As Much As I Have Seen Of
London Within These Two Days, There Are On The Whole I Think Not
Very Many Fine Streets And Very Fine Houses, But I Met Everywhere A
Far Greater Number And Handsomer People Than One Commonly Meets In
Berlin.
It gives me much real pleasure when I walk from Charing
Cross up the Strand, past St. Paul's to the Royal Exchange, to meet
in the thickest crowd persons from the highest to the lowest ranks,
almost all well-looking people, and cleanly and neatly dressed.
I
rarely see even a fellow with a wheel-barrow who has not a shirt on,
and that, too, such a one as shows it has been washed; nor even a
beggar without both a shirt and shoes and stockings. The English
are certainly distinguished for cleanliness.
It has a very uncommon appearance in this tumult of people, where
every one, with hasty and eager step, seems to be pursuing either
his business or his pleasure, and everywhere making his way through
the crowd, to observe, as you often may, people pushing one against
another, only perhaps to see a funeral pass. The English coffins
are made very economically, according to the exact form of the body;
they are flat, and broad at top; tapering gradually from the middle,
and drawing to a point at the feet, not very unlike the case of a
violin.
A few dirty-looking men, who bear the coffin, endeavour to make
their way through the crowd as well as they can; and some mourners
follow. The people seem to pay as little attention to such a
procession, as if a hay-cart were driving past. The funerals of
people of distinction, and of the great, are, however, differently
regarded.
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. The body of a fellow-creature
is carried to his long home as though it had been utterly
unconnected with the rest of mankind. And yet, in a small town or
village, everyone knows everyone; and no one can be so insignificant
as not to be missed when he is taken away.
That same influenza which I left at Berlin, I have had the hard
fortune again to find here; and many people die of it. It is as yet
very cold for the time of the year, and I am obliged every day to
have a fire. I must own that the heat or warmth given by sea-coal,
burnt in the chimney, appears to me softer and milder than that
given by our stoves. The sight of the fire has also a cheerful and
pleasing effect. Only you must take care not to look at it
steadily, and for a continuance, for this is probably the reason
that there are so many young old men in England, who walk and ride
in the public streets with their spectacles on; thus anticipating,
in the bloom of youth, those conveniences and comforts which were
intended for old age.
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