subject of this book is that some large numbers of the great public
which, between sunset and its sleeping hours, must perforce be amused in
some way, is to-day, as in days gone by, none too particular as to what
means are taken to accomplish it.

There is a definite species of depravity which is supposed to be
peculiarly the attribute of the lower classes. If it exists at all to-day,
it probably does lie with the lower classes, but contemporary opinion
points to the fact that it was not alone in those days the lower classes
who sought enjoyment from the cockpit, the dog fight, the prize ring, or
the more ancient bull-baiting, all of which existed to some degree in the
early nineteenth century. Truly the influence of the Georges on society,
of whatever class, must have been cruelly debasing, and it was not to be
expected that the early years of Victoria's reign should have been able to
eradicate it thoroughly, and though such desires may never be entirely
abolished, they are, in the main, not publicly recognized or openly
permitted to-day, a fact which is greatly to the credit of the improved
taste of the age in which we live.

Formerly it was said that there was but one class of hotels in and near
London of which the charges could be stated with any degree of precision.
The _old_ hotels, both at the West End and in the City, kept no printed
tariff, and were not accustomed even to be asked beforehand as to their
charges. Most of the visitors were more or less _recommended_ by guests
who had already sojourned at these establishments, and who could give
information as to what _they_ had paid. Some of the hotels declined even
to receive guests except by previous written application, or by direct
introduction, and would rather be without those who would regard the bill
with economical scrutiny.

Of these old-fashioned hotels,--barbarous relics of another day,--few are
to be found now, and, though existing in reality, are being fast robbed of
their _clientiele_, which demand something more in the way of
conveniences--with no diminution of comforts--than it were possible to get
in the two or three private houses thrown into one, and dubbed by the
smugly respectable title of "Private Hotel."

Other establishments did exist, it is true, in Dickens' time: "The Golden
Cross" and "Morley's," "Haxell's," and others of such class, from which
coaches still ran to near-by towns, and which houses catered principally
for the country