550 LETTERS FROM ENGLAND. 



the dramatis personee, that you will hardly identify it as the locale 

 of the solitary country ramble you took in the morning- ' 



It is half past foar in the afternoon, and the fashioiiable world 

 (who dine atseven all over England) is now talnng its morning air- 

 ing. If yoii will sit down on one of these solid-looking seats undei 

 the shadow of this large elm, you will see such a display of equi- 

 page, pass you in the cousre of a single hoiir, as no other part of the 

 world can parallel. This broad, well-macadamized camage-didve, 

 which makes a' circuit of some four or five miles in Hyde Park, is, 

 at this moment, fairly filled ■With private carriages Of all degrees. 

 Sere are heavy coaches and four, with postilions and footmen, and 

 masMve carriages eibblazoned with family crests and gay with all 

 the brilliancy of gold and crimson liveries ; yonder superb barouchi^ 

 with eight spirited horses and numerous outriders, is the royal 

 equipage, aild as you lean forward to catch, a glimpse 6f . the sov- 

 ereign, the close coach, of the hero of Waterloo;' the servants with 

 cockades in their hate; dashes past you the other way at a rate so 

 rapid that you doubt if he who rides within, is Out merely for an 

 airiog. Yonder tasteful turn-but' with liv'eries of a peculiar delicate 

 mulberry, with only a single tall figure in the, coach, is the Duke 'of 

 Devonshire's. Here is the carriage tff one of the foreign ambassa- 

 dors, less showy and lightfer than the : En^ish vehicles, and that 

 pretty phaeton drawn by two beautiful blood horses, is, you sfee, 

 driven by a woman of extraordinary beauty, with extraordin^iy 

 skill. She is quite alone, and behind her sits a, footman with his 

 arms folded, his face as grave and solemh as stones that have ser- 

 mons in tliem. As you express your surprise at the air of conscious 

 •{grace with which the lady drives," your London friend quietly re- 

 marks, " Yes, but she is not a lady." Unceasingly the carriages 

 roll by, and you are less astonished at thei numberless superb equi- 

 pages or the beauty of the horses, than at the old-world a,ir of the 

 footmen in gold a,nd silver lace, gaudy liveries, spotless linen and 

 snowy silk stockings. Some of the grand old Coachmen in full- 

 powdered wigs, decked in all the glory of laced coats and silkeil 

 calves, held the ribbons with such a conscisus air of imposing 

 grandeur that Iwillingly accepted them as the tree-pcBonias, the 

 most blooming blossoms of this parterre of equipage. It seemed 



