The Regency Library
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Simond Excerpt OneExcerpts from Simond's Journal Pages 1-27 _______ 24th December, 1809 We found ourselves, on waking this morning early, anchored on the harbour of Falmouth, where we had arrived in the night, after a speedy and prosperous passage of twenty-one days form America, without a single storm to describe, or any extraordinary occurrence. This harbour is a small basin, surrounded with gentle hills. Looking round, we saw green fields, with cattle grazing,--a grove of trees,--some pines, and many green tufts like laurels. The town of Falmouth,--little, old, and ugly,--was seen on our left, and another assemblage of little old houses on our right, (Flushing); Pendennis Castle behind us, on a mound near the entrance of the harbour. The air was calm and mild,--the sky of a very pale blue,--a light mist hung over the landscape,--and the general impression was peaceful and agreeable: on the surface of the water twenty or thirty ships, mostly packets, and two or three Dutch vessels with licenses,--a strange sort of trade! The custom-house officers mustered in crowds about the ship, ransacking every corner:--Barrels and bags, boxes and hampers of half-consumed provisions, empty bottles and full ones, musty straw and papers, and all that the dampness of a ship, pitch and tallow, and the human species confined in a narrow space, can produce of offensive sights and smells, were exposed to open day. These custom-house officers have seized a certain surplus of stores beyond what a ship is allowed to bring in port, whether the voyage has been long or short. I overheard the head seizer asking the Captain whether he preferred having his wine or his spirits seized; and the Captain seemed to take the proposal in very good part, and told me afterwards the man was very friendly to him. In this general confusion no breakfast could be expected; and permission being procured for the passengers to land, with their baggage, every one was eager to make his escape. I went on shore to reconnoiter, and to secure comfortable quarters, and brought back hot rolls,--an olive-branch to the ark. The houses in a confused heap, crowd on the water; the tide washes their foundations, a black wall, built of rough stones, that stand on end, to facilitate the draining of the water, and steps overgrown with sea-weeds, to ascend to the doors. Through one of these odd entrances I introduced my companions to the hotel,--a strange, old, low building, extremely neat inside, with a tempting larder full in view, displaying on shelves of tiles, fish of all sorts, fat fowls &c. Well-dressed servants, civil and attentive, wait our commands. We are put in possession of a sitting-room and two bed-rooms. Our windows overlook two or three diminutive streets without foot-paths,--too narrow, indeed, for any,--all up and down, and crooked. It is Sunday. The men are, many of them, in volunteer uniforms, and look well enough for citizen soldiers; the women highly dressed, or rather highly undressed, in extremely thin draperies, move about with an elastic gait on the light fantastic pattern, making a universal clatter of iron on pavement. Ruddy countenances, and embonpoint, are very general and striking. C.'s young astonishment was awakened at the sight of a sedan-chair, vibrating along on two poles. A monstrous carriage turned the corner of a street, overladen with passengers,--a dozen, at least on the top, before, and behind; all this resting on four high slender wheels, drawn along full speed on a rough unequal pavement. We observed some men, in old-fashioned cocked-hats with silver lace, compelling a Quaker to shut his shop;--which was opened again the moment they were gone. An elegant post-chaise and four stopped at the door. A young man, fat and fair, with the face and figure of a baby, six feet high, alighted from it; it was the Marquis of S. the first man of quality we had seen in England. He goes, we are told, to lounge away his ennui and his idleness beyond seas--a premature attack of the maladie du pays. The English maladie du pays is of a peculiar character; it is not merely the result of extreme regrets when they have left their country, and that perpetual longing to return, felt by other people, but an equal longing to leave it, and a sense of weariness and satiety all the time they are at home. Dinner announced, suspended our observations; it was served in our own apartments. We had three small dishes, dressed very inartificially (an English cook only boils and roasts), otherwise very good. The table linen and glass, and servants, remarkably neat, and in good order. At the dessert apples no bigger than walnuts, and without taste, which are said to be the best the country produces. December 25.