da" of Spain, in the time of Philip II. is extensive and rare, properly set off by a statue of Elizabeth, in the attitude of making her heroic speech to her troops, with her steed caparisoned for the field, and held by a page. The identical, long-shanked, rusty axe with which the left-handed executioner hewed off the head of poor Anne Boleyn, for no better reason than because she had blamelessly lost the affection of a capricious and licentious monarch, reflects as little credit upon royalty, as it affords pleasure to the visitant.

In the ordnance department of the Tower, there is a variety of curious pieces of artillery, some of them upon a gigantic scale; mortars, Roman scythes, and military ensigns taken as trophies in different ages, and from various nations. It was gratifying to find no spoils from the wellfought fields of our own country, or from the decks of its gallant ships. France has supplied the Tower with the greater part of its munitions and insignia of war. Spain has also contributed a liberal share. The fluted pillars in some of the rooms, are composed of spears and boardingpikes of his Catholic Majesty.

The group of kings, arrayed in a long line, from William the Conqueror to George II, clad in the armour of their respective ages, and mounted upon their chargers, form an imposing and not uninteresting spectacle. Several of those whom I was most anxious to see, are, however, wanting to complete the succession. The hump-backed Richard, at whose form "the dogs did bark," is not to be found in the royal assemblage; although the very spot was pointed out, where

"Lay the gentle babes, girdling one another
Within their alabaster, innocent arms;

Their lips like four red roses on a stalk,

Which in their summer beauty kiss'd each other”—

who were suffocated by Tyrrel, in compliance with the order of this regal monster; as also the place where the young princes were entombed. Parts of the Tower have been hallowed by the genius of Shakspeare, who here laid some of his immortal scenes, and hence derived a portion of his imagery. These associations are worth more than all the cannon and perforated armour, taken from the French at the battle of Waterloo.

The plate and regalia, used at the coronation of George

the IV-swords and chalices, sceptres and saltcellars, of massive gold, studded with the costliest gems-excited in us some curiosity, as works of art; though as emblems of power, they failed to inspire much reverence or awe. After

all, they are merely what Cromwell denominated them→ "baubles," fit only for kings and children to play with, the age having gone by when they were regarded as the symbols of divine rights.

In the royal menagerie, there are many rare and curious animals, collected from every part of the globe. America has a numerous representation in this assemblage of beasts, birds and reptiles. The collection of serpents, embracing the Boa Constrictor and other snakes of monstrous size, particularly arrested our attention. They lie coiled up in boxes, with blankets thrown over them, and the temperature of the room artificially raised, to form a suitable climate. They are so far domesticated, that the keeper plays with their spotted necks, and permits their forked tongues to come in contact with his hands.

LETTER XI.

LONDON, IN CONTINUATION-BANK OF ENGLAND-ROYAL EXCHANGE-PRINCIPAL STREETS-PARKS-WESTMINSTER ABBEY-PARLIAMENT HOUSE-PUBLIC AMUSEMENTS.

August, 1825.-The Bank of England, and the Royal Exchange, extensive piles of buildings, which in architecture are emphatically composite, embracing all the orders, curiously blended, excited little interest, except from the amount of business here transacted. They show to the worst possible advantage, being situated in a low part of the city, upon narrow, dirty streets, and surrounded by warehouses, which in some instances overtop them. The bank is at present rendered still more unsightly, by a scaffolding covering one façade, for the purpose of making some repairs. It is in all respects an awkward edifice, with nothing beyond convenience to recommend it. Over the doors are labels, indicating the kind of business transacted in the several departments, and also an ordinance prohibiting clerks from speculating in the stocks. In each room, there is a

branch clock, the hands of which are moved by a power com municated from a common centre, and therefore exactly agree in time. Not less than fifteen hundred persons are employed in this institution, and the amount of business is immense. The Rotunda is a large public room, in which speculators and persons interested in the stocks assemble. It is less frequented, than it used to be before the new Stock-Exchange on the opposite side of the street, was erected. The latter is a complete Babel in the hours of business. Officers are stationed in boxes round the room, who

on application call out in a loud voice for individuals. Brokers, in the midst of a ring formed about them, proclaim that they wish to buy or sell such and such stocks, at so much per cent. A person wishing to speculate advances and replies, “I will purchase or sell so much at that rate." An average of these transfers regulates the prices of stocks for the day. It is sometimes reduced to a mere system of gambling, the funds never changing hands, and the difference in value, on the next day or next week, being paid and received by the parties to the bargain.

