Abroad and at Home; Practical Hints for Tourists

_Announcements._

Established 1850.

Inman Line.

United States And Royal Mail Steamers

CITY OF PARIS, 10,500 Tons. CITY OF NEW YORK, 10,500 “ CITY OF BERLIN, 5,491 Tons. CITY OF CHICAGO, 6,000 “ CITY OF CHESTER, 4,770 Tons.

[Illustration]

New York, Queenstown AND Liverpool.

FIRST CABIN PASSAGE from $60 to $650,

According To Steamer And Location Of Accommodations.

NOTE.--Round Trip Tickets issued at reduced rates, and the return portion can, if desired, be used by =RED STAR LINE= from Antwerp to New York or Philadelphia.

International Navigation Co.,

General Agents,

6 Bowling Green, New York.

* * * * *

Simpson’S

(Limited)

Divan Tavern,

103 Strand,

Opposite Exeter Hall,--LONDON.

[Illustration]

The premier Restaurant in the Strand, established upwards of fifty years, which still retains its supremacy for being the house to get the best English Dinner in London at a moderate price. There is also a magnificent Ladies’ Dining Room where ladies can dine in the same style and cost as gentlemen do in the room down stairs. Private rooms for large or small parties.

Noted for Soups, Fish, Entrees and Joints. Saddles of Mutton specially cooked to perfection from 12.30 to 8.30 p.m. Originator of professed Carvers to attend on each customer at separate tables. Matured wines and spirits. The largest stock of any tavern in the kingdom.

E. W. Cathie, Managing Director.

* * * * *

London & North Western Railway

The Old Route In The Old Country. The Tourists’ Favorite.

Irish And Scotch Royal Mail Route.

Shortest And Quickest From

=LIVERPOOL= (Lime Street Station) to =LONDON= (Euston Station). under FOUR AND A-HALF HOURS =to GLASGOW= (Central Station), in FIVE AND THREE-QUARTER HOURS.

=QUEENSTOWN to LONDON via Dublin and Holyhead=, in SIXTEEN HOURS AND TEN MINUTES.

* * * * *

=Baggage Checked Through from New York to London.=

=At LIVERPOOL, Family Omnibuses= from Landing Stage, and =Special Trains= from Alexandra Dock to Lime Street Station and Hotel.

=NORTH WESTERN HOTEL, Lime Street Station, Liverpool=, the best and largest--the hotel for Americans.

=SPECIAL TRAINS from Liverpool to London= when requisite to make close connection with steamers arriving from America.

=Elegant Vestibule Drawing-Room Cars without extra charge.= Compartments with lavatories, and private saloon and family carriages for parties without extra charge.

=Sleeping Cars= with Compartments and brass Beds, 5s. per berth in addition to first-class fares.

=DINING CARS= on principal trains and “American Specials.”

=Luncheon Baskets= at the principal Stations.

=In LONDON, Family Omnibuses= can be obtained, at the =Euston Hotel= (at the Station), noted for its =Cellar= and its French =Cuisine=, will be found most comfortable.

=THE LONDON AND NORTH WESTERN RAILWAY= has =NOT= abolished Second Class Carriages; passengers to whom economy is an object, but who do not wish to travel Third Class, can combine comfort with economy by traveling Second Class by this line. First and Second Class on all trains. Third Class Carriages on all trains except the =Irish Mails= to and from Dublin.

The Company’s Agents, =Mr. W. STIRLING, at Queenstown=, and =Mr. FRED. W. THOMPSON, at Liverpool=, meet the American Steamers on arrival, and secure omnibuses, seats, saloon carriages, rooms at hotel, and give general information.

=THROUGH TICKETS to London, Glasgow, Paris=, and principal stations in =England=, =Scotland=, =Ireland=, =Wales=, and Continent of Europe.

=TICKETS=, Time Tables and information as to travel and hotels can be obtained from the Company’s Agent, =Mr. D. BATTERSBY, 184 St. James St., Montreal=, and

=Mr. C. A. BARATTONI=, Gen’l Agent for the U. S. and Canada, =852 Broadway=, near Union Square, =New York=.

* * * * *

=G. P. NEELE=, Superintendent of the Line. =London=, Euston Station.

=E. MICHEL=, Foreign Traffic Superintendent.

G. FINDLAY, Gen’l Manager.

* * * * *

Hotel Windsor,

Victoria Street,

Westminster, LONDON, S.W.

[Illustration:

Hotel Windsor

Victoria Street, Westminster, S.W.

_J. R. Cleave & C^o. Proprietors._ ]

Convenient and central location; European or American system; the only hotel in London with Turkish and other baths; elevators; electrically lighted throughout, day and night.

J. R. Cleave & Co., Proprietors.

[Illustration: _Morris Phillips_]

Abroad And At Home

Practical Hints For Tourists

By

Morris Phillips

Editor Of

The Home Journal

New York

New York Brentano’S Paris Washington Chicago London

Copyright 1891, By Morris Phillips

The Art Press, Dempsey & Carroll, 36 East 14Th Street, New York.

To The Memory Of

George W. Hows,

MY FAITHFUL FELLOW-WORKER AND DEAR FRIEND OF MANY YEARS, THIS VOLUME OF SKETCHES IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.

“_Travel is the great source of true wisdom._” --BEACONSFIELD.

Contents.

Page

Preface, by the Hon. A. OAKEY HALL, 5

Great Britain.

London on Wheels, 9

London Hotels, 24

A Few Boarding Houses, 47

Where to Lunch in London, and Where Not to Lunch, 49

Railway Travelling in England, 59

An Hour with Spurgeon, 67

The Crypt of St. Paul’s, 71

The Queen’s Mews, 74

A Question of Hats, 77

London Oddities, 79

Poverty and Charity in England, 85

Where is Charing Cross? 88

Margate, 89

Two Brighton Hotels, 97

A Visit to Bleak House, 100

Takin’ Notes in Edinboro’ Town, 105

The Burns Monument, 112

Rt. Rev. the Moderator, James MacGregor, D.D., 116

Crossing the Channel, 123

Paris.

Paris Hotels, 124

Pensions of the First Class, 134

The Restaurants of Paris, 137

The Anglo-American Banking Co., 146

Au Bon Marché, 147

The United States.

Georgia--

The De Soto, Savannah, 149

Thomasville, 155

A New Southern Resort, 165

Florida--

A Cuban City (Key West), 171

St. Augustine, 180

About Tampa, 185

California--

Monterey, 190

San Diego and Coronado, 199

Santa Cruz, 213

Redondo Beach, 221

Pasadena, 225

Los Angeles, 231

The California Hotel, San Francisco, 235

Salt Lake City, 239

The Auditorium Hotel, Chicago, 243

Max O’Rell on American Hotels, 249

Preface.

A continuous residence in London of eight years has satisfied me that precisely such a book, so far as it relates to that city, which my friend and once junior legal associate now presents is popularly needed.

That in such respect it will be vitally interesting, even to readers who have never been tourists thither, “goes without saying.” Moreover, there are in these pages views, comments and sights of the “abroad” and “at home” additionally valuable; therefore I gladly accept his invitation to prepare a short preface to this volume of an American M. P. in the Parliament of Letters.

He first broached his idea of papers about London at a capital luncheon, when meeting together there we discussed with palates, forks and wine glasses a tempting _menu_ during the summer of 1890, as guests of Host Vogel, of the new Albermarle Hotel in Piccadilly, at the top of the historic St. James’s street.

We then and there drank success to the M. P. idea, and I doubt not, that every reader of this volume will be disposed to heartily duplicate that toast at his first dinner which shall follow its perusal.

When a tourist first arrives in London, beneath the inviting shadow of the Northwestern Railway station hotel, that is flanked by two smaller inns and its centre pierced by several taverns, or direct from Southampton at the Waterloo station, within rifle shot of which a score of hotels invite his luggage and his wearied frame, that tourist’s earliest question will be, which hospitable _caravanserai_ shall I patronize?

His second question will concern his vehicular desires for transportation by cab, ’bus or railway. Other queries will suggest themselves regarding the “How,” the “Where,” the “Which” and the “Why” of his new London surroundings.

With this volume on shipboard _en route_: or in railway carriage _in transitu_, the tourist will already possess answers in his mind to those queries or similar ones respecting Edinburgh or Glasgow; and will not be at the mercy of chance or of confusing porters, or of contestant “cabbies,” or of the shady sharpers who throng railway platforms.

Once well housed in any of the places herein mentioned, and once understanding, by the aid of the ensuing pages, how to get about in the vast metropolis--wherein one may ride sixteen miles from extreme north to a suburban south, and fourteen miles from west to east without quitting paved and lighted streets, or the continuity of habitations--a traveler’s eyes and ears will be all the Mentors he will require.

Of so-called guide books (of which class this is not), there are in London and elsewhere abroad confusing scores, but the average tourist ought to shun guide-books as he would a Bradshaw, unless he loves charades, puzzles and conundrums.

Every mother knows that when her infant obtains his footing, the child will walk confidently. This volume serves to give the person who arrives in London or Edinburgh and kindred cities an instant footing. In the parlance of the race course, it is the “starter.”

On arrival, the first thing to do is to demand and learn the points of compass; because all enquiries about the “Where” in London hinge on those.

The papers by M. P. about cabs and omnibuses will be found as valuable as they are piquant. He tells of certain trips (and tips) on top of a ’bus; he vividly describes how the best way for exploring London is to ride in its every direction on the tops of omnibuses--devoting days to the task, or rather pleasure--and when, as street after street is passed, reading their names, which are always sign-affixed to the turn--a convenience even for residents which, in late years, is strangely unknown in New York City. Thereby locality and prominent buildings and often-referred-to neighborhoods become fixed in an observer’s mind for future uses of memory.

I learned to know London “like a book”--as common phrase goes: and, I therefore fully appreciate how much this book will serve to teach new tourists how to begin to learn London; how much it will revive pleasant memories in former tourists; how greatly it will instruct intending tourists; how pleasantly it will amuse those who may not expect to practically patronize the hotels; how well it will instruct as to London’s vehicles and the wonders of the English city, which is practically seventeen centuries older than New York.

But there are other sides and hues to this prismatic volume. Not only is it inviting to Americans who wish to know about the “across-the-ocean-ferry,” but it will be attractive to the countrymen of the M. P. who may travel or who would like to travel Westward, “where the star of Empire takes its way.” And also to the foreign tourist who may for only one week reside, _in transitu_ to the States, upon the floating greyhoundish hotels which we call steamships.

Marvelous as London is to the American tourist, the wonders, the hotels, the coasts, and the traveling--especially toward the Pacific ocean--are equally marvelous to English M. P.’s and foreign ladies and gentlemen of fortune or leisure who seek transcontinental scenes and comforts.

Merely “turning the leaves,” a phrase happily used as a heading for book notices by the author of “Kissing the Rod” in his _World_ newspaper of London, will at once show any buyer of this volume what I have implied.

A. Oakey Hall.

LOTOS CLUB, January 21, 1892.

London On Wheels.

Above Ground, On The Ground, And Under Ground.

The Under-Ground Lines.

How the five millions of people in London “get about” to their daily avocations and homes is a mystery to those who have not made the subject a study. So I have gathered some information which will throw a little light on it.

Let me start out with the statement that besides the ten large terminal stations, like the Euston Square and the Midland, both in Euston Road, there are four hundred and thirty railway stations within the metropolis, and the under-ground lines alone carry annually one hundred and twenty-five millions of passengers. The underground roads have been in existence for more than a quarter of a century, and are found to answer the purpose admirably of relieving the over-ground traffic. They are convenient, cheap and comparatively quick; but decidedly unpleasant, if not positively unhealthy.

They now form a network of rails under the surface, and they have been a success from the first. They are a great engineering triumph, and may be said to have marked a new epoch in the history of London. The act permitting the tunneling was passed in 1853. Mr. John Fowler conducted the herculean labor, and underneath the streets of the busiest of cities, down where the soil was honeycombed with other works--gas pipes, water mains, drains and sewers--a railway line, costing upwards of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds per mile, was constructed almost without the knowledge of those above. For three years--from the spring of 1860 to the beginning of 1863--two thousand men, two hundred horses and fifty-eight engines were employed. When completed another difficulty presented itself, but was overcome by Mr. Fowler, who invented a locomotive which could be worked in the open air like an ordinary engine, but which, while in the tunnel, emits neither steam nor smoke, being so constructed as to be able to condense the one and consume the other.

And yet, after a long ride in the under-ground, you always emerge with a headache.

Of course the cars have to be lighted artificially, and they had not learned to use the electric light in them when I last was in London in October, 1891. Gas is a poor substitute in such a place. You are forced to read your newspaper in a dim light, and the gas consumes much of the oxygen which gets into the tunnel from the stations, and from openings en route, which are made for the purpose.

Yet you do not get about as quickly in the underground as you would imagine. To avoid obstructions, and for mechanical reasons, the road takes a circuitous route and you frequently must ride a long way around to go a comparatively short distance.

Millions of Londoners, who go direct from home to business, seldom get into an under-ground train. There are many over-ground lines built on brick arches which go to the suburbs, where rents are low; for every Englishman must have his own house, no matter how small, which he regards as his “castle.” These trains are quick and cheap, and you are blessed with ample light and good air--at least as good as you can get in foggy, smoky London.

On all roads, whether on trunk lines, on local, overground or underground lines, there are first, second and third-class cars, or “carriages,” as they call them. Even some omnibuses that ply from the trunk line stations also have compartments for different classes; your Englishman is very particular with whom he rides.

Occasionally you meet with unpleasant companions in third-class carriages of local or suburban lines, but on through trains, say between Liverpool and London, the third-class carriages are comfortable, and the travelers of a respectable class.

There is a great difference in the rates, and on a long journey it is worth consideration. First-class fare is almost double that of third-class. Second-class is neither one thing nor the other, and on some lines it has been abolished.

It is an old saying that only princes, Americans and fools travel first-class. I don’t care under which head they place me, so long as they place me in a first-class “carriage.” That it is more comfortable is incontrovertible, if you’ll pardon such a big word. I say this in the face of what John Stuart Mill said, that the only reason he rode third-class was because there was no fourth.

Electric Lines Under Ground.

The _Forum_ last summer printed a very good description from the pen of Simon Sterne, of the new electric under-ground railway in London, and the Sunday _Sun_ last autumn had an elaborate article on the subject, which, with illustrations, occupied nearly a whole page.

It is a quick and convenient means of locomotion, and to accomplish it was a work of wonderful engineering skill for which the inventor, Mr. Peter Greathead, cannot be praised too highly; but the riding is by no means pleasant.

In a lift large enough to accommodate fifty passengers, you descend a distance of eighty feet below the surface--part of the road running beneath the bed of the river Thames. The cars are small and fairly well lighted, but they have an unpleasant vibration, and although the air is not noticeably impure, there is an uncanny feeling with the knowledge that you are burrowing, as it were, in the bowels of the earth.

