many of the most populous streets of London.

Whilst in Prussia poets only speak of the love of country as one of
the dearest of all human affections, here there is no man who does
not feel, and describe with rapture, how much he loves his country.
"Yes, for my country I'll shed the last drop of my blood!" often
exclaims little Jacky, the fine boy here in the house where I live,
who is yet only about twelve years old. The love of their country,
and its unparalleled feats in war are, in general, the subject of
their ballads and popular songs, which are sung about the streets by
women, who sell them for a few farthings. It was only the other day
our Jacky brought one home, in which the history of an admiral was
celebrated who bravely continued to command, even after his two legs
were shot off and he was obliged to be supported. I know not well
by what means it has happened that the King of England, who is
certainly one of the best the nation ever had, is become unpopular.
I know not how many times I have heard people of all sorts object to
their king at the same time that they praised the King of Prussia to
the skies. Indeed, with some the veneration for our monarch went so
far that they seriously wished he was their king. All that seems to
shock and dishearten them is the prodigious armies he keeps up, and
the immense number of soldiers quartered in Berlin alone. Whereas
in London, at least in the city, not a single troop of soldiers of
the King's guard dare make their appearance.

A few days ago I saw what is here deemed a great sight--viz., a lord
mayor's procession. The lord mayor was in an enormous large gilt
coach, which was followed by an astonishing number of most showy
carriages, in which the rest of the city magistrates, more properly
called aldermen of London, were seated. But enough for the present.