There are other restaurants that are much frequented by the artists of the quarter:--the “Blue Cockatoo,” in Cheyne Walk, near Oakley Street, and the “Good Intent,” 316 King’s Road, and a new and yet more attractive one on the corner of Arthur Street with the enticing name of “The Good Humoured Ladies.” Chelsea is full of interesting shops. The Chelsea Book Club is on the Embankment by Church Street--its delights must be sampled to be realised--and next door there is a queer handmade toy shop called Pomona--why Pomona? Across the road is Chelsea Old Church, with its high seventeenth-century tower. To me its interior is the most satisfying in London. The spirit of ancient days dwells there, untouched by modern currents of unrest, and in the tranquil beauty there is no jarring note. Sir Thomas More was one of its celebrated parishioners--you may see his monument and the epitaph he wrote himself. What a pleasant, kindly, independent spirit had this great Chancellor, who donned the humble surplice of a parish clerk and sang in the choir unperturbed by the remonstrances of even so great a personage as the Duke of Norfolk. I always liked the tale of how the latter came to dine with Sir Thomas in Chelsea and “fortuned to find him at the church in choir with a surplice on his back singing, and as they went home together arm in arm, the duke said, ‘God’s Body, God’s Body, my Lord Chancellor, a parish clerk--a parish clerk! You dishonour the King and his office!’ And Sir Thomas replied mildly that he did not think the duke’s master and his would be offended with him for serving God his Master or thereby count his office dishonoured.” I love Chelsea Old Church better than any other London church. It has nothing of the heavy solidity that smacks of broadcloth and thick gold watch-chains. The congregation on a summer Sunday evening might be met with in any village in England. The very altar has no pomp of embroidered frontal and massive ornaments; it looks almost like a Jacobean dining-room with its simple oaken table and dignified chairs on either side. The church is filled with enchanting old treasures--chained Bibles and old monuments to the great dead who worshipped there, but I cannot find it in my heart to catalogue them for you as if it were a museum. Enter those dim walls and see for yourself, and you will love it as did that lover of England from across the sea whose epitaph is not the least among the beautiful things of Chelsea Old Church: In memory of Henry James, Novelist Born in New York, 1843. Died in Chelsea, 1916 Lover and interpreter of the fine amenities of brave decisions and generous loyalties: resident of this parish, who renounced a cherished citizenship to give his allegiance to England in the first year of the Great War.