These railways are, after all, not so very different from railways above ground. There are so many stations where the daylight streams in, that one does not have time to realize entire darkness. And what tremendous space, thoroughly availed of, these stations give for advertisers. I feel very familiar already with most of the stores, from these advertising bills that stare us so conspicuously in the face.
Madame Tussaud was really an artist, and modelled greatly in clay and wax. For a long time she lived at the Tuileries and at Versailles, as companion for noted porsonages of the Court. She was highly educated, and possessed large means, but the Revolution compelled her to leave France. Having lost her property, she began to exhibit her ‘figures,’ and from that beginning has grown this large collection. A figure of Voltaire, made by her from life, is simply wonderful. The entire collection is much superior to the collection in the Eden Musee, New York, and although some subjects are made to appear somewhat ridiculous, the most are life-like and excellent. The murdered queens distressed us; the wax ones have cheered us: and now for a ride in the open air!
We took outside seats on a tram, and rode to the National Museum. I delight in these top seats; we get such unobstructed views of everything about us.
We remained in the museum until the hour for closing, but only saw a vast, immense accumulation of everything heard, unheard of, or dreamed of.
How singular many of the expressions we hear, sound to us. Lemonade is called lemon-squash; the price of an article is the tariff; ticket-offices are booking-rooms; and baggage, luggage always. The money gave me some annoyance at first, but I now generally know what is the correct change to give or to receive, but have one coin on hand which puzzles me: all that I can see on it is—‘Thanks be to God and to Victoria.’ I cannot quite decide the value of it.
June 21st.—Early this morning we sauntered toward St James’s Park, noting the fine residences,—Marlborough House, the home of the Prince of Wales and family, included. It is a plain, large building, dreary looking; and our free to go and come American girl says, ‘I am thankful I am not a princess. What a stupid time those girls, Louise, Maud, and Victoria must have, shut up behind those walls without ever being able to take a walk with “Tom, Dick, and Harry” unattended.’
An English lady told us, at our hotel, that there is a rumor that the Princess Louise is very much in love with an English Earl much older than herself. These girls are said to be all very plain looking, inheriting none of the graces of their beautiful mother, who seems to be greatly beloved by all the English people, and whose unfortunate deafness excites heartfelt compassion and sympathy.
The houses in London, even homes of the greatest simplicity, are named, and the names are generally placed where they can be plainly seen and read. The names of the residences of the nobility, as well as many names of the streets, often give us a clue to their founders, and are therefore appropriate and helpful.
The Prince and Princess of Wales are now in Germany, on account of the death of the Emperor Frederick, the husband of the oldest sister of the Prince. The entire royal family are of course in deep mourning. In fact, two thirds of all the people here are now dressed in black. Our little chambermaid, at our hotel, did not appear this morning as early as usual to give us her service, and when she made her appearance I asked her if she was ill. She replied: ‘Not at all, but we have been ordered into Court mourning, and I sat up late to get my black dress made, so felt very weary, and slept late.’
We soon found ourselves near the military quarters, where we stopped to see the Grenadiers, the Queen’s Guard, parade and drill, and to listen to the fine music of the band.