THE LONDON PARKS. 551 



to me that there may be something comfortable in thus hanging all 

 the trappings of station on the backs of coachmen and footmen, if 

 one must be bothered with such things so that one may lean back 

 quietly in plain clothes in the well-stuffed seat of his private 

 carriage. 



But do not let us loiter away all our time in a single scene in 

 Hyde Park. A few steps farther on is Rotten Row (rather an odd 

 name for an elegant place), the chosen arena of fashionable eques- 

 trians. The English know too well the pleasures of riding, to gal- 

 lop on horseback over hard pavements, and Rotten Row is a soft 

 circle of a couple of miles, in the park, railed off for this purpose, 

 where your horse's feet have an elastic surface to travel over. Hun- 

 dreds of fair equestrians, with fathers, brothers, or friends, for com- 

 panions, are here enjoying a more lively and spirited exercise, than 

 the languid inmates of the carriages we have just left behind us. 

 The English women rise in the saddle, like male riders, and at first 

 sight they look awkwardly and less graceful to our eyes but you 

 soon see that they also sit more firmly and ride more boldly, than 

 ladies on our side of the water. 



To stand by and see others ride, seems to me to be always too 

 tantalizing to be long endured as a pastime even where the scene 

 is as full of novelty and variety as this. Let us go on, therefore. 

 This beautiful stream of water, which would be called a pretty 

 " creek " at home, is the Serpentine River, which has been made to 

 meander gracefully through Hyde Park, and wonderfully does its 

 bright waters enhance the beauty of the verdure and the charm of 

 the whole landscape. As we stand on the bridge, and look up and 

 down the river, amid the rich groves and across the green lawns, the 

 city wholly shut out by groves and plantations, how finely one feels 

 the contrast of art and nature to be realized here. 



That delicious band of music which you hear now, is in Ken- 

 sington Gardens, and only a belt of trees and yonder iron gate, sepa- 

 rate the latter from Hyde Park. Let us join the crowd of persons 

 of all ages, collected in the great walk, under the shade of gigantic 

 elm trees, to hear the music. It is a well-known air of Donizetti's, 

 and as your eye glances over the company, perhaps some five or six 

 thousand persons, who form the charmingly grouped, out-of-door 



