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