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<h2>Letter 4.</h2> London. Dear Charley:— Does it not seem strange that I am here in London? I can hardly tell what to write about first. I stand at the door of our hotel and look at the crowds in the streets, and then at old King Charles, at Charing Cross, directly across the road, and when I think that this is the old city where Wat Tyler figured, and Whittington was lord mayor, and Lady Jane Grey was beheaded, and where the Tower is still to be seen, I am half beside myself, and want to do nothing but roam about for a good month to come. I have read so much concerning London, that I am pretty sure I know more about it than many of the boys who have heard Bow Church bells all their lives. We left Liverpool for Birmingham, where we passed an afternoon and evening in the family of a manufacturer very pleasantly, and at ten o'clock took the express mail train for London. We are staying at a hotel called the Golden Cross, Charing Cross. We have our breakfast in the coffee-room, and then dine as it suits our convenience as to place and hour. We spent one day in riding about the city, and I think we got quite an idea of the great streets. The Strand is a very fine business street, perhaps a mile long. It widens in one part, and has two churches in the middle of it, and a narrow street seems built inside it at one place, as nasty, dirty a lane as I ever saw, called Hollowell Street. I was very much delighted at the end of the Strand to see old Temple Bar, which is the entrance to the city proper, and which divides Fleet Street from the Strand. It is a noble archway, with small side arches for foot passengers. The head of many a poor fellow, and the quarters of men called traitors, have been fastened over this gateway in former times. Dr. Johnson was once walking in Westminster Abbey with Goldsmith, and as they were looking at the Poet's Corner, Johnson said to his friend,— <div class="blockquot">"Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur istis." </div> When they had walked on to Temple Bar, Goldsmith stopped Johnson, and pointed to the heads of Fletcher and Townley, hanging above, and slyly remarked,— <div class="blockquot">"Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur istis." </div> I suppose you remember that the great dictionary man was a Jacobite in his heart. The present bar was put up in 1670, and was designed by Sir Christopher Wren. The statues on the sides, which are towards the city, are those of Queen Elizabeth and James I.; and towards the Strand, those of Charles I. and Charles II. They stand in niches. Whenever the monarch passes into the city, there is much ceremony takes place at the bar. The gates are closed, a herald sounds a trumpet and knocks for entrance, the gates are opened, and the lord mayor of London presents the sword of the city to the sovereign, who returns it to his lordship. The upper part of the bar is used by Messrs. Childs, the bankers, as a store room for their past account books. Fleet Street is thronged with passengers and carriages of all sorts. Just a few doors from the bar, on the right-hand side, is a gayly-painted front, which claims to have been a palace of Henry VIII. and the residence of Cardinal Wolsey. It is now used as a hair-cutting shop, up stairs. We went up and examined the panelled ceiling, said to be just as it used to be. It is certainly very fine, and looks as if it were as old as the times of bluff Harry. Of course we had our hair cut in the old palace. We followed through Fleet Street, noticing the offices of Punch and the London Illustrated News, till we came to Ludgate Hill,—rather an ascent,—which is the direct way to the Cathedral Church of St. Paul's. It stands directly in front of Ludgate Hill, and the churchyard occupies a large space, and the streets open on each side, making a sort of square called Paul's Churchyard, and then at the rear you go into Cheapside. We looked with interest, I can tell you, at Bow Church, and, as the old bells were ringing, I tried to listen if I could hear what Whittington heard once from their tingling—"Turn again, Whittington, lord mayor, of London." At the end of this street, on the right hand, is the lord mayor's house, called the Mansion House, and directly in front of the street, closing it up, and making it break off, is the Royal Exchange; whilst at the left is the Bank of England. All these are very noble-looking buildings, and you will hear about them from us as we examine them in our future walks. We went to the counting-house of Messrs. Baring & Co., the great merchants and bankers for so many Americans, and there we found our letters and got some money. Mr. Sturgis, one of the partners, told us to take the check to the bank, No. 68 Lombard Street, and informed us that was the very house where the great merchant of Queen Elizabeth's time—Sir Thomas Gresham—used to live. He built the first London Exchange, and his sign, a large grasshopper, is still preserved at the bank. On Good Friday we had bunns for breakfast, with a cross upon them, and they were sold through the streets by children, crying "One a penny, two a penny, hot cross bunns." We took a carriage and rode to Camden town to visit a friend; thence we took the cars, to Hackney, and called on the Rev. Dr. Cox, who some fifteen years ago made the tour of the United States, and wrote a volume on our country. We then returned to London, and took our dinner at the London Coffee House, Ludgate Hill. This has been a very celebrated house for one hundred years, and figures largely in the books of travellers fifty years ago. It has a high reputation still, and every thing was excellent, and the waiting good. You cannot walk about London without observing how few boys of our age are to be seen in the streets, and when we asked the reason, we were told that nearly all the lads of respectable families were sent to boarding schools, and the vacations only occur at June and December; then the boys return home, and the city swarms with them at all the places of amusement. We seemed to be objects of attention, because we wore caps; (here boys all wear hats;) and then our gilt buttons on blue jackets led many to suppose that we were midshipmen. The omnibuses are very numerous, and each one has a conductor, who stands on a high step on the left side of the door, watching the sidewalks and crying out the destination of the "bus," as the vehicle is called. There is a continual cry, "Bank, bank," "Cross, cross," "City, city," &c. I must not forget to tell you one thing; and that is, London is the place to make a sight-seeing boy very tired, and I am quite sure that, in ten minutes, I shall be unable to do what I can now very heartily, viz., assure you that I am yours, affectionately, george. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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