Percival Lowell
PRINCES' HOTEL
ST. JAMES, LONDON, S. W.
Now you may stop my mail.
Meanwhile a round of scientific social gaieties. Tomorrow, Tuesday, dinner and spending of the night at Wycombe Court with the Worthingtons. Wednesday, dinner with Prof. Boys, and the President and selected members of the Royal Society at the New Automobile Club considered at the moment the last touch in munificence. Then on to the soirée of the Royal Society where the Lowell Oby.'s latest results are to be exhibited. Friday tea and meeting of the Royal Astronomical Society where the President (Dyson) now Astronomer Royal wants me to talk. Afterwards to the R. A. S. Club's—sanctum sanctorum, a sort of culled elite of the Society dinner—as the President's (Glaisher) guest; and so forth and so on. They are surprisingly attentive.
Shaw, head of England's meteorologic service, at least he was two years ago and I suppose still is, with whom we lunch on Friday, feels Lawrence Rotch's death keenly. It was so unnecessary, his death.
Considering that I came to England for my clothes you will be astounded to learn that the very morning I arrived at my tailor's, his tailors went on a strike and are at this moment parading London. My cutter is going to baste my coats himself, very kindly, but when I shall get them I do not know,—such is modern life.
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