eds in the world, he has the
esteem of the most estimable people, and he follows with unceasing
pleasure a delightful occupation. He is as keen to-day, he declares,
on the "right way of putting three words together" as he was when he
began to write. His mellow, witty, and gentlemanly style is saturated
with the sounds, scents and colours of literature. The exercise of his
cultivated judgment is not a trade, but a sacred trust. To look at him
and to think of his admirable career is to realise the dignity of his
calling--discussing with authority the books of the world as they come
from the press.

VI

LITERARY LEVITIES IN LONDOW

Now it's a funny thing, that, come to think of it. Some folks have
questioned whether, the other way round, it could be done in this
country at all. It's a pleasant view anyhow that the matter presents
of that curious affair the English character.

There is a notion knocking about over here that considerable rigmarole
is required to meet an Englishman. And very probably few who have
tried it would dispute that it is somewhat difficult to "meet" an
ordinary Englishman to whom you are not known in a railway carriage.
With the big 'uns, however, the business appears to be simple enough.
Foolish doings do clutter up one's luggage with letters of introduction
when all that is needed to board round with the most celebrated people
in England is a glance at a "Who's Who" in a public library to get
addresses.

For the purpose of convenience the writer of these souvenirs will refer
to himself as "I" and "me." I was all done up in health and was
advised by doctors to clear out at once. So I bought a steamship
ticket, packed a kit bag, crossed the water and took a couple of
strolls about that island over there; when, feeling fitter, I turned up
in London for a look about.

It sort of came over me that in my haste of departure I had neglected
to bring any of my friends along, or to equip myself with the means of
making others here. I was unarmed, so to say--a "Yank" in an obviously
hostile country. This, you see, was before the war, before we and
Britain had got so genuinely sweet on one another.

At that time I had two acquaintances resident in London. One, a
Bostonian, whose attention was quite occupied with a new addition to
his family; the other was the errand man stationed before my place of
abode. He was an amiable soul, whose companionable nature, worldly
wisdom and topogr