CHAPTER XV.
SYLVESTER'S FIRST NIGHT IN LONDON.
London! How many bosoms have swelled with rapture, how many cheeks have blushed for shame, how many hearts have been filled with joy, and how many have sunk in despair, at the sound of the magic name of London! London!—Well! there's no doubt that London is the Heart of the World-that its provinces are its arteries that the issue of its ventricles gives the prevalent tone throughout Europe, Asia, Africa, and America; and that therefore the pulse of the world is influenced, if not indeed governed, by its action. But viewed as it is, without reference to its external influences, what a mass of all that is vicious and virtuous-pleasing and repulsive—horrible and honourable—profligate and pious—beautiful and brutal—philanthropic and ferocious—artful and amiable—tyrannous and slavish—sceptical and credulous—solemn and absurd—profound and superficial—corrupt and correct—convivial and cold—impudent and diffident—subtle and soft—atrocious and true—cruel and confiding—sincere and satanic—benevolent and heartless—courteous and crafty—courageous and craven—obsequious and despotic—voluptuous and virginal—venerable and contemptible—in fine, what a mass—what a chaotic mass—of all that is good and bad—admirable and abominable—with all the varied shades which intervene—does this "mighty heart" of London present!
Nor is it the Heart of the World only!—it is a world of itself—a world in which all existing feelings, motives, passions, and propensities, are to be found in perfection developed. To know London well is to know the world; and, albeit there are thousands of Londoners who never travelled ten miles from London in their lives, and who, notwithstanding, know but little of it—a London man strictly is a man of the world.
The first appearance too, of London, strikes a stranger with amazement, let him enter at which point he may; and more especially effective is it if he should enter in the evening. It was evening when Sylvester arrived, and as he entered at the cast, and had to go by the coach as far west as Charing-cross, the blaze of light by which he was dazzled, the noise of the various vehicles by which he was deafened, the magnificent shops which he beheld, with the myriads of human beings streaming on either side as he advanced, had the effect of inspiring him with wonder. Where could these people be driving to? What object had they in view? Upon these questions, when they suggested themselves, he had not time to dwell. The motives by which they were actuated were as various as their forms: misery, hope, joy, pride, vanity, crime, love, relaxation and revenge, respectively impelled them on: but
