rare occurrence, that in
question being spoken of as the only one within the knowledge of my
informant for many years.

Our rate of travelling was much the same as that of one of our own better
sort of stages. The distance was not materially less than that between
Albany and C----n; the roads were not so hilly, and much better than our
own road; and yet, at the same season, we usually perform it in about the
same time that we went the distance between Southampton and London. The
scenery was tame, nor, with the exception of Winchester, was there a
single object of any interest visible until we got near London. We crossed
the Thames, a stream of trifling expanse, and at Kew we had a glimpse of
an old German-looking edifice in yellow bricks, with towers, turrets, and
battlements. This was one of the royal palaces. It stood on the opposite
side of the river, in the midst of tolerably extensive grounds. Here a
nearly incessant stream of vehicles commenced. I attempted to count the
stage-coaches, and got as high as thirty-three, when we met a line of
mail-coaches, that caused me to stop in despair. I think we met not less
than fifty within the last hour of our journey. There were seven belonging
to the mail in one group. They all leave London at the same hour, for
different parts of the kingdom.

At Hyde Park Corner I began to recall objects known in my early visits
to London. Apsley House had changed owners, and had become the property
of one whose great name was still in the germ, when I had last seen his
present dwelling. The Parks, a gateway or two excepted, were unchanged.
In the row of noble houses that line Piccadilly--in that
hospital-looking edifice, Devonshire House--in the dingy, mean,
irregular, and yet interesting front of St. James's--in Brookes's,
White's, the Thatched House, and various other historical _monuments_, I
saw no change. Buckingham House had disappeared, and an unintelligible
pile was rising on its ruins. A noble "_palazzo-non-finito_" stood at
the angle between the Green and St. James's Parks, and here and there I
discovered houses of better architecture than London was wont of old to
boast. One of the very best of these, I was told, was raised in honour
of Mercury, and probably out of his legitimate profits. It is called
Crockford's.

Our "_bla-a-a-ck-bud_" pulled up in the Strand, at the head of
Adam-street, Adelphi, and I descended from my seat at his side. An extra
shilling brought the glim