turned up Piccadilly and down Constitution Hill and alighted at Buckingham Palace.

In extenuation of this snobbery, the stranger is told that these published details are collected by the newspaper reporters from footmen, butlers and kitchen maids, and are not communicated by the "noble lords and ladies" themselves; that he must not fall into the error of making them responsible for the prying curiosity and vulgar weakness of the Jenkinses of the journals who believe that the human race is divided into men, women and the British peerage. An explanation doubtless true in the main, as we regret to see in our country a similar system of espoinage growing up, and the private gatherings at our houses published to the world, and the remarks even of our guests not unfrequently passed in review in some sheet which lives on the profits of what is styled in the phraseology of the day, sensational journalism.

Whatever truth there may be in the Britton's explanation of these peculiarities, the stranger cannot be long in the country without observing that there is an extravagant homage paid to rank and title. It is the weak point in the English character. Whatever they may say, the fact is undeniable, they love a lord. During our protracted residence in Britain we have rarely known a public meeting of any kind without a lord in the chair. One of the sacred animals is, after the custom of certain eastern people, always placed in the van. Even the Scientific Societies insist upon having a lord for President. The Royal Geographical had Lord Ashburton for its presiding officer for years. It does not

matter to them whether he has or has not attainments-he has a title--that's what they want, not the booby who sports it. Science does not prostitute itself to ignorance only to rank. No institution of learning- school or college-is founded without having titled patrons or visitors to satisfy the popular requirements These are selected from among the aristocracy, whatever their want of qualifications, the more glaring the want of qualifications, the higher sounding must be the title. The title of Prince or Duke will cover with the mantle of charity even Egyptian ignorance. There is no learned or literary society in England which would not be proud to have a Prince or Royal Duke in the chair, so deeply rooted is that popular veneration for the consecrated race.

The injurious effects of this prevalent feeling is seen in the conduct and bearing of many of the nobility, and it is only strange that it does not ruin the whole race A man has very little chance of knowing how to conduct himself in this world who has from his infancy been the object of slavish adulation. First worshipped by his nurse, then flattered by grooms, stable boys, peasants and hangers on of the family, then todied by tutors, he enters col

lege only to find his caste held sacred, and when he enters the world he finds himself delivered over to the adulation of the entire public. It is not surprising that they are sometimes arrogant. If people prostrate themselves before them why may not the people expect to be trampled on? It is not the fault of the lord, but of the people.

Much to be regretted is the fact that instead of worshipping rank, class or caste as do the Hindoos and Brahmins, they do not confine their reverence to purity of character, great thoughts and noble deeds. Here all the world could unite with them. The popular reception or value set upon a title by the lower orders gives the title its value-if people ceased to worship it, no one would desire it. But no sooner is a man invested with a title, got a handle to his name, than he finds himself invested with new power-a power that does not reside in himself, but in the hearts of those who fawn upon him. It is the aristocratic spirit and sympathy which pervades the entire mass of society which gives the aristocracy their power.-The English are at heart aristocratic and never cease struggling after its honors. They spend their lives, giving up comfort and happiness, to reach its ranks, or that their children may do so. The growth of centuries, this spirit is supposed to have had its origin in the Norman conquest and the feudal system. However this may be, ages must pass before it can be eradicated. The feudal system still exists in a modified form in England. The law of primogeniture-the accumulation of vast landed estates in a few hands, the laws of entail, &c., which have been thrown off by all Europe, by America, and by the English colonies throughout the world, still continue in force in the sea-girt island. The laws are still made by the aristocratic few, for the benefit of the patrician classes. The privileges and immunities of this class being found in ancient usage and the customs of bygone ages, they cultivate a reverence for the past, disparage everything new or modern, and thus seek to strengthen their position by encouraging the growth in the minds and hearts of the people, of sentiments of respect for the law-givers of a semi-barbaric age in which these privileges had their origin. This well known sentiment, we may add, is turned to amusing effect in the new operetta, styled "The Pirates of Penzance," which is now being successfully performed at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, New York. In an encounter between the pirates and the police, the latter are conquered. The condition of the police seems hopeless but the sergeant is not without resource.

SERG.-To gain a brief advantage you've contrived,

But your proud triumph will not be long lived!

KING. Don't say you're orphans, for we know that game.
SERG.-On your allegiance we've a strong claim.

We charge you yield in Queen Victoria's name!

This is an appeal that no Englishman, not even a pirate, can resist. The King and his crew at once surrender.

KING-We yield at once with humbled mein.

Because, with all our faults, we love our Queen.

The General orders them to be marched off in custody. when Ruth enters:

RUTH.-One moment; let me tell you who they are

They are no members of the common throng,
They are all noblemen who have gone wrong!

This announcement has an electrical effect on the General and

the police, who at once kneel in homage at the feet of their late

foes.

