We Often Set Out On A Fine Morning, Salemina And I, And Travel
Twenty Miles In The Day, Though We Have To Double Our Twopenny Fee
Several Times To Accomplish That Distance.
We never know whither we are going, and indeed it is not a matter of
great moment (I mean
To a woman) where everything is new and
strange, and where the driver, if one is fortunate enough to be on a
front seat, tells one everything of interest along the way, and
instructs one regarding a different route back to town.
We have our favourite 'buses, of course; but when one appears, and
we jump on while it is still in motion, as the conductor seems to
prefer, and pull ourselves up the cork-screw stairway, - not a simple
matter in the garments of sophistication, - we have little time to
observe more than the colour of the lumbering vehicle.
We like the Cadbury's Cocoa 'bus very much; it takes you by St.
Mary-le-Strand, Bow-Bells, the Temple, Mansion House, St, Paul's,
and the Bank.
If you want to go and lunch, or dine frugally, at the Cheshire
Cheese, eat black pudding and drink pale ale, sit in Dr. Johnson's
old seat, and put your head against the exact spot on the wall where
his rested, - although the traces of this form of worship are all too
apparent, - then you jump on a Lipton's Tea 'bus, and are deposited
at the very door. All is novel, and all is interesting, whether it
be crowded streets of the East End traversed by the Davies' Pea-Fed
Bacon 'buses, or whether you ride to the very outskirts of London,
through green fields and hedgerows, by the Ridge's Food or Nestle's
Milk route.
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