d left the house; 'he
is evidently very clever; but I cannot say that I like him much, with his
Oxford Reviews and Dairyman's Daughters. But what can I do? I am almost
without a friend in the world. I wish I could find some one who would
publish my ballads, or my songs of Ab Gwilym. In spite of what the big
man says, I am convinced that, once published, they would bring me much
fame and profit. But how is this?--what a beautiful sun!--the porter was
right in saying that the day would clear up--I will now go to my dingy
lodging, lock up my manuscripts, and then take a stroll about the big
city.'

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

THE WALK--LONDON'S CHEAPE--STREET OF THE LOMBARDS--STRANGE BRIDGE--MAIN
ARCH--THE ROARING GULF--THE BOAT--CLY-FAKING--A COMFORT--NO TRAP

So I set out on my walk to see the wonders of the big city, and, as
chance would have it, I directed my course to the east. The day, as I
have already said, had become very fine, so that I saw the great city to
advantage, and the wonders thereof: and much I admired all I saw; and,
amongst other things, the huge cathedral, standing so proudly on the most
commanding ground in the big city; and I looked up to the mighty dome,
surmounted by a golden cross, and I said within myself, 'That dome must
needs be the finest in the world'; and I gazed upon it till my eyes
reeled, and my brain became dizzy, and I thought that the dome would fall
and crush me; and I shrank within myself, and struck yet deeper into the
heart of the big city.

'Oh Cheapside! Cheapside!' said I, as I advanced up that mighty
thoroughfare, 'truly thou art a wonderful place for hurry, noise, and
riches! Men talk of the bazaars of the East--I have never seen them--but
I daresay that, compared with thee, they are poor places, silent places,
abounding with empty boxes, O thou pride of London's east!--mighty mart
of old renown!--for thou art not a place of yesterday:--long before the
Roses red and white battled in fair England, thou didst exist--a place of
throng and bustle--a place of gold and silver, perfumes and fine linen.
Centuries ago thou couldst extort the praises even of the fiercest foes
of England. Fierce bards of Wales, sworn foes of England, sang thy
praises centuries ago; and even the fiercest of them all, Red Julius
himself, wild Glendower's bard, had a word of praise for London's
'Cheape,' for so the bards of Wales styled thee in their flowing odes.
Then, if those who were not