two thousand four hundred
and fifty-six feet. It is painful to hear the sad stories which have a
connection with this magnificent structure. It seems the chosen resort
of London suicides, and very frequent are the events which almost
justify its appellation--"the Bridge of Sighs." I love to walk this and
the other bridges, and look at the mighty city, and think of its
wonderful history and its existing place in the affairs of the world;
and I cannot help thinking of the reflection of the wise man--"One
generation passeth away, but the earth remaineth." I have never felt my
own insignificance so much, Charley, as when walking in one of these
crowded streets. I know no one; I am unknown; I am in solitude, and feel
it more, perhaps, than I should if alone upon a mountain top or in a
wilderness. I am sure I have told you enough for once, and perhaps you
are as tired of my letter as I was in going over the places I have
written to you about; so I will relieve your patience.

I am yours always,

WELD.

Letter 6.

LONDON.

DEAR CHARLEY:--

All round London there are the most exquisite villages or towns, full of
charming retreats, boxes of wealthy tradesmen, and some very fine rows
of brick and stone residences, with gardens in front. I am amused to see
almost every house having a name. Thus you find one house called, on
the gateway, Hamilton Villa, the next Hawthorne Lodge, whilst opposite
their fellows rejoice in the names, Pelham House, Cranborne Cottage; and
so it is with hundreds of neat little domiciles. I think the road up to
St. John's Wood is one of the prettiest I have seen; and there are in it
perhaps two hundred habitations, each having its _sobriquet._ Since
writing to you last we have been to Camberwell, a very pretty place, two
or three miles from the city. We called on a gentleman who had a party
that night, and we were politely invited, and spent an agreeable
evening. The supper was elegant, and the ladies were quite inquisitive
as to our social manners. One gentleman present had a son in Wisconsin,
and he seemed to fancy that, as that state was in the United States, it
was pretty much like the rest of the country. We told him that Wisconsin
was about as much like New York and Massachusetts as Brighton, in 1851,
was like what it was one hundred years ago. When we talk with
well-educated persons here, we are much amused at their entire
unacquaintedness with American geography and history. I think