_London_, 18th _July_.
I WRITE to you now for the last time from London; and, what is still
more, from St. Catherine’s, one of the most execrable holes in all this
great city, where I am obliged to stay, because the great ships arrive in
the Thames here, and go from hence, and we shall sail as soon as the wind
changes. This it has just now done, yet still it seems we shall not sail
till to-morrow. To-day therefore I can still relate to you all the
little that I have farther noticed.
On Monday morning I moved from the Freemasons’ Tavern to a public-house
here, of which the master is a German; and where all the Hambro’ captains
lodge. At the Freemasons’ Tavern, the bill for eight days’ lodging,
breakfast, and dinner came to one guinea and nine shillings and nine
pence. Breakfast, dinner, and coffee were always, with distinction,
reckoned a shilling each. For my lodging I paid only twelve shillings a
week, which was certainly cheap enough.
At the German’s house in St. Catherine’s, on the contrary, everything is
more reasonable, and you here eat, drink, and lodge for half-a-guinea a
week. Notwithstanding, however, I would not advise anybody who wishes to
see London, to lodge here long; for St. Catherine’s is one of the most
out-of-the-way and inconvenient places in the whole town.
He who lands here first sees this miserable, narrow, dirty street, and
this mass of ill-built, old, ruinous houses; and of course forms, at
first sight, no very favourable idea of this beautiful and renowned city.
From Bullstrode Street, or Cavendish Square, to St. Catherine’s, is
little less than half a day’s journey. Nevertheless, Mr. Schonborn has
daily visited me since I have lived here; and I have always walked back
half-way with him. This evening we took leave of each other near St.
Paul’s, and this separation cost me not a few tears.
I have had a very agreeable visit this afternoon from Mr. Hansen, one of
the assistants to the “Zollner book for all ranks of men” who brought me
a letter from the Rev. Mr. Zollner at Berlin, and just arrived at London
when I was going away. He is going on business to Liverpool. I have
these few days past, for want of better employment, walked through
several parts of London that I had not before seen. Yesterday I
endeavoured to reach the west end of the town; and I walked several
miles, when finding it was grown quite dark, I turned back quite tired,
without having accomplished my end.
Nothing in London makes so disgusting an appearance to a foreigner, as
the butchers’ shops, especially in the environs of the Tower. Guts and
all the nastiness are thrown into the middle of the street, and cause an
insupportable stench.
I have forgot to describe the ’Change to you; this beautiful building is
a long square in the centre of which is an open area, where the merchants
assemble. All round, there are covered walks supported by pillars on
which the name of the different commercial nations you may wish to find
are written up, that among the crowd of people you may be able to find
each other. There are also stone benches made under the covered walks,
which after a ramble from St. Catherine’s, for example, hither, are very
convenient to rest yourself.
On the walls all kinds of handbills are stuck up. Among others I read
one of singular contents. A clergyman exhorted the people not to assent
to the shameful Act of Parliament for the toleration of Catholics, by
suffering their children to their eternal ruin to be instructed and
educated by them; but rather to give him, an orthodox clergyman of the
Church of England, this employ and this emolument.
In the middle of the area is a stone statue of Charles the Second. As I
sat here on a bench, and gazed on the immense crowds that people London,
I thought that, as to mere dress and outward appearance, these here did
not seem to be materially different from our people at Berlin.
Near the ’Change is a shop where, for a penny or even a halfpenny only,
you may read as many newspapers as you will. There are always a number
of people about these shops, who run over the paper as they stand, pay
their halfpenny, and then go on.
Near the ’Change there is a little steeple with a set of bells which have
a charming tone, but they only chime one or two lively tunes, though in
this part of the City you constantly hear bells ringing in your ears.
It has struck me that in London there is no occasion for any elementary
works or prints, for the instruction of children. One need only lead
them into the City, and show them the things themselves as they really
are. For here it is contrived, as much as possible, to place in view for
the public inspection every production of art, and every effort of
industry. Paintings, mechanisms, curiosities of all kinds, are here
exhibited in the large and light shop windows, in the most advantageous
manner; nor are spectators wanting, who here and there, in the middle of
the street, stand still to observe any curious performance. Such a
street seemed to me to resemble a well regulated cabinet of curiosities.
But the squares, where the finest houses are, disdain and reject all such
shows and ornaments, which are adapted only to shopkeepers’ houses. The
squares, moreover, are not nearly so crowded or so populous as the
streets and the other parts of the city. There is nearly as much
difference between these squares and the Strand in London, in point of
population and bustle, as there is between Millbank and Fredericksstadt
in Berlin.
I do not at present recollect anything further, my dear friend, worth
your attention, which I can now write to you, except that everything is
ready for our departure to-morrow. I paid Captain Hilkes, with whom I
came over from Hambro’, four guineas for my passage and my board in the
cabin. But Captain Braunschweig, with whom I am to return, charges me
five guineas; because provisions, he says, are dearer in London than at
Hambro’. I now have related to you all my adventures and all my history
from the time that I took leave of you in the street, my voyage hither
with Captain Hilkes excepted. Of this, all that I think it necessary to
mention is, that, to my great dissatisfaction, it lasted a fortnight, and
three days I was sea-sick. Of my voyage back I will give you a personal
account. And now remember me to Biester, and farewell till I see you
again.