The Telegraph-courier. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1888-1946, 1901-07-11

you plainly that the next train will
take you there. To make sure, you ask
the guard at the entrance.
"Next train," he says.
You enter it and are Whirled on,
straining your eyes to catch sight OF
your station in the gloom, for nobody
ever announces it to the passengers.
You think it takes an uncommOnly
| long time to reach Mylord street, feel
uneasy and at length ask fellow COM
partmenter about it. He tells you you
are miles away from where you wanted
| to be let off and are, moreover, Whiz-
zing around and around London under
ground in one Of those villainouS Gin
ner circle" trains that will never touch
your station to the worlds end. You
get out, climb a lot of steep, dirty
stairs, thread bewildering passageways,
cross the track upon bridge, go down
stairs and take q train back to where
| you started
This is often the experience even Of
old Londoners. The railway service is
wretchedly inadequate for the public
/
form man where there should be at
least four - that, too, with labor so
plentiful and SO cheap as it is in Eng
land.
Unless you are very rich, you must
go into a lodging house or take fiat
of your own here if you stay some
time Flat builders know nothing Of
the many conveniences whereby the
American architect makes life worth
living. Flats, even new and expensive
ones, are not provided with hot water
or steam. For an apartment with
these accommodations you would pay
more than even New York rent. You
must have dirty little CRATES or, worse,
stoves in your apartment. Bathrooms
are not common.
AS to the London lodging house bed
and mattress-well, they are something
unspeakable. The furniture and bed
ding Of London were burned up in the
great fire of 1866 and were renewed
when the town was rebuilt, and that
was the last time London lodging
houses have had any mattresses or
blankets. Faith, I'm not sure but some
of the ones in use previous to the great
fire got away on that occasion and still
do duty.
| The Yankee hOuSekeeper's habit Of
lchanging bed sheets every week or at
least every two weeks has for some
treason never commended itself to the
London landlady. After all, though, it
would not make much difference how
often the bed linen was Numbered; the
result would be the same dingy gray.
London coal SCOT mixed with fog pene-
trates everywhere, dyeing all white
fabrics, shirts, sheets, pillowcases and
bedspreads that indescribable dingy
gray. You cringe and shrink from get
ting into or touching London lodging
house bed, it looks SO decrepit and SO
suggestive Of things not pleasant.
Yet some of the London landladies,
bless them, are the salt OF the earth.
Mine is. She simply does not know the
meaning of bright, clean walls and
beds and furniture not battered and
rickety. Nobody does know but Amer
leans. All herlifemy landlady has work
ed like a slave, and now, at "A, has not
dollar to her name. The fruits of her
toll has gone toward paying iniqui-
tously high rents, taxes, water rates,
etc. And all her life she has lived Oh
bread and tea and oatmeal.
This day on which 1 write is typ
ical London summer day Rain pours
in dirty drizzle, the streets are bat
ter of mud. / must take my umbrella,
put on my rain coat and my "goloshes,
which is British for rubber shoes, and
, 60 out for a walk this fine summer day
BEN JOYCE.