before the slightest strip of the British coast
came into view, before the dimmest glimpse
of the lighthouse on the North Foreland, or
the tower of Margate Church, caught the eye
to the left, two vast lines of ships were seen
coming from the opposite extremities of the
horizon, and emerging to one point before us.
Those were the first signs of the maritime
greatness of England, and the spectacle was
contemplated with exclamations of amazement.
From the north and the south, hundreds
of vessels were marching on their
watery way, to or from the point which
indicated the place of the Thames, and the
position of London; marking out, as it were,
two great high-roads of commerce, which,
issuing from the vast maritime city of the
world, would presently diverge into a thousand
tracks, leading to every sea, and shore,
and city on the globe.

As the coast of Kent became visible, and
every minute its chalk cliffs, green slopes, and
hanging woods more and more distinct, the
interest of the spectators heightened; and,
when we entered the Thames itself, the pleasant
shores, and the passing up and down of
multitudes of vessels, awoke continual
outbreaks of admiration. Perhaps no Englishman
ever feels so fully conscious of the
greatness of this scene—the approach to
London by the Thames—as when he ascends
the river in the company of foreigners. There
is but one such scene in the world, and it
never fails to tell on those who see it for the
first time. On land all is smiling, green, and
cultivated. The very flats of Essex on the
right, with their large herds of fine cattle,
have their beauty; and the pleasant slopes,
and neat villages, and towns of the Kentish
shore, present a picture of the most perfect
home-like prosperity and peace. But the life
on the waters is the wonder. Great steamers,
with long trails of smoke, gravely, as it were,
steering away to distant ports either of our
own island or the Continent; busy tugs
dragging out to sea majestic East Indiamen, or
other great merchant-ships; colliers in crowds
with sails set, going up or down; shoals of
fishing-smacks, and other craft. And, as you
advance above Gravesend, the swift iron
steamers to the different places on the river,
flying past with crowds on deck, and music
playing, as on some gay holiday. These fill
the foreigner with augmenting wonder, and
as you advance, the ever-growing throng of
vessels that crowd the river; the hulks of
convicts; the Seamen's Hospital in the old
"Dreadnought," with its gilt Lion looking
bravely from its prow; the war-steamers; the
ships of all nations; the bustle of Woolwich
and all its arsenals, its barracks, and its docks
and workshops. The palace of Greenwich,
that proud monument of the nation's care for
its seamen; the hanging woods of the Park,
and the domes of the Observatory lifting
themselves above them, where longitude 0
presents itself familiarly to the mind of
every foreign passer-by, are contemplated
with a feeling which breaks forth from long
pauses of deep silence with the words—
"Gross-artig!" "Erstaunend!" "Unendlich!"
"Ueberweültigend!"

Every man had his Panorama of the River
out; fathers were pointing out to their
daughters the various places, and their historic
and statistical interests. One very intelligent
German, whose only daughter was surveying
the wondrous scene, pale with actual emotion,
said to me, "Denken sie mir, mein Herr, es ist
das erstemal dass sie es gesehen hat; und was
für ein Gefuhl, was für ein Eindruck es müss
für ihr ganzes Leben seyn!" (Only think, sir,
that it is the first time that she has seen it;
and what a feeling, what an impression it
must give her for her whole life!)

But as the Pool was approached, and the
immense masses of shipping became visible
that lay in the bed of the river; the forests
after forests of masts; the great groups of
steamers lying, as it were, in reserve, the huge
Scotch and Irish ones that lay at the wharfs
preparing for their next trips; the covered
ship-building docks; the endless warehouses
and workshops; but, above all, the miles of
shipmasts and rigging showing themselves
along the course of the St. Katherine's, the
London, and the East and West India Docks,
seeming to have no end, presented the most
astounding idea of the commerce of the British
Metropolis which could possibly enter the
human mind. At every yard of progress, some
object of interest presented itself. All, as all
foreigners are, were particularly anxious to
know exactly at what moment they were
passing the Thames Tunnel. Then another
recognised the Tower, London Bridge, and,
high amid the smoke of the city, the dome of
St. Paul's. And thus slowly making way amid
the multitude of vessels in the Pool, and
bringing to, at the St. Katherine's Wharf,
amid the din of London's enormous life, and
its astounding evidence of activity, the voyage
of wonder closed. Hitherto everything had
been calculated to gratify the pride of an
Englishman: now came a scene which was a
dreadful anti-climax. This was the examination
of the passengers' luggage by the officers
of the Customs.

We had hoped that amid the many preparations
made for smoothing the approach of
the foreign visitors of all nations to the Great
Exhibition, a change would have been made
in this respect, befitting the honour and
hospitality of the nation: that if it were
deemed necessary still to subject the visitors
to Custom House inspection, a measure very
simple in itself, and perfectly efficient, would
have been adopted, to spare all possible
annoyance and detention; that is, that as
two officers come on board at Gravesend, the
luggage of the passengers should be examined
on board, as the steamer came up the river,
so that on arriving they might, without the
slightest detention or delay, have proceeded