LONDON:

Its Literary and Historic Curiosities.

CHAPTER I.

Introductory-Historic and Literary Associations-Roman London-Ancient City Boundaries and Forts-Present Extent - Social Condition - Local Casualties in early Times-Modern Architectural Improvements-Physical Aspect of the City, etc.

ONDON has been not inaptly designated the City of the World; and it merits the distinction as well on account of its extent, and its opu

lence and splendour, as its rich his

torical and literary associations.

Considering its vast extent, and its still increasing growth, London has suffered less spoliation from the touch of time, or the no less ruthless spirit of innovation, than any other city. It is on this account that it is regarded as an immense museum of the curious and the antique, as well as the emporium of modern art. The history of England being antecedent to, and part of our own, necessarily links that land

to ours by the closest ties: all, therefore, that pertains to the former, must ever enlist the sympathies of the latter. There is indeed connected with these mementoes of the past, a strange fascination to the lover of his country, and its great men, and more especially is it so in all that concerns its authors. The several dwelling places of those who have enriched our literature, or illustrated the great moral maxims of life, become endeared to our hearts; these are the shrines consecrated by the genius loci,—they seem almost part and parcel of the departed. Home is the sanctuary of the affections, and it is the like influence of association that causes us to cherish the fond memorials of the benefactors of our race. What lover of Shakspeare, but would delight to linger within the precincts of the well-remembered Globe' at Southwark, or the final resting place of the mighty bard of Avon? Who, in reading Chaucer's tales of the Canterbury Pilgrims, would not willingly perform a pilgrimage himself, that he might gaze upon the old Tabard. Or as we pore over the pleasant pages of Goldsmith, or become rapt in the lofty sublimities of Milton's spiritual imageries,-do we not instinctively long to catch a glimpse of the dingy abode of the former, in Green Arbor Court, or the several localities which the

genius of our modern Homer has rendered classic. With what a genial temper does Mrs. Hall apostrophize on this subject:

"O rare old London! It would be difficult for us to describe the affection we entertain for this noble city-venerable for its antiquity, and revered for its associations with our great menalthough it combines so much that occasions us distress of mind with so much that is dear and honored to our every feeling of existence. We should never have loved it so well if we had not become acquainted with the histories of some of its public buildings, its houses, its holy temples, one by one, almost stone by stone; and yet how little we know of what we might know, and of what we hope yet to learn. We marvel more and more how we could ever have passed a peculiar-looking house without inquiring, 'Who lived there?' Certainly, we move through life very listlessly; we go along its highways and into its by-lanes without being stirred by the immortality around us; we close our eyes against the evidences of change which are the accompaniments of life; and we plod on, of the earth-earthy, with little more than a fluttering effort to raise our minds by the contemplation of the acts of those glorious spirits who elevated England to the rank she holds among nations."

The Vatican boasts of its treasured relics of centuries; and England possesses the collective resources of genius and learning. London has been styled the birth-place of genius-here the poet has sung his sweetest strains-the historian and philosopher solved the deep problems of truth —it was here a Milton produced the sublimest of all uninspired compositions-a Shakspeare portrayed, with such masterly power, the workings of the human heart; here, too, ideal art has depicted in glowing colors and with startling effect, the images of the soul; and not least, though last, the mighty minds of old, who have contended for the truth of a pure Christianity.

Leigh Hunt pleasantly says: "I can no more pass through Westminster without thinking of Milton; or the Borough, without thinking of Chaucer and Shakspeare; or Gray's Inn, without calling Bacon to mind; or Bloomsbury-square, without Steele and Akenside; than I can prefer brick and mortar to wit and poetry, or not see a beauty upon it beyond architecture in the splendor of the recollection. I once had duties to perform which kept me out late at night, and severely taxed my health and spirits. My path lay through a neighborhood in which Dryden lived, and though nothing could be more common-place, and I used