, trees, a lake, and
a stream on which you can row and swim, situated in Regent's Park and
almost in the heart of London. In the days when London was farther away
the villa of St. Dunstan's belonged to the eccentric Marquis of
Hertford, the wicked Lord Steyne of Thackeray's "Vanity Fair." It was a
country estate. Now the city has closed in around it, but it is still a
country estate, with ceilings by the Brothers Adam, portraits by Romney,
sideboards by Sheraton, and on the lawn sheep. To keep sheep in London
is as expensive as to keep race-horses, and to own a country estate in
London can be afforded only by Americans. The estate next to St.
Dunstan's is owned by an American lady. I used to play lawn-tennis there
with her husband. Had it not been for the horns of the taxicabs we might
have been a hundred miles from the nearest railroad. Instead, we were
so close to Baker Street that one false step would have landed us in
Mme. Tussaud's. When the war broke out the husband ceased hammering
tennis-balls, and hammered German ships of war. He sank several--and
is now waiting impatiently outside of Wilhelmshaven for more.

St. Dunstan's also is owned by an American, Otto Kahn, the banker. In
peace times, in the winter months, Mr. Kahn makes it possible for the
people of New York to listen to good music at the Metropolitan Opera
House. When war came, at his country place in London he made it next to
possible for the blind to see. He gave the key of the estate to C.
Arthur Pearson. He also gave him permission in altering St. Dunstan's to
meet the needs of the blind to go as far as he liked.

When I first knew Arthur Pearson he and Lord Northcliffe were making
rival collections of newspapers and magazines. They collected them as
other people collect postal cards and cigar-bands. Pearson was then, as
he is now, a man of the most remarkable executive ability, of keen
intelligence, of untiring nervous energy. That was ten years ago. He
knew then that he was going blind. And when the darkness came he
accepted the burden; not only his own, but he took upon his shoulders
the burden of all the blind in England. He organized the National
Institute for those who could not see. He gave them of his energy, which
has not diminished; he gave them of his fortune, which, happily for
them, has not diminished; he gave them his time, his intelligence. If
you ask what the time of a blind man is worth, go to St. Dunstan's and
you will find out. Y