--I have been this morning to the custom-house, with the other passengers, to get our passports. They obtained theirs without difficulty, but I must write to London for mine. Twenty-two years of absence have not expiated the original sin of being born in France: but I have no right to complain,--an Englishman would be worse off in France. We have on our arrival a double allowance of news; those which were coming over to us when we left America, and what has occurred since; an accumulation of about three months. The first thing we learned was an Imperial repudiation and an expected Imperial marriage, which seems to be a great stroke of policy. Political news are no longer what they were formerly; they come home to every man's concerns, and state affairs are become family affairs. December 26.--I have been introduced to several respectable citizens of Falmouth; they all live in very small, old habitations, of which the apartments resemble the cabins of vessels. A new house is a phenomenon. The manners of this remote corner of England have retained a sort of primitive simplicity. I have seen nothing here of the luxury and pride which I expected to find every-where in this warlike and commercial country. There is much despondency about Spain, and but one voice against the Walcheren expedition and against the ministers, who are not expected to withstand the shock of such general dissatisfaction. We have left our hotel, to take furnished lodgings in an elevated part of town--a kind of terrace,--looking down upon the beautiful little harbour and surrounding country. This apartment, composed of very small, neat rooms, costs only a guinea and a half a week, and the people of the house cook and wait on us. This would cost more in the smallest town in America, or in fact could not be had. Domestics are here not only more obliging and industrious, but, what is remarkable, look better pleased and happier. December 30.--The weather has been singularly mild since we landed; the sky cloudy and misty, without absolute rain; a little, and very little sun, seen every day. Fahrenheit's thermometer about 50 degrees.
December 31.--We left Falmouth this morning, in a post-chaise, fairly on our way to London. The country is an extensive moor, covered with furze, a low, thorny bush evergreen, browzed by a few goats and sheep; not a fourth part of the surface is inclosed and cultivated. The total absence of wool is particularly striking to us, who have just arrived from a world of forests. It gives, however, a vastness to the prospect, and opens distances of great beauty; hills behind hills, clothed in brown and green, in an endless undulating line. The roads very narrow, crooked, and dirty continually up and down. The horses we get are by no means good, and draw us with difficulty at the rate of five miles an hour. We change carriages as well as horses at every post-house; they are on four wheels, light and easy, and large enough for three persons. The post-boy sits on a cross bar of wood between the front springs, or rather rests against it. This is safer, and more convenient both for men and horses, but does not look well; and, as far as we have seen, English post-horses and postillions do not seem to deserve their reputation. This country (Cornwall) abounds in mines, which we have not time to visit. There is a singular sort of secondary mine, called stream-tin; the metal is found in very small particles, or rather rounded pebbles, mixed in alluvial clay. January 1, 1810.--From Bodmin, where we slept last night, travelling all day, we have gone only 32 miles, through a very hilly but not unpleasant country; a thick fog hid many a fine view from us. The furze is in full blossom about the hedges; much holly, with rich varnished foliage and bright red berries and ivy, in wild luxuriance, mantling over cottages and trunks of trees. No new houses to be seen; very few young trees; all is old, and mouldering into picturesque forms and colours. The trees are uniformly covered with moss, even to the smallest branches, owing to the prevailing moisture of the climate. We have no creeping plants in North America which preserve their verdure in winter, and the effect of this profusion of ivy is very striking. The mildness of the climate is truly astonishing; geraniums, and other green-house plants, require only shelter, without fire, in winter, and wall-flowers are now in full bloom out of doors. We have seen to-day several gentlemen's houses at a distance, spreading wide and low over fine lawns, with dark back-grounds of pines, and clumps of arbutus and laurel, as green as in spring. Near dusk, we crossed the bay to Plymouth Dock, amidst its floating castles, one of them bearing 90 guns. To-morrow we go to Mount Edgecumbe, if the weather permits. This place struck us as very like Philadelphia, and not the modern part of it. The inhabitants, however, do not look much like Quakers, being mostly army and navy. January 2.