University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER 6

London

My Dear Mother:

I enclose you a page from my note book to explain why I do not enthuse concerning the ocean. I know for my punishment in purgatory I will be tossed for years and years on a stormy sea!

How beautiful the coast of England and what a desirable city Liverpool appeared. To be candid, I think a desert island would have been to me a bit of paradise, I so longed for solid earth beneath my feet. How we did rush to get off on the three-thirty express only to learn later that another train left at four o'clock. Ed succeeded in convincing an inspector that it would be a splendid thing for him to get busy; then he grabbed a porter who grabbed the trunks and we made a rush for the train; I was thrown aboard, Ed jumped after, but the porter was too slow. Ed tossed him a bit of silver, yelled, "London," and we were gone. I was quite sure I had seen the last of my possessions, but the guard assured us that the trunk would reach London thirty minutes after our arrival. And so it did. Can you imagine a bit of baggage being so transported in our country, if left in the hands of an unknown? You do not check over here, just toss it in the van labeled your destination, and claim it when you reach that place. I think our system better, but of course they could not change over here.

I was too weak from my long fast to enjoy the scenery had the speed of the train permitted. As it was we rushed through the green fields of England so rapidly that I almost shared the fears of the American who wished the train to slow down before it ran off the pesky little island. We awaited the next train from Liverpool, claimed our baggage, and with it tucked away were driven rapidly to this hotel. We are conveniently located under the shadows of Westminster Abbey; the very heart of historic London; within a few blocks of Buckingham palace and not far from Regent street. From my window I look into the dearest little garden beside an ivy-covered church, and Big Ben booms for me the hours.

I was very hungry, but in the dining room were so many gorgeous gowns I could hardly find time to eat. Such low necked frocks, Mother, I was honestly surprised, although I have always heard of the vast expanse exposed to view. Candidly, some of them could have been rendered only by removing the belt. I can understand why a woman would show a beautiful neck and shoulders but a skinny neck and a knotted backbone is beyond my idea of the fitness of things.

This morning we arose with the lark, only to find we were decidedly unique. Even the elevator boy was not on duty. We were afterwards informed the hotel is not officially awake until eight o'clock.

We found Victoria street wrapped in sleep, not a café open, although Big Ben proclaimed the hour of six-thirty. A couple of policemen eyed us suspiciously as we walked towards Westminster Abbey. Our first view of England's pride was thus obtained in the early morning light, when the sun had not yet dispersed all the shadows of night. Beyond loomed the Houses of Parliament, making a picture to carry with one a lifetime, and even after. I confess I breathed in exclamation points and my thoughts tumbled over each other in their mad effort to obtain the recognition. Ed removed his hat and whistled in the intensity of his feelings. Not being able to whistle, I could not thus relieve my wrought-up self. We walked and walked, always finding a more entrancing view. I wished to sit on the curbing and meditate, but Ed declared the two policemen were following and would surely run us in.

We crossed the Thames and gazed from the other side, looked up the river and down. It was worth the early rising to get such a glorious impression of this modern Babylon. We loitered until the sun was high and the increasing traffic assured us London was awake.

We found a little café just at the foot of the bridge on the Parliament House side of the river. The waiter appeared surprised, but hastened to seat us in the yet empty room with many a "thank you."

Oh, for a cup of uncolored Japan tea! I am so tired of this cloying English Breakfast, I would just as soon drink coffee. Westminster Abbey is not open to the public until about ten o'clock so we decided a bus ride would fill in the time. The great double-deck affairs are queer and antiquated, but oh, so comfortable away on top, and such a fine place from which to view the houses and streets. I know I shall contract the bus habit. We sat next to the driver and a bit of silver turned him into a most affable guide, with an interesting accent.

Down the Strand into Fleet street. I cannot describe that ride as I should; I am too English, you know. A penny will take you quite a distance, but in America you can ride much farther for less money, as the conductor collects a penny here when you have traversed a certain number of miles. We are just becoming acquainted in a business way with this money and it is not easy counting. Why does England use such a complicated system? When the conductor approached with "tup-pence, thank you, sir," Ed looked at me, and I returned the look, then he drew out a handful of copper cart wheels and gravely remarked in approved western style, "Stranger, you look honest to me, help yourself." The conductor with equal solemnity selected a large copper and said, "Thank you, sir, this is tup-pence." Then and there Ed had him give him a lesson in the value of the money and I know a tiny bit more than I did before.

