Memoranda:--Casual remark for breakfast-table or perhaps for luncheon--it is a trifle heavy for breakfast: _'Since the sixteenth century, and despite the work of Inigo Jones and the great Wren_ (not Jenny Wren: Christopher), _architecture has had, in England especially, no legitimate development.' This is the only cathedral with a Bishop's Throne or a Sanctuary Knocker._ * * * * * _He_ Durham, _July 19_. O child of fortune, thy name is J. Q. Copley! How did it happen to be election time? Why did the inns chance to be full? How did Aunt Celia relax sufficiently to allow me to find her a lodging? Why did she fall in love with the lodging when found? I do not know. I only know Fate smiles; that Kitty and I eat our morning bacon and eggs together; that I carve Kitty's cold beef and pour Kitty's sparkling ale at luncheon; that I go to matins with Kitty, and dine with Kitty, and walk in the gloaming with Kitty--and Aunt Celia. And after a day of heaven like this, like Lorna Doone's lover--ay, and like every other lover, I suppose--I go to sleep, and the roof above me swarms with angels, having Kitty under it. She was so beautiful on Sunday. She has been wearing her favourite browns and primroses through the week, but on Sunday she blossomed into blue and white, topped by a wonderful hat, whose brim was laden with hyacinths. She sat on the end of a seat in the nave, and there was a capped and gowned crowd of university students in the transept. I watched them and they watched her. She has the fullest, whitest eyelids, and the loveliest lashes. When she looks down I wish she might never look up, and when she looks up I am never ready for her to look down. If it had been a secular occasion, and she had dropped her handkerchief, seven-eighths of the students would have started to pick it up--but I should have got there first! Well, all this is but a useless prelude, for there are facts to be considered--delightful, warm, breathing facts! We were coming home from evensong, Kitty and I. (I am anticipating, for she was still 'Miss Schuyler' then, but never mind.) We were walking through the fields, while Mrs. Benedict and Aunt Celia were driving. As we came across a corner of the bit of meadow land that joins the stable and the garden, we heard a muffled roar, and as we looked around we saw a creature with tossing horns and waving tail making for us, head down, eyes flashing. Kitty gave a shriek. We chanced to be near a pair of low bars. I hadn't been a college athlete for nothing. I swung Kitty over the bars, and jumped after her. But she, not knowing in her fright where she was nor what she was doing, supposing also that the mad creature, like the villain in the play, would 'still pursue her,' flung herself bodily into my arms, crying, 'Jack! Jack! save me!'