--Armed with umbrellas and great-coats, we set out this morning for Mount Edgecumbe, in the midst of a drizzling rain. Crossed the bay at Crimble passage; landed on a strand of firm pebbly sand, near the porter's lodge. It was not the day of admittance, and we were told it was necessary to write to Lord M.E. A note was dispatched, and word returned that we were welcome, and a key given to us, opening all gates with directions to find our way, and no guides to overlook us, which is a refinement of politeness. A gentle ascent of lawn, skirted with old chestnut trees and elms, leads to the house; a plain edifice, half gothic, of a greyish white, with a fine back-ground of trees upon the hill behind. The grounds, which I should judge not to exceed five or six hundred acres, form a sort of headland on the bay. A gravel walk, eight or ten feet wide, leads from the lodge to the house, and turning round it, through the wood behind, brings you to an open lawn, (A) sloping abruptly to the water. A small gothic ruin stands there, of modern erection, near which the walk divides; a branch descending to the sea-side, another keeping along the high grounds, and, after plunging again into the shade of a dark wood, and passing through groves of evergreen trees and shrubs, advances along the precipitous heights, (B) where the sight, unchecked by any trees, and from an elevation of two or three hundred feet, embraces at once the ocean on the right; in front, on the other side of the bay, at about one mile distance, a line of buildings, like an immense town, broken and diversified by fortifications, arsenals, batteries &c. so as not to look like a mere field of roofs and chimneys; and, in bird's-eye view, line-of-battle ships and frigates passing under your feet, with as little ceremony as boats on a river, ascends higher grounds still, to a plain on the top, where an old gothic church stands, (C) with a tower serving for signals. A path along the heights, and across a wood brings you back to the place of beginning,--a walk of two or three miles, which took us something less than three hours. There is nothing done at Mount Edgecumbe which a gentleman of moderate fortune could not perform; and nature herself has been at no great expense of bold rocks or mountains; it is a lump of earth sloping to the water, more or less abruptly, but with great variety, and deeply indented with bays. The great charm is the contrast of the loveliness and retirement of the objects near you, with the lively scene and richness, and immensity, bursting on the view here and there; and, upon the whole, this comes nearer to my ideas of beauty than any spot I ever saw. The green walk, particularly, I shall ever recollect. Laurels of such bright verdure, with large shining leaves, the arbutus, and laurustinus, covered with blossoms; another evergreen tree, resembling the wild cherry of America, (Portugal laurel we are told); then such draperies of ivy, in ample folds over the rocks and trees; such pines with moss of all colours, along the trunk and branches; and on the ground turf as vivid as in the spring, with daisies and periwinkles in flower, and fern, and furze with papilionaceious blossoms. Then through the trees, far below, the surf breaking in measured time, and spreading its white foam among the black rocks of the shore. The sun had no share in the splendour of the scene, for it was not visible, nor any part of the sky; a misty, drizzly something, like rain, drove along in the blast, and made us tolerably wet; particularly as some deceitful appearances of fair weather, and the heat, had induced us to leave our umbrellas and great coats at the lodge. On our return to the hotel, we shifted and dried ourselves; and called for a post-chaise, and pursued our journey through an endless succession of streets and arsenals, and dock-yards, and barracks, two miles in length; some of which we might have seen, but felt no sort of inclination. At last we regained the country; it is pretty enough; the same waving surface checquered with enclosures, and dotted with cottages and gentlemen's houses, all with their dark masses of pines and firs, and the same thickets of laurel, arbutus, and laurestinus, as at Mount Edgecumbe. The cottages are all thatched, the walls partly stone, and partly pise and with casements. The people, in general, look healthy and clean; much fewer children to be seen about the houses than in America. January 3.