ABSTRACT
Over the past weekend I had as companions two men, speaking to me from the pages of two quite different books; yet, as they spoke, they were so alike in some ways that they could have been close friends. Each of them was in love with England. Each of them was in love with America. Each of them wrote with passion of his loves. And each of them brings to his readers echoes of the kind of world which seems in these days of strife to be slipping away from us.
