he old palace has ceased to be the royal residence. The King
still holds there his levees, to which only gentlemen are admitted.
But the formal Drawing Rooms are held at Buckingham Palace. To those
who have seen St. James's during a levee, or to those London tourists
who have watched the Scots Guards, or the Coldstream or the
Grenadiers, preceded by a splendid band, swinging into the old Friary
Court to perform the impressive ceremony of changing guard, the change
in these days of war is most amazing. Friary Court is guarded by
London policemen, and filled with great vans piled high with garments
and supplies for the front--that front where the Coldstream and the
Grenadiers and the others, shorn of their magnificence, are waiting
grimly in muddy trenches or leading charges to victory--or the Roll of
Honour. Under the winter sky of London the crenelated towers and brick
walls of the old palace give little indication of the former grandeur
of this most historic of England's palaces, built on the site of an
old leper hospital and still retaining the name of the saint to whom
that hospital was dedicated.

There had been a shower just before I arrived; and, although it was
February, there was already a hint of spring in the air. The sun came
out, drying the roads in the park close by, and shining brightly on
the lovely English grass, green even then with the green of June at
home. Riders, caught in the shower and standing by the sheltered sides
of trees for protection, took again to the bridle paths. The hollows
of Friary Court were pools where birds were splashing. As I got out of
my car a Boy Scout emerged from the palace and carried a large parcel
to a waiting van.

"Do you want the Q.M.N.G.?" said a tall policeman.

This, being interpreted, I was given to understand was Queen Mary's
Needlework Guild.

Later on, when I was taken to Buckingham Palace to write my name in
the Queen's book, which is etiquette after a presentation, there was
all the formality the visit to St. James's had lacked--the drive into
the inclosure, where the guard was changing, the stately footmen, the
great book with its pages containing the dignitaries and great people
of all the earth.

But the Boy Scout and the policeman had restored my failing courage
that day at St. James's Palace. Except for a tendency to breathe at
twice my normal rate as the Queen entered the room I felt almost calm.

As she advanced toward us, stopping to speak cordi