Addiscombe Place, the seminary for cadets of the East India Company; of Shirley, the sporting seat of John Maberly, Esq.  M.P.; of the Addington hills clothed with heaths; and of the park, the seat of his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury; when the prospect, deepening in extent, stretches as far as Knockholt Beeches, near Seven Oaks, and, winding round, comprehends the tall spire of Beckenham Church, piercing through the dense woods which surround it; Shooter’s Hill, Blackheath, and the villages that intervene.

Immediately beneath you are the grounds of the Spa, every portion of which can be distinctly traced from this spot:  the lodge, lawn, refreshment-room, spring, and orchestra, as we have described them, and the paths winding among the woods till they disappear as it were in trackless solitude.

Dr. Weatherhead’s pamphlet treats copiously, but in a popular style, of the medicinal properties of the Spa.  The terms for drinking the waters are furnished at the lodge, where the visiter may smile at the remedy being set to music, in the melodies of the Beulah Spring Quadrilles.  It may prevent some disappointment by stating that the Grounds are not opened to the public on Sundays.

    [1] By accurate observation the height of the fog, relatively with
        the higher edifices, whose elevation is known, it has been
        ascertained that the fogs of London never rise more than from
        two hundred to two hundred and forty feet above the same level.

    [2] Who does not remember the traditionary notoriety of Margaret
        Finch?

    [3] The private property of the estate, and attached to the Spa.

    [4] We drank a half-pint tumbler of the water, which, as Dr.
        Weatherhead observes, is bitter without being disagreeable. 
        Its flavour is that of Sulphate of Magnesia, or Epsom Salts;
        and we should say that our modicum might be imitated by
        dissolving a dram of the above ingredient in half-a-pint of
        pure water.

* * * * *

RETROSPECTIVE GLEANINGS.

Ancient laws.

The following quaint observations possess peculiar interest at the present moment: 

“Among the ancient Druids,” says Mr. Owen Feltham, “it was absolutely forbidden to register their laws in writing.  And Caesar, in his Gallique Wars, gives us two reasons for it.  One, that their mysteries might not come to be profaned and encommoned by the vulgar:  another, that not being written, they might be more careful ever to carry them in their thoughts and memory.  Though doubtless it was as well to preserve their own authority, to keep the people to a recourse to them, and to a reverence and esteem of their judgments.  Besides, it oft falls out that what is written, though it were a good law