Marylebone Gardens, he says: " Ladies
walked about in their hoops, sacques, and
caps, resplendent in brocaded silks and
satins, as though they were lounging in
their own drawing-rooms. In their suite
moved a courtly throng of powdered
gallants, their hats under their arms, the
persuasive rapier, that counselled a civil
tongue, on their hips, and a style and
bearing with them that savoured greatly of
St. James's." Even so late as 1823, the
regulations at Vauxhall, with regard to
becoming costume, were remarkably stringent,
and none could hope for admission
unless suitably attired. In those days,
dukes and princes of the blood sauntered
away a few hours beneath the sparkling
arcades of parti-coloured lamps. There
was none of that indecent mobbing then,
which now drives royalty from every place
of public resort—perhaps, however, at the
time we speak of, people were more
accustomed to the sight and companionship of
princes than they are now.

The Crystal Palace, as a garden alone,
serves to bring all classes of our pleasure-
seekers together; but there the amusement
offered is of a most exceptional character,
and it would be strange, indeed, if its
beautiful courts did not in some degree
humanise the most illiterate and uncivilised
of those who throng its galleries and
terraces. This glorious hall of
entertainments appeals as much to the intellect
as to the senses, and except, perhaps, at
the great firework fetes, the " cad" element
is not strongly represented. It is to this
element, which is gaining ground every
day, that we owe all the discomfort
incidental to our out-door gatherings, and to
the shame of many of the proprietors of
public gardens, the cad is too often the
only person catered for, and thus fostered
and made much of.

But to return to the point from which we
started. We seem, as a people, to have lost
in these days our taste, if, indeed, we ever
strongly possessed it, for evenings out of
doors, though some proprietors of suburban
gardens may hold a contrary opinion.
The patrons, however, of these places are
scarcely to be taken as worthy representatives
of our population, and even this class
can only be induced to spend its money by
having placed before it the highest spiced
dishes. Of the style of entertainment and
of the quality of the frequenters of the
places mentioned, I shall have something
to say by-and-bye. Whatever may be the
cause, we are, undoubtedly, with the exceptions
quoted, inimical to garden life.
Of course I do not include the exquisite
morning gatherings at the Royal Botanical
or the Horticultural; my business is
with those places which display their glories
after dark, and are supposed to provide relaxation
for the labouring masses of eveiy
degree.

In 1866, I spent a few weeks of the
summer in Vienna, and my favourite lounge
of an evening was the Volksgarten. For
the small sum of tenpence I could delight
my ears with the best of classical music,
and the delightfully inspiriting measures
of Strauss. There was a brilliantly
illuminated pavilion, from which came the
sighing sweep of a hundred bows, now
rising, now falling in measured cadence
to the movement of the magic baton.
There were innumerable gas-trees laden
with luminous fruit; and arranged
symmetrically, that all who were seated might
see and hear, were marble tables and
clustering chairs. Omnipresent waiters darted
hither and thither, obedient to the thirsty
desires of a well-ordered crowd. And such
a crowd! Surely, nowhere else could so
many lions have been seen, for tenpence.
I recollect one evening which is especially
worthy of being quoted. At the third table
from that at which I was engaged with an
ice, were seated the King of Hanover, the
Crown Prince of Saxony, Prince and Princess
Teck, Lord Bloomfield, and the Duc de
Grammont. Lounging about were two or
three archdukes, and a number of generals
and superior officers, all in uniform, and a
plentiful sprinkling of attachés and ministerial
employés sauntered in the alleys, or
sipped their coffee in front of the orchestra.
As for counts and barons, their name was
legion, and it was difficult, indeed, to make
one's way along the promenade without
jostling, or being jostled, by some Hungarian
magnate or Austrian noble. Glancing
at the table immediately to my left,
I was politely saluted by a raised hat.
The gentleman who vouchsafed me this
recognition and courtesy was a shopkeeper
on the Graben, from whom I had that
morning purchased a cigar-case. He had
brought his wife and beautifully dressed
children, and the happy family, unawed
by, and scarcely noticing the blue-blooded
aristocracy in their vicinity, were giving
their undivided attention to cakes and
iced lemonade. My landlord was also
present with his daughters, and a cabinet-
maker, whom I had often seen toiling at
his bench, from my window, paused at my