The road, probably an experimental one, is only three miles long, extending south from “the monument” in the city. It has not, thus far, proved a success pecuniarily, the cost of construction being so great, although no land was purchased except for the stations.

Hansoms And Four-Wheelers.

Street cars are not needed in the city. Nearly all London streets are in as good condition for driving as our Central Park roads. There are eight thousand hansoms, four thousand four-wheelers, and two thousand omnibuses, so that you are not obliged to walk on account of the absence of cars. The four-wheeled cabs, or “growlers,” as they term them, are dilapidated, uncomfortable vehicles, which lack new springs, and are dirty both inside and out. The horses and the drivers are old and superannuated; they have all seen better days in private carriages or hansom cabs. You never take a four-wheeler if you are alone, or if the party consists of only two persons. You must engage one if you have a trunk, but if you are going to catch a train or boat you had better allow a half hour’s margin.

The London cab service is the best and cheapest in the world. I say this, notwithstanding that I remember hiring a cab in Key West, in the Gulf of Mexico, for a dime. But such cabs and such horses! The rate in a hansom is sixpence per mile for one or two persons, no fare less than one shilling (twenty-five cents); by the hour, two-and-six (sixty-two cents).

How They Drive.

England is the only place I know of where they drive to the left. English drivers say that by sitting on the right and driving to the left, they can better watch the hubs of approaching wheels, and thus prevent collisions. A cabbie’s attention is given entirely to the roadway; pedestrians must look out for themselves or be run over. That is why so many of the London police are engaged solely in attending to street traffic. Yet with all their vigilance, more accidents occur in London, proportionately, than elsewhere. London drivers are polite and very civil to each other. If an obstruction appears in front of a horse, or if for any reason he is obliged suddenly to slow up, the driver will immediately notify the driver in the rear by holding out horizontally his left arm; and this sign is passed down from one driver to another, until the very end of the line of blocked vehicles is reached.

People who have not visited London for several years, will find cabs greatly improved. There is a new, patent hansom. In these you are saved the trouble of opening and closing the doors; this is done by the driver by touching a lever on the top of the vehicle. The new style of cab has thick rubber tires, which add considerably to ease and comfort in riding. So little noise does the vehicle make in going over London’s smooth-paved streets, that these cabs are provided with bells to warn pedestrians of their approach. The interior fittings include a holder for lighted cigars, a box of matches, a small, bevelled mirror on either side of the cab, and a swinging rubber bulb attached to a rubber tube with a whistle at the end. You lightly press the bulb, and in this way whistle to Cabbie on top, who hears the summons above the roar of the streets, and responds by opening his trap door in the roof to receive instructions.

The law does not permit the drivers of these well-appointed and rather luxurious vehicles to charge more than do the drivers of the ordinary cabs; but as the new hansoms cost the drivers more to hire, and as they are so much superior to the old style, you do not begrudge paying a trifle extra. The drivers pay for these improved hansoms sixteen shillings (four dollars) per day, except during “the season,” when the owners exact a guinea per day, about five dollars.

The speed with which the London cabs are driven is something alarming--alarming to a stranger. In New York a cab driver has some little regard for the lives and limbs of pedestrians; in Paris the horses are so poor and skeleton-like, and go so slow, that pedestrians have no fear whatever; but in London you must look out wholly for yourself; Cabbie will certainly not look out for you. If he is engaged by the course, he only has his destination in mind. London cab horses are the best horses in the world used for such a purpose. With rubber tires to the wheels, and the wheels going over clean and perfectly smooth roadways, there is nothing to obstruct their speed, and the animals go like the wind. They and their drivers seem to stand in fear of nothing but a policeman, and as London has good laws for regulating vehicles, and as these laws are strictly obeyed, the mere warning look of a policeman is respected and obeyed.

London drivers are not so brutal nor so ill-tempered as New York drivers. They do not, as a rule, curse or swear at each other as ours do, who are always ready with a foul oath. If a “block” occurs they take it good-naturedly and get out of it with the aid of the police as quickly as possible. Our drivers are only satisfied when they can take a mean advantage of their fellows, get in their way and put them to inconvenience. It may be Yankee “goaheadativeness,” or the spirit of freedom and independence which prompts this show of ill-temper, but for my part I prefer the laughing, jocular, good-tempered London driver.

On my last visit to London, where I stayed one month, I saw a great many “blocks,” but heard only one quarrel between drivers, and that was not at all serious. They will, however, chaff each other, saying something like this:--“Oh, come, pull yourself together there;” or “I say, country, why don’t you learn to drive before you come up to London?” The term “up to London,” by the way, is put to singular use there. Although London is in the south of England, you always go “up to London,” if you even go from Carlisle, which is in the extreme north, on the Scotch border.

Street Cars.

There are no street cars run by the trolley, storage or any other electric system; no cable cars, no horse cars; not a track is laid for a surface road in “the city” proper. Many Americans leave London without ever seeing a street car of any kind, and yet in the metropolis one thousand street cars run daily over one hundred and twenty miles of track, but they are not permitted in crowded thoroughfares; they are confined to the outlying districts. I have only seen them in the east end, in the district known as “The Boro’” and near the Victoria Station. The street cars are “double deckers,” and, like the ’buses, they carry more outside than inside passengers, but the number of passengers is limited. When the car has reached its limit it will take up no more passengers. Every passenger has the right to a seat, and, to use a paradoxical phrase, every Englishman stands up for his right to a seat.

Omnibuses.

The two thousand omnibuses keep employed eight or nine thousand horses. The number of miles run annually by the omnibuses is five and a half millions, and the number of passengers carried not less than forty-eight millions.

Such a heavy, slow-going, cumbersome vehicle as the London omnibus could not be used on our rough-and-tumble roads. It is poorly ventilated, if you can call it ventilated, for the windows are closed and are immovable. The only means of ventilation is by the door, in the rear, near which everybody tries to get. As fast as the choice seats near the door are vacated, they are occupied by the less fortunate passengers, and the last comer is always obliged to take the worst place, which is nearest the front. But in fine weather a man never gets inside while there is a vacant seat on top, and it is no strange sight to see women occupying outside seats to escape the stifling air inside.

Nor does wet weather deter an Englishman from taking an open air seat. Most Englishmen wear a “mackintosh” in threatening weather and there’s a great deal of such weather in London. To every seat on the top of a ’bus there is attached a woolen-lined leather apron to protect the knees, and with an umbrella, which is always part of an Englishman’s costume, they manage to keep perfectly dry.

The omnibuses are so freely used for advertising purposes, the outside is so nearly covered with attractive and gaudy signs of business houses that it is exceedingly difficult to read or discover the route or destination of the vehicle. You may be looking for Blackwall or Putney, but you will read “Hyams’ thirteen-shilling trousers “or “Day & Martin’s blacking is the best.”

The ’buses do not confine themselves to the middle of the roadway and allow passengers to pick and fight their way through a crowd of vehicles, New York-like; they pull up to the curb to allow passengers to enter or leave without the least possibility of danger or trouble. Conductors will also leave their perch, approach the sidewalk (Anglice, pavement) to consult or advise with a prospective passenger who is in doubt as to which ’bus he should take. Time seems of no importance: they are not in such a rush or whirl of excitement as we are. Whether from the excessive competition or from some other cause I know not: I do know that public servants in England are much more civil and polite than they are in this “free” country.

There are rules which control London omnibuses, and these it is the duty of the police to strictly enforce. A ’bus is licensed and allowed to carry only so many passengers, and this license or limit must be posted on a conspicuous part of the vehicle. The majority are “licensed to carry twenty-six passengers; twelve inside and fourteen outside.”

In 1890 the London police force numbered thirteen thousand eight hundred and fifty-five men, not counting the nine hundred and two officers who form a special organization in what is termed “the city.” A considerable part of the time and attention of the police is devoted to governing street traffic. Policemen will watch and follow a ’bus for several blocks if they think it contains more passengers than the law allows. When they are assured that this is the case they go to a magistrate and lay a complaint, and then woe betide the poor driver or conductor who disregarded the law.

The ’buses make special stops at certain points of their route and these seem very long and prove tedious to one who is in a hurry; but if your time is valuable you would never take a ’bus. They are not allowed to stop when near or nearing these special stopping-places, not even if a passenger expresses a desire to alight. I remember once, simply for information, asking the driver to stop in the middle of Trafalgar square, just as we were passing Nelson’s monument, on the way to the Strand, cityward. “Well,” said the polite but uneducated Jehu, “you carn’t expect me to get a four-shilling summons for a penny fare, can you?” meaning that if he pulled up where I indicated he would be summoned the next day on the complaint of a vigilant “bobby” and be obliged to pay four shillings for accommodating me.

In American street cars or omnibuses--excepting, as I remember in San José, California, a passenger who rides only a few blocks helps to pay the fare of the man who rides the full length of the road, for the charge to both is the same. It is not so (mis) managed in England. The charge there is by distance, about one penny (two cents) a mile and you pay according to the distance you ride. There are two or three lines of omnibuses whose only fare is a half-penny (one cent). One line runs between Westminster bridge and Trafalgar square. They pick up no passengers between the two points. They each carry only twelve passengers; there are no outside seats.

There is a great deal of pilfering going on among omnibus conductors, and drivers also, for they divide the spoils; and the company winks at it, knowing that the pay of these men is too small. The company is satisfied if it receives a fair average return, but in this way it puts a premium on dishonesty. There is no check against the conductors--no mechanical contrivance to record fares. They are supposed to enter every fare and the exact amount they receive from each passenger on a paper slip placed in a frame, the frame being fastened to the inside of the omnibus door, but it is only a supposition. Passengers are requested to see that the amount paid is properly entered, but the request is wholly unheeded. It is, to say the least, a very careless way of keeping accounts, and invites dishonesty. On some lines they use tickets showing the amount each passenger pays, but a conductor sometimes _forgets_ to hand you a ticket. An Inspector will occasionally mount a ’bus to see that all the passengers are supplied with tickets, and then the conductor with a treacherous memory has reason to be sorry. Keep out of a “pirate ’bus.” The rate in these ’buses is not uniform, and overcharges are not uncommon.

On The Top Of A ’Bus.

The driver is generally a jolly, red-faced fellow and very smartly dressed, especially on Sunday. He then always wears a “top hat:” in winter it is of black silk, in summer a pearl gray felt with a wide mourning band to set it off. His coat is often a double-breasted drab cassimere, and in the top buttonhole of the left lapel is a large and loud nose-gay. A showy scarf and a pair of heavy, tan-colored driving gloves complete his costume. He makes quite a picture as he sits on the box, with a leather strap across his waist which holds him securely in his seat, and a black leather apron to protect the lower part of his body from wind and rain. He carries a showy whip with a very long and loose thong, with the end of which he can pick off a fly from the ear of his leader.

The ’bus driver is permitted to smoke while on duty. He comforts himself with a briarwood pipe unless a generous passenger treats him to a cigar, for he is not above accepting a small present.

Leopold Rothschild, who lives on a street through which omnibuses pass, has taken a great fancy to these men and in the autumn he presents a pair of pheasants to every omnibus driver and conductor who passes his door.

Everybody who has visited London knows that the best way of seeing the city is from the top of a ’bus. Get a front seat, next to the driver, hand him a tip in the shape of a sixpence and ask him a few questions. You will find that he is intelligent, well-informed on every-day subjects, quick-witted and a judge of human nature.

I had a very interesting ride last summer on the top of a “Kilburn” ’bus. These ’buses start from Victoria station, and run northwest to Kilburn, through some very beautiful thoroughfares, in which reside many titled people and some prominent members of London society.

In Grosvenor place, soon after starting from the station, the driver will point out, for instance, the residences of the Dukes of Northumberland, Grafton and Portland; that of the Earl of Scarborough, at No. 1 Grosvenor place; the Dowager Lady de Rothschild; Sir Edward Cecil Guinness; that of the late Right Hon. William H. Smith; also the homes of a number of members of parliament, more or less well-known.

The ’bus goes a short distance through Piccadilly and passes the residences of Baron Ferdinand Rothschild, Lord Rothschild, the Duke of Wellington and the Duke of Hamilton, in Hamilton place.

Then it turns into one of London’s most aristocratic streets, Park Lane (alongside Hyde Park), where reside the Duchess of Somerset, the Marquis of Londonderry, Lord Brassey, Alfred Rothschild, Lord Dudley, the Countess of Dudley, Lord Grosvenor, cousin to the Duke of Westminster, and the Duke of Westminster himself. The Duke’s wealth is untold, and he owns miles of valuable land in this and the adjacent districts.

A ’bus marked “Hammersmith” will take you westward, through Piccadilly, past the clubs, the parks, some stylish shops, and fashionable residences. You will see St. James’s Palace and historic Addison Road, _en route_, and you can ride across Hammersmith Bridge. You can also go to Kew Gardens and to the famous “Star and Garter,” at Richmond, by ’bus.

Here’s another very interesting ride. If you are at Oxford Circus you will see omnibuses with the horses’ heads turned eastward, and you will hear the Cockney conductor calling out “Benk, benk, Charing Cross, benk.” Take a ride with him. The vehicle goes through Regent street, Trafalgar Square, the Strand, Fleet street, then down Cheapside (which is anything but cheap), and Cornhill, where there is neither corn nor hill. At the end of Cornhill you see the most crowded and bustling crush of vehicles you ever saw in your life. To the right is the Mansion House (corresponding with our City Hall); a little further on “The Monument,” with its gold torch at top, looms up; immediately in front is The Royal Exchange, with its Peabody statue, while to the left stands the demure Bank of England, as solid from a financial point of view as it is architecturally. On this route you pass and have in view The National Gallery, Landseer’s lions, several famous hotels and theatres, the Law Courts, Temple Bar, the principal newspaper establishments, and St. Paul’s Church. The same ’bus, if you wish to pursue your journey eastward, will take you through Leadenhall street and into the very heart of Whitechapel--even to Blackwall and the docks, if your taste lies in that direction.

There is no better way of seeing London than from the top of a ’bus if you get a seat next to an old and wide-awake driver, and the cost is but a few pennies. There are one hundred and forty different routes in the whole city to choose from.

The City Traffic.

One of the busiest thoroughfares is that narrow street called “the Strand,” where it is crossed by Wellington street. You drive north, through Wellington street, past the Lyceum Theatre to get to Holborn, Covent Garden Market and elsewhere; southward there is great traffic over Waterloo Bridge, leading to the Surrey side of London, while from the east and west come continuous streams of omnibuses, cabs, carriages and heavy wagons and freight trucks. Policemen stand in the middle of the roadway and regulate this enormous traffic by merely raising a white-cotton-gloved hand. They are calm and immovable, and seem to pay not the slightest heed to their own safety amid the crowded crush of vehicles about them. All come to a standstill before the stiff and fearless “bobby.” When by waving his hand he directs that a certain stream of vehicles may proceed this way or that, it proceeds, but not until he gives permission.

