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city in the world. He should be historically minded. Above all, he should be a true lover of romance. He should be able to peer through the curtain of to-day into a more colorful-and unpleasant-past.

He should cultivate the doormen, the old soldier guards with their broad chests strung with ribbons, the vergers who watch the churches. Let him avoid the gabbler who patters through a memorized speech, and seek out, rather, the man who is casual to the verge of gruffness. He loves that nook of a past century into which fate has cast him, and his outward manner is but a carapace which may defend his inner tenderness from the irreverent.

Especially are Americans in his black books, because we are forever in a hurry. In Westminster Abbey a licensed guide eyed us coldly, stated his terms in the most businesslike fashion, and said:

"Your countrymen often ask me how much I can show them in ten minutes."

Yet when he discovered that we were really interested he revealed himself as a

cultured gentleman. He had come down in the world, it is true. England is full of the "new poor." His background was that of Eton or Harrow, Cambridge or Oxford. Better still, he was a lover and a student of the Abbey. When we exchanged cards at the close of the afternoon, we felt that we had become friends. The following day we saw him trot, giving cry, at the head of a pattering procession. His announcements had the subtle eloquence of a train-caller.


Trafalgar Square is the natural center of London for the adventurer. It is true that Charing Cross, a long stone's throw down the Strand, is accepted as the geographical center, if there can be a geographical center of a map which is messed about as is that of London by the oxbow bend of the River Thames.

At any rate, the 699 square miles of the Greater City includes all parishes any part of which may be within 12 miles of the




At one side rises the granite column topped by Nelson's statue. Beyond are the National Gallery and the Church of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields (see text, page 554). In the foreground is the Admiralty Arch.

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Over Covent Garden, a bit more to the left, one might sight the Bank of England and the heart of the old Roman city (see page 567).

Another turn left and the markets, the Charterhouse, the British Museum (see page 577).

Left once more and the theater district; Soho, where are the foreign restaurants beloved of novelists, and the fashionable. shopping districts.

Just a bit more and clubland and Mayfair and a glance at Buckingham Palace (see page 576).

Then Hyde Park and the Admiralty

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THE STEAM LORRY FEATURES LONDON'S "VEHICULAR MADNESS" "One leaps from safety island to safety island across these streets, as if they were stepping stones in a torrent-omnibuses, steam lorries, donkey carts, limousines, the small barn-swallowlike cars which taxation has thrust upon English motordom" (see text below). The roaring traffic is made more perilous to American visitors by the English custom of the left-hand turn.

(see page 579), and the circle is complete. pression of stony benevolence. They made All reached best by busses. us think of kind monuments.


Trafalgar Square is a place of perilous delights. Eight streets, if my count is correct, debouch upon it, each filled with roaring traffic coming from unexpected angles, and made more perilous to an American by the English insistence upon the lefthand turn.

One leaps from safety island to safety island across these streets, as if they were stepping stones in a torrent-omnibuses, steam lorries, donkey carts, limousines, the small, barn-swallowlike cars which taxation has thrust upon English motordom, brewers' vans drawn by elephantine horses, screaming motorcycles with the latest editions.

One desires to pause long enough properly to admire the statuesque policemen directing this vehicular madness by waving large white-gloved hands, but to do so is to risk one's life. We retained an im

Once Trafalgar Square was the King's Mews, where various monarchs stabled their horses. Honest artisans shaped weapons for English gamecocks in Cockspur Street. Fronting on the Square is the National Gallery, crammed with treasures of art. Of all the 1,500-odd churches in London, the visitor is apt to carry away the most vivid memory of St. Martin'sin-the-Fields. The gray and white and black pillars of its majestic portico gain added value, of course, when seen across the open Square (see page 553).

But there is something more, or so it seems to me. Americans are often charged with an undue interest in royalty, for our critics do not comprehend that we regard a king as a spectacle, just as we do the Lord Mayor's Procession or a Beefeater in the Tower. Yet for one American who knows that the king owns a pew in St. Martin's, and that the royal children born in Buckingham Palace are registered

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London's mighty monument of glass and iron was designed by Sir J. Paxton on the plan of a large conservatory. It is the scene of concerts, exhibitions, and festivals, and is a vast museum of sculpture and of objects of mechanical and scientific interest. During the World War the Royal Naval Division was trained here, and in 1919 it served as a demobilization station.

along with the sons and daughters of charwomen and night watchmen who also see daylight in Buckingham Parish, ten know that Nelly Gwyn lies buried there.

It is extraordinary, by the way, the influence this naughty little wench had on the London of her day. No one thinks of defending her. She is not even apologized for, any more than the Year of the Great Wind or Twickenham Ferry. She seems merely to be loved. The other day her thimble was found and identified in a house in Chelsea, and all London seemed to wear a half smile. The old women, who because they sell blossoms on the isles in Piccadilly Circus are called flower

girls (see page 557), cherish her tradition. Americans, however, being doubly handicapped by a different accent and a suspected light-mindedness, will do well to approach these flower girls deftly. Some of them still uphold the bluffer English standards of retort.

One keys in to London's past and present at Trafalgar. Where Northumberland Avenue enters the Square stood that Northumberland House in which lived the lady of whom Suckling wrote,

"Her feet beneath her petticoat Like little mice stole in and out"; and next it is the Constitutional Club, where men of the most extraordinary


A BASTION OF THE ANCIENT ROMAN WALL IN THE CHURCHYARD OF ST. GILES The wall which once encircled London was from 9 to 12 feet thick and 20 feet high and traditionally dates from the fourth century. The church is the burial place of John Milton.

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This curious burial ground, situated close to the Victoria Gate entrance to Hyde Park, contains only the pets of the aristocracy. It has been in existence some 40 years and was the idea of the late Duke of Cambridge. All the graves have neat stone borders and are planted with flowers.

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