for the first time for many years. The Arch is the only remaining bar of the many which once adorned the walls of London. It is at the point where Fleet Street and the Strand join, and the western boundary of the city. In olden days it was there that the heads of criminals were placed after execution.

CHAPTER VIII.

LONDON THOROUGHFARES-SOCIETY-THE PARKS- "THE
WORLD'S FAIR."

THE streets of the metropolis are almost constantly crowded with vehicles and pedestrians; nor does this remark apply only to those thoroughfares in the fashionable or business parts of the city. In rambling about London, a person will meet a continuous tide of people, and the cross streets are nearly as much traversed as the main avenues. The population is immense, and the number of strangers very great, so that nearly all places of amusement are well attended. Omnibuses are countless, and run from an early hour in the morning until long after midnight; and as they branch off from central points to every important suburb and neighboring village, intercourse between the business portions of London and the metropolitan boroughs is rapid and cheap. They are substantially built conveyances; nor would it do to have them slight, as they would be jarred to pieces soon if they wereEach one has a driver and conductor, both of whom are absolutely required, in consequence of the construction of the 'busses, and the amount of travel by them. There are seats on top as well as inside, and many prefer the outside in clear weather, because of the opportunities it affords for observation.

There is but little observance of the Sabbath in London by the working classes-that being as much of a gala-day there as in New Orleans. Omnibuses, steamboats, and railways give the tired denizens of the unfashionable portions a conveyance to the country, where they can breathe the fresh air, and enjoy the clear sunshine. Omnibuses, cabs, and private carriages are more numerous in some parts of the city on that day than any other, and although business is suspended generally, the hurry and bustle going on in the streets do not convey to the mind of the stranger much evidence of the day being the Sabbath. All go civilly on, however, and personal encounters or disturbances are of rare occurrence, the police being sufficient to intimidate the riotously inclined.

The parks of London deserve the attention of the stranger as much as any other objects of interest in the metropolis. The largest ones are not so beautiful as some of those with fewer acres, but all are splendid resorts. The trees are large, and as they are principally oaks and elms, their branches extend so as to form leafy arcades for a great distance. People are permitted to ramble over the grass, and it is not unusual to see them lying down under the trees, reading, or asleep. Care has been taken in the arrangement of the oaks and elms, and they are mostly planted at given distances apart, in a straight line, thus forming an arbor of great beauty. Of a Sunday evening, Kensington Gardens is thronged with the citizens of the West End, and as it is decidedly the finest park in London, it is the most resorted to. Hyde Park is attached to the gardens, but it is not so well cared for. It is the fashionable resort of the "exclusives" of the metropolis, and one part is appropriated solely to equestrians, while another is used for carriages. The display at the customary hour is great. Ladies are as numerous as gentlemen, and liveried servants outnumber even them. The road for equestrians is usually crowded to excess, and it would embarrass one to tell how a lady finds enjoyment in such a thronged thoroughfare, on horseback. Before the fashionable hour arrives, if the weather is dry, water is sprinkled along the road to lay the dust, but the mud created in that way appeared to me to be worse than any dust possibly could be. The horses are splashed with it, and not unfrequently the ladies and gentlemen. The carriages are usually attended by two servants, dressed in livery, mounted on the box, or one on the box and the other hanging on behind like an ornament. These men are generally good looking; but their want of independence, as exhibited in their dress, is repulsive. They are to be met in every variety of outlandish costume, from yellow coats and cocked hats, trimmed with gold lace, red short-clothes, and powdered wigs, down to genteel black, and neatly tied white cravats, and cockades pinned to their hats. In some instances, a person will meet a lady and gentleman on horseback riding leisurely along, while at a short distance behind, mounted on a fine horse, follows one of those liveried menials, with about as much spirit as a whipped cur. Several times I have seen them asleep on their carriages, in front of the door of a princely mansion, or while waiting in line at Regent's Park.

Cattle and sheep in great numbers are frequently seen in the principal parks, and oftentimes there are as many as eight or nine thousand sheep pasturing at once in one of those inclosures.

The Zoological Gardens in the last-named ground are kept in admirable order, and the collection of animals is both extensive and various. There are specimens of natural history from every section of the world, and it is a matter of surprise that animals from warm climates live and thrive so well in English air as those do in Regent's Park. The hippopotamus and "uran utan" (as they will have the orthography of the name) appear to exist there as healthfully as they do in their native climes. In our tour of observation, we discovered several acquaintances from our side of the Atlantic, not the least familiar of which was that pertinacious and eccentric "Old 'Coon." Poor fellow! he looked thin and downcast, English fogs by no means agreeing with his constitution.