London Bridge is said to be the greatest thoroughfare in the world. More vehicles and foot passengers cross it than pass through any other street, and special provision is made for vehicular traffic. In New York, for instance, a heavily laden four-horse truck or wagon may block Broadway for a great distance. If you are behind it in a phaeton or light carriage, you must wait till the driver in front of you, who may be sullen and obstinate, leisurely moves out of the way. No matter in how much haste you are--you may be trying to catch a train or an ocean steamer--you must wait. Not so in London’s most crowded streets. On London Bridge, for instance, slow-going and heavily-laden vehicles must keep to the side near the curb and pavement, while carriages, cabs and light vehicles are allowed the middle of the roadway for quick movement. That part of the roadway directly next to the curb has a smooth surface, and there is also a smooth surface about a foot wide for the outer wheel of heavy wagons--this only on London Bridge and in a few other very busy thoroughfares. It is a capital plan, and gives satisfaction to all concerned.

Advice From Charles Dickens.

But in such a vast city, with such enormous traffic, nothing can prevent great loss of life and accidents innumerable from crossing the streets. The point mentioned above is only one of the busy parts of one street--the Strand--from another point, down by the Law Courts and Temple Bar, it is said that two hundred more or less mangled bodies are sent to the Charing Cross Hospital every year.

The present Charles Dickens, in his “Dictionary of London,” thinks it worth while to suggest that the only way to go from curb to curb is to make up your mind what course you will take, and then stick to it. London cabbies will thus divine your intentions. To change your mind while crossing is to confuse the cabmen, and cause you (so Dickens suggests) to make your return journey to America in the form of freight.

As all vehicles in London are driven to the left, keep to the left curb. I found this suggestion of Oakey Hall’s valuable: “As you leave a curb, look to the right; as you approach a curb, look to the left.”

London Hotels.

Until the year 1880 there was only one hotel in London that came up to the expectations of American travelers, which compared in size and appointments with American hotels of the first-class. This was the Langham Hotel in Portland place. When the Langham was built, nearly thirty years ago, and for several subsequent years, as the writer can attest, for he was a guest there in 1871, and has been a frequent visitor there since, the Langham was large enough to accommodate all American tourists in London.

This, however, has been greatly changed. Americans at that time merely passed through London; they took it as a sort of stepping-stone _en route_ for Paris. In the days of the Second Empire, when Louis Napoleon wielded the sceptre, and Eugenie set the fashions for the civilized world, Americans flocked to Paris like so many sheep. Then it was said: “See Paris and die.” With the downfall of the empire and its accompanying glories our compatriots found Paris less attractive, and they discovered what everybody knows--that London is, in many respects, the most interesting city in the world. A presentation to Her Majesty, and hob-nobbing with the Prince of Wales, are the things now most desired, and to be in the very height of fashion, one must hire a London house for “the season,”--May, June and July.

The Langham Hotel.

But this is a digression. The ground, the structure and the furnishing of the Langham Hotel, which was formally opened by the Prince of Wales in June, 1865, cost a million and a half dollars, and it was a wonder and a revelation to the English people. Its noble granite front of two hundred and twelve feet, its dining hall, forty-seven by one hundred and twenty feet; its music room, drawing-room, and its public rooms generally, were on such a grand scale that Londoners opened wide their eyes in astonishment and admiration. The Langham, by liberal outlay of money and constant improvement, keeps up with the times, and notwithstanding that many splendid establishments have been erected within the last decade, it retains its place in the very front rank. People who have not seen the interior of the Langham Hotel, London, since 1890, will notice some changes and marked improvements. Heretofore the dining-room was only entered by a comparatively dark and roundabout way, near the drawing-room; now it is approached from “the office” direct, through a wide and handsome “vestibule,” which is flooded with light and richly furnished, making an appropriate entrance to the beautiful dining-room. The drawing-room, which, for its size, its pleasing shape and rich furniture is yet one of the most attractive salons in England, has also been greatly improved.

Colonel Sanderson, its first manager, an American, died many years ago. He was brother to Harry Sanderson, famous in his day in New York as a pianist. But English capitalists and business men are not given to making changes, and so we find that Mr. Walter Gosden, who was in the service of the Langham under Mr. Sanderson’s management, has been for many years and is now the manager of the hotel. You can get a nice room with beautiful outlook, and a very good breakfast here for less than two dollars a day. This estimate includes the charge for attendance. Address, Walter Gosden, Portland place, Regent street, W.

The Grand.

During the past twelve years, however, many superb buildings for hotel purposes have been erected in the English metropolis. Among the largest and most popular are the three grouped together, as it were, in one short street, Northumberland avenue, which, only two blocks long, extends in a southerly direction from Trafalgar square to the banks of the Thames. These are the Grand, the Métropole and the Victoria, to name them in the order they were erected. So popular has this cluster of hotels become, and so many well-to-do Americans do they attract, that property in the neighborhood has largely increased in value, and the tradespeople blame the “Yankees” for the increased rents they have to pay, never speaking of the increased patronage which they enjoy from these same “Yankees.”

The features of the Grand Hotel, the longest established of these three, are well-known, but former patrons will scarcely recognize the reception-room, which, with its new, solid-looking furniture and rich, dark decorations, is now one of the most attractive apartments of its kind to be seen, even in these days of the upholsterer and decorator. While artistic and costly, it has an air of utility and comfort which you will not find very often repeated. The drawing-room of the Grand was to be “done up” during last winter, so the secretary informed me, and “it will be just as handsome as the reception-room.” Cable, Granotel, London.

HôTel MéTropole.

To American visitors in London the Métropole is one of the most attractive of the more recently built hotels. Situated as it is, and being replete with all the latest conveniences and features, no hotel in the metropolis approaches nearer to the ideal which was first evolved in the United States of the model modern caravansary. To dwell upon the subject of the general characteristics of the Hôtel Métropole would be superfluous; they and it are too well known to Americans who have visited London, but a short description of the celebrated “grand salon” of the Métropole, as it has lately been refitted and decorated (Sept. 1891), will be read with interest.

The scheme of adornment is most tasteful, and perfectly and harmoniously carried out in all details. Two shades of maroon in contrast with white and gold are the leading features of the _ensemble_, and the general effect of this combination is extremely felicitous and pleasing. The wall space between the lofty windows and the immense mirrors is covered with stamped Utrecht velvet of a soft, natural tint and richness of design. The pillars are painted in maroon, with gilt capitals, an arrangement of color which is at once novel and agreeable to the eye. The patterns on the flutings of the beams which support the roof are picked out in gold on a white ground.

The roof panels are covered with dull gold of a peculiarly restful tint, and the design introduced in various portions of the general decoration have an unusually æsthetic character. The electric lights, of which there are a considerable number, are surrounded by cut crystal pendants and greatly enhance the brilliancy of the illumination. In the center of the room is a palm, the leaves of which shadow a space thirty feet in circumference. It towers toward the ceiling, and for grace and beauty is not easily equalled in Florida, nor greatly excelled even in California. Tree palms are placed at intervals throughout the spacious room, producing a pleasing effect of verdure, and each of the separate tables is adorned with flowers; while the rich candelabra, with handsome shades placed upon each table, afford the subdued light which is preferable to the cruder glare of the former style of lighting. The general _coup d’œil_ in the grand salon is singularly graceful and attractive.

A large number of public and private banquets take place at the Hôtel Métropole, this being one of the recognized resorts for ceremonies of that description.

At the Métropole the “show” apartments are known as the Eugenie and Marie Antoinette suites, and they have afforded many a descriptive writer material for an article. Probably no hotel sleeping chambers equal these for rich and costly decoration--for the laces, the frescoes and luxurious furniture. The reader will know that ample means were at command when told that in the selection of site, in constructing and furnishing the Métropole, half a million sterling (two and a half million dollars) were expended. And such a success has the Métropole proved that the company were encouraged to invest further in hotel property with the result that they now own and control three hotels of the first class in London, also five other hotels in different parts of Europe. Among these are the Métropole at Monte Carlo, the Métropole at Cannes, and the Métropole at Brighton, the last named being the latest hotel erected by this company, and one which will compare in many respects with the most renowned hotels of the world. Rooms at the London Métropole from five shillings to one pound per day; breakfast from two-and-six-pence to four shillings; table d’hôte dinner, six shillings--one dollar and a half. Manager, Wm. T. Hollands.

Hotel Victoria.

The latest constructed of these three hotels is the Hotel Victoria. Printed words cannot easily convey to the mind an adequate idea of the magnificence of this structure. The public rooms of the Victoria are palatial in their proportions and appointments, the grand staircase is a marvel of beauty, and the sleeping rooms contain all the conveniences and contrivances found in modern hotels of the highest class. Besides the comforts characteristic of an English house, and the luxurious cuisine of a continental hotel, the attention and the discipline which rule at the Victoria remind one of an American hotel.

You need have no fear at the Victoria that the cards of friends calling will not be promptly sent to you: nor is there any delay or trouble at this house, as there is at certain hotels in the Strand, about the delivery of telegrams, letters and packages. Each guest is known to the officials and servants, not by name, but by number--the number of the room he occupies. Letters are placed in your box up to a certain hour of the evening, after that hour they are sent to your room. There is a package-room, also a “package clerk,” who receives all bundles, signs therefor, and enters the same in a book, so that it may be known immediately if a package has been received for a guest.

If a telegram or a card from a caller is received and the key to your room is not in its box, thus indicating that you are in your room, or at least in the house, a servant is immediately dispatched to your room, while a little page in livery is started off through all the halls and public rooms calling out in a loud voice your room number in this fashion, “Number 630, please.” If you are anywhere under the roof you are sure to be found by this excellent method.

A feature of the Hotel Victoria is a corps of valets. There are seven floors in the building, each accommodating about sixty or seventy guests, and to each floor a valet is assigned who performs all the ordinary duties of such a servant. Shoes are not carried down below to be mixed and confused with hundreds of others, but are polished by the valet on your floor. The valet also enters your room during your absence, removes all the clothes he finds hanging or lying about, brushes and folds the same and puts them back neatly. It is a convenience, returning to your hotel late in the evening and in haste to dress for dinner or the theatre, to find your evening suit nicely folded and brushed, ready to put on. These and other provisions for the comfort of guests indicate the general care in management and the close attention to detail which obtain at the Victoria, and which have given it its wide reputation. The appointments include a billiard room with five full-sized tables. Good rooms on fifth floor, a dollar and a half a day. This includes attendance and lights. Breakfast from two shillings to three-and-six; table d’hôte luncheon about the same; table d’hôte dinner, one dollar and a quarter. Manager, Henry Logan.

Long’S Hotel.

There is another trio of London hotels that may be grouped together, on account of their proximity--the Hotel Albemarle (Albemarle street and Piccadilly), Long’s hotel (Bond street), and the Hotel Bristol (Burlington Gardens, between Bond and Regent streets). The last two are but a few yards apart. They are all entirely new buildings, and new also in name and history, except Long’s, which was erected on the ground where the first Long’s stood for _two hundred years_. Long’s, though not of great capacity, has a larger number of richly furnished bedrooms than the Ponce de Leon, in St. Augustine, Fla. For the beauty of the exterior and the magnificent surroundings of the Ponce de Leon, as well as for the Oriental splendor of its public rooms, no words of praise can be too lavish. But the two hotels, “the Ponce” and Long’s, cannot be compared; their characteristics are so different. One is like a royal palace in the country, the other resembles a gentleman’s quiet, city home. Long’s differs from every other hotel I have seen in this respect, that all of its bedrooms have rich hangings, and the walls of each are decorated with works of art. The apartments are not cold and bare, as are the bedrooms of most hotels; they suggest home-like comforts, and are furnished in the best taste. The walls of the dining-room at Long’s are hung with Gobelin tapestry, and on the whole it may be called a beautifully appointed hotel. H. J. Herbert, manager.

The Bristol.

They have some very attractive hotels in Boston; the Brunswick, for example, and everybody has heard of the beautiful Spanish hotels in St. Augustine, and the great Auditorium in Chicago. I have lived at all these houses, also at the Hotel del Coronado, Coronado Beach, and at California’s other famous house, the Hotel del Monte, at Monterey, with its 126 acres for a garden. There are few or none that are more gorgeous than these, and they always come to one’s memory when discussing the best hotels, but certainly New York City cannot boast of a hotel interior that equals in tasteful decorations those of the Bristol in London. It is a gem in its way.

A veritable bijou of a room is the reception room of the Bristol. It is minus the onyx tables and costly paintings you see at the Ponce de Leon in St. Augustine, and the “gold” chairs that dazzle your eyes in so many American hotels: everything in this room at the Bristol, from the soft carpet on the floor to the decoration on the ceiling, is rich, but also quiet in tone--soothing and harmonious. The Royal Academy, the Burlington Arcade (a fashionable shopping street) and Piccadilly are all within a few hundred feet of the Bristol. The Bristol is patronized by such well-known New Yorkers as the Vanderbilts, the Twomblys and the owner of the New York _World_. Telegraph or write to the Bristol Hotel, Burlington Gardens, London, W.

The Hotel Albemarle.

Although rebuilt and opened as recently as the beginning of 1890, the Hotel Albemarle has already gained a position and reputation as one of the most select and fashionable hotels in London. Its situation, to begin with, has undoubtedly had much to do with its immediate success. It conspicuously fronts the north end of the celebrated thoroughfare, St. James’s street, in the centre of the court quarter of London, and stands at the corner of Albemarle street and Piccadilly. No better location for a hotel destined to be at once aristocratic and accessible to the traveling public could have been selected. Towering high above the surrounding buildings, the Albemarle, with its double façade, seventy-five feet on Piccadilly and seventy-five feet on the street from which it takes its name, cannot fail to attract observation. It is built of terra cotta in the Francis I. style of architecture, and the general effect is both graceful and imposing.

The main entrance is in Albemarle street. The interior of the hotel is furnished and decorated in a variety of styles of the Renaissance period. The furniture and decoration of the dining-room, ladies’ drawing-room on the ground floor, the fitting and decoration of the hall and staircase, are treated in the style of Francis I. The style of Henri II. has been adopted for the first and second floors; the third floor is in the style of Louis XV., and the fourth in that of Louis XIV. Special mention must be made of the “Rubens Room,” furnished and decorated effectively in the Louis XV. style. This apartment derives its name from a fine painting which adorns the ceiling, and which is believed to be from the brush, either of Rubens himself or of one of his pupils.

The furnishing, fitting and decorating of the Hotel Albemarle were effected by the well-known London firm of Shoolbred, after designs from a famous French artist. The building being of such recent erection, it is scarcely necessary to state that none of the modern improvements has been neglected in its construction. The most careful attention has been paid to sanitary arrangements, and the hotel is lighted throughout by electricity. In the two years which have elapsed since it was opened, it has quickly become renowned for the excellence of its cuisine and service. Its wine cellar is one of the choicest in London.

