ing-room, with silver adornments in place of the golden. The ceilings are carved and gilded, and many of the walls adorued with frescoes. The chandeliers were of quaint, curious forms. One, of great water-lilies, was uncommonly beautiful.

The furniture in many of the apartments was of antique form, inlaid with gold, silver and ivory. There was a dazzling profusion of objects of virtu, exquisite statues by famous sculptors, all arranged in the most artistic manner. Pictures of Queen Victoria, of Prince Albert, and of the Royal children, were seen in several rooms.

The picture-gallery is very spacious, and contains many rare paintings. There, for the first time, I saw the pictures of Murillo. What ripe and fervid beauty glows upon the canvas! The breath of life seems to issue from those rich lips, and its light to irradiate those liquid, melting eyes. Then there were Titians, Guercinos, Raphaels, Tintorettos, Rubens; and Sir Thomas Lawrence's picture of the Duchess of Sutherland and her child, which I have so often seen engraved in America. The resemblance is still striking. As the poet said of Cleopatra, in the ancient time, we of the modern may express of this beauteous woman, Age cannot wither her." A picture, by Landseer, of Lord Stafford and Lady Evelyn Gower, was exceedingly fine, also that of Paul de la Roche, representing Lord Strafford, on his way to the scaffold, receiving the blessing of Archbishop Laud.

In the picture-gallery is a divan of crimson and gold, upon which her Majesty is seated when she visits Stafford House. The Queen occasionally visits the Duchess, who is an especial favorite, I was told. But it is not etiquette for the sovereign to enter the houses of her subjects, although she has visited Belvoir Castle, the seat of the Duke of Rutland. The Duchess of Sutherland belongs to this noble family, being niece to the Duchess of Rutland.

POVERTY AND PLENTY.

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The ball-room and the dining-room are superb in size and in decorations. Around the house are gardens, with green bowers, radiant flower-beds, and tall trees. The balcony has a fine view of Hyde Park, and its brilliant equipages and dashing horsemen. While I was looking out upon the animated scene, my eyes fell upon a miserable woman in the side-street, just under the wall. Scanty rags hung about her withered form, and two children, as wretched as herself in appearance, clung to her. Their eyes, with that fearful look of starvation in them, were fixed upon the balcony, and their hands clasped as in supplication. It was indeed the beggar at the rich man's door. I felt I could read the starving mother's thoughts, as she gazed upon the grandeur before her, and was famished for one crust of bread. It must be more terrible to endure poverty, when plenty is around us, and yet never within the grasp. Save in this instance and a few others, I have never seen beggars in the West End of London. In the city I have met them, sad, blighted, and horrid objects.

But again we entered the great drawing-room, with its treasures of art and its matchless adornments, and thus on through the magnificent hall to the carriage, quite enchanted with our visit.

At night we went to a delightful party at the American Minister's. Many distinguished persons were there; among them the Duchess of Somerset, blazing with diamonds, the Armenian Minister, and several attachés of the Persian Legation in gorgeous dresses. The noble old Prince Czartorisky, and his wife, son, and daughter, were among the guests.

Mr. Ingersoll is extremely hospitable to his countrymen and countrywomen, and numerous Americans were present. We gladly met many of our compagnons du voyage across VOL. I.-3*

the Atlantic. They had already been over Ireland, Scotland, and England, while we had tarried in London. But so enrapturing have my friends made the city to us, it has been impossible to tear ourselves from them. We came just at the most fortunate period, in the midst of the "season," and like the realization of a happy dream, has life been to me for weeks past.

At Mr. Ingersoll's I met Rossiter and his lovely young bride. Rossiter, the celebrated artist, is a wonderfully handsome man. He has a perfectly classic face, with the fire of genius and the glow of a noble heart beaming in every feature. His wife (Miss Parmley) was radiant in her loveliness, with the "light of the honeymoon yet lingering on her brow." She is a bright, enthusiastic creature, with infinite talent as an artist. I have rarely seen a couple in which there seemed such sympathy of taste and feeling. They were just going to Egypt, to the East, and then to Italy, to pass several years. We may look for some glorious pictures from them. How beautiful life was to them'young, loving, and beloved."

July 10th.-We attended a charming and novel entertainment (at least to me) this morning. It was the Floral Fête, given in the Botanical Gardens of Chiswick. The rarest fruits and finest flowers were exhibited under immense tents. It was a gay scene, indeed; banners were flying, music playing, and gaily-dressed people wandering amid the flowers and trees.

Near by the gardens, is the villa of the Duke of Devonshire, who had given permission to the Botanical Society to continue the festival in his grounds. Thus, after viewing the fruits and flowers for a time, we passed into his domains. How lovely was the scene! Lakes, groves, arbors, avenues, and grand old fir trees, perfect giants! They ap

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peared the original trees beneath whose shelter the Druids celebrated their rites. The villa is very ancient, and is seldom visited by the Duke. Its surroundings are exquisite. In a miniature lake, there were several black swans. More than 50,000 persons were in the grounds during the day. In all this throng there was the most entire decorum and courtesy manifested. Of course, they were of the better class of people, mingled with multitudes of the nobility.

We wandered with delight through the leafy labyrinths, and over the smoothly-clipt meadows. Suddenly down came the rain. We sheltered ourselves beneath a great yew tree, and were secure from every drop; but others were not thus happy, for more wilted-looking creatures were never seen. The delicate gauzy bonnets were hanging down like the leaves of a blighted lily. The stiff petticoats were crushed out of their round proportions, and the long skirts trailed on the wet grass in a most languishing way. What a change from the gay flaunting morning!

We quietly waited until the rain had ceased, then passed again into the Botanical Gardens, where we visited. the different conservatories, and saw many curious plants of the cactus family.

At night, we crossed the London Bridge, and went to the Surrey Theatre to hear "Robert the Devil;" and the part of Bertram the Fiend was played by Henry Drayton, a young American. To hear him, was the especial purpose of our visit to that distant theatre. He has a grand, deep basso, and rendered the music in a most effective manner.

July 11th.-We visited this morning the Cathedral of St. Paul. It is so closely surrounded by houses, half the effect of its grandeur is lost when one approaches near it. An excellent view is obtained from Black Friars Bridge over the Thames; in truth, from all points, the magnificent

dome rises far above all other objects, like a giant sentinel watching over the city.

It is of the classic style, and was built upon the site of the former church destroyed by the great fire of London; it is in the form of a Latin cross; Sir C. Wren was the architect. The cathedral is five hundred feet long, one hundred in width, and four hundred from the street to the summit of the dome.

Near the entrance is a statue of Queen Ann, and the pediment has the statues of St. Paul, St. Peter, and St. James. The interior is cold, gloomy, and austere; the numerous pillars so occupy the attention, it requires some time before one becomes fully impressed with its wonderful size.

There are many noble monuments within its sacred walls, and in the crypt below the bodies of illustrious men "sleep their last sleep." Of course, we looked first at the monument of Nelson by Flaxman; in the vault his body lies in a sarcophagus, which was intended by Cardinal Woolsey for Henry VIII. Nelson was an idol with the English people; constantly have we seen statues to his memory, and memorials of his valor; yet the only woman he ever loved, and whom with his last breath of life he bequeathed to his country, entreating protection for her, was left to suffer and to die in the greatest poverty, and his child cast forth to struggle with misery and wretchedness. Active benevolence to the being in whose veins flowed the hero's blood, would much more avail than these cold trophies to his glory.

The monument to Sir John Moore, who was killed at Co runna, is most touching in its impression upon the beholder

"He lay like a warrior taking his rest,

With his martial cloak around him."