The word circus over here does not denote a show or collection of wild animals, but it is used where many streets center. Thus Piccadilly circus and Ludgate circus are places where several streets begin or end. At Ludgate circus we left our accommodating driver and climbed aboard another bus returning to Victoria street. The conductor thanked us for entering his car, the driver thanked us for a coin, and we thanked Providence for the day, so we were quite a thankful party.

I cannot tell you very much of our homeward trip, if ever I am to reach the Abbey. Ed says I must tell you of how I tried to hurl myself off the bus when the "thank you" driver said: "Downing street, sir, thank you." He declares that but for his timely aid I would have been rolling wildly towards the home of the Prime Minister.

The very names of the streets bring up such visions of the past the present is often obscured. Trafalgar Square looked so familiar to me. Even the lions were as old friends, and I could hardly believe that was my first introduction to the square and to them. The murky city is gay with blossoms. From the strange little iron balconies hang magnificent vines and pots of gorgeous bloom are everywhere. The glimpses of the parks made me long for more--the grass so green, the flowers so brilliant, so fragrant.

This is the Fourth of July, and from the number of flags seen there are many Americans in London. From the United States headquarters on Victoria street, Old Glory is floating in the breeze and from every corner peeps a tiny emblem. I cannot believe this is the Fourth; where are the fireworks and the orators?

Westminster Abbey was wide open, and many passing in and out. The main body of the edifice is free to the people, but a small fee is charged for admission to the chapels and royal tombs. You know with what a spirit of reverence I trod those aisles, hallowed by the dust of heroes, saints, poets, kings and queens. All my days I had dreamed of this hour. We walked slowly, not as tourists, but as if we had the leisure of years to view it all. In the poet's corner we loitered until a glance at my watch made me exclaim, "Oh, Ed, let us hasten to enter the chapels." One guide, a clergyman, I presume, from his attire, was a very encyclopedia but his voice sorely lacerated my nerves. Do you know I had fully believed the tale that all English voices are pleasing, and my very first day I am listen to one far worse than any I have heard in Yankeeland.

Elizabeth and Mary await here the judgment day. I am glad to say their bones are in different chapels, hence perhaps they can escape that final meeting face to face. I wonder if Elizabeth knows Mary has the finer place of repose?[1] Poor old Cromwell's tomb is vacant. He could usurp a throne but not a grave beside kingly dead, and he waits the resurrection, heaven only knows where! The tomb of Edward the Confessor is said to rest upon earth from the Holy Land. I wonder if his sleep is sweeter because of it? After viewing tombs of great men and women, of kings and queens who were not at all great, it is like finding a blossom in a crowded, dusty street to come upon the tombs of the little Princes of the Tower and the babes of James the First. Dean Stanley very appropriately named this Innocent's Corner.

The coronation chair and the stone of Scone greatly interested Ed, and he asked if Jacob had left a sign on the stone whereby they were sure of its authenticity. The clergyman was rather inclined to be indignant, but Ed looked so innocent he answered his question at length, being convinced that a true desire for information prompted it. From what I heard Jacob neglected to send his autograph down the ages. From the chapel we passed to the great cloister and walked over the grave of many an abbot of the ages when Roman Catholicism swayed England. Only the prosaic pangs of hunger and the thoughts of another day drew us from the open pages of history.

At lunch we discovered that bread and butter does not accompany a meat order. Indeed, there is a fixed fee for everything except the tip, and even that is regulated for an Englishman, but for the American is just so large as the waiter can by his look induce you to make it. We also found that ice water is not an usual beverage over here, and you can only obtain it by rising in wrath. Then you are labeled by the waiter as a crazy American. Even the beer is served lukewarm. Will you try to imagine that dose?