The Royal Exchange, or "Change, as it is here universally denominated, cannot be compared with that at Liverpool, in point of extent, convenience, or beauty. Its exterior is so little conspicuous, that I was obliged to inquire where it was, while standing at its very entrance. It is situate round an open court or square of moderate dimensions, with deep colonnades and arches, inscribed with the class of merchants who there assemble. One arch is appropriated to the French, another to the Dutch, and a third to the West Indies. Statues of kings are ranged in a long line round the gallery above. The rooms in the basement story are occupied as private shops of all descriptions, opening on the outside, with show goods suspended at the doors. Lloyd's Room, which has acquired so much celebrity throughout the world, is crowded into an obscure place, where no one would think of looking for it. The entrance to 'Change is beneath two arches, on opposite sides, which might be passed fifty times a day, without attracting attention.

In the buildings. of London, public and private, with the exception of St. Paul's, Westminster Abbey, and a few others, I have been disappointed. There is nothing impressive or prepossessing in the general aspect of the city. Most of the houses and shops are of dark brick; two and

three stories high, and much crowded, situate upon irregular and dirty streets. Drury-lane and Covent-garden, which sound so well on paper, are after all but confined and mean districts. Even the west end of the town has by no means answered my expectations. The Chancellor of the Exchequer has a neat house; but Lord Wellington's, near the entrance of Hyde Park, is a large, square, plain building, of smoky brick, destitute of every species of ornament and elegance. Lord Liverpool's, the Duke of Northumber land's, and the residences generally of the nobility exhibit little taste. As for the Duke of Devonshire, his dwelling is so encased by high brick walls, that no one has an opportunity of viewing it. St. James' Palace, and in fact all the royal edifices about London, are most unprincely looking structures, displaying neither grandeur nor splendour.

The handsomest part of the town is about Regent's Park and Portland Place. Regent-street is also fine. The houses are of brick, uniform in their construction, and covered with a thick stucco, giving them an appearance of being built of white marble. In this part of the city, the streets are spacious and airy; and in the more confined portions, substantial side-walks, generally composed of large flags, contribute greatly to the comfort of the pedestrian.

The great avenues through London run parallel to the Thames, from Westminster to the eastern end. There are two of them. Different sections of the one nearest the river, and generally within fifty rods of its left bank, go by the several names of Piccadilly, the Strand, Fleet-street, Ludgate, and some others, leading to the Tower. The other great thoroughfare runs parallel to this, at the distance of half a mile to the north, and leads through Holborn, Cheapside and Cornbill. These streets are generally wide, but are constantly thronged, from morning till midnight, with carriages, carts, and vehicles of every description, as well as with foot passengers. So great is the promiscuous multitude, and the difficulty of passing, that it occupies a much longer time to ride than to walk the same distance. No person can witness these ceaseless tides of population, ebbing and flowing like the restless ocean, and reflect that in a short time the whole will sink into oblivion, giving place to a new generation, without having his mind forcibly impressed with the vanity of life. Few of the busy, gay, and fashionable throng are known beyond their narrow spheres, or will bø

remembered after the curtain drops. But this is not the place for moralizing.

We

One of the leading features in the topography of London is the great number of public squares and parks. These are every thing to a city thus crowded and confined, adding equally to its health and beauty. Several of the largest are open to every one, and afford delightful promenades. have rambled through most of them. The principal ones are St. James', Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens, at the west end of the town. All of them are spacious, beautifully adorned with trees, gravel walks, and artificial waters, which cool the air and vary the prospect. I could almost forgive the mock battle upon the Serpentine, in which the flag of our country was struck by order of his majesty, to gratify the potentates of Europe, for the grateful breeze it afforded me, while walking on a warm afternoon, upon its green and shady bank.

Our visit to Hyde Park was at the most fashionable hour, for the purpose of witnessing the style of "the nobility and gentry." This Park contains about four hundred acres. At the entrance is a colossal statue of Achilles, standing upon a lofty pedestal, and armed with his sword and shield. It was cast from cannon taken at the battles of Salamanca, Vittoria, Toulouse and Waterloo, and is inscribed by the ladies to "Wellington and his brave companions in arms. Around the Park there is a carriage path, resembling a race-course, where all who are able to ride, and some who probably are not, parade in full dress and equipage. Lords and ladies roll on in their coaches, which by the bye are generally heavy and inelegant; while a troop of dandies, with sugar-loaf hats, whiskers meeting at the chin, and mustaches, gallop after.

Our walk was extended quite round the Park, and to Kensington Gardens. The whole of these spacious and splendid grounds were filled with crowds of people, high and low, old and young, male and female. Such a general rendezvous afforded us a pretty fair opportunity of seeing the population of London in their best attire, and with smiling countenances.

Nearly two out of our ten days in London have been passed in Westminster Abbey, and as many more might be devoted to its numerous monuments with equal pleasure. It is indeed a most fascinating place to one who has read and