The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1897-06-05


mounted by a crown, in the centre of the
cross an immense, pale rose-plnk dla-
mond-the property of an East Indian
| Prince. Distances are so great mere, pc
ing equalled only by the diversity IN tne
prices of the very same articles thaI IL
takes patience as longdrawEn out as
| ''linked sweetness to shop in London,
unless one has pocketbook the length
and breadth of Mrs. Brady Martins.
Weary with the days round, we went
| for rest and refreshment to the great ana
only Fregoli. He is marvellous! HIS
quickness of tongue, nimbleness OF I'M
gers and feet are extraordinary; ms SKIRT
dancing enhancing. One llghG InroWn
on him transformed him into butterfly,
another into the English flag. The light
ming rapidity with which he assumes
| fifty different characters fairly makes one
gasp We failed to find Miss Clssle Lof-
tus enjoyable, though in no way obJec-
tionable-probably the fault was in our
selves. This being our first visit to the
"Alhambra'' our taste was not sufficient
| ~ English to appreciate her art. Possibly
our minds were still overshadowed by the
gloom of London Tower. That surely is
| a gruesome place. We were fortunate
to secure as guide former warden, and
if we had implicitly believed his opening
address we should have found Mr..
Baedeker of '96 but broken reed to lean
| ''this is Queen Helizabeth riding on
'orseback through the streets of Lunnon,
| 'haccording to that ere guide Casting
whitening glance of contempt on the
offending red volume) you would have
looked on the swords and guns in the
h 'armory and thought it was 'er; she's
been moved this last year." and proudly
and 'aught1ly he swept on, followed by q
procession of eleven women with six
small boys in the rear. We had no need
for Baedekr, or ears for guide when we
stood in St. John chapel and raising
our eyes could almost see the shadowy
form of William the Conqueror, as he
must have stood looking down from the
balcony between those Norman pillars
that have been here for centuries. What
heart but would have thrilled with pity
to see the spot where Anne Boleyn's slen-
der neck paid the penalty for thoughtless
vanity and frivolity. We've seen the
Tower once, but those dark dungeons and
gloomy winding stairways have witnessed
too many deeds of horror to tempt us to
go again.
On our way from those frowning walls
we walked through the Oldest church in
London, named for All Saints and the
first Abbess of Barking, "All Hallows.
Here William Penn was baptized and
John Quincy Adams married. The church
needs restoring, and like almost every
peal to our pocketbooks. We had heard
so much in praise of the music at the
Brompton Oratory at South Kensington
that we determined to make an early
start ON Sunday morning and secure
good seat. Alas for resolutions made
over night! We slept SO late that our
toilet was hurried, our breakfast rushed;
and as we chased the flying moments
down High street to the Baker street I'M
foreground our conviction that we had
lost our train became certainty as we
saw it vanish in the distance. No one
knows what the words dust, dirt and
draughts signify until one has travelled
underground. Small wonder that the
wretched engineers can endure the life
only for few years. Imagine rushing
through miles of the darkness of Erebus,
with only occasional CLEANS of Gods
sunlight, as it filters through the win
dows of the different stations. We raise
both hands in favor of the bus every
time, in spite of occasional unmention-
able drawbacks. At the entrance to the
Oratory stands the fine statue of Cardinal
Newman, whose worn features chiseled in
marble show the travail of his soul. The
one thing that absorbed us throughout
the service was the music; our delight
was unspeakable when we heard the first
notes of Gounod's most beautiful 3rd
Mass. 1t was prayer, praise, sermon-ev
erything in itself. The heavenly Kyrie
Eleison! it spoke to our hearts as no hui
man voice alone could do, and as we
dropped upon our knees, when the solemn
words set incarnatus est de Spirito Sane
to ct Maria Virgine' were sung-so
pianissimo it sounded like a whisper from
above-we realized as never before the
power of music to touch the human soul.
MRS. HERMANN KOTzSCHMAR.