Travels in England in 1782 | Page 4

signs which at the entrance of villages hang
in the middle of the street, being fastened to large beams, which are
extended across the street from one house to another opposite to it,
particularly struck me; these sign-posts have the appearance of gates or
of gateways, for which I at first took them, but the whole apparatus,
unnecessarily large as it seems to be, is intended for nothing more than
to tell the inquisitive traveller that there is an inn. At length, stunned as
it were by this constant rapid succession of interesting objects to
engage our attention, we arrived at Greenwich nearly in a state of
stupefaction.
The Prospect of London.
We first descried it enveloped in a thick smoke or fog. St. Paul's arose
like some huge mountain above the enormous mass of smaller
buildings. The Monument, a very lofty column, erected in memory of

the great fire of London, exhibited to us, perhaps, chiefly on account of
its immense height, apparently so disproportioned to its other
dimensions (for it actually struck us as resembling rather a slender mast,
towering up in immeasurable height into the clouds, than as that it
really is, a stately obelisk) an unusual and singular appearance. Still we
went on, and drew nearer and nearer with amazing velocity, and the
surrounding objects became every moment more distinct. Westminster
Abbey, the Tower, a steeple, one church, and then another, presented
themselves to our view; and we could now plainly distinguish the high
round chimneys on the tops of the houses, which yet seemed to us to
form an innumerable number of smaller spires, or steeples.
The road from Greenwich to London is actually busier and far more
alive than the most frequented streets in Berlin. At every step we met
people on horseback, in carriages, and foot passengers; and everywhere
also, and on each side of the road, well-built and noble houses, whilst
all along, at proper distances, the road was lined with lamp-posts. One
thing, in particular, struck and surprised me not a little. This was the
number of people we met riding and walking with spectacles on,
among whom were many who appeared stout, healthy, and young. We
were stopped at least three times at barriers or gates, here called
turnpikes, to pay a duty or toll which, however small, as being
generally paid in their copper coinage, in the end amounted to some
shillings.
At length we arrived at the magnificent bridge of Westminster. The
prospect from this bridge alone seems to afford one the epitome of a
journey, or a voyage in miniature, as containing something of
everything that mostly occurs on a journey. It is a little assemblage of
contrasts and contrarieties. In contrast to the round, modern, and
majestic cathedral of St. Paul's on your right, the venerable,
old-fashioned, and hugely noble, long abbey of Westminster, with its
enormous pointed roof, rises on the left. Down the Thames to the right
you see Blackfriar's Bridge, which does not yield much, if at all, in
beauty to that of Westminster; on the left bank of the Thames are
delightful terraces, planted with trees, and those new tasteful buildings
called the Adelphi. On the Thames itself are countless swarms of little
boats passing and repassing, many with one mast and one sail, and
many with none, in which persons of all ranks are carried over. Thus

there is hardly less stir and bustle on this river, than there is in some of
its own London's crowded streets. Here, indeed, you no longer see great
ships, for they come no farther than London Bridge
We now drove into the city by Charing Cross, and along the Strand, to
those very Adelphi Buildings which had just afforded us so charming a
prospect on Westminster Bridge.
My two travelling companions, both in the ship and the post-chaise,
were two young Englishmen, who living in this part of the town,
obligingly offered me any assistance and services in their power, and in
particular, to procure me a lodging the same day in their
neighbourhood.
In the streets through which we passed, I must own the houses in
general struck me as if they were dark and gloomy, and yet at the same
time they also struck me as prodigiously great and majestic. At that
moment, I could not in my own mind compare the external view of
London with that of any other city I had ever before seen. But I
remember (and surely it is singular) that about five years ago, on my
first entrance into Leipzig, I had the very same sensations I now felt. It
is possible that the high houses, by which the streets at Leipzig are
partly darkened, the great number of shops, and the crowd of people,
such as till