On a very gloomy dismal day just such a one as it ought to be I went to see Westminster Abbey.
St. Paul's arose like some huge mountain above the enormous mass of smaller buildings.
Every view and every object I studied attentively by viewing them again and again on every side for I was anxious to make a lasting impression of it on my imagination.
The joining of the whole congregation in prayer has something exceedingly solemn and affecting in it.
I am very sorry to say that I rejoiced when I once more perceived the towers of Windsor behind me.
You see in the streets of London great and little boys running about in long blue coats which like robes reach quite down to the feet and little white bands such as the clergy wear.
The church of St. Peter at Berlin notwithstanding the total difference between them in the style of building appears in some respects to have a great resemblance to St. Paul's in London.
These funerals always appear to me the more indecent in a populous city from the total indifference of the beholders and the perfect unconcern with which they are beheld.
It is a common observation that the more solicitous any people are about dress the more effeminate they are.
In the streets through which we passed I must own the houses in general struck me as if they were dark and gloomy and yet at the same time they also struck me as prodigiously great and majestic.
In London before I set out I had paid one shilling; another was now demanded so that upon the whole from London to Richmond the passage in the stage costs just two shillings.
My landlady who is only a tailor's widow reads her Milton; and tells me that her late husband first fell in love with her on this very account: because she read Milton with such proper emphasis.
A traveller on foot in this country seems to be considered as a sort of wild man or out-of-the way being who is stared at pitied suspected and shunned by everybody that meets him.