Royalty, the nobility, and visitors of the highest fashion patronize the Hotel Albemarle. During the London season, in particular, its rooms are crowded with distinguished guests. To Americans, especially, it should prove a most attractive resort, if only on account of the brilliant and aristocratic neighborhood in which it is situated. St. James’s Park, St. James’s Palace and Marlborough House are near at hand. Hyde Park, with its “Drive” and “Row,” is within five minutes’ walk. The Art Galleries, the theatres, the Opera House, the Houses of Parliament, the clubs, Westminster Abbey, and several of the principal museums are within the compass of a shilling cab fare. The best and most fashionable shops in London are situated in the near vicinity, in Piccadilly and in Bond and Regent streets, while Oxford street, where many of the cheaper shops are to be found, is but a short distance off--in short, it may be said that the Hotel Albemarle stands almost in the centre of the fashionable life and business of London.

Interest attaches to Albemarle street itself as an historical thoroughfare. During the last century it enjoyed peculiar reputation as a place of residence at the west end of the metropolis, and not a little of this old-time prestige clings to it still. The Prince of Wales, afterwards George the Second, once lived in Albemarle street, and when Louis the Eighteenth of France was in England in 1814 he made it his place of stay, and held, at the now defunct “Grillon’s Hotel,” his receptions of the leaders of the English nobility. The famous publishing house, Murray’s, through whose doors have passed such celebrities in the world of letters as Byron, Scott, Southey, Crabbe, Hallam, Tom Moore, Gifford, Lockhart, Washington Irving and many others, is situated immediately opposite the entrance to the Hotel. You would never imagine that it was a publishing house or business house of any kind. It looks like an ordinary private dwelling, and the only sign on the building is one small, dull brass plate on the front wall upon which is engraved “Mr. Murray.”

The proprietor of the Hotel Albemarle is Mr. A. L. Vogel. He is to be congratulated on the rapid success he has met with in his efforts to establish one of the best of London hotels. Mr. Vogel has purchased the freehold of property adjoining the Albemarle Hotel, and a large addition to the hotel will be erected presently, thus affording room for a new _salle a manger_ and some thirty more bedrooms.

Mr. Vogel issues as a “Guide to London” a comprehensive and, in its way, a complete little book of fifty pages, illustrated and prettily bound in cloth. It is sent free to any address in the world on application. Address The Albemarle, Albemarle street, Piccadilly, London.

The Burlington Hotel.

The Burlington is in Cork street, a select, and fashionable business thoroughfare between Bond street and Regent street. In this immediate locality are also to be found Long’s Hotel, the Bristol, Almond’s Hotel, patronized by Chauncey Depew and his family, and Brown’s Hotel in Dover street. The last-named house affects not to desire American patronage. The Burlington has enjoyed for over a century a truly unique reputation and position in London. The hotel, as seen from the Burlington street side, has a dignified exterior. It was erected in the year 1723, after designs by Kent, by Richard, third earl of Burlington, but the Cork street side was added to the old hotel in 1828.

It contains about one hundred and fifty rooms, and among these are as fine apartments as may be met with in any hotel in the world. The hotel entrance and the staircase are strikingly attractive, and the galleries, opening from the staircase to the first floor, have a most charming effect. Pretty alcoves occupy the ends of the gallery, and on the side opposite to the colonnade, which looks on to the staircase, is a richly ornamented doorway leading to the drawing-rooms. The latter possess curiously decorated ceilings, painted in oil, with vases, birds, foliage, etc., the work of an Italian artist of the eighteenth century.

The bedrooms are also interesting, as they retain their original carved wood mantelpieces and doorways. There are several noble old rooms on the ground floor with tastefully designed mantelpieces, panelling, cornices, doorways and richly painted ceilings, which might have served for the background of one of Hogarth’s pictures.

In the halls are fine, delicately carved benches by Grinling Gibbons. In their time the old frescoes have been admired by many famous celebrities who have sojourned at the Burlington. “Kitty,” the celebrated Countess of Queensberry, friend of Gay, dispensed her well-known hospitality at this hostelry, and Florence Nightingale occupied a suite of apartments there for some months after the Crimean war. Here, too, Macaulay wrote a portion of his famous history.

Coming to more recent times, there is scarcely a well-known face in London that does not know this aristocratic hotel. Lord Beaconsfield, when he was plain “Mr. Disraeli,” was president of a committee which met there weekly for the purpose of erecting a statue to the memory of the late Earl of Derby. The ex-premier, Mr. Gladstone, and his family have patronized the Burlington for the past fifty years. The Marquis of Salisbury may be occasionally passed in the corridors on his way to the royal apartments of King Leopold, and the Prince of Wales arrives unattended to visit august relatives, who patronize the Burlington. Henry Irving gives his delightful dinner parties there, and the Royal College of Physicians have dined there monthly since 1830. Among distinguished Americans whose names are on the books, may be found George Peabody, the philanthropist, who resided there for eight months, also Jefferson Davis, John Jacob Astor, Mr. Bancroft, General Schenck and General Sandford. Henry M. Stanley also is on the cosmopolitan list of celebrated guests of the Burlington.

The Burlington, as well as the Buckingham Palace Hotel, opposite Buckingham Palace, has for many years been managed by Mr. George Cooke, who is one of the proprietors, and under whose administration both hotels have acquired a reputation second to none in Europe. Electric light, new sanitation and every other modern improvement have been introduced, and both the British public, as well as American visitors to London, have been quick to appreciate Mr. Cooke’s effort to make his hotels real London homes for people of taste and refinement.

The Savoy.

A London hotel that has, so to speak, jumped into popularity is the Savoy Hotel. It is a new house, on the Victoria embankment, with the Strand at its back, the public gardens in front and the Thames at its feet. It lies between Charing Cross and Waterloo Bridge, and for a “finger post” it has Cleopatra’s needle. There is an entrance for foot passengers from the Strand and a carriage drive from the embankment directly into the courtyard, like that of the Palace Hotel in San Francisco, the Grand Hotel in Paris, and the Grand in Brussels. In fact, the Savoy is more like a continental than an English house, and the owners call it “the Hotel de Luxe of the world.” Luxurious in site, size and appointments, the Savoy certainly is. It is not continental, however, in its system of charges. Nor for that matter is it like any other London hotel, its system being American. In all Parisian hotels candles are a separate charge: in nearly all European hotels attendance is a separate item, and in most hotels in the civilized world you must pay extra for baths. Not so at the Savoy. When you are told the rate for an apartment everything is included--everything of course but meals--bedroom, lights, attendance and baths. There are sixty-seven bath rooms in the house, and beneath it there is an artesian well four hundred and twenty feet deep. The boiling water, as well as the cold, like Jacobs’s bottle, is inexhaustible, and you can bathe to your heart’s content. You can hire a room for two persons for two dollars a day, or you may engage a suite at twenty dollars a day.

As to table, you may live economically at the Savoy, or you may live like a prince--a rich prince. Here are the definite and fixed rates at the Savoy:--bedrooms for one person, from seven and sixpence (nearly two dollars) per day; for two persons, ten-and-six; suites of apartments containing sitting-room, bed-room, dressing-room and private bath-room, from thirty shillings per day. Breakfast from two shillings to three-and-six; luncheon, four shillings; dinner, seven-and-six; dinner served in private rooms ten-and-six. Guests’ servants are boarded at six shillings per day; price of room according to location. If you want to live in style and enjoy, at its best, life in London, engage a suite at the Savoy, including parlor and bath-room, with private lobby and private balcony overlooking the Thames. It makes no difference what floor you select: there are “lifts” in the house, so large and luxurious as to be justly called “ascending rooms:” they run day and night. The rooms on the top floor are equal in height of ceiling to those on the lower floors, and the furniture is of the same quality throughout the house. General manager, C. Ritz; acting manager, L. Echenard.

Hotel Windsor.

The Hotel Windsor is in Victoria street, only five minutes’ walk from Victoria Station, two minutes’ walk from the American Legation, a few steps from Westminster Abbey, Westminster Bridge, the Houses of Parliament, St. James’s Park and the Home Office. The dining-room of the Windsor is an especially cheerful apartment and it overlooks the pretty garden of a church. The great plate glass windows in this dining-room are larger than the windows in any other hotel, so large that they are only moved up or down by ropes to which handles are attached. They let in plenty of daylight, almost as much as streams freely into the dining-room of the Hotel Pasaje, Havana, which opens on the street, and which is not encumbered with windows at all.

The Hotel Windsor is not only kept by a “proprietor” in the accepted American use of that term, but the furniture, the building and the ground on which it stands are owned in fee (“freehold,” as English people call it), by two men, J. R. Cleave and V. D. B. Cooper, the first named being the actual and active manager of the house, who makes it his home, the title of the firm being J. R. Cleave & Co. The premises include fifteen thousand square feet of ground, which, without the imposing ten-story stone structure upon it, is valued at forty-five thousand pounds sterling--not far short of a quarter million dollars.

The Windsor is fortunate in its location. A shilling cab takes you to any theatre or to the shopping centre, and ’buses pass the door every minute for Charing Cross, Trafalgar square and the Strand. Time, ten minutes; fare, two cents, inside or out.

There is a lift at the Windsor of modern style; the house is lighted by electricity; there are Turkish and swimming baths on the lower floor; to avoid disagreeable odors the kitchen is at the top of the house; the bedrooms are scrupulously clean, the _cuisine_ and wines are of the best quality, and the charges moderate. You can live at the Windsor, if you prefer it, on the American plan--rate, about four dollars a day. The European plan is also moderate in price for rooms and meals--a delicious lunch for sixty cents: choice service.

If this is the description of a model hotel, worthy in every respect of the best patronage, “that,” as humorist Gilbert says, “is the idea I intended to convey.” The Windsor was built about twelve years ago. Address, J. R. Cleave, manager, Victoria street, Westminster, S. W.

Bailey’S Hotels.

Americans going to London for business, intent upon shopping, theatre-going and a round of sight-seeing, find hotels in the Strand, or hotels near Trafalgar square, very convenient. Reference is made to the Grand, the Métropole, the Savoy, and the Victoria, in their alphabetical order. The Langham, in Portland place, and those select houses near Burlington Gardens and Piccadilly--Long’s, the Bristol, the Burlington and the Albermarle, are also central, convenient, and in a fashionable district.

If, however, a family is going to London for a protracted stay and the desire of their hearts is to be in an ultra-fashionable locality, where the aristocracy reside, and where quiet and selectness reign and salubrity is assured, then Bailey’s Hotel, on the corner of Gloucester and Cromwell roads, is recommended and recommends itself. If you are in haste and do not care for a cab, the “underground” will take you from “the city” or from Charing Cross to Bailey’s Hotel in fifteen minutes, fare five cents, third class; fifteen cents in a first-class carriage.

When you reach Gloucester Road Station you are at Bailey’s Hotel, and within a few minutes walk of Hyde Park, Kensington Gardens, Cromwell Gardens, Stanhope Gardens, Queen’s Gate Gardens, etc., etc. Near at hand are the Albert Memorial, Albert Hall, and South Kensington Museum. Not only is Bailey’s Hotel in the heart of this fashionable locality, surrounded by the residences of members of the nobility and others, but the hotel itself is under royal patronage, and has entertained the Prince of Wales, the Duke of Edinburgh, the Duke of Connaught, the Princess Marie, the Princess Louise, and other members of the royal household.

The hotel, which stands on the property of Lord Harrington, who owns all the land hereabouts, was built in 1875. It is a brick building, six stories high--a modern hotel with modern improvements, and all possible safeguards against annoyances and dangers. There are accommodations for two hundred and fifty guests. In the rear of the house is a beautiful garden.

The decorations and furnishings of the apartments are in admirable taste, and display an individual and artistic sense of fitness. The style is especially English, but also especially beautiful--there is no gaudiness, but neither is there dinginess. Unlike American hotels, little space is given to halls, bar-room, etc., but there is a cosey, homelike atmosphere, which is enhanced by the rich and substantial surroundings. Because the bar, with its glitter of glass and brass does not obtrude itself, let it not be supposed that wine is eschewed. On the contrary, the wine cellar is a feature of the house, and the stock of wines is valued at ten thousand pounds. As to the quality of the wines, and, by the way, that of the cuisine, they are unsurpassed in London. The sanitary arrangements bear the closest inspection. Some of the very old and small London hotels are not to be trusted in case of fire. Bailey’s Hotel is American-like in the particulars of fire-escapes and preparations for extinguishing a fire.

There is no attempt to lead people to believe that very low prices prevail or that Bailey’s is a “cheap house” in any sense of the term. On the contrary, you pay for the best, and you get it. You can live at Bailey’s Hotel on the European plan at about the same rate as at an American hotel of the first-class. Single rooms rent at about one dollar per day; double rooms from a dollar and a half; suites from four dollars and a half upward. These are the winter rates. They are a trifle higher during “the season.”

As at all English hotels, breakfast varies in price from fifty cents to seventy-five cents; luncheon from sixty cents; table d’hôte dinner, one dollar and twenty-five cents. Of course it is English, and there are some extras. It is a rule at every English hotel, except the Savoy in London, to make a separate charge for “attendance,” about thirty-five cents per day for each person, and Bailey’s conforms to the rule. No American likes it and it seems odd, but it is the custom in England, and when in Rome---. Four dollars per week is the charge for each member of the canine race.

So much for Bailey’s Hotel proper, but the same proprietor, Mr. James Bailey, is also proprietor of the South Kensington Hotel, and, strange to say, the two hotels are distant from each other only five minutes’ walk, the South Kensington being in Queen’s Gate Terrace.

Being in the same locality, and having the same proprietor, the above remarks and particulars will apply, almost word for word, to both houses. Americans who prefer a quiet, aristocratic quarter, and especially those who have children, will make no mistake in applying for rooms at either hotel, each with its surrounding parks and gardens being particularly adapted to families. For the South Kensington, address Queen’s Gate Terrace, London, S. W.

In Jermyn Street.

A couple of small, quiet hotels in Jermyn street--a street which runs parallel with Piccadilly--may be found pleasant by families or by ladies without escort. They lack that bustle and noise to which some people object, and they are not “company hotels,” that is to say the head and front of each is always visible and approachable. Mr. Rawlings is proprietor of the Rawlings Hotel, and Mr. Morle with his family keeps and manages the house which bears his name.

While Jermyn street is narrow and its two hotels are quiet, plenty of life and gayety are to be had near at hand. Bond street and Regent street, two of the most fashionable shopping streets of London, are hard by, and the parks and palaces are within walking distance. Rawlings’ Hotel is famous for its cuisine, and a feature at Morle’s is that you can arrange to live on the American plan if you prefer, the charges being “inclusive,” as they call this plan there, and very moderate withal. Both these houses are homelike and comfortable, but they are not strictly fashionable.

Do not confuse Morle’s in Jermyn street with Morley’s in Trafalgar square. Morley’s has a magnificent outlook, with the noble Nelson Monument, Landseer’s lions and the playing fountains in front, and the dinner served at Morley’s is of the best quality, but the house is very old and rather worn, notwithstanding its white and attractive exterior.

The Norfolk’S Moderate Charges.

