the Market Square of what is to me the grandest and most
historic town of England. Why, it _is_ England! Didn't the Romans get
their Venta Belgarum, which finally developed into Winta-ceaster and
Winchester, from the far older Celtic name for an important citadel?
Wasn't there a Christian church before the days of Arthur, my alleged
ancestor? Wasn't the cathedral begun by the father of AElfred on the
foundations of that poor church as well as those of a Roman temple?
Wasn't it here that the name of Anglia--England--was bestowed on the
United Kingdoms, and wasn't it from Winchester that AElfred sent out the
laws that made him and England "Great"?

Ellaline delights in the fact that the said Roman temple was Apollo's,
as well as Concord's, she having named my car Apollo, and the Sun God
being her favourite mythological deity at the moment. Apropos of
mythology, by the way, she was rather amusing this morning on the
subject of Icarus, who, she contends, was the pioneer of sporting
travel. If he didn't have "tire trouble," said she, he had the nearest
equivalent when his wax wings melted.

I should have enjoyed playing cicerone in Winchester, knowing and loving
the place as I do, if it hadn't been for Dick Burden's air of thinking
such knowledge as mine quite the musty-fusty luggage of the old fogy.
There's no use pretending it didn't rub me up the wrong way!

Yesterday after arriving, Emily clamoured for tea, so we attempted no
further sightseeing, but drove straight to this delightful old hotel,
which was once a nunnery, and has still the nunnery garden, loved by the
more enterprising of cathedral rooks. Or are they the nuns come back in
disguise? This, you'll guess, is Ellaline's idea.

On the way here, however, there was the beautiful City Cross in the High
Street. It would have been a disgrace not to stop for a look at it, even
though we could return; and Ellaline was most enthusiastic. She doesn't
know much about these things (how could she)? but she feels by instinct
the beauty of all that is really fine; whereas Mrs. Senter, though maybe
better instructed, is more _blasee_. Indeed, though she admires the
right things, she is essentially the modern woman, whose interest is all
in the present and future. I can't imagine her reading history for the
sheer joy of it, as the child would and evidently has. Mrs. Senter would
prefer a French novel; but it would have to be well written. She would
accept no trash. She has