*32 A FEW MEMORIES
mony, no rush, no mad effort for gain; time for thinking, dreaming, communing with one's self, and for realizing how much of what one had taken on trust had sunk into one's nature. Then to be living where the great dead had lived—those who have filled our minds and hearts with the glory of their genius; to walk in the meadows they had traversed, to sit under the trees that had sheltered them, to wander through the cloisters of the old churches where they rest, gave one almost a feeling of intimacy with those who had before seemed so distant and inaccessible. Truly, the delights and interests of the old world to a child of the new are legion.
After the fresh, bright country life it was very depressing to go into dark, smoky London. My heart sank low as we drove to our hotel, for I knew that in three months' time I should have to face that public which looked so cold and indifferent as it surged through the crowded thoroughfares.
Being lonely and despondent, and having no friends in London, we spent our evenings at the theatres. Our first visit was to the St. James's to see " Impulse." When Mrs. Kendal came upon the stage, her radiant smile, her beautiful hair