“That young man is destined to take my place,” said my uncle, gravely, when Brummell had departed.  “He is quite young and of no descent, but he has made his way by his cool effrontery, his natural taste, and his extravagance of speech.  There is no man who can be impolite in so polished a fashion.  He has a half-smile, and a way of raising his eyebrows, for which he will be shot one of these mornings.  Already his opinion is quoted in the clubs as a rival to my own.  Well, every man has his day, and when I am convinced that mine is past, St. James’s Street shall know me no more, for it is not in my nature to be second to any man.  But now, nephew, in that buff and blue suit you may pass anywhere; so, if you please, we will step into my vis-a-vis, and I will show you something of the town.”

How can I describe all that we saw and all that we did upon that lovely spring day?  To me it was as if I had been wafted to a fairy world, and my uncle might have been some benevolent enchanter in a high-collared, long-tailed coat, who was guiding me about in it.  He showed me the West-end streets, with the bright carriages and the gaily dressed ladies and sombre-clad men, all crossing and hurrying and recrossing like an ants’ nest when you turn it over with a stick.  Never had I formed a conception of such endless banks of houses, and such a ceaseless stream of life flowing between.  Then we passed down the Strand, where the crowd was thicker than ever, and even penetrated beyond Temple Bar and into the City, though my uncle begged me not to mention it, for he would not wish it to be generally known.  There I saw the Exchange and the Bank and Lloyd’s Coffee House, with the brown-coated, sharp-faced merchants and the hurrying clerks, the huge horses and the busy draymen.  It was a very different world this from that which we had left in the West—­a world of energy and of strength, where there was no place for the listless and the idle.  Young as I was, I knew that it was here, in the forest of merchant shipping, in the bales which swung up to the warehouse windows, in the loaded waggons which roared over the cobblestones, that the power of Britain lay.  Here, in the City of London, was the taproot from which Empire and wealth and so many other fine leaves had sprouted.  Fashion and speech and manners may change, but the spirit of enterprise within that square mile or two of land must not change, for when it withers all that has grown from it must wither also.

We lunched at Stephen’s, the fashionable inn in Bond Street, where I saw a line of tilburys and saddle-horses, which stretched from the door to the further end of the street.  And thence we went to the Mail in St. James’s Park, and thence to Brookes’s, the great Whig club, and thence again to Watier’s, where the men of fashion used to gamble.  Everywhere I met the same sort of men, with their stiff figures and small waists, all showing the utmost deference to my uncle, and for