"Of all strange people in the world, Mr. G. J. Holyoake and the Archbishop of Canterbury have been in correspondence--and not in unfriendly correspondence either. Mr. Holyoake, on behalf of himself and some friends like-minded, ventured to draw the Archbishop's attention to the fact that just opposite Lambeth Palace was a nest of very poor and squalid dwellings, in which many families were crowded together, without any regard for either decency or sanitary law. The only chance of looking upon anything green that the children of these poor people could have would be in the grounds that surround the Primate's dwelling, and these were absolutely shut off from their view by a high dead wall. In some cases a former Archbishop had actually ordered the windows of these miserable houses to be blocked up, and opened in another direction, in order, we suppose, that the Archiepiscopal eyes might not be offended by the sight of such unpleasant neighbours." The writer ended by expressing the hope that if the Archbishop could not open the grounds he might substitute "pervious palisades" for the stone walls impervious to the curious and wistful eyes of children. For reasons which will appear, the subject slumbered for four years, when I addressed the following letter to the editors of the _Telegraph_ and the _Times_, which appeared December 20, 1882:-- "Sir,--On returning to England I read an announcement that the Lambeth Vestry had resolved to send a memorial to the Queen praying that the nine acres of field, now devoted to sheep, adjoining the Archbishop of Canterbury's Palace garden, may be appropriated to public recreation in that crowded and verdureless parish. Four years ago I sent a memorial upon this subject to the late Archbishop. It set forth that the parish was so densely populated that it would be an act of mercy to throw open the sheep fields to the poor children of the neighbourhood. It expressed the hope that Mrs. Tait, whose compassionate nature was known to the people, would plead for these little ones, who lived and died at her very door, as it were, seeing no green thing during all their wretched days. I visited poor women in the street next to the fields who brought fever-stricken children to the door wrapped in shawls. Their mothers told me how glad they should be were the gates open, that the little ones, whose only recreation ground was the gutter, could enter at will. The memorial--if I remember accurately, for I cannot refer to it as I write--stated that the houses which, as built, overlooked the fields, had had the windows bricked in by order of a former Archbishop, because they overlooked the garden. I was taken to the rooms and found that the view was closed up. The trees of the garden have well grown now, and a telescope could not reveal walkers therein. The late Archbishop sent me a kindly reply, but it did not answer my question, which was that, if his Grace could not consent to open the gates to his humble friends, we