THIS LONDON ITS TAVERNS, HAUNTS AND MEMORIES by R. THURSTON HOPKINS...TO CECIL PLAYER Your name stands as the publishers imprint on this book, and to the casual eye this indicates that it com- mercially belongs to you. And so it does. But apart from the imprint the merchandize of it is more surely yours than any publishers contract could ever set forth in cold black and white, for it is merchandize that has passed from author to publisher over a great, calm sea of friendship. But the book itself is of no importance. It is just a thing finished that was a pleasure to make. If I still thinlc of it with pleasure it is because you so often have been swaggering through its chapters . . . you, my friend of many years, who have so often explored the London haunts and taverns with me. This is its value, that it is yet another link between us. It is one more adventure that we have shared. Do you remember, Cecil, the night when we set out from Brighton to walk a mad night walk in South Country. Do you remember the churlish landlord of the Fountain Inn, at who refused to replenish our flagons at aminute before we were about to set forth into the night of incalculable adventure Our first fifteen miles were walked out with a distinct air of bravery, but after that our erring feet found many potholes, and our vi This London first joys of effort had worn off. The night was pitch dark and we became machines-unthinking, mechan- ical beings, tired and desperate. We lost all sense of direction and wandered miles out of our way. You said, I remember, that you would have walked twice the distance if the roads were paved as well as the Strand. You said that there was as yet no Rudyard Kipling of the paved streets of London. You even suggested that I might be the man to come. Your hankering for raised paths of stone proved you loyal to urban traditions. The true Londoner loves the feel of flagstones under his feet....