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