J. Ewing Ritchie, About London
“ Woe is me! the present generation,—a generation most assuredly wise in its own eyes, can never know what I, and others verging on forty, know—the real luxury of an English fire after travelling all night as an outside passenger on the top, say, for instance, of the Royal London and Yarmouth mail. Pardon my emotion, but I must shut my eyes, and endeavour to recall the past. It is six o’clock on a night cold as that in which I now write; I am at the ancient hostelry, now gone to the dogs, known as the White Horse, Fetter Lane, on the top of the mail aforesaid. ”
