imes; and if you showed him that you had leave to go all over the
building, he would tell you where to go and be very civil. We shall hear
more about the Bank later on.

Close to the Bank is the Mansion House, where the Lord Mayor lives. The
Lord Mayor is a very grand person indeed. He is the head of the City,
and a new Lord Mayor is chosen every year. There are other big buildings
around near the Bank, and just here seven streets meet, and there is an
open space. Now, if you were suddenly dropped down into that open space
at, say, the middle of the day, you would most certainly be run over
unless you stood close beside the very biggest policeman you could see,
for every thing on wheels is coming in every direction--big
motor-omnibuses, generally painted the most vivid scarlet, crammed with
people inside and on the top; taxi-cabs with patient drivers, who would
not jump if a gunpowder explosion went off under their noses; they have
to keep good-tempered all day long, in spite of the tangle of traffic;
immense lorries loaded with beer barrels; and little tiny carts with
greengrocer's stuff, perhaps dragged by a dear little donkey, who looks
as if he could run right under the bodies of the big dray-horses. And
all these things are coming so fast and so close to one another, that it
seems a miracle anyone can get through. Not long ago an underground
passage with steps leading down to it was built, so that people can go
under instead of over the street, which is, I think, a very good thing.

In the City there are a great many churches, nearly all built by one
man, Sir Christopher Wren, a very clever man. But you will say, 'Why do
people want churches in the City? Didn't you say that everyone went away
to their own houses at night and on Sundays? Isn't the City, then, quite
empty?'

Yes, that is true; on Sundays the City is empty, except for people who
come down to walk round and look at it. But the churches are still
there, and there are still services in them on Sundays, because long
years ago good men left money to pay the clergymen, and no one has any
right to use it for any other purpose; so the clergymen preach, and very
few people are there to hear. It seems odd, doesn't it? But there are
many things odd in this great, dear, smoky London of ours. There used to
be many more churches in the City than there are now; at one time there
were seventy churches or more all in this small space! There aren't so
many now, but s