and coffee which formed the breakfast that I preferred. For luncheon 

 a roll and a glass of rich milk were quite sufficient and, for a shilling, 

 I got an entirely adequate dinner. Sometimes, I dined in the grill-room 

 of the South Kensington Museum, but, more frequently, at a little 

 restaurant in Piccadilly Place, of which I learned in Baedeker. 



Partly to save bus fares, partly for the exercise, which I could get in 

 no other way, I did a great deal of walking, and my usual plan, if I 

 were not going out to dinner, was, after the ending of the laboratory 

 work, to walk up Knightsbridge and Piccadilly to the Scientific Club, 

 in Savile Row, where Dr. Woodward had put me up, and write there 

 till dinner time, which was usually at eight. After that, I walked to my 

 room, or returned to the Club, for the evening's work. Of public en- 

 tertainments, I attended almost none; three or four visits to the theatre 

 in London and hearing Beethoven's Ninth Symphony in Cambridge, 

 comprise the list. It was not only from reasons of economy that I 

 avoided amusements, but also because I was working hard and steadily 

 and was unwilling to give the time that theatre and concert hall would 

 have taken. 



Living in this careful way, my monthly expenses in London were 

 from thirty to forty dollars, not including clothing and footwear, which, 

 of course, were bought but seldom. After I had gone through a series 

 of heavy colds, I became acclimated, in some degree, and throve ex- 

 ceedingly on my Spartan fare. That winter, 1 878-1 879, was an unusually 

 cold one, with an abnormal quantity of snow and ice, and I suffered 

 much because of the ineffective heating appliances and was never really 

 comfortable except in bed. Nevertheless, I was very happy and con- 

 tented in my work and in the kindness and hospitality which I met 

 on every hand. In particular, Dr. and Mrs. Glover were so unweariedly 

 kind that I came to look upon their house as a second home and felt 

 for them an affection, such as I have rarely had toward people outside 

 of my immediate family. So long as those dear people lived, I counted 

 them among my warmest friends. 



I became very much attached to London, the only great city in which 

 I ever lived, except for the two years of infancy in Chicago, and the 

 attachment has remained throughout life. I always rejoice to go back 

 to "the biggest and best of cities," but, latterly, the rejoicing is much 

 tempered with sadness for the loss of so many dear friends. In my 

 scanty leisure I made such study of the gigantic city as my time per- 

 mitted, always having a map in my pocket and either walking, or rid- 

 ing on the top of a bus, so as to see where I was going. In this fashion 



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