At first we are foolish enough to think that this mighty capital of our far-flung Empire should be an epitome of all our British virtues. Coming to the fountainhead, we expect the water to be pure. We soon learn that it is not a fountainhead of anything. It is a great bay of human life and action into which a thousand rivers, of different quality and force, empty themselves. London is a magnified expression of the life of the whole Empire. The currents which we on the frontiers of the Empire set going all come pulsing towards this mighty mother of cities; but with the boundless generosity of a mother of nations, mature but still vigorous, she receives this inflowing life and sends it back again in responsive floods to the end of the earth. The jaundiced critic treads this mighty city with the blinded eyes of ignorance, and seeing faults and sins, identifies her as 'Babylon the Great, Mother of Harlots'; but to those who look for goodness, London suggests the city of which it is written: 'And the nations of them which are saved shall walk in the light of it; and the kings of the earth do bring their glory and honour into it.' Let us not hide the truth from ourselves. These chimney-pots of London, for all their ugliness, mean a lot of kindly comfort. They draw well, they are comfortable to live with. You may find the worst in London, but you will always find the best also. There is a warm sympathy for sorrow, a motherly helpfulness in need, a maternal solicitude for the welfare of the humblest, which stretches down from the throne, and is reflected in the kindness of the poor towards each other. No good movement will ever lack support here, and no stauncher friend to freedom is planted four-square upon this earth than the City of London, which so gallantly fought for its own freedom and so jealously guards it still. If all these classic characters planned by fond parents had materialized right up to the very chimney-pots, they would probably have been less companionable and kindly. Purity of style does not always mean domestic harmony. Go into these houses with the distorted chimneys, and you will often find them 'all beautiful within,' carrying an atmosphere of peace and well-being which is refreshing to the soul. Think, too, of how many of them have been turned into hospitals for our wounded soldiers, and of others which dispense a hospitality to the men from overseas which helps them to forget or at least to bear their exile.