deep in his polemical studies, in a record of payment "to John, the king's bargeman, for coming twice from Greenwich to York Place with a great boat with books for the king." We see the "great Eliza" on the Thames, in all her pomp, as Raleigh saw her out of his prison-window in the Tower, in 1592. In the time of Elizabeth and the First James, and onward to very recent days, the North bank of the Thames was studded with the palaces of the nobles; and each palace had its landing-place, and its private retinue of barges and wherries; and many a freight of the brave and beautiful has been borne, amidst song and merriment, from house to house, to join the masque and the dance; and many a wily statesman, muffled in his cloak, has glided along unseen in his boat to some dark conference with his ambitious neighbour. Nothing could then have been more picturesque than the Strand, with its broad gardens, and lofty trees, and embattled turrets and pinnacles. Upon the river itself, busy as it was, fleets of swans were ever sailing; and they ventured unmolested into that channel which is now narrowed by vessels from every region. Paulus Jovius, who died in 1552, describing the Thames, says, "This river abounds in swans, swimming in flocks; the sight of whom, and their noise, are vastly agreeable to the fleets that meet them in their course." Shakspere must have seen this sight, when he made York compare the struggle of his followers at the battle of Wakefield to a swan encountering a tidal stream :— "As I have seen a swan, With bootless labour, swim against the tide, And spend her strength with over-matching waves." But the sight in our days is more truly glorious. The shipping of the Thames is, perhaps, of all the great features, the one which most strikes foreign tourists in England. "What a throng of ships," says Von Raumur, " and what restless activity! Paris, with its few scattered boats on the Seine, is nothing compared with this..... From Woolwich to Greenwich activity continues to increase, till we approach the docks, and hasten through forests of ships. What I saw of the same kind at Havre, Bordeaux, and Marseilles, can be compared but to a single chamber cut out of these enormous palaces. . . . . . Here we see and acknowledge that London is the true metropolis of the world, and not Paris, with the pretensions of its journalists and coteries." The Parsees, three native gentlemen of Bombay, who visited England a few years ago, thus express themselves on the same subject :-"When we came within about five miles of London, we were surprised at the amazing number of vessels, from the humble barge to the more beautiful ships and steamers of all descriptions. The colliers were most numerous, and vessels were anchored close to each other, and the river seemed to be almost covered with vessels; and the masts and yards gave it the appearance of a forest, at a distance. Indeed, there were to be found ships from all parts of Europe, Asia, Africa, and America; and a great number of steamers ply about in all directions, filled with passengers. None of our countrymen can form an idea of this noble river, and the shipping on it." The Thames, covered with the vessels of all nations, may fitly prepare the mind for visiting the palace of those veterans who have sailed under the British flag during many a year of tempest and of battle. Now you will pass alongside the hulk of some immense ship, destined to be broken up, and you may think of these fine lines of Campbell, which stir the heart "as with a trumpet :" "Britannia needs no bulwark, No towers along the steep; Again, some steam-vessel from Boulogne, or Hamburgh, or the Rhine, will sweep by, heaving the wave all around in its impetuous course ;-and you may reflect how much nobler are the triumphs of peace than those of war, and that the unbounded commerce of England is a better thing for herself and the world than even her proudest victories. In the mean time, the domes and colonnades of Greenwich will rise from the shore, and impress your mind with a magnificence of which the architecture of England presents few examples ;-and you will feel an honest pride when you know that few of the great ones of the earth possess palaces to be compared with the splendour of this pile, which the gratitude of our nation has assigned as the retreat of its wounded and worn-out sailors. It is not our purpose now to describe Greenwich Hospital. The park invites us. We pass by the domes and colonnades of the palace of veterans, and by a small wicket enter a free space of great natural beauty. With a limited extent few parks can offer a greater variety of surface, or more magnificent trees. The views from the two hills, that near the Observatory and the "One-tree" hill,-are almost unrivalled. The broad river may be traced for several miles, winding its way to the sea, with every variety of vessel, from the stately Indiaman to the trim yacht, giving life to its silent course. Every now and then clouds of smoke are sent up from the passing |