e results of horticultural skill, appear in all their beauty. There are
also conservatories, in which every beauty of the flower-garden may be
obtained, from the rare exotic to the simplest native flower. The Floral
Hall, close to Covent Garden Opera House, has an entrance from the
northeast corner of the market, to which it is a sort of appendage, and to
the theatre. Balls, concerts, etc., are occasionally given here. The
Farringdon, Borough, Portman, Spitalfields, and other vegetable markets,
are small imitations of that at Covent Garden.

The greater part of the _corn_, meaning, in this case, _wheat_, as well as
maize, as Indian corn is known throughout Great Britain, used for bread
and other purposes in the metropolis, is sold by corn-factors at the Corn
Exchange, Mark Lane; but the corn itself is not taken to that place.
Enormous quantities of flour are also brought in, having been ground at
mills in the country and in foreign parts.

The _beer_ and _ale_ consumed in the metropolis is, of course, vast in
quantity, beyond comprehension to the layman. If one could obtain
admission to one of the long-standing establishments of Messrs. Barclay &
Perkins or Truman & Hanbury, whose names are more than familiar to all who
travel London streets, he would there see vessels and operations
astonishing for their magnitude--bins that are filled with 2,000 quarters
of malt every week; brewing-rooms nearly as large as Westminster Hall;
fermenting vessels holding 1,500 barrels each; a beer-tank large enough to
float an up-river steamer; vats containing 100,000 gallons each; and
60,000 casks.

PAST AND PRESENT

The American is keenly alive to all the natural and added beauties of
English life, and even more so of London. He does not like to have his
ideals dispelled, or to find that some shrine at which he would worship
has disappeared for ever, like some "solemn vision and bright silver
dream," as becomes a minstrel. For him are the traditions and
associations, the sights and sounds, which, as he justly says, have no
meaning or no existence for the "fashionable lounger" and the "casual
passenger." "The Barbican does not to every one summon the austere memory
of Milton; nor Holborn raise the melancholy shade of Chatterton; nor Tower
Hill arouse the gloomy ghost of Otway; nor Hampstead lure forth the sunny
figure of Steele and the passionate face of Keats; nor old Northumberland
Street suggest the burly presence of 'rare