TRUTHS may become so evidently true to us that we cease to question them, cease to think of them, and so at last cease to act upon them; until some unexpected incident restores them to us once more in all their original power. We remember an instance of this kind, which may not unfitly precede our general remarks on the Public Gardens of London. It was an evening in July; one of those wondrously rich glowing sunsets which bathe the world in glory, when we found ourselves wandering through Kensington Gardens. Suddenly we came out in front of those grand old cedars of Lebanon, which so richly darken the green sward in the western part of the gardens, near the Palace, in one of its most lovely and least frequented spots. The gorgeous light was fully upon them at their tops, while beneath you saw through long and low vistas, far away in the distance, stretching along and touching the ground, a line of rosy light, of the loveliest conceivable hue, and barred perpendicularly by the black slender-looking tree trunks. As we turned away, after a long silent reverential study of the scene in that direction, another of a different kind arrested the eye. An artist was at work upon those cedars, aiming doubtless to catch and fix for ever that wondrous combination of form and colour which they then presented. He was seated on a low portable garden-stool, and leaned his back against one of the garden seats, on which sat a lady, with a book in her hands, and with her head bending down towards him,

reading in a low and musical voice-what, we knew not, nor cared to know; it could not be more beautiful or suggestive to the heart and mind of man than the scene in which they were, and to which their appreciation of it, so luxuriously complete, lent a new charm. And then it was that once more dawned upon us a fresh sense of the particular beauty of these gardens, and of the privilege which all may enjoy of walking in them, as well as of the apparent unconsciousness of so many men and women who might benefit by them,-of what they lose by their neglect. to do so.

We strolled on through the flower-walk, with its choice collection of trees and shrubs, and felt that we never saw so plainly before the peculiar beauties and characteristics of each; we ranged in vision over the sylvan glades on the left, climbed in the same way the magnificent trees, and were again arrested by the scene-unequalled surely anywhere-that presented itself at the eastern extremity of the gardens, where you look over the low wall, with its sunken fosse, or Ha-ha! beyond to the well-known Rotten row that divides the gardens. from the park. In that road, ranged in almost military precision and silence, was drawn up a long line of horsemen and horsewomen, who had quitted for the moment the army of mounted irregulars to which they belonged, and who kept sweeping to and fro in the rear: our modern domestic chivalry-in a word, the flower of the male and female aristocracy of

England. Inside and lining the garden wall, and thus protected from any sudden inroad from the "Row," or promenading up and down the broad walk, or thickly covering the green lawn on the left, or grouped picturesquely a little farther off, or scattered more and more sparingly as the eye compassed a greater distance, we looked upon hundreds of fair women, arrayed in colours sportive and brilliant and varied as the rainbow, and which would have been almost as harmonious, but for the ugly black forms called gentlemen, that, in rainter's language, spotted the picture all over. And what was the charm that arrested alike promenaders and equestrians? what but the lovely strains of Mozart's 'Magic Flute,' exquisitely performed by one of the household regiments? And this too, we thought, is the people's! Twice a week may they here enjoy one of the highest of all human pleasures, and benefit by one of the highest of all those influences that tend to spiritual culture-they may hear divine music, worthily rendered, and in a spot so congenial that we need only contrast it with the theatre, or with the expensive and fashionable concert-room, to see that the poorest of amateurs is not also in this matter one of the most unfortunate.

Pursuing our walk, we reached the bridge, where a new aspect of beauty wooed us. (Cut, No. 1.) The waters of the Serpentine were dancing, every here and there, in long trails of light; the wide stretches of green sward that encompass the river were lustrous with the new life that had been given by recent rains; the lofty forest trees seemed to dilate to an unusual magnitude their glorious bulk; white sails were gliding to and fro; while from boats with low picturesque awnings, the pleasant sound of uproarious laughter ascended at intervals. As evening drew on, bands of youths and men gathered upon the water's edge, and gradually became the sole occupants of the place, for bathing commenced. Again the thought occurred with renewed force and these health-giving, these truly manly enjoyments can be enjoyed by all, under circumstances of beauty and fitness that the richest nobleman in the land cannot in essentials surpass.

