permanent exhibitions of New Zealand pippins, Rhodesian tobacco,
Australian mutton, Canadian snow-shoes, and other glories of Empire--
might surely not be asked in vain to'--but I deleted that sentence,
and tried another in another vein. My desire to be straightforward did
but topple me into excess of statement. My sorrow for the Adelphi came
out as sentimentality, my anger against the authorities as vulgar
abuse. Only the urgency of my cause upheld me. I would get my letter
done somehow and post it. But there flitted through my mind that
horrid doubt which has flitted through the minds of so many choleric
old gentlemen in the course of the past hundred years and more: `Will
The Times put my letter in?'

If The Times wouldn't, what then? At least my conscience would be
clear: I should have done what I could to save my beloved quarter. But
the process of doing it was hard and tedious, and I was glad of the
little respite presented by the thought that I must, before stating my
case thoroughly, revisit Adam Street itself, to gauge precisely the
extent of the mischief threatened there. On my way to the Strand I met
an old friend, one of my links with whom is his love of the Adams'
work. He had not read the news, and I am sorry to say that I, in my
selfish agitation, did not break it to him gently. Rallying, he
accompanied me on my sombre quest.

I had forgotten there was a hosier's shop next to the Tivoli, at the
corner of the right-hand side of Adam Street. We turned past it, and
were both of us rather surprised that there were other shops down that
side. They ought never to have been allowed there; but there they
were; and of course, I felt, it was the old fa‡ades above them that
really counted. We gazed meanwhile at the fa‡ades on the left-hand
side, feasting our eyes on the proportions of the pilasters, the