DEAR

London, May, 1841.

This

My first acquaintance in the metropolis I formed under peculiar circumstances. morning, before breakfast, as I was turning with rapidity a corner in the hall, I came in contact with a gentleman who was advancing as fast towards me, and the shock was so violent that it threw us both upon the floor. Our hats went in one direction, our canes in another, and our persons were displayed at full length upon the carpet, very much to the amusement of the chamber-maid, who had the impudence to laugh at our misfortune. When I had recovered my senses, so as to ascertain what had happened, I turned to the gentleman and remarked, that if he would have the goodness to wait till I had more leisurely taken my bearings,

I would make all proper apologies; but that just at present, I felt more inclined to look after myself, to know to what extent I had suffered by the concussion. "And I, sir," he replied, as he rose up, "should like the same privilege. I declare, sir, that shock was worthy a tournament ground. I'll exchange cards with you if you please, sir, and we may hope that our acquaintance may be prosecuted in a more agreeable manner."

I have many times since blessed the good fortune which brought us together. Nothing could have happened better. We gathered up our goods and chattels, which lay dispersed about the hall, and breakfasted in company. Before we rose from the table, each had told his story, and felt on terms of intimacy. "Now," said Captain Manners (this is not the real name), "you are anxious to see London, and I have nothing to do but show it to you. I believe I am familiar with almost every part of the metropolis; for I have passed the last ten years here, and I do not know that I was

ever tired of wandering round London. It is a glorious place: nothing would tempt me to live anywhere else. I can tell you a thousand things about it which I think you will not be able to find in books; and if you are a good walker, we will set out, and a walk of twenty or thirty miles will give you a general idea of this immense city."

We turned into Cheapside, St. Paul's Churchyard, Ludgate Hill, and Fleet Street (which is all one great thoroughfare under different names), and stopped at Cruchley's shop, where we obtained his fine pocket-map, with which a stranger may pass through every part of London without asking his way. The crowd which is continually pouring, like a rushing torrent, through the great thoroughfares of the metropolis, can scarcely be conceived, until one mingles in it. We were in the midst of a dense mass of human beings, each of whom seemed to be bent upon his own business with so much earnestness as to have no care for the thousands who were drifting by,

and all hurrying on with that restless gait with which people walk in large cities; careless of the occupations, the joys, or the sorrows of all but themselves. Yes, I was in London, the largest city in the world, where there are nearly as many people crowded together into an arena of 14,000 square acres, as there are in the whole city and state of NewYork; a city whose foundations where laid as long ago as when

Paul was preaching on Mars Hill: where the

Romans, the Britons, the Saxons, the Danes, and the Normans have come,

one after another, to erect their thrones and pass away. We stood on Waterloo Bridge, and looked down upon the Thames, which has rolled his current changelessly along, while hundreds of successive generations have come and gone upon its banks. It is a narrow, turbid stream; and when the tide, which rises very high, is down, the shores are intolerably filthy, composing a grand arena of mud, which makes one wish that the Ohio could once roll her waters through the channel of old Thames,

66

and show him how pure they would leave his banks. But some philosophers have said that utility is one element of beauty; and, if so, the Thames is certainly a beautiful stream; for London would do but poorly without this little river. The paddy remarked of his friend who lost his head in the rebellion, that although his head was of no great value to others, it was a sore loss to himself." To an American, the Thames seems like a mere eelcreek; but it is, nevertheless, the life-blood of London. On the bosom of this river, rides no inconsiderable proportion of the commercial wealth of the world. It is spanned by six stately bridges, built of stone or iron. They are all grand structures, and present a fine view from the water, with the crowds which continually throng them. Their order, commencing at the west, is Vauxhall, which is of cast iron, with nine arches, each span being 78 feet, and completed in 1816, at a cost of about, £180,000. Westminster is built of stone, of five arches, 1223 feet in length, com