[Picture: Countryman on a stage coach]
HERE is Farmer Clodpole, who lives a hundred miles from London, coming to
see it at last. They have just reached the top of a hill, and catch a
fine view of the city.
“What! is that _Lunnun_, coachey? Well, I’m glad to see it at last; for
I, that’s only used to jog along a few miles in our cart, don’t much
fancy this jumbling and jolting. But what a smoke they are in, master
coachman: I shall be glad enough to get back again, if I am always to be
in such a _puther_. Pray, what’s that there great round thing in the
midst of the housen? Oh! St. Paul’s: why that beats our parish church
all to pieces. Well, drive away, coachey, that I may see all the fine
things; and nobody shall laugh at me any more, because I have not seen
_Lunnun_.”