If you want to get away from the Strand, Regent street and Piccadilly; if you are tired of the glare and blare of showy “American hotels,” and you prefer a very quiet, but healthy locality, jot down in your memorandum book, “Norfolk Hotel, Harrington Road, South Kensington, S.W.” The Norfolk was built in the year 1889, not by a company, but by Mr. A. Fatman, who himself keeps the house. It is not large, there is room only for eighty guests, but these eighty can be made very comfortable.

It is not like a hotel in certain respects. The rooms are not all of one size nor of one shape. The furniture does not look as if it were turned out by machinery in Grand Rapids and bought by the car-load. It has character and distinction, no suites of furniture being alike. There is nothing at the Norfolk to remind you, for instance, of a Salt Lake hotel, with its great halls and corridors, and its cold, bare walls. Good taste, as well as money, was used in building and furnishing the Norfolk, and the result is an attractive, cosy, home-like house.

After entering the Norfolk and admiring its pleasant surroundings, the tariff of charges will surprise you. Rooms are let as low as two-and-six (about sixty cents) a night, and, wonderful to relate for a London hotel, there is no charge for attendance. Fish breakfast, one-and-six (thirty-five cents); afternoon tea, sixpence; the same price for hot or cold bath.

The First Avenue.

Don’t be prejudiced at the sound of “First Avenue Hotel.” It is in Holborn, a bustling, busy thoroughfare, but which has nothing in common with our First avenue in New York. The Gordon’s Hotel Company made a mistake in naming the house; they meant to say Fifth Avenue Hotel, for the First Avenue Hotel ranks probably with our Fifth Avenue Hotel in New York, only the First Avenue is not an old house. Holborn is one of London’s main arteries, a continuation, east, of Oxford street. The First Avenue is not very far from St. Paul’s and Newgate. The former being a noble cathedral, you will wish to get into; the latter being a prison, you will wish to keep out of, unless for a temporary visit.

Other Hotels.

Another hotel in Holborn which may be commended is the Holborn Viaduct Hotel, near the city station of the London, Chatham and Dover Railway.

A pleasant house in High Holborn is the Inns of Court; neither fashionable nor grand, but select and comfortable; largely patronized by English people. Terms moderate. The main entrance is in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.

There are some famous old houses farther east, in the city, in such a bustling, busy quarter as St. Martin’s le Grand, near the General Post Office. The Queen’s Hotel in this neighborhood is best known.

Not far from this locality is the Manchester Hotel, in Aldersgate street. The proprietor of the Manchester Hotel especially solicits American patronage.

Those who desire to make frequent visits to the Houses of Parliament and that grand old pile, Westminster Abbey, will find the Westminster Palace Hotel convenient. It has an imposing front, in Victoria street, Westminster, almost opposite to the Abbey. Within five minutes’ walk of this hotel are the Home Office, St. James’s Park, the Horse Guards, Westminster Bridge, leading to the Surrey side of London, the United States Legation, and the Victoria Station of the London, Chatham and Dover Railway. The favorite and well kept Hotel Windsor, referred to elsewhere, is also in Victoria street, and still nearer to the Station and the Legation before mentioned.

Convenient to Hyde Park are the Alexandra Hotel, 16 to 21 St. George’s Place, Hyde Park Corner, and the Hyde Park Hotel. The latter is at the west end of Oxford street, in Hyde Park Place, near the Marble Arch.

Claridge’s Hotel used to be considered “the crack” house of London, and it is still patronized by the nobility, members of the diplomatic corps and by royalty. Nos. 49 to 55 Brook street, Grosvenor Square.

The Hotels connected with the railway stations are large structures, solidly built, fire-proof, as a general rule, and fitted up with every modern contrivance. They are desirable stopping places if you arrive late at night or if you intend to make an early start by rail, from the station, in the morning. They were erected for that purpose and they serve it admirably.

There are very many reputable hotels in London which are worthy of the best patronage, detailed reference to which, in this limited space, it would not be possible to make.

If none of the hotels described or alluded to in the foregoing list suits your plans and purposes, consult friends who have had experience in such matters. But don’t go, hap-hazard, into the smallest and oldest London hotels of whose very existence you never heard. Some of them are unpleasant, as residences; others are unhealthy. If your stay in London is short there is every reason why you should put up at the best houses. If you make a protracted visit and desire to economize, go to a boarding house or take lodgings. You will see signs in windows all over London: hire rooms and eat where your fancy or purse directs. London housekeepers are glad to “eke out” by letting rooms in the summer, and with a small tip now and then to the maid, life can be made very comfortable in London lodgings.

A Few Boarding Houses.

There are plenty of first-class boarding houses where Americans are welcome. Five or six come to mind--Mrs. Pool’s, No. 20 Bedford place; Mrs. Goodman’s, No. 13 Montague place; Mrs. Philp’s, No. 6 Montague place; Mrs. Wright’s, No. 15 Upper Woburn place, and Mr. Cooper’s, No. 1 Bedford place, Russell square. Mrs. Philp is an American whose husband keeps the Cockburn Hotel in Glasgow; and there is a Philp’s Cockburn Hotel in Edinburgh. Mrs. Philp’s drawing-room is beautiful, the dining-room cheerful, and there is a pretty garden which is backed by the walls of the British Museum, so Mrs. Philp is easily found.

Those who want to live economically but comfortably are recommended to the handsome private hotel or _pension_ of Mrs. Marcus Pool, 20 Bedford place, Russell square. This is a pleasant and convenient quarter of the city--quite handy for the British Museum, not far from Charing Cross, and a shilling cab fare to railway stations and places of amusement. The house is furnished and appointed on a liberal scale; the drawing-room is large and cheerful; the bedrooms are luxuriously fitted up in the best taste, and they have a pleasant outlook. There is a Broadwood piano, also a new billiard room, with a table from the famous firm of Bennett. The house has a refined, home-like air, well representing the character of Mrs. Pool and her charming daughter. French and German are spoken. The terms at the Pool pension are from two dollars a day, which include breakfast, table d’hôte dinner and attendance--“everything inclusive.” Those are the terms “in the season;” the winter rates are lower. The cuisine is of the substantial English quality, but not heavy. At Pool’s pension you are sure to meet cultivated and select people. Those who have been Mrs. Pool’s guests appear perfectly satisfied; for they return again and again. Mr. Cooper keeps a good house and he caters to people accustomed to refined surroundings. He is a typical Londoner of the middle class--honest, blunt and out-spoken. Mrs. Lucy H. Hooper, wife of the American Vice-Consul in Paris, recommends No. 1 Bedford place. Mrs. Hooper makes it her stopping place when she is in London.

“American Family Home.”--An establishment which meets with especial favor among fastidious tourists is Demeter House, 13 Montague place, Russell square, W. C. The location is select, within easy access of the centres of shopping and amusement. The house is kept by Mrs. A. Goodman, who aims to maintain a house replete with the comforts and freedom of a refined home and the advantages of a hotel, but with less expense. The house is spacious and well furnished, the table excellent and carefully provided. Many leading American families make this their home during their annual visits to London.

Put down “No. 15 Upper Woburn place, Tavistock square,” and note that it is not far from Euston station. It is a quiet street. The house is kept by an English woman of refinement, Mrs. Wright and her maiden daughters, and it may be commended as a pleasant Christian home, where grace is said before meals.

Of these boarding houses, like all the hotels mentioned in this article, the writer speaks from his own knowledge and experience. But don’t count on getting accommodation in London hotels in the season, without making previous arrangements or giving notice in advance of your arrival, or you may be disappointed.

Where To Lunch In London,

And Where Not To Lunch.

It may be set down at the outset that there are no restaurants in London equal to Delmonico’s in Fifth avenue, or the Café Savarin in the Equitable Building, New York, and no London restaurant serves a table d’hôte dinner at any price equal in quality and style of service to that furnished at the select and elegant “Cambridge,” Fifth avenue and 33d street, New York.

Neither is there a restaurant of the third class that will compare with Mouquin’s, in Ann street, where everything is cooked to a turn, and where even a fastidious _gourmet_ need not find fault. There are two or three Italian places in Regent street where they serve a “Chateaubriand,” enough for two persons, for one dollar, but nowhere do you get a dish of maccaroni that is more palatable than at Mouquin’s, and neither in London nor Paris do you get as good Burgundy for the price as Mouquin’s beaujolais--half bottle, forty cents.

The foreign halls are more richly gilded, and the furniture is of finer texture, but if you are looking for as good food and as well served at that at Mouquin’s, at Mouquin’s prices, you will look in vain.

In the price of wines, however, no first-class hotel or restaurant anywhere that I know of sells wines as low as the manager of the Hotel del Monte, Monterey, Cal. In France, on the Swiss border, I found _vin ordinaire_ almost as cheap as water, in the small inns. The Hotel del Monte, please bear in mind, is a superbly appointed and grand establishment, and they serve you a half bottle of good California Zinfandel for fifteen cents. But then this hotel company own their own vineyards, and make no profit on wine served at table. It is a sort of “sample” or advertisement for their wines.

“The Aerated Bread Shops,” which are as “thick as flies” in London, are probably good enough places to drop into if you are in a great hurry, for a cup of coffee or cocoa and a roll or piece of dry, digestible seed cake. If you abhor marble tables, if you must have a _serviette_ and you would avoid a crowd and mixed company, keep out of the “aerated bread shops,” and by the same token and by all means keep out of the Lockhart lunch shops. The “aerated bread shops” are tolerable; the others are not.

Much more worthy of patronage than aerated bread shops or Lockhart’s lunch shops is the confectionery and cake counter of William Buszard, 197 and 199 Oxford street, where everything is clean and inviting. A similar place of the first-class is that in “the city” of Alfred Purssell & Co., No. 80 Cornhill, E. C. The proprietor of this establishment is related to the late William Purssell, founder of the famous restaurant in Broadway which still bears his name. There are several pleasant places in and near Piccadilly where you may obtain a cup of tea or cocoa and a dainty sandwich, just enough to “stay the appetite.” One of the best of these is Callard’s, 146 New Bond street, but even in this neat and clean little shop they don’t know what a _serviette_ is.

Romano’s, called “The Vaudeville,” 399 Strand, is recommended for its moderate charges, but this is a place I have never tried. So much for the confectioners and the cheap restaurants.

The Tivoli restaurant, up stairs, connected with the Tivoli Music Hall, is in the Strand, just East of Charing Cross. “La Haute Cuisine Française,” as they term it, is in charge of a famous _chef_, M. Gerard. A Table d’Hôte Luncheon, at 2s. 6d., from 12 to 3; Parisian dinner, at 5s., from 6 to 9, served in the Flemish Room.

Londoners are proud of their Holborn Restaurant, 218 High Holborn, where the glass and the brass and the marble columns are resplendent and imposing, and where you are regaled with vocal music (English glees) during the dinner hour, but the meals are not daintily served: the butter is not cold, and the plates are not warm, and unless you order a costly meal at the Holborn Restaurant, the waiter may wait on you with condescension. Dinner, three-and-six.

If you are in “the city,” in the neighborhood of the Bank (the Bank of England), and you have a desire to see how and where some of the brokers and commission merchants lunch, step into the Winchester House in Bishopgate street--a well-lighted, well-furnished restaurant, where no charge is made to customers, strange to say, for use of water and soap.

Ladies who are in the neighborhood of Westminster Abbey or who have business at the American Legation, are recommended to the Army and Navy stores, in Victoria street, opposite the Windsor Hotel, where a dainty lunch is served at a very moderate sum. You can do your shopping in the same large establishment. They sell everything, from a poached egg to an Axminster carpet or a wedding outfit. The Army and Navy stores is on the coöperative plan. To gain entrance you must either use a member’s ticket number or use good judgment.

Gatti is a well-known name in the Strand, where the Gattis have two large, gaudily furnished restaurants, one of which extends to King William street. The Gattis are also owners of the Adelphi Theatre, where you may always enjoy a drama--if you enjoy melodrama. The Gattis are Swiss, and one of the brothers is a legislator in one of the Swiss Cantons. They commenced in a small way, in the east end of London, many years ago and made a reputation for their ices. They long since moved to the west end, where they increased their business and they now conduct a thriving trade. All Gatti’s waiters are foreigners. They are a talkative set and some people might prefer that their linen be nearer the color of snow.

In Regent Street.

If you are in the neighborhood of Piccadilly Circus, a fair place to get luncheon at a fair price is “the Florence” in Rupert street, Regent street. It is an Italian restaurant; the lunch is served table d’hôte and the price is one shilling and sixpence. But there is no profit to the restaurateur in the mere lunch: you are expected to order wine--indeed that is the expectation in all English restaurants and hotels--all hotels that are not temperance houses. At the Florence you can get dinner from six to nine, for half-a-crown--sixty-two cents--and you order wine of course.

If you are fond of high living, and you don’t mind paying for it, take a meal in the middle of the day or _early_ in the evening at the Hotel Continental. It is in the lower part of Regent street, on the corner of Waterloo place, within the shadow of the Duke of York column. It was one of the first houses in London to adopt the French style in name--Hotel Continental in lieu of Continental Hotel--and it was one of the first to serve a first class dinner in the French style. The reputation for its _cuisine_ is second to none, and the hotel prides itself upon the accuracy of the names and vintages of the wines supplied. It has the monopoly in London of that famous brand of champagne, “_Medaille d’Or_” which received the grand prize in the French Exhibition of 1878 over sixty other competing wines. Cigarettes made of the finest tobacco are manufactured expressly for the hotel in Constantinople and Salonica.

There is always a very gay scene in the Hotel Continental supper room after the theatres close; it might become too lively in the early hours of the morning, but the police regulations oblige such places as the Continental to close their doors at one A.M. Dinner from seven-and-six to twelve-and-six, without wine, of course; for although you are in the Continental you are not on the Continent. A. Y. Wilson, who has been connected with the house since its opening, is the manager.

More attention is given to “the inner man” in London than in any other place I wot of. They seem to live to eat there, not eat to live, and yet some one has noted this difference--you eat dinner in London, while in Paris you dine. Mention the subject of restaurants in London and the majority will ask you, “Have you dined at Verrey’s in Regent street?” Yes, I’ve been to Verrey’s and I found it very gloomy, and very expensive not to say oppressive. You are in the middle of the house and the room is lighted from a skylight. It is not at all cheerful.

Blanchard’s, “The Burlington,” 169 Regent street, is patronized by the higher classes. Dinner from five shillings to twelve-and-six. No higher priced dinner in London.

For a healthful, nicely-served meal, whether it consist of a mutton chop and a boiled potato or a dinner of several courses, much better than the aforesaid establishments in Regent street is the Café Royal, at No. 68 Regent street. In the “Grand Café Restaurant Royal,” where dinner is served, prices rule high. For luncheon go into the “Grill Room” of the Café Royal. You will find the rates reasonable, the food of the best, the appointments on a grand scale, and the service satisfactory. These remarks will also apply to “The Monico,” at Piccadilly Circus and Shaftesbury avenue.

