A lady brought a parcel and almost refused to leave it without seeing me personally and handing me her half-crown. As she was one of a number, the servant refused, whereupon she insisted on writing a letter, and sat down to slowly compile four sheets for my benefit, while the parlourmaid, who had been dragged from the packing, stood beside her. Luckily, she left the parcel and the two-and-sixpence. Letters came from the grandest homes, from castles and courts, from vicarages and schools, and from some of the very poorest dwellings, carpenters’ wives and mill hands. They came from remote villages and towns I had never heard of, and many consignments arrived from abroad, the senders having written to large London emporiums and ordered blankets or shirts to be sent for the refugees. Probably one-third came anonymously, a third more asked for acknowledgment, while others sent money to buy clothes, or for me to use at my discretion. “Please prepay the carriage, dear friends.” Innocent enough words—but oh, the result of them almost swamped me—nearly nine hundred postal orders, mostly for sixpence, was the result. They came in letters, they came pinned to garments, they turned up anywhere and everywhere, and also stamps; just three, or six, or nine, or a dozen odd stamps, to help to pay carriage or buy clothes. Roughly, I received about twelve hundred epistles, followed, after it was all over, by several hundred more begging letters from England and Italy. Many of these specified exactly what the writer would like to have: “A green dress, and my waist is 28 inches,” or “A pair of grey flannel trousers, and my height is 5ft. 10in.” Among the strange addresses were: “Alla Nobile Dama, “Mrs. Alec Tweedie, “Cultrice di belle Lettere, “London.” Or again, “To the Right Honourable Lady “Alec Tweedie, “London.” They flattered and praised me, spoke “of my great merits and noble heart,” and then proceeded to ask me “to pay for the education of a young musician,” “adopt a baby,” “get the plays of a young dramatist performed in London,” “send money to a Viscount who was too proud to beg, so would I address it to his servant?” England and Italy honoured me with some hundred of these begging letters. Old clothes men offered to buy up what was left over. “Mrs. Harts” and “Mr. Abrahams” rang up to know if I wished to _sell_ any of the surplus things. (What did they take me for?) Men and women pulled the front-door bell and asked for coats and skirts; in fact, my house was not my own for a month or more. As one hundred and twenty-six pounds eighteen shillings and eleven pence came to me in money with the request that I would buy clothing (which I did from poor guilds), as the donors lived in the country, or do exactly as I liked with it, we tried to be businesslike, in spite of the rush, and made most elaborate tables showing cases despatched, dates, money received, expended, and so on.