architect say it would not look vell in summair time—it is vary plain pudding. Then de small windows of de kitchen on each side of de impediment at top story of de palace, have before them trophy of de kitchen, such as pot and de pan, and othare tings, which look well at de distance, only de poker and de tong are too big. On de wing of de palace, called de gizzard wing (de othare wing was cut off), stand the domestique servant, in neat dress, holding in de trays biscuit and tart and othare ting. The name of de architect is Mistaire Hash, de King's architect, who, I was informed, was roasted vary much. De English people seem vary much to like dis palace for de King, and do laugh vary much. Dere is to be in de front of de palace vary large kitchen range, made of white marble, vich I was told would contain von hundred of goose at von time. De palace, ven complete, will be called after von famous English dish, de Toad in de Hole!"
When will our English architects learn that the use of ornament is to break the uniformity of broad effects, and to relieve the cold dignity of grand conception? How many millions more must be sunk irrevocably in gingerbread palaces, before they will be taught, that although grandeur of architectural effect can subsist without ornament, ornament can never be admissible where there is not grandeur of architectural effect; that things diminutive in outline must be plainly filled up in the details; and that the five orders of architecture, carved on a cherry-stone, are seen to small advantage?
Let us, however, leave this disagreeable topic, and pursue our ramble through the Park.
The canal, you will observe, although somewhat diversified in outline, still retains, in shape, the memory of what it was, and is little more at present than a canal ornamented in some degree. From the esplanade facing the palace, looking down the whole length of the canal, is one of the best points of view in this Park, embracing the Horse Guards, the State Paper Office, Lady Dover's house. Behind these, the Banqueting-House is partly visible; from hence, also, we have a favourable view of the grounds, which are not unpleasingly laid out, considering that the artist was the afore-mentioned royal architect, Mistaire Hash, or Nash, of gingerbread celebrity. The gardens are not badly designed, although the late capability, Brown, could have done them vastly better—this Park being precisely the field for his wondrous creative faculty. Passing in front of the so-called Triumphal Arch, which seems intended to exhibit the dingy, dark, discoloured palace in the rear to the greatest disadvantage, we have a view down the long, umbrageous vista of the Mall: and here let us repose ourselves upon one of these seats—the resting-places of the destitute in London. Upon these seats the unemployed artisan, the dismissed clerk, and the footman out of place, may be seen sleeping away the idle hours in forgetfulness of their misfortunes. Here the "swell cove out of luck," whose seedy habiliments exclude him from the penetralia of the enclosure, lounges languidly, cocking his worn-out gossamer on one side his head with a jaunty air, and affectedly tapping his vamped-up boot with a pinchbeck-headed cane; here, supernumerary penny-a-liners take the air, until Providence sends, of his goodness, some more substantial beverage; here, disappointed magazine-writers retire to read again their rejected article, and to curse the stupid editor who would not see its merit; here, Steele contrived to extract the matter of many a future Tatler, from the contemplation of his fellows in misfortune; and here, too, poor amiable Goldsmith, when without a dinner or the means of procuring one, used to take a turn, and "mend his appetite by a walk in the Park."
That poor young fellow in the fustian shooting-jacket and leggings, asleep on the further extremity of our bench, is a countryman who came to London for work and cannot get it. His money is done, and it is more than probable he has not tasted food to-day: to-morrow he will go over into Westminster and enlist for a soldier. You see a poor girl on the opposite bench—one of that class as truly as pathetically called unfortunate—she is, you observe, in tatters, and the paint has been washed off her cheeks with tears. She is an unfortunate among unfortunates. Where is her professional swagger now?—where her inviting leer and flippant toss of the