The St. James Restaurant, which extends from Piccadilly to Regent street, with entrances on both streets, is a large, showy place, with plenty of glitter about it, and wearing the big-sounding title of St. James Hall. The rates are not low, the food is not of the choicest quality, the service is not of the best, and the waiters may over-charge you unless you watch them closely. The charge for washing your hands at the St. James, be you a patron or not, is two-pence. This is a regular charge made by the proprietors, but if you don’t also fee the man who hands you a towel or fills your basin, you might get a cold reception down-stairs the next time you call, and you may fill your own basin.

At the Criterion, in Piccadilly Circus, you can take your choice; go up stairs, and the charges are higher; down in the basement the same dishes are served at a lower price. To quote their bill, “table d’hôte three-and-six, _le diner Parisien_, five shillings.”

English people when they are thirsty drink beer, wine, or something stronger; Americans who live in cities, American women at least, prefer something weaker, soda water, for instance, which, charged with gas, looks cool and inviting as it comes bubbling from a highly polished, silver-plated fountain. Not until recently could American taste in this matter be gratified in London. Now there are two “American confectioneries” kept by Fuller, one, the principle establishment, at 206 Regent street; the other, at 358 Strand, both central locations. The first is close to Oxford Circus and not far from the Langham Hotel. At Fuller’s you can get ice-cream soda and “caramels fresh ever hour.” In fact, on a pleasant summer day Fuller’s, in Regent street, will remind you of Huyler’s on Broadway, and if you are a New Yorker, you will meet many familiar faces there. If you retain a juvenile _penchant_ for peanuts, that taste can also be gratified at Fuller’s.

The Grill Room Of The Grand.

So many of the transient guests at hotels in London are out shopping and sight-seeing, that they generally take only breakfast, or, at most, breakfast and dinner, at their hotels, always lunching wherever convenience may permit. The meals at European hotels being usually a separate charge, the hotel is a sufferer by this custom, so that at some, if not most houses, it is understood that, if you take your meals out, a higher charge will be made for your apartment. The manager of the Grand Hotel, however, has opened a restaurant of his own, in his own house, which is so attractive that it not only keeps together his regular guests, but allures “the outside world,” and thus the “Grill Room,” as it is called, of the Grand has become famous in London.

While within and a part of the Grand Hotel, it is not reached by the main entrance in Northumberland avenue. It is at the eastern end of the building, around the corner, in the Strand, and is in what we would call in New York a basement, but no ordinary “basement” is this, and the staircase leading to it is anything but ordinary. The Grill Room of the Grand is a well-lighted, cheerful apartment, richly carpeted and finely furnished. The chairs are comfortably upholstered, the walls are gorgeous with polished tiles, the table furniture is dainty, the food is of prime quality, and the tariff of charges moderate.

Don’t be surprised at the charge, two-pence, for washing your hands in the Grill Room lavatory, and unless you occupy a room, the charge for use of lavatory in the hotel proper is three-pence; but it is worth half a crown merely to see the lavatory, or rather the staircase and landing leading to it, so beautiful are the colored marble fountain, the eastern rugs, the fernery and the Oriental lamps, with which this lower part of the house is decorated. The view of this lower part from the marble staircase on the main floor has been called fairy-like; it is certainly very pleasing.

Strangers are not allowed the run and freedom of the hotels in Europe as they are in “the States.” They can’t use the smoking-room, read the newspapers, loiter about the halls, make a general rendezvous of the house and help themselves to stationery in European hotels as they do on this side. Their hotels lack some of our popular features and the excellent service and discipline of the American hotels, but, on the other hand, they are not so noisy, and are more private. American hotels suit Americans, and the hotels in England satisfy the wants and desires of English people.

Simpson’S Divan.

A Characteristic English Restaurant.--A good, plain, thoroughly wholesome English dinner is served in an appetizing way by English waiters at Simpson’s, in the Strand, next door to Terry’s Theatre, opposite Exeter Hall. You get a bowl of good soup, a course of fish, a cut from the joint, a salad, two kinds of vegetables, with bread and butter, a biscuit and a bit of rich Gorgonzola or dry Wiltshire cheese to wind up with, and your whole bill will be four shillings, to which add threepence for “attendance,” which is charged in the bill, and about threepence more which you will hand to the waiter. A feature of the place is that the hot joint, over a chafing dish and on a small table, is wheeled round to you, and it is there cut before your eyes and transferred to your plate. You can get a lower-priced dinner in London, and higher-priced dinners where you please, but none of a better quality and none that is more satisfactory unless you demand fancy fol de rols, indigestible entrées and French dishes made of little or nothing.

Simpson’s is justly celebrated for its “fish” dinners. Both these and the meal above described are served in the middle of the day and in the evening also. On Sunday the evening dinner only is served; the place is closed until 6 P.M.

Simpson’s enjoys the patronage of Henry Irving and of other people famous in the theatrical world, just as it did in the last century. Henry Irving’s Lyceum Theatre, by the way, is in the Strand, near Simpson’s, but on the opposite side of the street. In the summer of 1890 I saw D’Oyly Carte enjoying his dinner at Simpson’s. This is a special compliment to the place, because that magnificent hotel, the Savoy, in which this theatrical manager is interested, is just around the corner from Simpson’s, on the Thames Embankment. During the summer of ’91 I met at Simpson’s another theatrical manager, our own Augustin Daly, with his wife. Mr. and Mrs. Daly occasionally left the Hotel Métropole, where they had apartments, to partake of one of Simpson’s substantial, well-cooked and appetizing meals. There’s no Simpson now, the founder died long ago, but “Simpson’s” is there yet, as it was a hundred years ago, although it is now a limited company. Howard Paul eulogizes this place, and Stephen Fiske recommends it. Besides being a brilliant writer on dramatic matters, Mr. Fiske has made a study of the gastronomic art, and he lived in London continuously during nine years. The reading public put faith in Stephen Fiske’s dramatic criticism; his intimates also trust to his good taste and judgment in ordering a dinner.

It is a well-known fact that changes in the employees at this establishment are seldom made. Some of the waiters have stood at the tables for nearly two decades, and the head waiter has been there (probably not always as head waiter) for more than thirty years. The name of this head water is Charles Flowerdew, so he informed me, and I can impart this piece of information--that this same Flowerdew is a character worth studying. There is nothing of the “Yellowplush” type about him, but he is such a character, courteous and civil (yes, seemingly servile to an American’s eye), such as Dickens delighted to draw.

Mr. Flowerdew knows all the old customers at Simpson’s, and, what is of more consequence to a hungry man, he knows all the choice cuts. He will suggest the best dishes, the rare bits, and he will serve you from the joint, _ad libitum_, as he proudly remarks. When next you go to London, go to Simpson’s, 103 Strand. You will be sure to meet a few London notabilities, you will be sure of a good dinner, and last, but by no means least, you will see the polite and dignified Mr. Charles Flowerdew. Managing director, E. W. Cathie.

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Railway Travelling In England.

While our facilities in railway travelling have wonderfully improved in the past ten years, it must not be supposed that in conservative England they have stood still entirely. But the improvements in carriage accommodation there have been so steady and gradual that passengers hardly recognize how much more they get for their money now than they did a generation back. For instance, the old first-class carriage of forty years ago was fifteen feet long, six and a half feet broad, and less than five feet high, and this was constructed to seat eighteen passengers; in other words, each person had about twenty-six cubic feet of space. In the carriages built to-day to accommodate ten first-class passengers, each one has ninety cubic feet.

Nor because we in America have such luxurious Pullman and vestibuled cars must it be imagined that the English railway carriages have not comforts and luxuries of their own. Some of them, for example, are built to seat only two or three persons, thus securing complete privacy to a party of that number.

I have never occupied a more comfortable railway carriage than in going, as I did, last September, from Edinburgh to London over the lines of the Caledonian and London and Northwestern railways, on the world-famous train called the “Flying Scotchman”--and a flyer it is. The distance is four hundred miles, and it is run in eight and one-half hours. You leave Edinburgh at 10.15 A.M. and reach Euston square before 7 P.M. As there are several important stations between the two cities at which long stops are made, the train must make between many of the stations much more than fifty miles an hour. The speed was so great at times that it caused unusual vibration, and at times it gave me a slight reminder of sea-sickness.

The carriage was built to seat two persons only. In it there were two large, softly-upholstered, sleep-inviting arm-chairs, one on each side of the car. Between the two chairs at the back was a door leading to a lavatory for the sole use of the two passengers. It was supplied with iced water, washing water, towels, mirror and all the etceteras and conveniences that are desirable in travelling. The car had in all six windows--two at each side and two in front. Between the two front windows was a handsomely-framed bevelled mirror. The floor was richly carpeted and the carriage was supplied with a number of brass brackets and hooks for the travellers’ impedimenta. But more than this--across the front, breast high, was a shelf about six inches wide to hold books and papers, and below this another shelf about the same width for a foot-rest.

The carriage was seven feet square and seven feet high. Here a man and wife or two friends can make themselves about as comfortable as if they were at home in their own drawing-room. You exchange your shoes for slippers, don your smoking jacket and if your companion does not object, you can enjoy a fragrant Havana. To be sure this is against the rules of the company and your indulgence in the weed would cost you forty shillings if you were found out, but the distances are great and the stops few on this “flying Scotchman,” so there is ample time to enjoy a smoke undisturbed. No extra fare is demanded for this most luxurious vehicle; it is simply ranked as a first-class carriage, but you had better write to the station master and engage such a carriage a day or two in advance of your intended journey, for not more than one of these small private cars is by chance attached even to a “flying Scotchman.” No extra charge is made for this engagement in advance.

The complaint years ago that passengers were locked in the cars can seldom now be made. The custom is almost entirely abolished; it caused so many accidents. The aim of each and every passenger on a British railway is to secure a seat with his back to the engine. In this way he avoids draughts of air: draughts from a bottle they never object to. In fact both men and women drink often and deeply during a journey, but it does not seem to affect them.

Time tables are not given away as with us: the charge is a penny, two cents. You never hear “all aboard” at railway stations, but the much pleasanter sounding words, “take your seats, please.”

Luggage And Baggage.

You do occasionally get a paper check or receipt for baggage on a continental railway, but in England seldom or never. Still a piece of baggage is seldom lost on an English railway. It gets to its proper destination at last, but it seems to be more by good luck than by good management. Baggage, or “luggage,” as they term it, goes astray sometimes, but on the other hand, the system for tracing and finding it is excellent. They have a “lost luggage” department in the principal stations.

They are very particular as to the quantity of baggage. Each passenger is allowed so many pounds. At every station there is an official who keeps a sharp eye on the porters who handle trunks, and at the slightest suspicion of overweight the official will order a trunk on the scales with which all stations are supplied.

There are strong racks in every car for light luggage, but a great deal of what we should term heavy baggage finds its way on the racks and under the seats. Englishmen travel with an extraordinary quantity of impedimenta. They carry large satchels, also portmanteaus resembling a good-sized trunk--all because no checks are given. Everybody wants to keep his luggage in hand or in sight.

There is a prominent sign posted in some of the large stations to this effect: “Any porter who is discovered accepting a fee will be instantly dismissed.” And yet you can’t get your trunk moved an inch without dropping a few coppers into a porter’s hand. The fee system prevails everywhere, from the station master who furnishes information to the uniformed porter who whistles for a “four-wheeler” or hansom. In many cases the door of the toilet room is only unlocked by dropping a penny in a slot. But this is a better arrangement than exists at stations on the continent, where an old woman stands guard, whom you must fee before you are allowed to leave.

A Royal Railway Trip.

When the Queen of England makes a railway journey it is an event of no ordinary importance. With her it is not, as with the President of the United States for example, so simple a matter as climbing up the steps of a Pullman or getting into a Pennsylvania Florida special or Chicago limited, and proceeding without fuss. No, when Queen Victoria is about to travel preparations are made long beforehand and all the regular arrangements of the road are subservient to the accommodation of the royal train.

When Her Majesty journeyed by the Caledonian Railway from Carlisle to Aberdeen, en route to Gosport and Ballater, many days previous there was issued the table of instructions for working the trains over the line on that day. They were intended for the use of the company’s employees only, who were forbidden to make known their contents. A pilot engine was sent over the road twenty minutes before the royal train, in charge of the foreman of the locomotive department. This engine maintained throughout the journey the uniform interval of twenty minutes. No other train, engine or vehicle, except passenger trains, was permitted to travel on the other track between the passing of the pilot and the royal train, and even passenger trains had to slow down to ten miles per hour.

One of the orders issued was this: “Drivers of such trains as are standing on sidings or adjoining lines, waiting for the passing of the royal train, must prevent their engines from emitting smoke or making a noise by blowing off steam when the royal train is passing.”

Brakesmen were enjoined to see that nothing projected from their trains. Each foreman plate-layer, or “section-boss,” as we would say, after examining his length of line, stationed himself at the south end and an assistant at the north; after the pilot had passed they walked till they met, seeing that all was right. The stations were kept clear and the public admitted at one station only, the last. Even here, cheering or other demonstration was forbidden, “the object being that Her Majesty should be perfectly undisturbed during the journey.” These instructions, signed by James Thompson, general manager, and Irvine Kempt, general superintendent, were obeyed in their minutest detail.

It must not be supposed that the company has to pocket the loss when the Queen travels. The royal lady not only does not travel on “passes,” but she pays all expenses incurred. A copy of the instructions printed in gold are presented to the Queen and she cannot fail to be gratified by the care and thought exhibited by the company.

The entire mileage of the Caledonian Railway is one thousand miles; the main line from Carlisle to Aberdeen, over which the queen travelled, is about two hundred and forty miles. It traverses a beautiful country. From this great trunk run out branches and connections by steamer in all directions--reaching to all big towns of the country, most of the small ones, and all the districts famed in Scottish song or history, the highlands, the lochs, the seaboard, etc. The road is a model road and one of the best appointed in Great Britain. The tourist, the student and the sportsman are offered strong inducements to avail themselves of the tours arranged by the Caledonian company.

The Northwestern Railway.

One of the largest English railway systems is that of the London & Northwestern. The territory covered by this railway extends from London in the south to Carlisle in the north, and from Cambridge in the east to Holyhead in the west--an area of three hundred miles in breadth. The main office of the government is in London, but the capital, so to speak, is Crewe, a town of thirty-five thousand inhabitants consisting entirely of the employees of the railway and their families. The total number in the railway’s service does not fall far short of sixty thousand. The annual budget amounts to ten million pounds, while the funded debt has reached a total of one hundred million pounds sterling.

The London and Northwestern shops at Crewe have to keep in repair a stock of engines that is worth five million pounds sterling, and while they do not indeed put a girdle round the earth every forty minutes, they do literally every four hours, and in doing so the engines consume a million tons of coal per annum. On an average, it is reckoned that every five days an old engine is withdrawn and replaced by a new one.