The afternoon found us occupying a bus seat on the way to the general post office. I hugged your letter to my heart. It was like a bit of your mothering; a glimpse of your face. We were on Cheapside, historic Cheapside, and I was determined to go further to the church of St. Mary le Bow and listen to the bells saying "turn again, Dick Whittington, thrice Lord Mayor of London." The new chimes are said to be the old metal recast after the great fire. I am sure they ring out the self-same words of encouragement to the youth of London if they would listen.

We only indulged in a little glimpse of St. Paul's; by the time we reached it the afternoon had almost slipped away, but we shall go another day and offer homage to the shades of Nelson and Wellington. At five o'clock we were being jostled by the crowds on Cheapside, buying useless toys and fragrant roses. Beside a fountain congregate the flower girls with numberless blooms. Ed bought until my arms were laden and I was intoxicated by their dewey sweetness.

At last we pulled ourselves from fascinating Cheapside and for a change entered a bus going on Regent street. A nice English rain was falling. How could Kipling call it "the blasted Henglish drizzle?" We rode quite a distance and truly enjoyed it. After dinner, to finish this strenuous first day in London, Ed suggested the Franco-British Exposition. By this hour the rain was descending in torrents; and we mounted the bus, wrapped in oil covers provided by the thoughtful company, opened umbrellas and proceeded to enjoy London at night-time in a pouting rain. The streets were gleaming, slippery things and a haze enveloped all. The exposition is doubtless beautiful, but did not show up well in the rain. The illuminations were poor. We returned on the "tup-penny tube," which is English for subway. I am so tired I am falling asleep over this. Good night, dear. What will Sunday in England be like?

Sunday--Now I can answer my question of last night. It is a day of rest, a calm, peaceful, church bell ringing and church going, too, if the crowds entering the places of worship in this vicinity are a fair average. We learned this day that in England the established church is called Catholic, and we are only Roman Catholics. A kind clergyman informed us of this and then directed us to the Roman Catholic Westminster Cathedral. We reached there in time for a high mass with many dignitaries of the church, in cloth of gold, filling the sanctuary. The choir was divine. How can such little terrors as boys usually are make such angelic music? The cathedral will be magnificent some day; at present it is only massive. There are no pews. You can, if you wish, use a chair. At the entrance two boys stood shaking tin boxes and calling in a dead level voice, "pitty pen, pitty pen." After careful consideration I decided that they thought they were saying "Peter's pence." After mass we walked over to the Westminster Abbey hoping to enter and thus get a glimpse of the Episcopal ministers now in convention here, but there was not even standing room inside. So we stood with many others on the square and awaited the dispersing of the congregation. The clergymen were a fine body of men, and if a good appearance and well-doing go hand in hand, England should be proud of them.

This afternoon we rode for hours and hours, changing from bus line to bus line as the fancy willed. If I had not been accustomed to long drives over rough roads in Oklahoma, I suppose these cobble stones would have finished me. We reached the Oratory on Brompton Roads just in time for the four o'clock sermon. The church is a credit to English Catholics and of course they are proud of it. Ed induced the sacristan to give us two rosaries. I am keeping mine for you, dear. We managed to enter the Abbey for even-song and found the music simply grand. The sermon may have been excellent, but as the voice of the speaker did not reach us, we soon left and sought a place to dine. We had another struggle for ice water and when Ed told the "thank you" man to bring a second glass, he could hardly conceal his astonishment. Ed says he arraigned us far more severely than were the "furriners" at Niagara Falls. The waiter was talking in French with the head waiter and took it for granted that "American" was our only tongue.

I wish you could taste the water cress over here, it is simply delicious; indeed, I can complain of nothing except the tea. Mother, I am going to bed this very moment and dream I lived when all maidens were fair and knights were brave.

Monday--Mother, do we appear changed this day? We should, for we are no longer lone Oklahomans, we are nice little "Cookies," ready to "do Europe" and thus be "crisp brown Cookies" in a few short weeks. Ed asked me if I would object to a continental tour with a party, and of course I did not. You know Ed loves mankind and would never wish to be alone; then, again, I believe he wishes to escape responsibility.

