Sunday, April 23, 1882, opened with a wet morning. The clouds were thick and heavy. The smoke seemed to hover, struggle and rise again as if life depended on its mounting higher than the patched and broken roofs of London houses. The rain came down drearily, dribbly, and drizzly. It hung upon my garments with saturating tendencies, and I really got wet through before I was aware of it. The roads were very uncomfortable for feet in non-watertight boots. Umbrellas were up. Single "chaps," and others in "couples" were wending their way across Victoria Park. The school bells were chiming out in all directions "Come to school," "It is time," "Do not delay," "Come to school." In response to the bell-calls the little prattlers and toddlers were hurrying along to school. Their big sisters, with "jerks and snatches," frequently called out, "Now, then, come along; we shall be too late; singing will be over, and if it is I'll tell your mother.