Of late years the company has been experimenting on an extensive scale with a system of metallic permanent way. Steel “keys” fasten the rails into steel “chairs,” which in their turn are riveted down to steel sleepers. About thirty miles of line has been laid on this system, with about sixty thousand sleepers. So far the results are understood to be satisfactory. The question involved in the conflict between steel and wooden sleepers is gigantic. A rough calculation shows that to replace the wooden sleepers on existing lines in Great Britain only would require about four million tons of steel, without reckoning the weight of the chairs and keys. And great Britain has only one-fifteenth of the railway mileage of the world.

In some ways the goods traffic arrangements of the road at Liverpool are even more remarkable than those in London. At Liverpool the Northwestern has six goods stations, two of them reached by tunnels each a mile and a quarter in length, constructed for their use alone. One of these stations, Edgehill, is called a goods “yard,” but this yard contains fifty-seven and a half miles of land, covers two hundred acres of ground, and has cost about two million pounds sterling--nearly ten millions of dollars.

The conductors on the New York street cars, like the New York policemen, are sullen and sour; they seem ill-tempered, if not ill-natured. You seldom or never see a smile on their lips, and as for giving utterance to the common and easy phrase, “thank you,” when they receive a fare, they wouldn’t be guilty of such a piece of politeness; not they.

It is different in England, on the Continent, everywhere in Europe. Whether on a steam road, a steamboat, a tram or an omnibus, no officer nor conductor would think of receiving a fare without thanking a passenger audibly, and even when an officer opens the door or looks into the window of a carriage for the purpose of examining tickets, you will not hear the short, sharp, curt demand, “tickets,” as in the States, but “all tickets, please,” in a pleasant and agreeable tone.

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[Illustration] AN HOUR WITH SPURGEON.

LONDON, October 1, 1890.

The Rev. C. H. Spurgeon still draws crowds to his tabernacle, which is situated in a part of London called Newington Butts. It is by no means a fashionable district, being in the Southeast end of the city. You tell any “cabby” to drive you to Spurgeon’s church and he will put you down at the door. But it is only a twenty minutes’ ride on a ’bus from Charing Cross; fare four cents.

That Mr. Spurgeon attracts great throngs of hearers, every one knows, but here are a few figures: His tabernacle accommodates between six and seven thousand people, and on Sunday morning, September 28, when the writer was present, five thousand four hundred people listened to him. This was in September, be it remembered, when everybody is out of town and “London is empty.”

The regular members and attendants ascend the stone steps and enter the church through the front door; strangers and visitors get in by a side entrance, through an alleyway, and as they pass in, a tiny paper envelope is handed to each person. You drop into the envelope as much or as little coin as you please (for no human eye is watching you) and this envelope you in turn drop into an open box on your left, this method probably taking the place of a collection, which would be so difficult to manage where five or six thousand people have to be approached.

People sometimes ask what is the secret of this preacher’s distinguished success? The foundation of his success is his earnestness and evident sincerity.

He impresses his hearers with the belief that he believes what he is preaching. He does not seem to be making a profession or business of religion. There is nothing perfunctory in his manner; he rejoices in his calling.

Then again Spurgeon is a good and effective speaker. He talks in a slow, deliberate way, his enunciation being clear and his pronunciation perfect. Each word is distinct and clean cut. His accent is cosmopolitan; there is nothing local in it. Except for the pronunciation of a few words, such for instance, as the word “after,” to which Mr. Spurgeon gives the broad sound heard in England, you might be puzzled to know whether the great divine was born “within the sound of Bow Bells” or graduated from Columbia College.

His language hypercritical people might not call choice, but I beg to differ with them; it is exceedingly choice, being directly to the point, and like the man himself, simple and strong. There is no searching for fine phrases and well-rounded periods. His ideas flow freely and they quickly find expression: there is no effect aimed at. The man trusts to the matter of his discourse, never troubling himself about his manner.

His gesticulations are few, natural and not at all dramatic. He will raise his right hand or occasionally take a step towards a small table hard by: nothing more. His voice is not musical, nor is it especially pleasing to a stranger’s ear; but it is firm, clear and penetrating, possessing those qualities most demanded in a public speaker.

On the morning of which I write Mr. Spurgeon took his text from Psalm 63, 7th verse, and held his hearers spell-bound for about forty minutes by his brilliant illustrations, his convincing arguments and his earnestness, for above and beyond all he is deeply in earnest. His prayer is beautiful; he touches a responsive chord in every heart in his fervent appeals to God for mercy and help.

Before the sermon there was singing of psalms and hymns. Mr. Spurgeon gave out hymn No. 916, “Going to Worship.” It was congregational singing, without instrumental music, one man near the pulpit acting as a sort of leader. The singing was too slow for the preacher. After the second verse he called aloud to the congregation to sing faster, himself beating time with his right hand. Psalm 34 was next given out, but when the first verse had been sung Mr. Spurgeon stopped the singing abruptly and said in a tone which was meant to be commanding: “I must beg that if you sing at all, you sing faster: there’s more heart in it if you sing quicker. Praise God as if you meant it; put your soul in the words: it will be more welcome if there’s spirit in it.”

Mr. Spurgeon’s deacons, about twelve in all, are seated on two rows of seats behind him, he and they occupying a high platform and prominent place--probably fifteen feet above the floor of the church, where all can get a good view of the man’s features--all except the deacons.

The great preacher is now in his fifty-sixth year. Like his character and his language, physically he looks strong and rugged, but his health is not good.

Mr. Spurgeon belongs to a family of gospel ministers. His grandfather was an English divine; his father, Rev. James Archer Spurgeon, still living, now occupies, or did occupy until very recently, a pulpit in London; and he has two sons who follow his profession--one at Greenwich, near London, and one at Auckland, New Zealand.

* * * * *

P. S.--Mr. Spurgeon died at Mentone, France, on Sunday, January 21, 1892, deeply regretted by all who had ever heard him or heard of him.

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The Crypt Of St. Paul’S.

All Americans who go to London visit Westminster Abbey, and some of them make more than one visit. There is a rare charm about the grand old pile. I never go to London without visiting the Abbey, and this was also the custom of the late Aaron J. Vanderpoel, with whom I had the honor of crossing once or twice. On one voyage westward, a fellow passenger was James R. Cuming, of the famous law firm of Vanderpoel, Cuming and Goodwin. Mr. Cuming and I were fellow students in the old law firm of Brown, Hall and Vanderpoel in the days of District Attorney Blunt, never-mind-how-many years ago. Mr. Cuming’s hair is now tinged with gray, but he has the same genial, agreeable qualities, and he is just as modest, eminent and successful lawyer though he now is, as he was when he and I were boys together in the Broadway Bank building on the corner of Broadway and Park place. But none of this personal matter has aught to do with the subject in hand.

I was about to say that while all Americans go to Westminster Abbey to see the monuments and other interesting things, all of them do not know that two of England’s greatest men, their most renowned heroes of modern times, are buried in St. Paul’s Cathedral--Lord Nelson and the Duke of Wellington.

One reason why American and other tourists who visit St. Paul’s seldom see the tombs of these great men is because they do not know that the cathedral contains them. The tombs are in the crypt, and unless you knock on the great iron gates leading to the crypt and pay a sixpence, you cannot obtain admission.

But besides the tombs of these two celebrities, a number of other eminent Englishmen lie buried in the cathedral. Among the monuments (over their tombs) may be read the names of General Gordon, Admiral Napier, Sir Christopher Wren, the architect, and the famous artists, Sir Joshua Reynolds and J. W. M. Turner--in fact, as there is a Poet’s corner in Westminster Abbey, so there is a Painter’s Corner in St. Paul’s Cathedral.

Nelson’s remains are covered by a great sarcophagus of black marble, which was intended for the tomb of Cardinal Wolsey. The Duke of Wellington is buried in a sarcophagus of porphyry, of which the upper part, forming the lid, alone weighs seventeen tons.

A visit to St. Paul’s discovers many other interesting things, and it is the opinion of the writer that it is one of the three grandest public buildings of modern times, the other two being the Capitol in Washington and the Palais de Justice in Brussels.

The cathedral itself has an interesting history. The first St. Paul’s Cathedral was built by Ethelbert of Kent, in the year 610. It is said to have been destroyed by fire in 961, rebuilt and again destroyed by fire in 1086, rebuilt again and for the third time destroyed by fire in 1666. The present structure was built by Sir Christopher Wren and took thirty-five years to complete, being finished in 1710, at a cost of something like £747,954 sterling--nearly four millions of dollars. It covers more than two acres of ground. The height from the pavement to the top of the cross is three hundred and sixty-four feet three inches. You get a good view of the building from the Thames. The best view of the building, however, is from the top of an omnibus going east down Fleet street, but this view is now somewhat marred or obstructed by the railway arch which crosses Ludgate Circus.

A few figures about the bell and the clock may not be without interest. The former, called Great Paul, weighs sixteen tons, fourteen hundredweight, two quarters, nineteen pounds; height, eight feet ten inches; diameter at base, nine feet six and a half inches; thickness where the clapper strikes, eighteen and three-quarter inches. The clapper is seven feet nine inches long and weighs four hundredweight. The note is E flat. The clock has two faces, each nearly twenty feet in diameter. The minute hand is nine feet eight inches long and weighs seventy-five pounds; the hour hand is five feet nine inches long and weighs forty-four pounds. The hour figures are two feet, two and a half inches long. The pendulum is sixteen feet long and to it is attached a weight of one hundred and eight pounds. It beats once in two seconds.

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The Queen’S Mews.

Windsor, the royal residence, twenty-five miles from London, attracts of course many American visitors, its features of interest including, besides the castle and park, the celebrated stables. But as for stables, the Queen’s Mews, near the centre of London, offer a much more brilliant show. Admission is gained with little difficulty or formality--by Americans. You simply call at the American Legation in Victoria street, two or three blocks (as we’d say in New York), from the Victoria railway station--a “penny ’bus” from Charing Cross passes the door. It is not necessary to ask for Minister Lincoln; your card sent to Mr. White, the secretary of the legation, or, in his absence, to Mr. McCormick, the courteous assistant secretary, will secure you in return the necessary pasteboard for yourself and party to visit the Queen’s Mews in Buckingham Palace road--a very short walk from the legation and a stone’s throw, so to speak, from Victoria station.

The stables cover a few acres of ground. They contain the royal harness, the carriage of state and other carriages, and have stalls for about one hundred horses, in the care of all of which about thirty or forty men are employed, those longest in the service being privileged to live on the premises. There is nothing very remarkable about the horses’ quarters; the stalls are not more luxurious nor are they kept in better condition than many private gentlemen’s stables in New York and Newport, nor are the horses particularly worthy of note, excepting the ten large black stallions and eight cream-colored stallions, used in drawing the state carriage on state occasions, as, for instance, when the Queen opens parliament. The tails of these stallions, the blacks and cream-colored, all reach to and almost sweep the ground, with the exception of one big black animal, whose brevity of appendage is made up on state occasions by the addition of a false tail.

The harness for ordinary use is of black leather with elaborate bright brass trimmings, that for state occasions is also of black leather, the crowns and coats-of-arms, in solid metal, being heavily and richly gilded. The harness is kept in perfect condition, and kept on show, protected by glass doors and windows. You may see and admire the royal reins, but they are not to be handled by common fingers.

Among the carriages there is one kept for its past history and glory, not for present use--a gaudy, gilded, theatrical-looking vehicle, the weight of which is four tons, the great, heavily-tired wheels of which measure six feet in diameter, the whole being of the respectable age of one hundred and thirty years. The most beautiful feature of this curious relic of by-gone days is the eight pictures set in as many panels, painted by Cipriani, an Italian artist famous in his day.

But the carriages for Her Majesty’s ordinary use and the carriage which is reserved for state occasions, which is drawn by the eight cream horses, are models of comfort, luxury and beauty. They are upholstered with dark blue cloth, the only interior ornaments being of worsted fringe matching the cloth in color. The wheels and body are dark blue, the panels being painted in a lighter shade, the centre of each door panel relieved by the royal crest of arms painted in rich colors, but not larger in size than a silver dollar. The carriages are hung on C springs and yield from any point to the slightest touch.

I ventured the remark to one of the footmen in charge that when Her Majesty places her foot on the step her weight must make quite a depression of the springs. “Does it,” said the royal flunky; “you should stand ’ere when the Duchess of Teck gets in. The Queen’s cousin is a werry heavy woman, God bless her. If you was to see her get in you _would_ see a depression, or whatever you call it.”

You will make a mistake if on leaving the Mews you do not drop a shilling into the ready palm of both coachman and footman.

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A Question Of Hats.

Americans treat women better both at home and abroad than they are treated elsewhere, and they certainly show the sex more deference and respect in public and private than women are accustomed to receive in many older countries.

An American seldom addresses one of the gentler sex with his head covered, unless it is in the open air; and while this is also the custom in some European countries--in France and Switzerland, for instance--it is not nearly so common in Germany or Great Britain.

Englishmen with whom I have talked do not seem to notice such things, but I know from long and careful observation, that men in London sit with their heads covered during the whole of a theatrical performance. They occupy seats in “the pit,” to be sure, but “the pit” in London is compared by some with the back rows of the parquette in American theatres.

Should this meet the eye of a barrister, he might charge me with being too general in my remarks. If he demands, in his “answer” to this “complaint,” a “bill of particulars,” I will mention, among places where I saw men sit covered during the whole evening, the Savoy Theatre, when “The Gondoliers” was played, and the Shaftesbury Theatre, where Willard performed in “Judah” in September, 1890.

At a Covent Garden concert in the same year, I saw four or five hundred persons on the floor (men and women) and not more than six men carried their hats in their hands. I remember remarking at the time that one-third of the number of hats were of silk plush (“top hats”), one-third were derbys of a brownish hue, the other third were mixed--all sorts.

Even in the dress circle at a Covent Garden concert some men wear their hats the whole evening--white hats, derbys, and heavy silk hats--and this in warm weather, too. It no doubt is the custom; at any rate such was the case on a certain “American night” (summer of 1890) when American airs were played, Mrs. Alice Shaw, the beautiful whistler, being the special attraction among the solo performers.

And when men at London theatres do remove their hats, they seem to do it reluctantly. They will enter a theatre and enter a box, remove their overcoat and gloves, take out opera glass, and spread the play bill before them, and then, as a last thought, if they think about it at all, the hat will be slowly removed; they seem to be unwilling to part with it. How different in American theatres, where every man quickly doffs his hat the moment he enters the door of the auditorium. It is all the more noticeable in London theatres because the women are obliged to remove their hats before entering, and excepting at the Lyceum, the Savoy, and possibly one or two other houses, they are obliged to pay for their care.

At third and second-class London restaurants, men wear their hats as do people of the same class elsewhere, but some men in England not only carry their hats into the dining-room of a first-class hotel, but carry them on their heads until they take their seats; the presence of women makes no difference.

The editor of the New York _Press_ says: “There is no surer test of a nation’s sense of courtesy than its treatment of women. Judged by this standard, the people of the United States stand above those of any other nation on the face of the globe.”

London Oddities.

