“What is this street?” I ask one of these officers, as he stands in the midst of a crossing, signalling which cab or dray shall pass him.
“Strand,” says he, stopping five omnibuses to give me this information.
“Where does it lead me?”
“Which way do you wish to proceed?” he inquires, politely, still detaining the omnibuses.
“East,” I reply, at a venture.
“First to the right, second to the left, third to the right again, and take the blue bus as far as the Elephant and Angel,” he answers, without any hesitation.
“A thousand thanks,” I gasp. “I think, on the whole, I should be safer to go westward.”
He waves his hand, the omnibuses (which by this time have accumulated to the number of fourteen) proceed upon their journey, and I, had I the key to the cipher, should doubtless be in possession of valuable information. Such is one instance of the way in which the Londoner's substitute for Providence does its business.
I shall not attempt to give at this point an exhaustive description of London. The mandates of fortune sent me at different times to enjoy amusing and embarrassing experiences in various quarters of the city, and these I shall touch upon in their places. It is sufficient to observe at present that London is a name for many cities.
A great town, like a great man, is made up of various characters strung together. Just as the soldier becomes at night the lover and next morning the philosopher, so a city is on the east a factory, on the west a palace, on the north a lodging-house. So it is with Paris, with Berlin, with all. But London is so large, so devoid of system in its creation and in its improvements, so variously populated, that it probably exceeds any in its variety.