What a city it is, where cabs and picture-galleries are within the reach of all who desire them!
The appetite for the social life of London grows with what it feeds on. Although at first indisposed to be lured into the Social Vortex, I found it possessed a centripetal force which drew me steadily toward its whizzing centre.
Nor was it long before I became as avid as any Londoner to pursue the bewildering course known as “going on.”
There is a cumulative delight in whisking from Tea to Tea, and no two teas are ever alike.
It pleased me greatly to classify and note the difference in London Teas.
In New York all Teas are alike in quality—the only difference being in quantity. But in London one Tea differeth from another, not only in glory, but in size, shape, and color.
Yet all are enjoyable to one who understands going on. If the Tea be of the Glacial Period, there is no occasion to exert your entertaining powers. Simply assume an expression of bored superiority, and move about with a few murmured, incoherent, and not necessarily rational words.
There is a very amusing story, which I used to think an impossible exaggeration, but which I now believe to be true.