“On one side of this terrace, a wall covered with roses and jessamines is made low, to admit the view of a meadow full of cattle just under it, (no disagreeable object in the midst of a great city) and at each end a descent into parterres, with fountains and water-works. From the biggest of these parterres we pass into a little square garden, that has a fountain in the middle, and two green-houses on the sides, with a convenient bathing apartment in one of them; and near another part of it lies a flower garden. Below all this a kitchen garden, full of the best sorts of fruits, has several walks in it fit for the coldest weather. “Thus I have done with a tedious description; only one thing I forgot, though of more satisfaction to me than all the rest, which I fancy you guess already; and ’tis a little closet of books at the end of that green-house which joins the best apartment, which besides their being so very near, are ranked in such a method, that by its mark a very Irish footman may fetch any book I want. Under the windows of this closet and green-house, is a little wilderness full of blackbirds and nightingales. The trees, tho’ planted by myself, require lopping already, to prevent their hindring the view of that fine canal in the Park. “After all this, to a friend I’ll expose my weakness, as an instance of the mind’s unquietness under the most pleasing enjoyments. I am oftener missing a pretty gallery in the old house I pulled down, than pleased with a saloon which I built in its stead, though a thousand times better after in all manner of respects. “And now (_pour fair bonne bouche_, with a grave reflection) it were well for us, if this incapacity of being entirely contented was as sure a proof of our being reserved for happiness in another world, as it is of our frailty and imperfection in this. I confess the divines tell us so, but tho’ I believe a future state more firmly than a great many of them appear to do, by their inordinate desires of the good things in this; yet I own my faith is founded, not on those fallacious arguments of preachers, but on that adorable conjunction of unbounded power and goodness, which certainly must some way recompense hereafter so many thousand of innocent wretches created to be so miserable here.” Footnote 1: Considerable alterations have been made in the house since this letter was written. The water-works in particular no longer exist. BUCKINGHAM _street_, a handsome street, and well inhabited, extends from the Strand to the river Thames, where for the convenience of taking water are built those fine stairs called York stairs. The street is thus called from John Villars Duke of Buckingham. See YORK BUILDINGS, and YORK STAIRS.