He met an American yesterday who told a woeful tale of his travels while on the Continent with wife and daughter. His days were chiefly spent in hunting baggage, buying tickets, looking up trains, securing guides, etc. Ed immediately decided to shift his burden to the shoulders of Thomas Cook and Sons. We joined them at Antwerp Thursday and follow just about the same route we had planned

We have arranged to leave the party at Mayence and proceed alone to St. Croix, your birthplace, and rejoin them at Bale. Do you know I wish we could have visited your village first, Mother, as I shall always be thinking of that and perhaps miss a little of the beauty of the trip.

After leaving Cook's office we sought the gates of Buckingham palace to await the outgoing of the king. We had heard he held a levee at St. James at the hour of eleven-forty and would leave Buckingham in semi-state. Finding ourselves opposite the entrance to the royal stables Ed decided to ask several questions of the man at the gate. We learned that permission from Lord Somebody would enable us to view the horses. Ed assured the man that Lord--would be only too glad to give us the order but we did not have the time at our disposal to visit him.

Fearing the crowd would be large, we early made our way to the main entrance and stood beside a giant policeman on the very front row. With his usual skill Ed soon had the bluecoat chatting amicably. As he did not appear to wear a pistol, Ed could not resist asking him where he carried it. Imagine our surprise when he pulled it from his trousers leg. Ed told him how western men kept it in a handier place. The man smiled a British smile and said: "Has 'ow I doubt 'is drawin' hit quicker than me."

He was sure his way was best, for have not British policemen always carried it thus? At last the coach containing Edward VII. appeared. There was little demonstration, but when he passed us he knew at least one man was glad to see him. Ed waved his hat wildly and shouted: " Hurrah for King Edward," in true Oklahoma style, and His Majesty gave him a broad smile and a bow. I was disappointed at the lack of enthusiasm shown, and when the queen appeared on a little balcony, and not a voice raised to salute her, I could hardly credit my ears and eyes. I asked the policeman if the lady was really the queen. He assured me she was. Then I asked: "Why do not the people cheer her? At home a crowd like this would make the heavens tremble with their wild hurrahs." He replied, without a movement of his face, "So hi 'ave 'eard," then contemptuously added--"hover 'ere we would run 'em hin hif they made such noises." It is their business, yet I wish I could inoculate these people with a little American "hip, hip, hurrah!"

We lunched in a café where they cater to middle class English customers, not to tourists. The prices were lower; we did not enjoy the cooking nor the serving. This afternoon we devoted to exploring the shopping district--Regent street, you know. The stores are not like ours. They are truly traps for the unwary. Little wonder a polite "thank you" man conducts you from department to department, otherwise you would be inevitably lost, there are so many steps, so many corners, so many dark places. Such obsequious salesmen.

You cannot purchase in a hurry; too much time is used by the clerks in saying "thank you." Something like this occurs when you enter: A man approaches, bowing and saying, "thank you, sir, any thing you wish sir?" you state your desires. "Thank you, sir, this way, sir." On to another, same formula, and this continues until you fear old age will overtake you before you reach the article you desire. About this time you are turned over to a clerk who produces it. If you are not too worn out you purchase it; if you do not the man looks sad and says, " I am sorry," thanks you limply, and you depart, much older and oh, so careworn. In one of the turnings Ed caught a glimpse of a linen room after our little parcel was duly tied up with a neat little loop to carry on my finger he asked to be returned to that department. We were comfortably seated and a linen shower commenced. Ed became "daffy" he was so pleased, so I just turned the purchasing over to him and proceeded to enjoy myself. The linen was exquisite. Ed has a supply to last us until we "shuffle off this mortal coil." He shops to the manner born from the way the clerks try to please him. In the land of the free the salesman would not half try to please you if you used the tone employed over here. I am afraid I shall require time to learn that it is not good form to thank a servant for a service rendered. Here they thank you for the permission to be of use to you. I am learning to say "I am sorry" in the true British tone, not expressing anything in particular but everything in general. The man who jostles you in the crowded street, the clerk who cannot find the article you wish, the maid, the boy, the high, the low, monotonously repeat,

"I am sorry."