-Slept at Ivy-bridge, a pretty name and a pretty place;--wall-flowers full blown here, and in many places on the road,--and of course much ivy about it, and a clear, boisterous little stream. The house superlatively comfortable; such empressement to receive you;--such readiness to fulfill every wish, as soon as expressed,--such good rooms, and so well furnished,--such good things to eat, and so well dressed this is really the land of conveniences, and it is not to be wondered at that the English should complain of foreign inconveniences in travelling. All this politeness and zeal has, no doubt a sordid motive; you are caressed for your money; but the caresses of the world have not in general a much purer motive. The semblance of benevolence should not be blamed hastily. Fair raiments do not always cover a fair skin. It may be as well to remain ignorant of the defects of the mind, as of those of the person; to suspect them is quite enough. The roads are far from magnificent; they are generally just wide enough for two carriages; without ditches, not deep. A high artificial bank of stone and earth, with bushes growing on the top, too often intercepts all view beyond the next bend of the road, not a hundred yards of which is visible at one time. The horses are in general weak and tired, and unmercifully whipt,--so much so, as to induce us often to interfere in their behalf, choosing rather to go slower than to witness such cruelty. January 4.-We slept last night at Exeter, and are arrived at Taunton; 64 miles in two days. We are in no haste. The approach to Exeter is very fine; you see from a hill the vast extent of country below, with an estuary at a distance, and hills in gentle swells lost in the horizon; it gives the idea of an ocean of cultivation. The cathedral is a venerable pile, built in the year 900 (my information comes from the old woman who shewed it). Outside it appeared to me less light and airy than Gothic architecture generally is, according to my recollections. Objects seen again, after an interval of many years, appear no longer the same, although unchanged in reality, and although we have not seen, in the mean time, any other objects of the same kind that could alter the scale of our ideas. Memory is not a book where things and events are recorded, but rather a field where seeds grow, come to maturity, and die. The silent operation of time on all that lives, perfecting and destroying in regular succession, seems to extent to the mechanical skill of our fingers. The artist draws better after having laid down his pencil for some time, or plays better on an instrument; fencing, swimming, are improved likewise. We have, however, neither studied nor practised; the mind, as far as we know, has been inactive, as well as the hand should we know little before the interruption, we are apt indeed to forget that little; but if the skill was sufficiently perfect, it increases during a certain period of inaction; becomes stationary when longer intermitted; and is lost by protracted disuse. The inside of the church is too light, I mean too edaire, and the painted windows are not good. Those at one end were painted 400 years ago, my old woman said, and the other end within her remembrance; the one too early, probably to be good, and the other too late. But when the service began, we forgot the church, and every thing else, in the beauty of the chant;--angels in heaven cannot sing better! The organ, sweet, powerful, and solemn, formed a single accompaniment, without foppish flourishing;--the whole effect superior to my recollections of the plain chant. Music and poetry are certainly nearly allied; one is the mellow and vague distance, where all is blended into harmony, the other is the vigorous foreground where every object is clearly defined and distinctly seen; the one awakens poetical enthusiasm in yourself; the other shews you what is produced in others. The roads are full of soldiers on foot and in carriages, travelling towards Plymouth;--Portugal and India supposed to be their destination. The villages along the road are in general not beautiful,--they houses are very poor indeed; the walls old and rough, but the windows generally whole and clean; no old hats or bundles of rags stuck in, as in America, where people build but do not repair. Peeping in, as we pass along, the floors appear to be a pavement of round stones like the streets,--a few seats, in the form of short benches,--a table or two,--a spinning-wheel,--a few shelves,--and just about now (Christmas), ever-greens hanging about. The people appear healthy, and not in rags, but not remarkably stout; the women, I think, are more so in proportion than the men. We meet very few beggars, and those old and infirm. Farm houses with their outbuildings, look remarkably neat, and in great order; near them we see stacks of hay and straw, of prodigious size, covered with slight thatching, and over that a sort of net of straw, to prevent the wind disturbing the thatch. Industry, method, and good order are conspicuous everywhere. Most of the land is in meadow. Turnips are enormous; some as large as a man's head. The cattle do not look different from ours. We meet, however, with more picturesque horses than in America, with big, shaggy legs and heavy heads. January 5.