And Kensington Gardens forms but one of those priceless possessions of the people of London, which we venture to think they do not yet sufficiently use or enjoy. And we convey no class reflection in those words. We would rather ask, whose soul is large enough to take in even the entire wealth of the smallest of landscapes on a purple summer's eve? Grow as we will, its beauty will grow faster. Never shall we be able to say-" Now I have it all." So is it with each of the elements that serves for our spiritual nurture. Let then the poor artisan forget awhile the weary struggles with adverse fortune, and respond to the invitation which these public gardens make: he will find himself, not more but less weary afterwards. Let the tradesman take advantage of his "slack" days, to fill his heart with a renewed sense of those things which business is not at all calculated to feed. Let the professional man, if unsuccessful, seek one

practice that shall never disappoint him—the practice of the continual study of external nature, for it shall give himself the health, bodily and mental, that he often loses while pining for the opportunity to secure health to others;-let the professional man, if successful, forget not that the heart is apt to harden and the tastes to grow false amid material splendours; and that it is not to the uncultivated that the poet's lines apply with their greatest force

"A primrose on the river's brim
A yellow primrose was to him,-
And it was nothing more."

Lastly; let those who have no occupation but to spend the leisure and money fortune has placed at their disposal, try how well the first may be relieved by occasionally sharing with the People the varied advantages afforded by our public places of resort; and how well the other may be used by helping to establish, wherever their social or pecuniary influence may extend, similar places of resort for their less favoured brethren.

It is cheering now to count up our places of popular resort. Battersea Park, it is true, is yet in the land of good intentions; not a very solid ground we fear-nor a place easy to find; although a map of the district is doubtless deposited in the recesses of the "Woods and Forests;" but Victoria Park (peculiarly an artisan's and tradesman's park), is a realized fact; and, as we shall presently show, a peculiarly interesting fact. The south and east thus provided for, we have on the north, the open country about Copenhagen fields, where a new park is proposed to be founded at the very time we are writing; and, in case they should be quite built over, the charming Hampstead-heath, and its neighbourhood extending nearly up to Regent's Park; while on the west we have the cluster of Parks

happily called the "Lungs of London"-under the several names of St. James's Park, the Green Park, Hyde Park, and Kensington Gardens. With a gradual thinning out of London, therefore, a process that is now constantly going on in the worst portionthe city-and with the embankment of the river in a style worthy of its position, size, uses, and associations, there will be a fair chance for the pure breeze of heaven, to penetrate to our streets and houses, and to convey us a message and an invitation, now and then, from the open country beyond.

Before we proceed with what may be called the several biographies of the parks, it may be useful to indicate in a few words their common relations, story, and character.

Hyde Park, the Green and St. James's Parks, may be regarded as forming part of an uninterrupted space of open pleasure-ground. This is not so apparent now that they only touch with their angles, but it was otherwise before the ground on which Apsley House and Hamilton-place stand was filched from Hyde Park. Even yet the isthmus which connects them, where Hyde Park-gate and the gate at the top of Consti

tution-hill front each other, is only attenuated, not intersected. They have moreover since the Revolution been invariably intrusted to the care of the same ranger. To remind the reader of their continuity, a plan of old St. James's Park, is subjoined. (Cut, No. 2.)

Each of the Parks has its own peculiar character. St. James's, lying among palaces, and hedged round on all sides from a comparatively early period by the fashionable residences of the "West End," is the courtier. Hyde Park, not yet quite surrounded by the town, and decidedly extending into a rural rural neighbourhood, is the "fine old country gentleman," essentially stately and noble, and a courtier too on occasions, yet with a dash of rusticity. The Regent's Park is a more equivocal character, more difficult to describe; not a parvenu exactly, for its connection with royalty is as ancient as either of the others; not so unequivocally bon ton, for it has at times associated with curious society, and been kept in the background -a sort of Falconbridge, perhaps, whose connection with royalty is rather irregular, but when once admitted within the circle, can ruffle it with the best. Victoria Park is both in the letter and in the spirit an artisan's and tradesman's park. To the passionate fondness of the early English sovereigns for the chase, we owe, in all probability, the preservation of the sites of our older parks; while to their love of popularity we owe the gradual dedication of the parks themselves to the service of the people. From the days of Julius Cæsar downwards this has been a recognized mode of courting the vox populi. That eminent antiquary, Mr. William Shakspere, records Mark Antony's successful use of this device, when,

HYDE PARK AND KENSINGTON GARDENS.

The fields which now constitute St. James's Park were acquired by Henry VIII. for some lands in Suffolk. The Hospital of St. James, which had previously stood there, was pulled down, the sisterhood pensioned off, a "goodly palace" erected on its site, and a park enclosed by a brick wall. Hyde Park came into the possession of the same bluff monarch by a less formal process, at the dissolution of the monasteries. It formed part of the Manor of Hyde,. the property of the Abbot and Monastery of St. Peter at Westminster. As mention is made of the keeper of the park very soon after its acquisition by