London is, however, extremely improved in the direction of Regent Street, Portland Place, and the Regent's Park. Now, for the first time, it has the air of a seat of Government (Residenz), and not of an immeasurable metropolis of 'shopkeepers,' to use Napoleon's expression. Although poor Mr. Nash (an architect who has great influence over the King, and is the chief originator of these improvements) has fared so ill at the hands of connoisseurs,--and it cannot be denied that his buildings are a jumble of every sort of style, the result of which is rather 'baroque' than original,--yet the country is, in my opinion, much indebted to him for conceiving and executing such gigantic designs for the improvement of the metropolis. The greater part too is still 'in petto,' but will doubtless soon be called into existence by English opulence and the universal rage for building. It's true, one must not look too nicely into the details. The church, for instance, which serves as 'point de vue' to Regent Street, ends in a ridiculous spire, while every part seems at variance with every other. It is a strange architectural monster. There is an admirable caricature, in which Mr. Nash, a very small shrivelled man, is represented booted and spurred, riding spitted on the point of the spire. Below is the inscription "_National_ (sounded _nashional_) _taste_." Many such monstrosities might be mentioned. Among others, on a balcony which adorns the largest mansion in the Regent's Park, there are four figures squeezed flat against the wall, whose purpose or import is extremely mysterious. They are clad in a sort of dressing-gown, whence we gather that they are at least designed for human figures. Perhaps they are emblems of an hospital; for these apparent palaces, like that at Potsdam, have unity and grandeur in their façade alone. They are often, in fact, only a conglomeration of small houses dedicated to the purposes of trade, manufacture, or what not.