Shopping in Regent street is soul-satisfying, but shopping in Cheapside is far more fun, of that I am convinced. I assisted Ed for the first time in our married life to select his apparel. He has ordered two suits and the tailor promised an American cut. I'll wager the result is a remarkable hybrid. I wish you could glance in the windows of the jewelers on Regent and Bond streets. I prefer the outside to the inside of the shops for you are made to feel that the inside is only free to customers. Ed rather enjoys the scowls of the clerk when he leaves without a purchase; I always feel guilty of a misdemeanor.

We hailed a cab to return to the hotel and enjoyed a little spin on the Embankment, then caught a glimpse of the frowning Tower of London, crossed the famous bridge, whereon Ed insisted on stopping the cab and singing: "London bridge is falling down," saying that in his childhood he dreamed of saying that ditty on London bridge--and wished it to come true. I do not believe him; I am sure he concocted the tale that very moment. After dinner we joined the throngs on Piccadilly circus, but were soon overjoyed to climb on a bus and view the crowds from above. We seem never able to get way from Trafalgar Square; from whatsoever direction we start we eventually find ourselves facing the lions. Today we tried to lose them but always the bus we selected returned us there. We are in early tonight as I admitted to being very tired. We go to Hampton Court early in the morning. I am pining for a glimpsed of you, mother. These voluminous letters are my safety valves; I pretend I am really talking with you.

Tuesday, July 7[th ]

Dear Mother, I wish I could write verse, only rhythmical lines could do justice to this day. The drive to Hampton was a succession of such delights I feel as if I had attended a concert where all the singers were artists. We left Ludgate circus at nine-thirty, fourteen in the coach, and a guide. We soon reached Victoria Embankment, followed it to Westminster Place, then turned entering very shortly St. James Park. The glimpse of Belgravia recalled my youthful days, my attempts to escape your watchful eye and peruse the entrancing works of "the Duchess." There was not a moment when the interest flagged. If I named a third of the places passed it would require pages and you would think I was compiling a guide book. Cook's man was a veritable book of information and Ed whispered to me that he would make a dandy book agent. At Cheyne Walk, the most memory-haunted portion of London, the horses barely walked. The guide had pages of history he deemed it necessary to recite and although I did not listen to him I found all I desired.

At Putney we stopped to rest the horses and give the driver an opportunity to get a glass. It is the starting point of the races on the river and thus attractive because of the present as well as the past.

The boats are so tiny and the oarsmen are little burdened with clothes. Like the American Indians of yore, in his frail craft on the bosom of the Mississippi, they are dressed for speed. The inn where we alighted is kept by a former champion and he showed to us many trophies. I liked best the visit to the champion polo ponies; they were little beauties and seemingly so full of knowledge. After leaving Putney we soon entered our first English Lane, Roehampton, and then I knew the fairies had me. Fine old mansions, trees whose every limb betokened loving care, flowers, flowers, everywhere. I was filled with a desire to leave the coach and live there ever and forever. I exclaimed, "this must be the loveliest lane in England." Said the guide, "No indeed, we pass through a far more beautiful one before reaching Hampton Court." Away off the distance shone the convent of the Ladies of the Sacred Heart, and how I wished for the time to visit it. You see, Mother, I have not the days in which to see even half the interesting places. Through the Clarence Gate into Richmond Park. We were told it comprised two thousand one hundred acres, being larger than the combined parks of London. It is so beautiful, natural, yet showing the hand of man. Little wonder the people rebelled when the daughter of George III. endeavored to deprive them of their ancient right of entrance. Deer, deer everywhere and undisturbed by our approach, like ours, they regard mankind as friends.

After passing White Lodge, the girlhood home of the Princess of Wales, we left the park by Kingston gate and in a few moments were in one of the oldest towns in England, Kingston-on-Thames, the city of Saxon kings. We could not linger here, only a glimpse was given us the coronation stone in the market place. At Kingston Bridge the guide pointed to the ancient dunking place where scolding women were given a kind of water cure, not always effectual, I have been told.

Oh, that lane; I sigh with pleasure as I write of it. It was of incomparable beauty. It was so ideal, the voice of the guide ceased, and we passed in a stillness broken only by the call of the driver to his horses and the laughter of children at play. Giant limbs interlaced above our heads, roses rioting, flowers peeping coyly from the deep shadows, and the smell of new mown hay wafted on the breeze.