-Arrived in the evening at Bristol, 48 miles in eight hours, stoppages included; the horses better. On approaching Bristol, you see, from an elevation, a ridge on the left, covered with country-houses, groves of trees and green fields. The ridge is intersected by a deep gap, near which a confused heap of roofs, towers, and steeples, and smoke, mark the town; dirty suburbs succeeded to this view; then a bridge over a mean and muddy stream; through crowded streets we arrive at The Bush. The next morning shewed us, opposite our windows, a large building of freestone, in excellent style, The Exchange. Taking a guide, I called upon those for whom we had letters, and have been obligingly received. English hospitality is not in high repute;--so far, we have had no reason to complain of it. There is a look of comfort and neatness in the inside of houses, which is very striking, everything is substantial and good, and uniformly so in all parts of the house; and as to the table, Lucullus dines with Lucullus every day, and little addition appears necessary should a few friends come unexpectedly. The creditable and decent look of the servants is no less remarkable and they are the mainspring of all other comforts. I am perfectly aware that there are many people who have no servants, and hardly bread to eat, and whose habitual state is labour and poverty. Although I have had no opportunity, as yet of becoming acquainted with the situation of that class of people, I have necessarily seen them at their daily labour, in traversing the country, and I have had a glimpse of their habitations. All I can say is, that the poor do not look so poor here as in other countries; that poverty does not intrude on your sight; and that it is necessary to seek it. All human societies are full of it,--here it does not overflow certainly. One of the best houses, and in the finest situation (Clifton) cost 220 pounds sterling a year, taxes included; good-houses, in an old-fashioned part of town, are not one-fourth part of that rent. The wages of a man-servant, 35 pounds sterling, a woman-cook 15 pounds sterling; meat sixpence and eightpence the pound. We went to see the Hot-Wells, a harmless medical spring. The river passes there the deep gap which we had seen on approaching the town, through a calcareous ridge about 200 feet high;--the tide rises here 20 feet and upwards. Immense docks have been built, or rather a new bed has been dug for the river, and the old one closed by flood-gates, forms a natural basin for shipping. We saw, however, but few vessels. The trade of this port is rather diminishing; notwithstanding this, the town increases and looks more considerable, better built and more opulent than New York. January 8.-We arrived at Bath last night. The chaise drew up in style at the White Hart. Two well-dressed footmen were ready to help us to alight, presenting an arm on each side. Then a loud bell on the stairs, and lights carried before us to an elegantly furnished sitting-room, where the fire was already blazing. In a few minutes, a neat-looking chamber-maid with an ample white apron, pinned behind, came to offer her services to the ladies, and shew them bed-rooms. In less than half an hour, five powdered gentlemen burst into the room with three dishes &c. and two remained to wait. I give this as a sample of the best, or rather the finest of inns. Our bill was 2 pounds 11s sterling, dinner for three, tea, beds, and breakfast. The servants have no wages-but, depending on the generosity of travellers, they find it their interest to please them. They (the servants) cost us about five shillings a-day. This morning we have explored the town, which is certainly very beautiful. It is built of freestone of a fine cream-colour, and contains several public edifices in good taste. We remarked a circular place called the Crescent, another called the Circus;--and all the streets straight and regular. The town looks as if it had been cast in a mould all at once; so new, so fresh, and regular. The building where the medical water is drank, and where the baths are, exhibits very different objects; human nature, old, infirm, and in ruins, or weary and ennuye. Bath is a sort of great monastery, inhabited by single people, particularly superannuated females. No trade, no manufacturers, no occupations of any sort, except that of killing time, the most labourious of all. Half of the inhabitants do nothing, the other half supply them with nothings: Multitudes of splendid shops, full of all that wealth and luxury can desire, arranged with all the arts of seduction. Being in haste, and not equipped for the place, we left it at three o'clock, dined and slept 14 miles off on the direct road to London. During our ride, we saw a little stream appear here and there among the willows in the vale below. I asked a woman at the toll-gate what the name of it was: "Sure, sir, the Avon!" it is not easy to avoid failing in respect to English rivers, by mistaking them for rivulets. I have heard an Englishman, who was amusing himself with the ignorance