When I came outside the gate into the little square or triangle which faces it I found a beautiful statue of the lyric muse--a semi-nude dancing girl erected to the memory of Christopher Marlowe. It surprised me a little to find it here, facing Canterbury, in what might be called the sacred precincts of religious art; but it is suitably placed and brought back to my mind the related kingdom of poetry. All the little houses about have heavy overhanging eaves and diamond-shaped, lead-paned windows. The walls are thick and whitewashed, ranging in color from cream to brown. They seem unsuited to modern life; and yet they frequently offered small shop-windows full of all the things that make it: picture-postcards, American shoes, much-advertised candy, and the latest books and magazines. I sought a tea-room near by and had tea, looking joyously out against the wall where some clematis clambered, and then wandered back to the depot to get my mackintosh and umbrella--for it was beginning to rain. For two hours more I walked up and down in the rain and dark, looking into occasional windows where the blinds had not been drawn and stopping in taprooms or public houses where rosy barmaids waited on one with courteous smiles. CHAPTER XX EN ROUTE TO PARIS One of the things which dawned upon me in moving about England, and particularly as I was leaving it, was the reason for the inestimable charm of Dickens. I do not know that anywhere in London or England I encountered any characters which spoke very forcefully of those he described. It is probable that they were all somewhat exaggerated. But of the charm of his setting there can be no doubt. He appeared at a time when the old order was giving way, and the new--the new as we have known it in the last sixty years--was manifesting itself very sharply. Railroads were just coming in and coaches being dispensed with; the modern hotel was not yet even thought of, but it was impending.