One wet night I was coming home through Hyde Park from working late on a job in Paddington. Pain and wind and swept boughs and sickly gasights on the wet asphalt; and poles and scaffolding about in preparation for the Jubilee celebration. I had sent a couple of attempts on the subject to theBulletin, and hall got encouragement inAnswer toCorrespondents.And now the idea of" Sons of the South" or "Song of the Republic" came. I wrote it and screwed up courage to go down to theBulletin ’after hours, intending to chop the thing into the letter box, but just as I was about to do so, or rather making up my mind as to whether I’d shove it in, or take it home and have another look at the spelling and the dictionary, the door opened suddenly and a haggard woman stood there.And I shoved the thing into her hand and got away round the cornel, feeling something like a person who had been nearly caught on the premises under suspicious circumstances and was not safe yet by any means.