Saturday afternoon is a favorite time, among the wealthy and titled, for visiting the Zoological Gardens, and then and there the stranger has an opportunity of seeing the refined society of London. Good conduct, gentle behavior, and suavity of manner characterize the gentlemen, and all that contributes to the elevation of female character is discoverable in the ladies. The members of noble families have little or none of that affected pomp about them that distinguishes the upstart and imitative apes of aristocracy; and it requires but a small amount of penetration on the part of the observer to discover who is the real and who the spurious noble. The imitation nearly always exposes his vulgarity, while the genuine ever exhibits the breeding of a true gentleman. Among the ladies in the gardens at the time of our visit, there were some of remarkable beauty, and nearly all of them were fine figures.

The band of one of the favorite regiments was present, and performed many splendid pieces in masterly style. The presence of that musical corps always attracts a large company to the Zoological Gardens.

The great metropolis is a Pandemonium! The noise of its streets is eternal, and the throngs which pour down its roaring thoroughfares are continual. I have wandered over and around it, from the splendid mansions of the West End to the abodes of squalid wretchedness and crime in Spitalfields and Shoreditch. There is every variety of life within its limits, from the highest to the lowest, and people of every nation and clime. The two extremes of the immense city are admirable illustrations of the condition of the aristocracy, and of the degraded and ignorant poor. The one is all splendor, and the apparent abode of content; the other a den of misery and want. Thousands of strangers visit London, and confine themselves to Regent Street, Piccadilly, and Oxford Road, without even thinking of Whitechapel or the more wretched localities in the neighborhood of Houndsditch. When a man travels for information, he should see the high and low of society in the lands he visits, and then he will be better able to form opinions of the exact condition of a people. He who seeks grandeur may go to the palaces of the rich, and drink in inspiration by gazing upon the splendid productions of the pallet and the chisel; and, if he desires, he can lounge of an afternoon on the green sward of Regent's or Hyde Park, and witness a display of finery and aristocratic pomp not to be seen in any other section of the world in such grand array. If all the inhabitants of the overgrown city were in as good circumstances as those to be met at these places on such occasions, then would London be a happy place, and the residents a contented people. But such is far from being the case. Take an afternoon walk, and follow Bishopsgate Street to Shoreditch, turn off into White Lion Street, and follow up until you reach Grey Eagle and Wilkes Street, and a different prospect from that witnessed in Hyde Park will meet your gaze. Silk of splendid color is there; but it is in the loom of the poor half-starved Spitalfields weaver, who works from dawn until near midnight over the costly fabric, for a miserable pittance, in a hovel of filth and wretchedness. There are no persons in livery there, no gold-fringed coats, or powdered wigs, but barefooted women and men, and human beings clothed in rags so tattered as to cause one to wonder how they are kept together. The streets are as filthy as the houses, and there is not a blade of grass or a park in the neighborhood. On one of the streets adjoining there is a school-house for the young, but compared with the Queen's stables it is a pigsty, and her Majesty's prancing horses receive more care and have better sleeping apartments than her loyal subjects in the unfashionable streets of Spitalfields. After the visitor has satisfied his curiosity in the localities named, let him return, and pass down Long Alley, a narrow passage about six feet wide, to the west of Bishopsgate Street, and there he will see another phase of life at the East End of the greatest city in the world, and then he may go to one of the parks at the fashionable part of the metropolis, but not with the favorable opinion of the people of London he entertained before visiting the classic quarter of Shoreditch.

Misery, poverty, and want have always existed in large cities, and must continue under the present social system; but, for all, much could be done to improve the condition of the poor of the English metropolis, if those who have it in their power to do so would only try.

The customs of some of the people of the "wen of England," as Cobbett called it, are not such as we would desire to imitate. It is not unusual to see men walking the streets with ladies, and puffing the smoke of most abominable tobacco into the faces of their fair companions. The weed is not masticated as with us, and he who chews is not esteemed very highly, but cigar and pipesmoking is common, and carried to great extremes.

Gin-palaces abound throughout the city, and men and women resort to them in vast numbers. They are generally provided with two entrances; one for those who drink the liquor on the premises, the other for those who purchase it for home use. The signs in