The palmy days of St. James's Park may have passed away-no longer is the fate of nations and the happiness of lives decided under its ancient elms-but those days have left their mark. Every path, every tree, every green-sward, could tell its story. The Park is now more beautiful than it ever was, even though fashion has deserted it. The last changes are but one more link in the long historic chain. It brings the Park of the Stuarts the Mall of the Queen Anne's age of letters, down to our own great Queen and the days of Expansion and Empire. A stroll under its shady trees and by its sparkling water must be replete with suggestions to the moralist, with thoughts to the poet, and with an inexpressible charm to the ordinary appreciative Londoner.
