pressed by the immensity of it. In olden times the ambassador to St.
James' was met at Dover, where he first set foot upon English soil, by the
Governor of the Castle and the local Mayor. From here he was passed on in
state to the great cathedral city of Canterbury, sojourned for a space
beneath the shadow of Rochester Castle, crossed the Medway, and finally
reached Gravesend, reckoned the entry to the port of London. Here he was
received by the Lord Mayor of London and the Lord Chamberlain, and "took
to water in the royal galley-foist," or barge, when he was rowed toward
London by the Royal Watermen, an institution of sturdy fellows which has
survived to this day, even appearing occasionally in their picturesque
costumes at some river fete or function at Windsor.

With a modern visitor it is somewhat different; he usually enters by one
of the eight great gateways, London Bridge, Waterloo, Euston, Paddington,
St. Pancras, King's Cross, Victoria or Charing Cross, unless by any chance
he arrives by sea, which is seldom; the port of London, for the great
ocean liner, is mostly a "home port," usually embarking or disembarking
passengers at some place on the south or west coast,--Southampton,
Plymouth, Liverpool, or Glasgow.

In either case, he is ushered instantly into a great, seething world,
unlike, in many of its features, anything elsewhere, with its seemingly
inextricable maze of streets and bustle of carriages, omnibuses, and
foot-passengers.

He sees the noble dome of St. Paul's rising over all, possibly the
massiveness of the Tower, or the twin towers of Westminster, of those of
the "New Houses of Parliament," as they are still referred to.

From the south only, however, does the traveller obtain a really pleasing
first impression. Here in crossing any one of the five central bridges he
comes at once upon a prospect which is truly grand.

The true pilgrim--he who visits a shrine for the love of its patron--is
the one individual who gets the best of life and incidentally of travel.
London sightseeing appeals largely to the American, and it is to him that
most of the sights and scenes of the London of to-day--and for that
matter, of the past fifty years--most appeal. In the reign of James I.
sights, of a sort, were even then patronized, presumably by the stranger.
"The Londoner never goes anywhere or sees anything," as one has put it. In
those days it cost two pence to ascend to the top of Old St. Paul's, and
in t