invitations have reached me, but I have been nowhere but
to one little dinner given by our only neighbor, the wife of a London
editor, and herself a popular story writer.

I can walk now with one crutch and a stick, and begin to hope for
complete restoration, which at one time seemed to me impossible. But,
oh, how tedious and wearing it is! We have an unusually fine October
for England, but gray skies and almost daily rains now. But the Surrey
country is beautiful, full of quaint old villages and objects of
picturesque interest. I am longing for the time and the weather to
explore it. I could write all day about my gradually growing desire to
be "up and doing." But time and space do not admit. Let me say in one
word how deeply I was touched by the action of the Executive
Committee, the Governing Board, and club. But I am also disappointed.
I wanted to leave the field clear, and have new energy put into the
club by bringing into active and central circulation the young, best
blood we possess. Thank you for your assurance that as far as possible
that will be done; and thank every officer and every member in my
behalf for the long and affectionate confidence they have reposed in
me, and for the many acts of personal kindness I have received from
them.

I am sorry you have lost the Countess by removal, and other valuable
members by death...

Yours faithfully and affectionately,
J.C. CROLY

NORFOLK VILLA, WEYBRIDGE, SURREY,
August 20, 1901.

My dear Anna:

Your letter came most opportunely. I had been thinking about you, the
Press Club, and my dear friends at home; for somehow I have not felt
the old pleasure in being in England, and if I had a home to come back
to, and my goods and chattels were not so far off, I should have come
back, I think, this autumn.

For one thing, the weather has not been favorable. We had such warm
weather in July; but every month has had a week or more of very cold
and wet weather. In Ober-Ammergau on the 8th of July we perished with
the cold, and the rain almost caked in ice upon us. Still, even such
weather could not spoil Ober-Ammergau. It is the one thing of its kind
on earth, and the nearest to an absolutely perfect thing I ever saw. A
great charm is the unconsciousness of the performers. They do not play
to an audience. There are no footlights, nothing theatrical; only the
Great Tragedy wrought out as a living reality. I think of all the
sce