RETROSPECTIVE. 173 



glorious roads," away we go rumbling over the London 

 stones for our lirst stage out. 



' Amongst all the contrasts that are exhibited in 

 ordinary life, few are more striking than what is pre- 

 sented by London at the same hour morning and 

 evening. 



' At six in the morning everything is comparatively 

 still. The chimes of the different churches appear to 

 be louder, only because they are more distinctly heard. 

 Covent Garden market-men and basket-women are 

 pouring in with their vegetables, fruits, and flowers. 

 The battered beau is observed steering homewards but 

 half-sobered, and one would think entirely wretched ; 

 while the solitary hackney cab is seen here and there 

 passing sleepily along with a cargo of prime youths, any- 

 thing but half-sober, or a tawdry heap of damsels who 

 have been Cremorning, or routing, or what not. For 

 the benefit of your town gentleman I have just hinted 

 what a morning in London is. The evenings are familiar 

 enough. We are now passing through Highgate Arch- 

 way, turning our backs upon the dense fog and smoke 

 that hang about St. Paul's, and overshadow the whole 

 city ; observing the mansion, the villa, the cottage orn&> 

 with their inhabitants in the shape of bankers, merchants, 

 stockbrokers, and all the other brokers, summoned by 

 the tinkling of an outside bell to their rustic breakfast, 

 before they pour into the City to deal in and talk about 

 stocks, rise and fall, hemp, tallow, differences in prices, 

 coffee, sugar, bristles, horsehair, and skins. 



' Reaching the wide and open country, the wheels 



