1936 On the Continent

pitiably for the gift of a warm cup of tea from the “Silver Lady.”
Wealth and Misery
    It is no mere coincidence that power and destitution should meet in Trafalgar Square. Wealth and misery, gaiety and wretchedness, are nowhere such near neighbours as in London. In the shadow of proud palaces you will find slums; in Hyde Park care-free idleness meets with the wretchedness of enforced idleness.
    These contrasts are only tolerable here on account of the calm, balanced temperament of the British people. The poor are even capable of being genuinely glad, without envy, at the happiness of the rich. Whenever there is an aristocratic wedding at one of the fashionable churches, with all the luxury such an event involves, hundreds of people watch the proceedings from a respectful distance with shining eyes and wave their hands in congratulation, though many of them have little to expect from life for themselves.
The Strand
    Rightly or wrongly the Strand is London’s most famous street. Formerly it lay at the back of mighty palaces whose frontages overlooked the Thames. Very little of that period survives, and the last remnant, the Adelphi, has recently been pulled down in order to make way for business offices. The Strand is not a beautiful street, but, somehow, though in a less dignified manner than Trafalgar Square it gives one the sensation of contact with the whole world. This impression is due not only to the fact that the Houses of the several Dominions and Colonies are situated here, but also to the colourful and animated scene which the street presents both by day and during the night.One always meets in the Strand people who have evidently just arrived from, or are preparing to go to, another Continent.
    The Strand is one of the great approaches to London proper, that is to say, the City of London, where the most up-to-date commerce is coupled with immutable medieval tradition. The nature, significance and peculiarities of the City of London almost provide material for a separate science. The ordinary mortal from another country who, leaving the modern atmosphere of Aldwych and Kingsway, suddenly finds himself on the threshold of Fleet Street, cannot realize what it means to pass through the nonexistent gate of the City of London. The actual gate was moved to another place long ago, and there is only a pillar to remind you of its existence and, incidentally, to interfere with the traffic. But the City of London takes no official notice of the absence of the gate. This point is the beginning of a separate world, with its own administration, its own police, and in some respects with its own laws.
Small Permanent Population
    In past centuries the City was the most densely populated residential district in the agglomeration from which Greater London evolved. To-day it has very few permanent inhabitants, and its population is decreasing year by year. The few thousand people who still live in the City are lost in the human sea of 8½ million people. In 1921 the population of the City was about 14,000; by 1936 it had fallen to about 10,000, and the great majority are caretakers, watchmen and the like at the countless business houses that are to be found within the old limits of the City.
    Though the City only occupies a total of 677 acres, only a fraction of Greater London’s area of 433,455 acres, it still remains the most important portion of the greatest city in the world, and no King or Parliament would dare to infringe its privileges.
King Must Not Enter
    It is a remarkable thing that these privileges should still be respected in this modern age. The King himself must not enter the City without the permission of theLord Mayor. Uniformed soldiers are banned from this area, and the Metropolitan Police must not interfere in the work of the City Police.
    The Lord Mayor of this square mile, whose population is smaller than that of many a small country town, nevertheless bears one of the most important offices in the whole Empire, and is surrounded with regal pomp.
    The Lord Mayor as an individual, is of no personal importance, and after his year of office he returns to comparative obscurity among his fellow citizens. But so long as he is at the head of the City Corporation, so long as he is entitled to have the golden sceptre of the autonomous City carried before him, he is one of the most prominent public figures in Great Britain. He is the embodiment of all the great qualities of those whom he represents, and is