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.
[Illustration]
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.”
[Illustration]
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.