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 me, to give me practice. We became very good friends: she said I was to be her daughter, and she would be my mother. To her I owe a great deal of the pleasure I had during my first few years in America.

The principal of the school also took the greatest pains with my English. It is true, she did not permit me to speak it with the girls, but she herself spoke it constantly with me. I could have had no better person to take as a pattern, for she had a lovely accent, the best to be found among Anglo-Saxons anywhere. She chose the books I was to read, and told me the phrases to use, as if I were her most expensive pupil.

My general impression of America now was kindness. It was given to me with the lavishness which is one of the chief characteristics of the Americans. Yet because they were so different from the people I was accustomed to, I could not understand them at all, and misunderstanding them I could not exactly love them. In spite of their kindness they had a certain crudity of manner, which constantly hurt me. Besides, they seemed to me to live their lives in blazing lights. I missed the twilights and starlights, the poetry and charm of our life at home—just as I missed the spring in their calendar.

It will perhaps surprise Americans to hear that, in spite of the excellent table at the school,