GENERAL. —No Englishmen unmoved that statement hears,

Because with all our faults, we love our House of Peers.

This is no overdrawn picture, yet we find a certain class of British tourists in this country, with true Cockney audacity, ridiculing what they style the American's love for titles. These carping faultfinders are offended with the existence of military and naval titles in a country uncurst with a standing army and an invincible armament. They forget that we have a bellicose militia. We are willing to admit that the average American is not altogether without something of the "Britisher's" love of gewgaws, nor are "his sisters, his cousins or his aunts," but nobody in this country attaches the slightest importance to these militia titles. They do not enhance the credit or consequence of the persons who bear them, are often conferred in merriment by boon companions. But if we are to take as true the moral of the operetta, so recently and admirably represented by amateurs in Staunton, we could hardly be charged with an ill-regulated and false ambition, if we ranked the Admiral of one of our yacht squadrons with the "ruler of the Queen's navee."

But whither are we wandering? What has become of Kew? Revenons nous a nos mouton.

The pleasure gardens of Kew constitute its chief attractions. though many of the disciples of Isaac Walton frequent the Thames hereabouts, pursuing their favorite pastime, These famous gardens have been improved with much taste, and show, notwithstanding the level surface originally, a considerable variety of

scenery.

The botanic gardens are noted for their exotic treas ures collected from every part of the world, which flourish in the Palm house, the largest glass structure we have seen, save the Crystal Palace, "unconscious of a less propitious clime."

On entering the gardens from the village, one of the first objects which attracts attention is the willow, an offspring from that which overshadows the tomb of Napoleon at St. Helena. We were surprised to find at this early season, in full bloom in the open air, many flowers of vivid hue; scarlet geraniums, crocuses, yellow callecolaries, hyacinths and heliotropes.

Among the rare trees pointed out to us were 2,000 Chinconas, from which the sulphate of quinine is manufactured. For some years prior to 1860, the British government was successfully engaged in the task of supplying these trees to the East Indies. They are produced at Kew from seed brought from South America. Much fear was felt of the entire destruction of the tree in South America, when the British government hastened to fit out an expedition under one of its ablest admirals, with C. R. Markham as botanist, to proceed to Chili and Peru to collect trees and the seed of the tree, as a means of preserving and propagating it in its own equatorial and other fever stricken colonies. These labors have been crowned with gratifying success, and the day is not far distant when the price of quinine, so expensive now, will be within reach of the poorest sufferer. Worthy of all praise, we trust this enlightened policy may be pursued by the authorities of our Gulf States. The climate of the cotton States is doubtless well adapted to the growth of the Chincona tree; it is certainly prolific in the diseases in which quinine is taken with good effect.

From imperial Kew we passed on to Richmond and soon reached the terraced road on the hill which leads directly to the Park. This road, lined and shaded by great oaks in the gnarled majesty of old age, commands an extended and beautiful view of the Valley of the Thames, which is covered with country seats, farm houses and villages. The line of beauty was never more faithfully depicted in landscape than by the course of the broad and beautiful river. So regular are its windings, so just are the length and curvature of its sweeps, and so well proportioned are its width and the space it occupies in the rich valley through which it flows, so tranquil and lake-like is the surface of the water that at first sight we cannot divest ourselves of the idea that nature has called in the assistance of art, and has ornamented the scenery beneath us with reference to the most approved principles of landscape gardening.

In a few minutes more, we entered the celebrated Star and Garter Inn, which is situated just outside of the main entrance to

the Park, and after indulging in some of the expensive dainties dispensed at this establishment, leaving our baggage, we set off for a stroll in the enchanting scenes of the park, more than 1,000 acres of which are covered by a dense forest. From Oliver's mount, in the park, St. Paul's Cathedral and Windsor Castle may be seen on a fair day. Yet you cannot penetrate a half mile into the dark recesses of the forest without feeling that you have taken leave of civilizatlon and the haunts of men.

The park occupies a portion of the ancient hunting grounds of William the Norman and his regal successors for centuries, and the sites of many of the lodges of the rangers, around which are strewn masses of ruins, are still pointed out to the stranger. How are times changed! The days of Robin Hood and his merry men are gone; the sound of the hunting horn no longer awakes the echoes in the solitudes of the few forests which have survived the desolations of centuries; the swineherd no more attends his charge under the mighty oaks, and the lady of high degree, attended by her knights and retainers, cannot now be seen, cantering on her palfrey with falcon on her fair hand awaiting the flight of the heron. The great law of change has acted here as elsewhere. Old things have passed away and all traces of them are rapidly disappearing. No where more so than in the vicinity. of London. Buildings are starting up in every direction and anon speculative builders and joint stock companies will overlay beautiful Richmond with brick and plaster. Such is the progress, the utilization of the age. The lovers of the philosophical science of esthetics must unite to preserve the beautiful and sublime in nature and art, or both will perish in the din of machinery and the smoke of factories.