It was, to me, the great centre of the
world, round which every thing seemed to revolve. I recollect
contemplating so wistfully, when a boy, a paltry little print of the
Thames, and London Bridge, and St. Paul's, that was in front of an old
magazine; and a picture of Kensington Gardens, with gentlemen in
three-cornered hats and broad skirts, and ladies in hoops and lappets,
that hung up in my bed-room; even the venerable cut of St. John's
Gate, that has stood, time out of mind, in front of the Gentleman's
Magazine, was not without its charms to me; and I envied the
odd-looking little men that appeared to be loitering about its arches.
How then did my heart warm when the towers of Westminster Abbey were
pointed out to me, rising above the rich groves of St. James's Park,
with a thin blue haze about their gray pinnacles! I could not behold
this great mausoleum of what is most illustrious in our paternal
history, without feeling my enthusiasm in a glow. With what eagerness
did I explore every part of the metropolis! I was not content with
those matters which occupy the dignified research of the learned
traveller; I delighted to call up all the feelings of childhood, and
to seek after those objects which had been the wonders of my infancy.
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