Writing at TakiMag, Dalrymple returns to a form of essay I happen to enjoy greatly, that of the seemingly trivial anecdote from which great conclusions are nevertheless drawn. The end result of this one:
We despise the Victorians for their habit of dishonest moralizing, but ours is an age of ultracrepidarian hypocrisy in which everyone claims to care deeply for everything except that which concerns him most.
It all starts with a train ride and a hotel stay. Read it here.