We put up at Charing-Cross Hotel. After a good wash and brush-up, we went to find out the Rydes, my old Stuttgart friends who had settled in London for some years. I did not hear from Ettie Ryde, with whom I used to have great fun, since our school-days. What a chance to meet again! It was some little time before we found out the Rydes. We were received by Ettie’s sisters, who had just returned from church. I was very much disappointed when I was told that Ettie was out of town at the present moment, but the Rydes are going to spend most of the summer at Blackgang, in the Isle of Wight, and I hope to see a great deal of Ettie. It was Sunday that day, which reduced us to inactivity, and we had nothing else to do than to return to our hotel. There was a great demonstration in the streets, and we met on our way a procession of the “Westminster Democratic Society,” composed of a deputy of cabmen and wine-merchants and other corporations, who were shouting and waving flags. They marched with their bands at the head, without disturbing the order in the streets. Three ragamuffins opened the march, mounted on decrepit old hacks, holding large banners. The police gazed upon this demonstration with the phlegm of an elephant whom a fly would like to sting. The next day we visited the Health Exhibition in Kensington Palace. The trains left every five minutes and stopped with great jerks; we were thrown out of our places so violently that I found myself sitting on the knees of my neighbour opposite. There were many interesting things to see at the Exhibition, but the Russian section was rather poorly represented—furs and stuffed animals predominated. We had a good laugh when we stopped before a manikin representing a Russian soldier, a frightful guy, more like a bear than a human being, with a beard right up to the eyes. The “quarter of old London,” attracted us the most. Whilst walking the narrow dark streets lined with houses and shops, and crowded with people dressed in the costumes belonging to the fifteenth century, we had a vivid sensation of the past ages. We returned to Charing-Cross Hotel longing to have a good rest, but on entering our apartment we found our beds upset, the sheets and blankets lying on the floor in a heap. It was the sour-faced chambermaid who thought that we were leaving that same day, and was making ready the beds for new visitors. When we told her that we were going to remain another night in London, she picked up the sheets, flung them on the beds and carried away the clean linen. I could have smacked her!