We did not reach the village of Hampton until the hour of noon, so we were served in a quaint little inn overlooking the river before going to Hampton Court. The Thames is thronged with houseboats at this portion, all worthy of praise for their freshness and flowers, yet one stately boat stood out beyond all others, covered with blooms, and high above floated Old Glory and the Union Jack.

Our first view was of the west front of Wolsey's Palace; the chimneys are so unique, no two of the same design; think of the ingenuity displayed. Ed liked the gargoyles and bemoaned that he did not see them when a boy, as his command of ugly faces in school would have been greatly increased.

The noble staircase and the great hall of Henry VIII. are truly regal, a fit setting for royal pomp. The tapestries are the treasures of the palace; you would have appreciated them, dear, I could only enjoy. The great astronomical clock of Henry VIII. gave me a crick in my neck from the endeavor to see all the remarkable points designated by the man from Cook's. The state apartments were a revelation of bygone ages, yet I am wondering how they kept them warm. I prefer less state, more comfort. Think of the many, many things that have transpired in Hampton Court since Wolsey incited the jealousy of the King by his magnificence. What tales the walls could tell if they might speak, of love and hate, of chivalrous deeds and black intrigue. Perhaps it is best they are doomed to silence. Some episodes of the reign of Charles II. would doubtless prove too racy for twentieth century ears. Lely's court beauties look down with glances of honey-sweetness. Did he do full justice to their languishing beauty? There are many pictures of historic value in the Queen's audience chamber, but as works of art they are not highly rated. Poor Queen Anne, dying all alone upon her crimson velvet bed, did she her father and her young brother in her last moments?

When the little feet of Pocahontas[2 ]echoed in those halls, did her timid heart fret at the golden chains and long for the limitless forests of her father's domain, the wild, free life of her childhood?

After all this glitter and gold, this curious commingling of beauty and ugliness, visions of the pure and the true, of the wicked and the corrupt, I welcomed the gardens, bathed in the golden sunlight.

Mother, if only you have been beside me in that enchanting land. Imagine long stretches of greensward, ponds covered with plants of tropical splendor, trees of wondrous girth, roses form the purest white to deepest crimson, playing fountains and singing birds. I was here and there, the voice of the guide often warned me that I might be lost in that fairy land. Ah me! Just to sit in the sunken garden hours and hours, with quietly folded hands, dreaming of the past, weaving bright fancies of the future. Queen Mary's Bower must have been designed by an artist who had seen the New Jerusalem. The great vine planted in 1728 is quite worth of note. Our guide said "all the grapes produced by this vine are consumed by the King alone. In one season it has borne two thousand pounds." Ed whistled expressively, "Say, but isn't Edward the champion grape eater?" I know that Englishman is even now wondering why Ed thought so.

The return drive was by a different route, equally fraught with interest. We saw where "the little gentleman in gray" threw the horse of William III. causing the death of that king and for a time reviving the hope of the Jacobite party. The mile long triple avenue of horse chestnuts is of a magnificence not expressible, yet we were told that to obtain the best of it we should see it when the trees are in bloom. Past the site where once stood the home of Pope, a glimpse of Twickenham Ferry down the narrow old lanes, just tantalized by a tiny bit of an historic house on the Kew road to the Royal Botanic Garden. Here we left the coach and visited the palm houses, strolled beneath ancient trees, and listened to the tales of the guide. On Kew green lived the three brothers of George IV. who, according to the story he told, married within eight days, each hoping to produce the heir to the throne. The late Queen Victoria was the first child. Outside the park we entered an old fashioned garden sloping towards the Thames, sat at little tables beneath giant trees, with roses shedding perfume all around. Quiet voiced thank you men served us with delicious tea and the many sounds of the busy street came to us as a far-off murmur. It was easy there to forget that a new world existed to believe that time had ceased, therefore the coach in waiting was long unheeded. We left the party at High Holburn as Ed was bent on seeing diamonds and sought and found the number given. It was such an unspeakably dingy house I could not believe it was the place of a diamond merchant. Ed pressed a button, a voice called, "what business?" He answered, "diamonds." Again the voice, "open the door; walk up." At the top of the stairs a man met us, opened a door which clanged ominously behind us, through a passage, then into a room all hung in black with many mirrors; as the door clicked suggestively behind us I turned and tried the knob. We were locked in! The man smiled and I laughed outright, it gave me such a shivery feeling to know all the means of exit were closed. The proprietor or general manager now appeared, and when he found out Ed was an American gentlemen, not a diamond merchant, he was inclined to be angry, and in a curt manner he observed that "time is money over here; I do not care to sell to Americans." Ed said: "Is that so? I thought it was said only of the United States that her business men where too busy to learn good manners. Good day." We turned to leave but the man evidently regretted his outburst for he offered to show us gems.

