nder the brain. Approaching a great and mighty city
for the first time must be like going into the presence of majesty. Only
Heaven save me from such palpitation the day I become songstress to the
Queen!

"Mercy! what a roar and boom--a deep murmur as of ten hundred million
million moths humming away on a still evening in autumn! On a nearer view
it is more like a Tower-of-Babel concern, with its click and clatter. The
explosion of voices, the confused clamour, the dreadful disorder--cars,
wagons, omnibuses--it makes you feel religious and rather cold down the
back. What a needle in a haystack a poor girl must be here if there is
nobody above to keep track of her!

"Tell Aunt Rachel they are wearing another kind of bonnet in London--more
pokey in front--and say if I see the Queen I'll be sure to tell her all
about it.

"We didn't get to the hospital until nine, so I've not seen much of it
yet. The housekeeper gave me tea and told me I might go over the house,
as I wouldn't be wanted to begin duty before morning. So for an hour I
went from ward to ward like a female Wandering Jew. Such silence! I'm
afraid this hospital nursing is going to be a lockjaw business. And now
I'm going to bed--well, not homesick, you know, but just 'longing a lil
bit for all.' To-morrow morning I'll waken up to new sounds and sights,
and when I draw my blind I'll see the streets where the cars are forever
running and rattling. Then I'll think of Glenfaba and the birds singing
and rejoicing.

"Dispense my love throughout the island. Say that I love everybody just
the same now I'm a London lady as when I was a mere provincial girl, and
that when I'm a wonderful woman, and have brought the eyes of England
upon me, I'll come back and make amends. I can hear what grandfather is
saying: 'Gough bless me, what a girl, though!' Glory.

"P. S.--I've not said much about Mr. Storm. He left me at the door of the
hospital and went on to the house of his vicar, for that is where he is
to lodge, you know. On the way up I expended much beautiful poetry upon
him on the subject of love. The old girlies having dozed off, I chanced
to ask him if he liked to talk of it, but he said no, it was a
profanation. Love was too sacred, it was a kind of religion. Sometimes it
came unawares, sometimes it smouldered like fire under ashes, sometimes
it was a good angel, sometimes a devil, making you do things and say
things, and laying your life waste like winter. But I to