prevalent in foreign countries, tell a story of a lady, who said to him "Have you in England any rivers like this?" (the Seine); but interrupting herself, added laughingly, "Good God, how can I be so silly, it is an island; there are no rivers!" I really think the lady was not so very much in the wrong. The country is beautiful, rich and varied with villas and mansions, and dark groves of pines,--shrubs in full bloom, lawns ever green, and gravel walks so neat,--with porter's lodges, built in rough-cast, and stuck all over with flints in their native grotesqueness; for this part of England is a great bed of chalk, full of this singular production (flints). They are broken to pieces with hammers, and spread over the road in thick layers, forming a hard and even surface, upon which the wheels of carriages make no impression. The roads are now wider; kept in good repair, and not deep, notwithstanding the season. The post-horses excellent; and post boys riding instead of sitting. Our rate of travelling does not exceed six miles an hour, stoppages included; but we might go faster if we desired it. We meet with very few post-chaises, but a great many stage-coaches, mails &c. and enormous broad-wheel waggons. The comfort of the inns is our incessant theme at night,--the pleasure of it not yet worn out. January 11.-We arrived yesterday at Richmond. F____ felt a sort of dread and impatience to meet new-old friends, and approached the Green with no very enviable feelings. I knew the house immediately, from the drawing I had seen of it. Nothing can be more friendly than the reception we have met, and I feel already at my ease. Generally an inn is vastly preferable at the end of a journey to a friend's house,--unless a friend indeed: and I have said before, on such occasions, I hate a friend; but here I have felt at my ease from the first moment. This morning I set out by myself for town, as London is called par excellence, in the stage-coach, crammed inside, and heriseeê outside with passengers of all sexes, ages, and conditions. We stopped more than twenty times on the road-the debates about the fare of way-passengers-the settling themselves-the getting up, and the getting down, and damsels shewing their legs in the operation, and tearing and mudding their petticoats-complaining and swearing-took an immense time. I never saw any thing so ill managed. In about two hours we reached Hyde Park corner; I liked the appearance of it; but we were soon lost in a maze of busy, smoky, dirty streets, more and more so as we advanced. A sort of uniform dinginess seemed to pervade every thing, that is, the exterior; for through every open door and window, the interior of the house, the shops at least, which are most seen, presented, as we drove along, appearances and colours most opposite to this dinginess; every thing there was clean, fresh, and brilliant. The elevated pavement on each side of the streets full of walkers, out of the reach of carriages, passing swiftly in two lines, without awkward interference, each taking to the right. At last a very indifferent street brought us in front of a magnificent temple, which I knew immediately to be St. Paul's, and I left the vehicle to examine it. The effect was wonderfully beautiful; but it had less vastness than grace and magnificence. the colour struck me as strange,--very black and very white, in patches which envelope sometimes half a column; the base of one, the capital of another;--here, a whole row quite black,--there, as white as chalk. It seemed as if there had been a fall of snow, and it adhered unequally. The cause of this is evidently the smoke which covers London; but it is difficult to account for its unequal operation. This singularity has not the bad effect which might be expected from it. I had not time for any long examination, and felt uneasy and helpless in the middle of an immense town, of which I did not know a single street. A hackney-coach seemed the readiest way to extricate myself, and I took one. After being dragged slowly along many short, winding, dark, and crowded streets, and missing my letters, which had just been sent to Richmond, I met with a friend, who took me under his protection; dismissed my hackney-coach, which was not better, and perhaps worse, than those of Paris, and in which I was surprised to find a litter of straw, which has a very shabby appearance, but, being changed every day, is better than a filthy carpet. My friend conducted me very obligingly back again through the whole town. In our walk we passed several large squares, planted in the middle with large trees and shrubs, over a smooth lawn, intersected with gravel walks; the whole inclosed by an iron railing, which protects these gardens against the populace, but does not intercept the view. The inhabitants of the neighbourhood, who contribute to the expense, have each a key. One of these squares, Lincoln's Inns Fields, appears to contain five or six acres, and is said to be equal to the base of the largest of the pyramids of Egypt. The buildings round are plain houses. I have not observed any thing in this day's rambles above the rank in architecture, or any public buildings of note.