No one can realise, without personal experience, the number and variety of pleasures accessible to the resident of London. These may not be piquant to him who has them always within his reach. I met with several residents of the British capital who had always intended to visit the Tower but had never done so. But to the stranger they possess a constant and keen fascination. The Derby this year [1877] was thought to be comparatively a tame race; but I know of one spectator who saw it from the top of the grand stand and who thought that the scene it presented was wonderfully brilliant. The sky had been overcast with dull clouds till the moment when the race was won; but just as Archer, rising in his saddle, lifted his horse forward and gained the goal alone, the sun burst forth and shed upon the downs a sheen of gold, and lit up all the distant hills, and all the far-stretching roads that wind away from the region of Epsom like threads of silver through the green. Carrier-pigeons were instantly launched off to London, with the news of the victory of Silvio. There was one winner on the grand stand who had laid bets on Silvio, for no other reason than because that horse bore the prettiest name in the list. The Derby, like Christmas, comes but once a year; but other allurements are almost perennial. Illustration: "Greenwich Hospital." Greenwich, for instance, with its white-bait dinner, invites the epicure during the best part of the London season. A favourite tavern is the Trafalgar--in which each room is named after some magnate of the old British navy; and Nelson, Hardy, and Rodney are household words. Another cheery place of resort is The Ship. The Hospitals are at Greenwich that Dr. Johnson thought to be too fine for a charity; and back of these--which are ordinary enough now, in comparison with modern structures erected for a kindred purpose--stands the famous Observatory that keeps time for Europe. This place is hallowed also by the grave of Clive and by that of Wolfe--to the latter of whom, however, there is a monument in Westminster Abbey. Greenwich makes one think of Queen Elizabeth, who was born there, who often held her court there, and who often sailed thence, in her barge, up the river to Richmond--her favourite retreat and the scene of her last days and her pathetic death. Few spots can compare with Richmond, in brilliancy of landscape. That place--the Shene of old times--was long a royal residence. The woods and meadows that you see from the terrace of the Star and Garter tavern--spread upon a rolling plain as far as the eye can reach--sparkle like emeralds; and the Thames, dotted with little toy-like boats, shines with all the deep lustre of the blackest onyx. Richmond, for those who honour genius and who love to walk in the footsteps of renown, is full of interest. Dean Swift once had a house there, the site of which is still indicated. Pope's rural home was in the adjacent village of Twickenham,--where it may still be seen.