It serves the purpose of correspondents as well as of the postal authorities to add the postal district initials in addressing letters to London--as for instance, C., indicating central, or S. W., Southwest. There are eight of these districts, and the necessity for adding the initials will be seen when one learns that in London there are no less than thirty-five King streets, thirty Queen streets, eighteen York streets, a Victoria Park in the extreme east, one Queen Victoria street, a Victoria railway station in the Southwestern district, a Hotel Victoria in the western central and a Victoria Hotel in quite another district.

The postal system in London is as near perfection as it is possible to make it. Few letters go astray, and the delivery is prompt, there being from six to twelve deliveries daily; but by neglecting to add the initial letter of the district a letter may be delayed several hours. There are three thousand offices and pillar boxes in London, but in addressing letters take care and take into consideration that there are nearly six millions of people in London, that the streets and squares cover eight thousand acres, and within a radius of fifteen miles of Charing Cross seven hundred square miles are covered. Correspondence between England and the United States also shows wonderful increase. Ten years ago the number of letters which annually passed between the two countries was eight millions; at present the number is twenty-four millions. Reduction of postage rates has of course had something to do with this great increase and it will bear further reduction.

I happened to be near Euston station and wanted to go to my hotel in Northumberland avenue. I stepped into a hansom, and not wishing to be taken for a stranger I simply said “Victoria Hotel.” In five minutes Mr. Cabbie pulled up in front of what seemed to be a gin palace, bearing the sign plain enough, “Victoria Hotel.” “I want the hotel in Northumberland avenue,” I said to the driver. “Then why didn’t you say Hotel Victoria,” was the sharp response, and cabbie charged me a fare and a half to emphasize the distinction.

The growth of London is something marvelous. More than ten thousand houses annually, or, it may be roughly stated, one thousand houses every month, are added to London. In August of 1889, 754,464 houses were supplied with water by the water companies, or 11,113 below the number in the same month of 1890. In September, 1890, the companies had to supply 10,976 houses more than in September of 1889. In August of that year 765,577 houses were supplied with water, and in September, 1891, that number had increased to 766,797.

The London police are a pleasant, polite set of men, and if they do not refuse the price of a pint of beer for a slight service, neither will they refuse to answer any question, respectfully and satisfactorily. The contrast is very striking between these good-tempered, obliging officers, and the sullen, saucy, sour-visaged, tobacco-chewing New York policeman who is just as ready to answer with his club, which he carries exposed, as he is with his uncivil tongue. London policemen are paid from six to seven and a half dollars per week: New York policemen from sixteen to twenty-four dollars weekly. A London police sergeant gets only ten dollars a week.

SIXPENCE FOR A PLAY BILL.--At the Prince of Wales Theatre and at the Shaftesbury you are charged sixpence for a bill of the play, and at the majority of London theatres you pay for a programme. The exceptions are Irving’s Lyceum and D’Oyly Carte’s Savoy, where no employee is allowed to accept a fee of any kind--not if the manager knows it. That does not say, however, that a “tip” for a programme is unexpected, even at the two houses named.

CIVILITY AND SERVILITY.--There’s a difference between civility and servility. You are pleased to have an omnibus conductor audibly “thank you” when you hand him your fare, but in the London shops a saleswoman will do the same thing even when you make no purchase. At the pleasant Nayland Rock Hotel in Margate, on the south coast of England, a waiter will thank you for allowing him to put a clean plate before you, or when he hands you a glass of water--if you can get such a thing as water at your meals in an English hotel. It is not obtainable without a little trouble; everybody drinks wine.

SOOT, SOOT, EVERYWHERE.--Owing to the use of soft coal in London, white buildings are soon changed into black ones, partially. This change, especially where one side of a set of Corinthian columns, for instance, remains the original color, and the other side has gradually turned very dark, gives some of the churches and public buildings a picturesque and pleasing appearance. Yellow brick is very largely used, but it soon changes color. If you place a tumbler of water outside your window at night with the idea of keeping it cool, for you rarely see a piece of ice, you will find a number of tiny globules of soot floating on the surface of the water in the morning. And it is exceedingly difficult in London to make weather prognostications, the sun being usually hidden or half-hidden by London smoke, if not by fog.

EXCHANGING COMPLIMENTS.--Englishmen say “as drunk as a Scotchman,” and Scotchmen have a saying “as durr as an Englishman.” “Durr” implies something more than quiet: it means surly, sullen. It cannot be denied that English tourists are unusually quiet: they seldom speak without having been formally introduced. That reminds me that two or three years ago I was traveling on the Midland road from London to Liverpool, and I happened to make some casual remark to a fellow traveler who was a stranger to me. The gentleman replied very briefly but courteously, and then added: “Beg pardon, you hail from the other side, do you not?” “Yes, but why do you ask?” “If I didn’t detect it in your accent,” said my neighbor, “I should know it because you addressed me. I have been traveling between London and Liverpool now for many years, and I am never spoken to but by an American, and I rather like it.”

There are no “cross-walks,” as we call them, in the cities of Great Britain; none are needed. Nor does anybody cross the street at right angles, as we do in New York. Everybody crosses diagonally, from corner to corner, or crosses in the middle of the block. The road-ways are so smooth and well paved that all parts are alike, and it is never necessary to pick your way. In New York, besides exercising great vigilance to prevent being knocked down and run over by vehicles, you must always keep one eye on the ground while crossing. You may be upset by a car track, or you may step between two stone blocks that are a foot apart, more or less.

AS TO OYSTERS.--English oysters still retain their flavor, a great deal of flavor; in fact they have entirely too much--that is to say, too much for anybody whose palate is not accustomed to the peculiar taste. You can get oysters as low as a shilling a dozen, but choice “Whitstables,” that have a strong, coppery flavor, come as high as four shillings a dozen. For the uneducated American palate, Chesapeake oysters, or the Great South Bay blue points are good enough.

SERVANTS’ WAGES.--Servant girls’ wages in England are not nearly so high as they are in the United States. Even hotel chambermaids, who are paid better than family servants, only receive fourteen pounds sterling a year--about ninety dollars, but each one is allowed a fortnight’s holiday (with pay) at the end of the summer. And the “tips” they receive from the guests are well worth consideration.

There are differences between the habits of London and New York women and here is one of the minor points: New York women go “shopping,” that is to say they go into one store after another to examine the goods, as a diversion or pastime; English women never enter a shop without the intention to purchase; they make a business and not a pastime of replenishing their wardrobe. To go on a shopping tour American women often wear fine gowns and rich jewelry; English women on the contrary, dress very plainly when engaged in their business of purchasing. They reserve their fine clothes for the opera or for receptions, wearing no extra finery even for ordinary visiting. They are not seen parading the streets in silks and satins, and that is why some American writers who do not observe closely say that “English women in the street dress in dowdy style.”

NO “FORELADIES” IN LONDON.--At the great dry-goods house and outfitting establishment of Debenham & Freebody, in Wigmore street, not far from the Langham Hotel, all the saleswomen are expected, nay, are obliged to dress in black. They number two hundred, but not a “saleslady” nor a “forelady” among them. They make derision of these terms, which are so commonly heard in New York. The firm also employs six or seven hundred young men. All the unmarried employees live on the premises, and this plan is found to operate satisfactorily to all concerned. The young men wear black coat, waistcoat and necktie. Many years ago salesmen in London dry-goods houses were not allowed to wear a moustache, but there is more liberty now and they can adorn their faces as fancy dictates.

You don’t hear the words, corsets, dresses nor pounds, in London shops of the first class, such as Kate Reily’s, Debenham & Freebody’s or Redfern’s. They have gone back to the old-fashioned term--stays, gowns and guineas. English merchants favor the last term because a guinea is worth a shilling more than a pound.

CUSTOMS IN ART GALLERIES ABROAD AND AT HOME.--The English National Gallery, in Trafalgar square, London, like our Metropolitan Museum of Art and like nearly all galleries in different parts of the world, is only open free on certain days of the week, while the great French collection at the Louvre, in Paris (probably the largest and most valuable collection of pictures under one roof) is always free, and may be visited without application to any circumlocution office. The Louvre is open six days of every week in the year; only on Mondays are the public not admitted, the officers reserving Monday for repairs and cleaning. In nearly all of the public galleries of Europe, as in the Corcoran gallery in Washington, you are obliged to leave your umbrella or walking stick in charge of an official at the door and for the care of such an article a fee is charged in some places; at the Louvre you may carry into the galleries as many umbrellas and bundles as you please. This is not always an advantage: for my part I am only too glad to be relieved of my umbrella and overcoat on such occasions. It seems strange that men while viewing pictures in the foreign galleries should persist in wearing their hats--it seems strange to a New Yorker; the custom being so different at our Academy of Design.

Poverty And Charity In England.

The drinking habit among men and among women and girls still remains the curse of Great Britain, and its companion, poverty, is everywhere. But if the poverty is striking and awful to behold, its next-door neighbor, charity, God be praised, aims to keep pace with it. Hospitals and other philanthropic institutions supported by voluntary contributions, are to be seen almost wherever the eye turns in the United Kingdom.

The patriotic and other public funds, to meet special emergencies at home and abroad, may well challenge the world’s admiration, not only for the princely amounts subscribed, but also for the hearty and expeditious way in which the funds are raised. The charitable institutions of the city of London number upwards of one thousand, and simply of asylums for the aged (colleges, hospitals and almshouses), there are one hundred and twenty distinct institutions.

But to return to the drinking habit, which presents itself before you constantly: I was riding up to London from Margate with a hotel-keeper, at whose house, on the edge of the surf, I had been staying for a week, and I remarked that the drinking water at Margate was of good quality. “Is it?” said Mr. Knaggs, for this is the name of the agreeable gentleman who presided for three years over the destinies of the Nayland Rock Hotel. “Is it?” said mine host. “Well, you know more about it than I do, for I’ve never tasted it.”

On Sunday, while at dinner at Philp’s Cockburn Hotel, Edinburgh, just before dessert was served, a small box was passed around the table by a waiter and into it people were dropping sixpences, shillings and pieces of higher denomination. At once it occurred to me, here’s another overcharge or extra I had not counted on, and I began inwardly to rebel. “What’s this for?” I blurted out in a rather injured tone. “Collection for the Orphan School, sir,” and I gladly added my mite. Afterwards I saw money boxes in hotels and restaurants in other parts of Scotland and in England labelled, for example, “For Charing Cross Hospital; funds urgently needed,” etc. Little boys and young women go about the busy and better parts of London on Sundays with boxes in their hands, begging you to “drop a penny in” for this charity or that--and you find it very hard, indeed, in London to keep any coppers in your pocket, so strong are the appeals. On hospital days the number of hospital boxes is largely increased temporarily. At this time sheets are spread in churchyards, into which people throw their spare change liberally.

“The People’s Palace,” which was opened by the Queen in jubilee year, is a noble illustration of the charitable English heart. The “People’s Palace” is situated in one of the poorer quarters of London, and, as everybody knows, is the realization of an ideal conception of Walter Besant in his novel, “All Sorts and Conditions of Men.” The palace includes a well-stocked library; a reading-room, supplied with papers from all parts of the world; a large swimming bath and a hall for musical and literary entertainments. In the basement of one of the main buildings boys are taught trades by which they may earn their living. That the recipients of all this good may not feel that they are objects of cold charity, a slight charge per month is made for those who use the reading-room, library, swimming bath, etc., and there is a nominal charge, about four cents each person, for admission to the concerts and lectures, which are given gratuitously by musicians and lecturers of celebrity.

I visited that part of the Whitechapel neighborhood which “Jack the Ripper” made infamous as the scene of his murders. It was a vile place three years ago, but the scene has been changed as if by a fairy hand. The Baroness Rothschild opened wide her heart and purse and erected here, for the poor of this unfortunate quarter, blocks of modern model tenements. These she lets at very low rents, asking only three per cent. return for her investment. In connection with the tenements the noble woman has built a well-appointed “Club and Library,” with billiard-room, etc., for the amusement of her tenants. These premises are in charge of a custodian and his wife, who are paid for their services by the Baroness; and for the use of the “Club and Library” a merely nominal charge is made to any of the tenants who avail themselves of the privilege. It is not sectarian. In England they believe in “Faith, Hope and Charity,” and of these three that “the greatest is Charity.”

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Where Is Charing Cross?

You hear a great deal about Charing Cross in London, but you may look in vain for a street sign bearing that name. Very few people in London know exactly where it is, nor does even the policeman on the “beat” know. Strange to say, neither the Charing Cross Hospital, the Charing Cross Station, nor the Charing Cross Hotel is in Charing Cross. Much as it is talked about, it is a very short street, extending easterly only from Cockspur street, then southerly, past the equestrian statue of Charles I. to Scotland Yard or Whitehall. Low’s Exchange is in Charing Cross, and within two or three hundred feet of that spot (No. 57), is the very centre of the city of London. From this spot cab fares are reckoned. Start from here and you can ride anywhere, within a radius of two miles, for one shilling. Low’s Exchange, by the way, is a very popular rendezvous in London for Americans. It is where they “most congregate,” and it offers many conveniences for travellers.

If you are traveling on the other side make this your headquarters. Telegrams, letters, and even printed matter are forwarded to you with the utmost promptness. A special work of the house is the securing of state rooms on board steamers. It saves you much worry and bother, and the service of this agency costs you nothing, Mr. Low getting his pay from the steamship companies. Edwin H. Low served his apprenticeship, as it were, to this business, in the office of the National Steamship Company in New York, many years ago, and since then he has had large experience. The headquarters of the concern are at 947 Broadway, and Mr. Low may be seen sometimes at his New York house, at other times in London, but there is a very capable man who acts as general manager for Mr. Low in Charing Cross--Mr. George Glanvill, who served Mr. Gillig for many years at the American Exchange, 449 Strand. By all means register at Low’s.

Margate,

An English Watering Place.

I was ill in London, at the Windsor Hotel in the summer of 1890, and as my friend Dr. Walter M. Fleming of New York happened to be in London at the time, at the Savoy Hotel, I sent for him. The fact is that I had been receiving too much “attention” from my friends--dinners, drives, concerts, theatres, suppers, etc., all of which resulted in physical and nervous exhaustion.

Dr. Fleming’s prescription was simple--“rest and a change of air,” but as this was Dr. Fleming’s first visit to England, I began to question my friends and others as to the best pharmacy at which to have the prescription filled. The proprietor of the Windsor Hotel, Mr. J. R. Cleave, said “Margate;” so, too, said the intelligent manager of the house, Mr. Mann. An old and trusted friend wrote me, “Don’t go to Margate, go to Brighton or to Hastings.” Thus opinions differed. I knew all about Brighton and wanted to see a place new to me. I was much inclined to go to Hastings, but a consensus of opinion prevailed in favor of Margate.

“There’s a beautiful air at Margate,” is the response of everyone in England to whom you speak of that place, from the boys at Low’s exchange in Charing Cross to Mr. Richard Whiteing, editor of the London Daily News. This remark