Water, in that geographical map state, has less beauty than in any other.

Ascending the river from Richmond, we came in sight of Pope's residence. The two stumps of the illustrious weeping-willows, planted with his own hands, the first, I believe, that grew in England, are still visible on the surface of the ground. His house is transformed into a great staring building, new and naked. A formal railing stretches along the water edge, and no trace of poetry remains on the place. Below Richmond, Sion House, a great palace of the Percies, came next in view. It is a vast quadrangle, remarkable only by its innumerable windows; the site is melancholy and uninteresting. Lower down is the new Gothic palace of Kew, which the king is building himself, his own architect as we were told. Mr Wyatt, a celebrated artist, is only the master builder ;-the public seems to think it is visible enough, and we were of the same opinion. This place is not unlike a miniature of the old Bastile. Its situation is certainly the worst possible; the im nediate prospect across the river being a sort of large trading village, or suburb of London,-black, dirty, and noisy.

I have been induced by the beauty of English lawns, to give some attention to the process of gardeners. The ground, ploughed and harrow

ed carefully, is either sown or sodded; rolling and mowing, and a moist climate, do the rest, for there is nothing at all peculiar in the grass itself. The rolling is principally done in the spring, when the surface is sufficiently firm not to poach, yet soft enough to yield to the pres şure. If moss gets the better of the grass, ashes or fine mould restore it; much manure would make the grass rank, instead of low and fine. The mowing, or rather shaving of this smooth surface, is done once a week, and even twice in warm rainy weather; once a month does in dry weather. The grass must be wet with dew or rain, and the scythe very sharp; the blade is wide, and set so obliquely on the handle, as to lie very flat on the sod. The rollers are generally of cast iron, 18 or 20 inches in diameter, and two and a half or three feet long, hollow, and weigh about 500 pounds, moved about by one man; those drawn by a horse are, of course, three or four times heavier. I have seen one, the diameter of which was seven or eight feet, and the weight 5000 or 6000 pounds, drawn by four horses.

June 2.We are just returned from the naval hospital at Greenwich, on the Thames, five miles below London. It is a most beautiful edifice, on a singular plan. Instead of a wide front to the river it presents two horns or wings, nearly 300

feet apart. The open interval is decorated with a statue in marble of George II. by Rysbrach. Behind these wings are two other piles of building, in a line with the first, and likewise insulated; the whole forming a spacious avenue, adorned with a magnificent Doric colonnade, terminated north by the Thames, which is here a very great river, wafting fleets of commerce and war, and south by the park of Greenwich, with its green hills and fine shades. This general disposition insures a great circulation of air; the view is open on every side; and it is not only the most magnificent of hospitals, but the most cheerful I ever saw. It does not prevent, however, the old sailors who inhabit it from looking very tired and melancholy; they are seen warming themselves in the sun, or crawling languidly along the magnificent colonnades or porticoes, of which the elegance and beauty makes a sad contrast with their crippled, infirm, and dependent old age: 2400 of these veterans reside in the interior, 150 widows of sailors as nurses, and 200 sons of seamen, brought up for the navy. About 3000 outpensioners receive L.7 sterling a-year each. I have reason to think, from some calculations made on the subject, that each of the 2400 housepensioners costs, including the interest on the building, about L.50 sterling a-year; and I should think most probable that the out-pen

sioners, with their seven pounds a-year, which, without being sufficient, helps them to live, are vastly happier as long as they can do any work. Whatever the feelings of the veterans may be on the subject, there cannot be any doubt as to the impression which this noble and comfortable establishment must make on the young seamen passing before it, going up and down the Thames. "It is not," as Paley rightly observes, "by what the Lord Mayor feels in his coach, but by what the apprentice feels who gazes at him, that the public is served."

The interior of the chapel, which is 110 feet long by 52 wide, is finished in the most beautiful style of Grecian architecture, from the designs of Mr Stuart, who published the antiquities of Athens. Nothing can exceed the exquisite finish of the ornaments, particularly the portal and folding doors of the entrance. The funeral-car which served to transport the body of Lord Nelson has been placed in one of the halls ;—a memorial fitted to its situation.

The site of Greenwich Park is unequal and picturesque, and offers fine views. On an elevated spot is the national observatory, from the meridian of which the English compute their longitude; it bears the name of Flamstead, for whom Charles II. built it. The celebrated veteran of astronomy, Maskeline, is at present astronomer

royal. The old invalid, our conductor, observed that Dr Maskeline was always at work about the stars, but that he did not let any body know what he found, but the King.

We have seen lately two noted collections of pictures, that of Sir Francis Bourgeois, the largest, and that of Mr Angerstein, the choicest of this capital; a distinguished artist, Mr T. had the goodness to accompany us. At Sir Francis Bourgeois' we admired mostly a Vandyke, the Virgin and Child; the drawing perfect, the colouring grave and vigorous,-the expression such as I think would not be found among the works of the great masters,-creators of the art. The vague and undefined outline of Vandyke has a prodigious effect; Rembrandt and Murillo have the same merit. N. Poussin alone fills one of the apartments; sans prix for connoisseurs, and for me also, but it is in minimo. This audacious avowal will draw upon me the contempt of many, but may afford comfort to some who feel as I do, but who dare not own it, thinking they are alone in their opinion. The murder of the innocents, by Le Brun, is horribly beautiful. Several excellent landscapes of Cuyp, notwithstanding a very peculiar light, hardly natural; a very fine vigorous old man's head by Carravaggio; several Claudes, which did not please me much, and a Salvator Rosa not at all. Nothing could per