the great distances over here when I left
England, I would have started earlier, and made a longer tour, but I am
going home for my son's Easter holidays and have therefore been obliged
to refuse much hospitality. In case anyone reads these impressions, I
would like them to know how deeply their spontaneous generosity has
touched me. I will quote a letter which was put into my hands at
Syracuse:

March 13, 1922.

"_Mrs. Asquith_,

"DEAR MADAM,

"When a person has bestowed upon another a gift--such as 'The Diary of
Margot Asquith'--ought not the favoured one to give an expression of
appreciation to the donor? I think so. And this conviction must be the
excuse for my making so bold as to address you, Mrs. Asquith, to thank
you for giving us--who live in so different a world to that of yours--a
glimpse of your spirit, so colorful, so vivid, so noble. And the charm
of it is that this color, vividness, verve, and charm is not carried
consciously and heavily--but is borne lightly, charmingly, like an
ornament,--a jewel.

"I am not young, nor given to raptures; I am older than you, and I am
only thanking you for the radiance your writings have thrown upon my
life; and when to-morrow night I see and hear you at the Opera House in
Syracuse, you may perhaps care to know that one among many happy people
is enjoying a completeness she had not dreamed would come to her.

"With all good wishes to Mrs. Asquith here on our shores, and beyond the
sea, I am,

"Sincerely yours,

"E. A. S----."

There have been other letters I would like to quote, but for fear of
boring my readers I will end with the following, written from Chicago,

"_To Margot Asquith_,

"I read your volume a year ago and at once decided if it was a girl I
would call her 'Margot.'

"Tuesday night at Orchestra Hall I heard and saw you. Your enthusiasm,
your zest for life, the airy grace of your movements, and the charm of
your smile will live in my memory always.

"Here's hoping that some of the wealth of your qualities will go with
the name 'Margot' to my little one.

"May you live long, Margot Asquith, is the wish of,

"M. M. F.----."

On the 16th we arrived at Buffalo, where, after seeing the usual army of
photographers and reporters, we motored twenty-five miles out to
Niagara.

I had always imagined the drive to the Falls would have been long, slow,
dangerous, and steep; that this amazing spectacle must be