The morning I left it was gray as usual. I had brought in all my necessary belongings from Bridgely Level and installed them in my room at the hotel, packed and ready. The executive mind of Barfleur was on the qui vive to see that nothing was forgotten. A certain type of tie must be purchased for use on the Riviera--he had overlooked that. He thought my outing hat was not quite light enough in color, so we went back to change it. I had lost my umbrella in the excitement, and that had to be replaced. But finally, rushing to and fro in a taxi, loaded like a van with belongings, Barfleur breathing stertorously after each venture into a shop, we arrived at the Victoria Station. Never having been on the Continent before, I did not realize until we got there the wisdom of Barfleur’s insistence that I pack as much of my belongings as possible in bags, and as little as possible in trunks. Traveling first class, as most of those who have much luggage do, it is cheaper. As most travelers know, one can take as many as five or six parcels or bags in the compartment with one, and stow them on racks and under the seats, which saves a heavy charge for excess baggage. In some countries, such as Italy, nothing is carried free save your hand-luggage which you take in your compartment with you. In addition the rates are high. I think I paid as much as thirty shillings for the little baggage I had, over and above that which I took in my compartment with me. To a person with a frugal temperament such as mine, that is positively disconcerting. It was my first taste of what I came subsequently to look upon as greedy Europe. As the train rushed southeastwards I did my best to see the pleasant country through which we were speeding--the region indicated on the map as North Downs. I never saw any portion of English country anywhere that I did not respond to the charming simplicity of it, and understand and appreciate the Englishman’s pride in it. It has all the quality of a pastoral poem--the charm of Arcady--fields of sheep, rows of quaint chimney pots and odd houses tucked away among the trees, exquisite moldy and sagging roofs, doorways and windows which look as though loving care had been spent on them. Although this was January, all the leafless trees were covered with a fine thin mold, as green as spring leaves. At Rochester the ruins of an ancient castle came into view and a cathedral which I was not to see. At Faversham I had to change from the Dover express to a local, and by noon I was at Canterbury and was looking for the Fleur-de-lis which had been recommended to me as the best hotel there. “At least,” observed Barfleur, quite solemnly to me as we parted, “I think you can drink the wine.” I smiled, for my taste in that respect was not so cultivated as his.