This ground was country when building was begun, and when one thinks of the streets and crescents that grow up when the country touches the town, and the incongruous ugliness of most of them, there is much to be said for the substantial uniformity of Regent’s Park. What can be argued from the surroundings of the other parks? Would Regent’s Park have been improved by the erection of rows of houses of the Queen Anne’s Mansion type? One cannot help wondering what Stowe would have thought of such a production, when he instances “a remarkable punishment of Pride in high buildings,” how a man who built himself a tower in Lime Street, to overlook his neighbours, was very soon “tormented with gouts in his joynts, of his hands and legs”--that he could go no “further than he was led, much lesse was he able to climbe” his tower! What retribution would he have thought sufficiently severe for the perpetrators of Park Row Buildings, New York, with their thirty-two storeys? Anyhow, Regent’s Park was welcomed by the generation who watched it grow. A writer in 1823 says: “When first we saw that Marylebone Fields were enclosed, and that the hedgerow walks which twined through them were gradually being obliterated and the whole district artificially laid out, ... we underwent a painful feeling or two.... A few years, however, have elapsed, and we are not only reconciled to the change alluded to, but rejoice in it. A noble Park is rapidly rising up, and a vast space, close to the metropolis, not only preserved from the encroachment of mean buildings, but laid out with groves, lakes, and villas, ... while through the place there is a winding road, which commands at every turn some fresh feature of an extensive country prospect.” This enthusiast winds up by saying, “We do not envy the apathy of the Englishman who can walk through these splendid piles without feeling his heart swell with national pride.” We may smile at such high-sounding language, but, after all, it was an innocent form for national pride to take. The special feature which the plan of the Park embraced, was the villas, standing in their own pleasure grounds. These were all built in the same Grecian style--most of them designed by Decimus Burton, who was also the architect of Cornwall Terrace, the only one not by Nash. St. Dunstan’s Villa, now belonging to Lord Aldenham, and containing his precious library, was his work. It was built by the Marquis of Hertford, and the name is taken from the two giant wooden figures of Gog and Magog, which formerly stood by St. Dunstan’s Church in Fleet Street. They had been placed there in 1671, and struck the hours on a large clock (the work of Thomas Harrys), one of the curiosities of the City. It was with reference to them that Cowper’s lines on a feeble, uninspired poet were written:--