us never forget that they have shut up the noble Thames,
"Deep and yet clear,—though gentle yet not dull;
Strong without rage—without o'erflowing full;"
for the mere lucre of gain, although the sight of it, the Lord Mayor and Aldermen know in their hearts, is light to a Londoner's eyes, and music to his ears. Let us never forget that the legislature treated Mr Buckingham's bill for the establishment of public walks near great towns, with almost silent contempt; and although they pass I know not how many enclosure bills every session, it was not without much unseemly debate that they were prevailed upon to grant for the recreation of the commoners, thus dispossessed without compensation of their immemorial inheritance, as much of the land to be enclosed as you could whip a cat in. Then, again, as to private individuals, as little or less, if less were possible, is to be expected from them;—an attempt is fresh within our recollection of the lord of the manor of Hampstead to enclose the heath, which, owing to the vigilance of an honest independent member of Parliament, was crushed in the bud. Primrose Hill, too, was marked out for enclosure by some of the joint-stock "sack-em-up" companies, for the purpose of being converted into a second-hand coffin manufactory, or something of that sort;—this scheme went to the right-about, and a man may still forget his cares and troubles, as well as bring home a week's stock of unbought health, from a morning or an evening stroll, to dear delightful rural Primrose Hill. No thanks, however, to lord mayors, aldermen, or citizens, for this—no thanks to either House of Parliament—no thanks to lords of manors, who would enclose the sun of heaven himself, if they could let out his rays at so much a-year; such is the selfish love of lucre—natural, I had almost said to man, in an artificial state of society like ours, at least a second nature, which makes his interest the grand ambition, his breeches pocket the temple of his worship, and the money within it his god!
If there were no more solid reason than that monarchs might be enabled to be munificent for maintaining the monarchy in splendour, with me, that reason only would be reason enough.
St James's Park, sir—let us step aside into this shady walk, if you please—was formerly part and parcel of the Abbey lands of St Peter's, Westminster, and was resumed with others in the reign of King Henry VIII.
"His Majesty (Henry VIII.) also enclosed the park, which was subservient to the amusement of this (St James's Palace) and the neighbouring palace of Whitehall. Charles II. was particularly fond of it, planted the avenues, made the canal and the aviary, adjacent to the Bird cage Walk, which took its name from the cages which were hung in the trees. 'Charles,' says Colley Gibber, in the apology for his life, 'was often seen here amidst crowds of spectators, feeding his ducks, playing with his dogs, and passing his idle moments in affability, even to the meanest of his subjects, which made him to be admired by the common people, so fascinating in the great are the habits of condescension.'"[1]
In another account of the metropolis, ostensibly written originally in Arabic, by Ali Mahomet Hadji, physician to his Excellency Cossim Hojah, late envoy from the government of Tripoli to this Court, but in reality supposed to be the production of Grub Street, we are entertained with the following:—
"'Tis my delight to be
In the town and the countrie!"
- ↑ Pennant's London.
