very short, the man was very long. But we measured (with the eye) the bed, and then the man, and finally concluded that, with a few crooks and turns of the lower limbs, he could be made to stay thereon; and we pronounced it "very good." But it is not to be supposed that we should be received without some inquiry into our plans and characters; and the good lady began to ask who we were, and what we wanted in the great city. The rules of her house, she said, were strict: she had some boarders already, who were very correct in their habits, among whom were two persons connected with the "gentry," which she thought a great inducement for us to stop with her. We had been in London so short a time, that we had seen none of the gentry; and you may judge how much this fact must have weighed with us. In reply to all her questions, we told her that we were three very modest, amiable men from America, who had come over to see the Fair; that we were clergymen, and, of course, would keep very good hours, and behave properly; that we were very well-bred men, and would endeavor not to offend the delicate ears of the "gentry" whom we might meet at her house. We left the door with the remark, that, if we decided to make her house our home, we would call again in a few hours.

I will not tell you how many visits like this we made, before, a few days afterwards, we found ourselves located in the family of a fine, intelligent English woman, in Arundel Street, within a walk of five minutes of Exeter Hall on one side, and St. Paul's on the other midway between the Strand, flowing with life, and full of beauty, and "old Father Thames," covered with gay steamers, and alive with its busy industry. Here our expenses were slightly more than at the place where we stopped on our arrival.

Being now comfortably settled, we began to look around, and attend to the objects of interest which every where presented themselves. London is a wonderful city, forming, with its environs, a vast mass of buildings, packed in and piled up, and crowded with people. "You can travel," says one, "eighteen miles, from Brentford to Strafford, through an uninterrupted succession of thickly-planted houses.” The city of London itself is a very small spot, with St. Paul's for its center, extending in one direction to Temple Bar, and in the other to Aldgate. The lord mayor presides over this little territory, while the city of Westminster, the Tower Hamlets, and the different boroughs, are under other administrations. But while the city is small, London, in the aggregate, is a vast and denselypopulated territory, stretching east and west eleven miles, and north and south six miles, lying on both sides of the River Thames, linked together by bridges of wood, stone, and iron; having within its limits, according to the nicest calculations, two hundred and fifty thousand houses, two million and one hundred thousand inhabitants, with one hundred and twentyfive thousand visitors, constantly coming and going, swelling the mighty tide of life which is ever surging in and out of the open gates. I have walked along the streets for hours, bewildered with the din and confusion of the scene. The impressions which I received as a man were very much like the impressions which I received as a child, when I first visited a great manufacturing establishment. The noise, the hurry, the confusion of the whole scene, arrested the current of life, and I felt awed as I gazed upon the revolving wheels, and hard-working engines, products of the genius of man. And when I roamed day after day

along the streets, through the crowded thoroughfares, up the little alleys, and down the obscure lanes of the great metropolis, all alive with industry, and moving with human beings, I felt awed by the imposing magnitude of the spectacle.

Some of the streets of London are wide and spacious; others are narrow, overhung with warehouses, and abound in filth and wretchedness. Along some, armies might move by companies and regiments; while in others, two wheelbarrows might find it hard to pass.. Some of these streets are straight, and some crooked in all directions; some running on for miles, and some short and dark; some containing the abodes of nobles, and some the hovels of thieves and beggars.

The parks of London, which are very numerous and finely laid out, and which have been called the "lungs of the city," are open during the day, and furnish places of exercise and recreation for thousands of the people. These parks are decorated with flowers, trees, and ponds, and appear like gardens in the midst of palaces. The wisdom of the government in saving these open grounds from the encroachments of commerce and industry, and keeping them devoted to health and recreation, is apparent. Hyde Park is the largest, and contains four hundred acres. Through it flows the Serpentine, on which little pleasure boats are seen gliding about, and aquatic birds amuse themselves, and furnish sport for the beholder.

The public gardens at Kensington, and in Regent's Park, and in other places, are open summer and winter, and draw great crowds; in summer to enjoy the shady walks, and in winter to find amusement and instruction in the zoological exhibitions which are held there.

In the parks, and indeed all over London, noble

statues and monumental piles, to commemorate illustrious deeds, and perpetuate illustrious names, are found, which add remarkably to the beauty of the city. In Trafalgar Square rises a most beautiful column, —

"Designed for Nelson of the Nile,

Of Trafalgar, and Vincent's heights

For Nelson of the hundred fights."

In Carlton Gardens rises the noble column of the Duke of York, on which a bronze statue of the old man stands looking down from the elevation of one hundred and twenty-four feet, upon the moving crowds below.

In Fish Street is a Doric shaft, two hundred and two feet high, erected in commemoration of the great fire which, in 1666, swept with desolating fury through the city, reducing it to a heap of smouldering ruins. Around its base, life swarms, heaves, and surges, while above is seen an urn of blazing fire, which glistens in the sun, and is the expressive memento of a conflagration such as Europe never saw in a time of peace before. Besides, there are many columns and statues, in stone and bronze, of Nelson, Wellington, the kings and queens of the past and the present, orators and statesmen, warriors and priests, which rise all over the city, like so many expressions of living gratitude to departed worth.

The people of London have sufficient amusement. Exeter Hall is open almost every evening for some kind of entertainment. Oratarios and concerts are held every week, and sometimes every evening of the week. Public lectures of a literary and scientific character are advertised in every paper. Churches are open at almost all hours; twenty-one theaters, as the guide-books

inform us, are in full operation. Exhibitions of paintings, panoramas, and dioramas are placarded on every corner. Wax figures, bronze work, marble statuary, are presented for the examination and patronage of the people. Public gardens, in which are many pleasures during the day, and music and fireworks in the evening, are continually open; while performances of a lower character, immoral, beastly, and degrading, are held covertly and in concealment. Whatever may be a man's taste, he can find something which will accord with it; whatever may be his inclination, he can find something to gratify it. He can select the purest society and pleasures, the most refined and delicate enjoyment, or plunge. down into the depths of shame and infamy. He can feast his soul on the refinement and delight of literature and religion, or he can bury himself in the shades of crime, and conceal himself in dens of vice, into which the sun does not penetrate at noonday.

Of the public buildings of London I have but little time to speak: some will come up hereafter, others will be passed over altogether. Let us walk around the city, directing our steps to objects of the greatest interest. We are in front of the Bank of England, an imposing structure, built in imitation of the Temple of Venus at Tivoli. Men in gold and scarlet question us as we pass up, and servants in buff coats, red vests, dark pants, and a bank medal attached to one of the buttons, politely conduct us through the premises. We find this pile of buildings to cover a somewhat irregular area of eight acres, built in the most secure and durable manner, and filled with officers and clerks, who are actively engaged. About one thousand men are employed as clerks, porters, and watchmen. At night, forty soldiers are on the ground,