* But although the luxury of this people does not resemble the luxury of the Greeks and the Romans, yet they are better lodged. I have heard no cries in the streets,--seen few beggars,--no obstructions or stoppages of carriages,--each taking to the left. We found in Piccadilly a stage-coach ready to start for Bath, by which I could be carried some miles on my way to Richmond; it resembled a ship on four wheels; a sort of half-cylinder; round below, flat above, very long, and divided into three distinct apartments. I was introduced into the cabin by an after-port, and locked in with another passenger. Soon after I had taken my seat, the carriage rattled away full speed. This was much better than my morning conveyance, and I enjoyed the change; but after a few miles, an apprehension seized me of being carried beyond the port to which I was bound, (Kew Bridge). We reached it,--I knew it again,--saw with terror that we passed it, and that I was swept away with alarming velocity, like Robinson Crusoe from his island. I endeavoured in vain to call, or to open the door. At last the carriage stopped unexpectedly, little more than a quarter of a mile beyond the bridge; and, proceeding the rest of the way on foot, I reached Richmond long after dark, but in time for dinner, which is here an early supper,--related the adventures of the day, and received the letters sent from London. January 24.-we are at last established in London, in furnished lodgings, very near Portman Square, a fashionable part of town. A previous study of the map has made me sufficiently acquainted with the town to find my way to every part of it, by means of two principal avenues, Piccadilly and the Strand, Oxford Street and Holborn, which unite at St. Paul's, whence, as from a common centre, they separate again, to form two other great adventures, still east and west, Cornhill and Bishopsgate Street: they are the arteries of this great body, and all the other streets are the veins, branching out in all directions. It is easier to acquire a practical knowledge of the geography of London than of Paris, which has not the same rallying points, except the Seine, which divides Paris more equally than the Thames does London; the other side of the Thames is only an extensive suburb, whereas the other side of the Seine is half Paris. The people of London, I find, are quite as disposed to answer obligingly the questions of strangers as those of Paris. Whenever I have made enquiries, either in shops, or even from porters, carters, and market-women in the streets, I have uniformly received a civil answer, and every information in their power. People do not pull off their hats when thus addressing any body, as would be indispensable at Paris; a slight inclination of the head, or motion of the hand, is though sufficient. Foot-passengers walk on with ease and security along the smooth flag-stones of the side-pavement. Their eyes, mine at least, are irresistibly drawn to the allurements of the shops, particularly the print-shops; not that they always exhibit those specimens of the art so justly admired all over Europe, but oftener caricatures of all sorts. My countrymen, whenever introduced in them, never fail to be represented as diminutive, starved beings, of monkey-mien, strutting about in huge hats, narrow coats, and great sabres; an overgrown awkward Englishman crushes half a dozen of these pygmies at one squeeze. There are no painters among the lions,--at least they are not here. It must be owned, however, that the English do not spare themselves; their princes, their statesmen, and churchmen, are thus exhibited and hung up to ridicule, often with cleverness and humour, and a coarse sort of practical wit. Some shops exhibit instruments of mathematics, of optics, of chemistry, beautifully arranged; the admirable polish, and learned simplicity of the instruments, suggest the idea of justness and of perfection,--recalling to your mind all you know of their uses, and inspiring a wish to know more. Jewellers' shops, glittering with costly trinkets, give me another sort of pleasure,--that of feeling no sort of desire for any thing they contain. Finally, pastry-cook shops, which, about the middle of the day, and of the long interval between breakfast and dinner, are full of decent persons of both sexes, mostly men, taking a slight repast of tarts, buns, &c. with a glass of whey; it costs 6d or 8d. sterling. A young and pretty woman generally presides behind the counter, as in the coffee-houses of Paris. *I have since seen in this part of town several buildings worthy of notice.
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