The geological district upon which we now enter, embraces London as nearly the center of its range, from which in every direction, along every line of railway, sections of the tertiary deposits are laid open: cabinets of conchology are to be met with in every pit for forty miles around; and what facilities to visit and examine them all with the speed of the wind. Not a spot but may be reached at a wish, sections more than can be numbered are in every locality, and in half the time one makes the ascent of Schehalion, he has taken the circuit of several counties. London! what can it be likened or compared to? Nothing is so unlike as a simile, and we need not try to describe this emporium of the world by a comparison. It is not Rome nor Thebes, nor Nineveh, nor Babylon, but more than them all in the stirring activities of mere animal existence—more boundless in wealth—more dominant in conquests—more all-embracing in commerce; as deep in its sins, arrogant in its pride, haughty in its supremacy, as Queen City of the nations. About twelve hundred souls are every week added to that dense mass of human beings. As many, nearly, are every week blotted from the sum of mortal existence. No metropolis on this mundane scene ever stood in a similar relation to all other nations and cities of the world, whose every wish, for weal or woe, so affected the destinies of all the families of men. A part of every one of them is therein concentrated. Not a tribe but has its representative. Not a specimen or production of human skill but is borne thither. Genius, wit, industry, ingenuity, are in all their most beautiful creative efforts indelibly embalmed; and were that mighty pile to be ingulfed in the bosom of the waters, out of which its foundations were recently lifted up, the _genus homo_ would, in all its entireness, be conserved together—the type and wonder of our own geological epoch. This city, too, contains everything else that the world contains. A specimen of every living thing is here; and things which cannot live, but pine and die away from their native haunts, have been carefully preserved and skillfully arranged for the inspection of the curious. The kaleidoscope, in all its phantasmagoria of change and infinite diversity of hues, can display nothing half so various as the realities of nature; and types of the entire modern era, from the extinct Dodo to the recently-discovered Moas of Wanganui, are before you in all their diversified forms, from the misshapen and fantastic to the loveliest of earthly creations. When Adam gave names to the creatures of the field, they are simply said to have been “brought unto him to see what he would call them;” every tree pleasant to the sight grew out of the ground; and Eve, Milton beautifully represents “went forth among her fruits and flowers, To visit how they prosper’d, bud and bloom, Her nursery; they at her coming sprung.”