sanguine writer could hope to do
would be to devote himself to recounting the facts and features, with more
or less completeness, of an era, or an epoch, if the word be thought to
confine the period of time more definitely.

There is no London of to-day; like "unborn to-morrow" and "dead
yesterday," it does not exist. Some remains there may be of a former
condition, and signs there assuredly are of still greater things to come,
but the very face of the earth in the great world of London is constantly
changing and being improved or disimproved, accordingly as its makers
have acted wisely or not.

[Illustration:
_Billingsgate and_ _The Bank, Royal Exchange,_
_the Custom House._ _and Mansion House._

_General Post-Office._ _King William Street and_
_Gracechurch Street._

_St. Paul's, Cheapside,_ _Fleet Street at Temple Bar._
_and Paternoster Row._

_"The City"--London._]

The London of Dickens' time--the middle Victorian period--was undergoing,
in some degree, at least, the rapid changes which were making themselves
felt throughout the civilized world. New streets were being put through,
old landmarks were being removed, and new and greater ones rising in their
stead; roadways were being levelled, and hills were disappearing where
they were previously known. How curious it is that this one topographical
detail effects so great a change in the aspect of the buildings which
border upon the streets. Take for instance the Strand as it exists to-day.
Dickens might have to think twice before he would know which way to turn
to reach the _Good Words_ offices. This former narrow thoroughfare has
been straightened, widened, and graded until about the only recognizable
feature of a quarter of a century ago is the sky-line. Again, St.
Martin's-in-the-Fields, a noble and imposing church, is manifestly made
insignificant by the cutting down of the grade, and even removing the
broad and gentle rising flight of steps which once graced its facade.
Generally speaking, the reverse is the case, the level of the roadway
being immeasurably raised, so that one actually steps down into a building
which formerly was elevated a few steps. All this and much more is a
condition which has worked a wondrous change in the topography of London,
and doubtless many another great city.

As for grandeur and splendour, that can hardly be claimed for any city
which does not