till now, did I feel how inexpressibly dear you were to me. You have been my father, and my brother, and my mistress, and my tailor, and my shoemaker, and my hatter, and my cook, and my wine merchant! You and I never misunderstood each other. I did not grumble when I saw what fine houses and good strong boxes you gave to other men. No! I rejoiced at their prosperity. I delighted to see a rich man—my only disappointment was in stumbling on a poor one. You gave riches to my neighbours; but, O generous London, you gave those neighbours to me! Magnificent streets, all christian virtues abide within you! Charity is as common as smoke! Where, in what corner of the habitable world shall I find human beings with so many superfluities? where shall I so easily decoy from their benevolent credulity, those superfluities to myself? God only knows, my dear, dear, darling London, what I lose in you! O public charities!—O public institutions!—O Banks that belie mathematical axioms, and make lots out of nothing!—O showrooms where Frenchmen are expected to drink prussic acid like water!—O merciful spectators, who pursue the said Frenchmen to coal-holes, if
