“The man began to whisper, putting his mouth to an opening in the wall; we heard noises, but could not tell what he said.

“To my amazement, this very respectable-looking elderly gentleman, as we passed him in going out, whispered again, and as this time he put his mouth close to my ear, I understood!  He said, ’If you will give anything for the whisper, it will be gratefully received.’  There are notices all over the church forbidding fees, and I felt that the man was a beggar at best—­more properly a pickpocket.

“A figure of Dr. Johnson stands in one of the aisles of the church.  It must be like him, for it is exceedingly ugly.

“September 3.  We have been three weeks in London ‘out of season,’ but with plenty of letters.  At present we have as many acquaintances as we desire.  Last night we were at the opera, to-night we go out to dine, and to-morrow evening to a dance, the next day to Admiral Smyth’s.

“The opera fatigued me, as it always does.  I tired my eyes and ears in the vain effort to appreciate it.  Mario was the great star of the evening, but I knew no difference.

“One little circumstance showed me how an American, with the best intentions, may offend against good manners.  American-like we had secured very good seats, were in good season, and as comfortable as the very narrow seats would permit us to be, before most of the audience arrived.  The house filled, and we sat at our ease, feeling our importance, and quite unconscious that we were guilty of any impropriety.  While the curtain was down, I heard a voice behind me say to the gentleman who was with us, ’Is the lady on your left with you?’—­’Yes,’ said Mr. R.—­’She wears a bonnet, which is not according to rule.’—­’Too late now,’ said Mr. R.—­’It is my fault,’ said the attendant; ‘I ought not to have admitted her; I thought it was a hood.’

“I was really in hopes that I should be ordered out, for I was exceedingly fatigued and should have been glad of some fresh air.  On looking around, I saw that only the ‘pit’ wore bonnets.

“September 6.  We left London yesterday for Aylesbury.  It is two hours by railroad.  Like all railroads in England, it runs seemingly through a garden.  In many cases flowers are cultivated by the roadside.

“From Aylesbury to Stone, the residence of Admiral Smyth, it is two miles of stage-coach riding.  Stage-coaches are now very rare in England, and I was delighted with the chance for a ride.

“We found the stage-coach crowded.  The driver asked me if we were for St. John’s Lodge, and on my replying in the affirmative gave me a note which Mrs. Smyth had written to him, to ask for inside seats.  The note had reached him too late, and he said we must go on the outside.  He brought a ladder and we got up.  For a minute I thought, ’What a height to fall from!’ but the afternoon was so lovely that I soon forgot the danger and enjoyed the drive.  There were six passengers on top.