As they approached the end of the Poultry,—“This,” said Dashall, “is the heart of the first commercial city in the known world. On the right is the Mansion House, the residence of the Lord Mayor for the time being.”
The moon had by this time almost withdrawn her cheering beams, and there was every appearance, from the gathering clouds, of a shower of rain.
“It is rather a heavy looking building, from what I can see at present,” replied Tallyho.
“Egad!” said Tom, “the appearance of every thing at this moment is gloomy, let us cross.”
With this, they crossed the road to Debatt's the Pastry Cook's Shop.
“Zounds!” said Tom, casting his eye upon the clock, “it is after ten; I begin to suspect we must alter our course, and defer a view of the east to a more favourable opportunity, and particularly as we are likely to have an accompaniment of water.”
“Never mind,” said Merrywell, “we can very soon be in very comfortable quarters; besides, a rattler is always to be had or a comfortable lodging to be procured with an obliging bed-fellow—don't you begin to croak before there is any occasion for it—what has time to do with us?”
“Aye aye,” said Frank Harry, “don't be after damping us before we get wet; this is the land of plenty, and there is no fear of being lost—come along.”
“On the opposite side,” said Tom, addressing his Cousin, “is the Bank of England; it is a building of large extent and immense business; you can now only discern its exterior by the light of the lamps; it is however a place to which we must pay a visit, and take a complete survey upon some future occasion. In the front is the Royal Exchange, the daily resort of the Merchants and Traders of the Metropolis, to transact their various business.”
“Come,” said Merry well, “I find we are all upon the right scent—Frank Harry has promised to introduce us to a house of well known resort in this neighbourhood—we will shelter ourselves under the staple commodity of the country—for the Woolsack and the Woolpack, I apprehend, are synonimous.”