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.