he Georges' time, a penny to ascend the "Monument." To-day this latter
treat costs three pence, which is probably an indication of the tendency
of the times to raise prices.

With many it may be said it is merely a rush and a scramble, "personally
conducted," or otherwise, to get over as large a space of ground in a
given time as legs and lungs will carry one. Walpole remarked the same sad
state of affairs when he wrote of the Houghton visitors.

"They come and ask what such a room is called ... write it down; admire a
cabbage or a lobster in a market piece (picture?); dispute as to whether
the last room was green or purple, and then hurry to the inn for fear the
fish should be overdressed."

One who knows his London is amused at the disappointment that the visitor
often feels when comparing his impression of London, as it really is, with
the London of his imagination.

As they ride down Fleet Street they are surprised at the meanness of the
buildings as compared with those which had existed in their mind's eye.
This might not be the case were but their eyes directed to the right
quarter. Often and often one has seen the stranger on a bus gazing at the
houses in Fleet Street instead of looking, as he should, right ahead. In
this way he misses the most sublime views in London: that of the "Highway
of Letters" in its true relation to St. Paul's in the east and the Abbey
in the west.

The long dip of the street and the opposite hill of Ludgate give an
incomparable majesty to the Cathedral, crowning the populous hill, soaring
serenely above the vista of houses, gables, chimneys, signals, and
telegraph wires,--

"Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot,
Which men call town."

Coming by one of the existing modern gateways the railway termini, before
mentioned, the visitor would be well advised to reenter London the next
day _via_ the "Uxbridge Road," upon an omnibus bound for the Bank,
securing a front seat. He will then make his triumphal entry along five
miles of straight roadway, flanked by magnificent streets, parks, and
shops, until, crossing Holborn Viaduct, he is borne past the General
Post-Office, under the shadow of St. Paul's, and along Cheapside to the
portico of the Royal Exchange--the hub of the world. As Byron well knew,
only time reveals London:

"The man who has stood on the Acropolis
And looked down over Attica; or he
Who has sailed where picturesque Constantinople is,
Or seen T