Part 2

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.