of shelter.  The dove flew all over the habitable districts of the city,—­inquired at as many as twenty houses.  No roosting-place for our little flock of three.  At last the good angel who followed us everywhere, in one shape or another, pointed the wanderer to a place which corresponded with all our requirements and wishes.  This was at No. 17 Dover Street, Mackellar’s Hotel, where we found ourselves comfortably lodged and well cared for during the whole time we were in London.  It was close to Piccadilly and to Bond Street.  Near us, in the same range, were Brown’s Hotel and Batt’s Hotel, both widely known to the temporary residents of London.

We were but partially recovered from the fatigues and trials of the voyage when our arrival pulled the string of the social shower-bath, and the invitations began pouring down upon us so fast that we caught our breath, and felt as if we should be smothered.  The first evening saw us at a great dinner-party at our well-remembered friend Lady Harcourt’s.  Twenty guests, celebrities and agreeable persons, with or without titles.  The tables were radiant with silver, glistening with choice porcelain, blazing with a grand show of tulips.  This was our “baptism of fire” in that long conflict which lasts through the London season.  After dinner came a grand reception, most interesting, but fatiguing to persons hardly as yet in good condition for social service.  We lived through it, however, and enjoyed meeting so many friends, known and unknown, who were very cordial and pleasant in their way of receiving us.

It was plain that we could not pretend to answer all the invitations which flooded our tables.  If we had attempted it, we should have found no time for anything else.  A secretary was evidently a matter of immediate necessity.  Through the kindness of Mrs. Pollock, we found a young lady who was exactly fitted for the place.  She was installed in the little room intended for her, and began the work of accepting with pleasure and regretting our inability, of acknowledging the receipt of books, flowers, and other objects, and being very sorry that we could not subscribe to this good object and attend that meeting in behalf of a deserving charity,—­in short, writing almost everything for us except autographs, which I can warrant were always genuine.  The poor young lady was almost tired out sometimes, having to stay at her table, on one occasion, so late as eleven in the evening, to get through her day’s work.  I simplified matters for her by giving her a set of formulae as a base to start from, and she proved very apt at the task of modifying each particular letter to suit its purpose.

From this time forward continued a perpetual round of social engagements.  Breakfasts, luncheons, dinners, teas, receptions with spread tables, two, three, and four deep of an evening, with receiving company at our own rooms, took up the day, so that we had very little time for common sight-seeing.