he
_vis unita_ of all the publicans in London, Westminster, Marylebone, and
miles round, is too powerful a force to put down. The Regent has raised
a phantom which he cannot lay. There they'll stay probably forever. The
whole beauty of the place is gone,--that lake-look of the Serpentine
(it has got foolish ships upon it); but something whispers to have
confidence in Nature and its revival,--

"At the coming of the _milder_ day,
These monuments shall all be overgrown."

Meantime I confess to have smoked one delicious pipe in one of the
cleanliest and goodliest of the booths,--a tent rather,--

"Oh, call it not a booth!"

erected by the public spirit of Watson, who keeps the "Adam and Eve" at
Pancras (the ale-houses have all emigrated, with their train of bottles,
mugs, cork-screws, waiters, into Hyde Park,--whole ale-houses, with all
their ale!) in company with some of the Guards that had been in France,
and a fine French girl, habited like a princess of banditti, which one
of the dogs had transported from the Garonne to the Serpentine. The
unusual scene in Hyde Park, by candle-light, in open air,--good tobacco,
bottled stout,--made it look like an interval in a campaign, a repose
after battle. I almost fancied scars smarting, and was ready to club a
story with my comrades of some of my lying deeds. After all, the
fireworks were splendid; the rockets in clusters, in trees, and all
shapes, spreading about like young stars in the making, floundering
about in space (like unbroke horses), till some of Newton's calculations
should fix them; but then they went out. Any one who could see 'em, and
the still finer showers of gloomy rain-fire that fell sulkily and
angrily from 'em, and could go to bed without dreaming of the last day,
must be as hardened an atheist as--.

The conclusion of this epistle getting gloomy, I have chosen this part
to desire _our_ kindest loves to Mrs. Wordsworth and to Dorothea. Will
none of you ever be in London again?

Again let me thank you for your present, and assure you that fireworks
and triumphs have not distracted me from receiving a calm and noble
enjoyment from it (which I trust I shall often), and I sincerely
congratulate you on its appearance.

With kindest remembrances to you and household, we remain, yours
sincerely,

C. LAMB and Sister.

[1] The Excursion.

[2] Early in 1814 the London parks were thrown open to the
public, with fireworks, booths, illuminations, etc.,