ea of
expectant faces below me.

Heaven forefend that I should repeat what I said, but for one hour and
twenty minutes I did the best I could; beginning with my pleasure at
being in America, I continued with stories of my native land, and ended
with an account of Windsor Castle and the Disarmament Conference.

No president or prime minister could have had a more intelligent,
friendly, courteous and responsive audience than the people of Boston.
Aching from my ankles to my temples, I bowed to their repeated cheers
as, humble and happy, I retired from the stage.

Enthusiastic hearers pressed into the green room where I had sunk into a
chair as immovable as the mangle. Mr. Horton, who had sat among the
statues on the sky line, assured me he had heard every syllable. Eager
reporters began to ask what I thought of Boston, but dumb and exhausted
I bundled into my cloak. Crowds of men and women were waiting in the
street, and as I motored away I gathered I had been a success.

The next day Lieutenant Governor Alvin Fuller and his wife--who were
among those who had congratulated me in the green room the night
before--gave us lunch and took us in their motor to the two great Boston
sights: the Public Library and the Fine Arts Museum.

The Library is a magnificent building, founded in 1852, containing over
two million volumes, half of which are lent out for daily use at home.
The architects of the building were McKim, Mead, & White of New York,
but most of the design was the work of Charles Follen McKim. The mural
decorations were painted by Puvis de Chavannes, Edwin Austin Abbey, and
John Singer Sargent. As my time was limited I concentrated on the works
of my friend Mr. Sargent.

It would be as impossible as it would be pretentious to attempt to
describe the beauty of the Sargent Hall. It represents thirty years of
thought and labour, and has a majesty of design, glory of drawing, and
originality of conception unequalled by anything in Europe.

The "Hand-Maid of the Lord" on the east wall, holding the Divine Child
in her arms, and "Our Lady of Sorrows," which faces it, fill your heart
with wonder and your eyes with tears.

In the first, the Blessed Virgin is rising from a throne with her baby
in her arms. You realise in looking at this Child that He is the Mighty
God and Everlasting Father; and the expression on the face of the
Virgin--more than of any other Madonna that I have ever seen--convinces
you that she was not