Magazine, was not without its charms to me; and I envied the
odd-looking little men that appeared to be loitering about its arches.

How then did my heart warm when the towers of Westminster Abbey were
pointed out to me, rising above the rich groves of St. James's Park,
with a thin blue haze about their gray pinnacles! I could not behold
this great mausoleum of what is most illustrious in our paternal
history, without feeling my enthusiasm in a glow. With what eagerness
did I explore every part of the metropolis! I was not content with
those matters which occupy the dignified research of the learned
traveller; I delighted to call up all the feelings of childhood, and
to seek after those objects which had been the wonders of my infancy.
London Bridge, so famous in nursery songs; the far-famed Monument; Gog
and Magog, and the Lions in the Tower, all brought back many a
recollection of infantile delight, and of good old beings, now no
more, who had gossiped about them to my wondering ear. Nor was it
without a recurrence of childish interest, that I first peeped into
Mr. Newberry's shop, in St. Paul's Church-yard, that fountain-head of
literature. Mr. Newberry was the first that ever filled my infant mind
with the idea of a great and good man. He published all the
picture-books of the day; and, out of his abundant love for children,
he charged "nothing for either paper or print, and only a
penny-halfpenny for the binding!"

I have mentioned these circumstances, worthy reader, to show you the
whimsical crowd of associations that are apt to beset my mind on
mingling among English scenes. I hope they may, in some measure, plead
my apology, should I be found harping upon stale and trivial themes,
or indulging an over-fondness for any thing antique and obsolete. I
know it is the humour, not to say cant of the day, to run riot about