Ed assured him that we did not care to trouble him, yet the wares were displayed. I was truly bored after the first look, you know I have never cared for the glittering baubles. When the man saw my indifference he seemed determined to interest me, showing superb tiaras of diamonds, chains and rings. Ed thoroughly enjoyed himself and I believe the grouchy manager found a pleasure in showing his beautiful stones to such an appreciative audience. I saw several eyes behind the hangings. We were not to escape with jewels; locked doors, mirrors and gleaming eyes protected them. I would not have missed the sensation, I assure you. Ed thanked the man courteously and believe me, the once cross man accompanied us, smiling, to the end of the bolted passage.

I was so tired when we reached the hotel I had barely the energy to summon the maid and order a hot bath prepared. Mother, the tubs here are pools. I am afraid each time I venture in, as you know I cannot swim. This evening Ed is smoking all alone. After I finish my conversation with you I shall sleep the sleep of the thoroughly tired. By the way, I have lost six pounds; are you surprised? Tomorrow we leave London. We have hardly turned a page of this fascinating book and we must leave it. Dear, if these numerous letters give to you half the pleasure in perusing they have afforded me to write, then I am satisfied. Ed has sent you cards every day and sometimes twice per day, so how can you be lonely?

July 8--We were up early, this our last day, and hailing a bus were soon far down the Strand. It was fun to be abroad before the shops were open and to see the market wagons filled with fruit, flowers and vegetables. At Covent Garden we bought a basket of the loveliest raspberries, of delicate bloom and sweet aroma. The flower girls were arranging their blossoms. We chatted pleasantly, buying huge roses all glorious with dew. From a dear little girl we learned of a restaurant near by where a simple breakfast could be obtained.

The tiny room was so clean--highly scrubbed tables and a neat little waitress; I was much pleased with it. We were told that all dishes were served in penny portions. We ordered rolls and coffee and gave to the girl our berries, requesting her to prepare and serve with cream. She assured us of her willingness but could not serve cream as penny portions do not call for that luxury. Ed gave her a sixpence, and in short while she returned with a pot of delicious golden cream; thus we dined royally even if the board was bare and the china not of the egg-shell variety.

We have spent this day as fancy dictated, loitering in parks, jostled in crowded streets, driving in a cab, looking from the top of a bus; indeed our pleasures were as varied as the year book of a woman's club in our own country. We peeped into St. George's, Hanover Square, visited St. Martin in the Fields, where Nell Gwynn sleeps the sleep that knows no wakening, down Pall Mall and into many a queer and out of the way corner. Perhaps the hours could have been passed with greater benefit under the care of a guide, but our pleasures could not have been enhanced. I almost neglected to write of our visit to a cat store, pussies of high and low degree, all beautiful, all long-haired. I did so wish I could take two home with me and thus increase my cat farm in Oklahoma. To please Ed we entered a dog store, and now he feels that life has ill treated him because as yet he has not owned an English bull dog. A dear little Pomeranian came beseechingly to me. I managed to stroke it, but not with pleasure; I am always afraid the petted dog will bite me.

A great orange cat lived here, lord and master over all. He was very gracious to me, sitting on my lap, purring contentedly and slapping vigorously the dog who ventured near.

We are packed and ready to leave, and I am hurriedly finishing this lengthy epistle, as we wish to mail it from here. I have not eaten since my early breakfast and I feel rather weak; I am hoping to prevent a ghastly attack of seasickness tonight. We are going farther from you, Mother mine; good-bye until we reach Antwerp.

Lovingly,

C.