ABSTRACT
We stopped at last before the door of a cottage, whose porch was overgrown with ivy. From that moment I ceased to feel myself a stranger in England. I cannot tell you how delightful to me, dizzy and weary as I was, was the fi rst sight of the chamber of reception which had been prepared for us. No item of cozy comfort that one could desire was omitted. The sofa and easy chair wheeled up before a cheerful coal fi re, a bright little teakettle steaming in front of the grate, a table with a beautiful vase of fl owers, books, and writing apparatus, and kind friends with words full of affectionate cheer,— all these made me feel at home in a moment.1
