I stopped the night at Banbury, where there is one of those old coaching inns which affect the imagination like an old print. The following day I went on to Oxford, where I left the car, and ran up to London for some necessary shopping. This, I know, will make you indignant, but I am going to "do" Oxford when Ruth, that lover of "Lost Causes," is with me. Besides, as my next journey is to the northeast, it was better to leave the car at Oxford than to go through London. When I returned to Oxford I went again on my way and spent the night at Ipswich, in the same inn in which Mr. Pickwick had the compromising adventure with the lady in curl-papers. But there was nothing seen to recall that joyous night. No one I saw looked as if he had ever heard of the most distinguished guest the inn had ever entertained! The next day I reached the Sanfords' for tea. I understand now why the heroine in an English novel always arrives at tea-time! It is the ideal hour. One does not have to dress for a function and is received into the family at once. This family consists of but two--the husband and wife--a lovely couple. I do not know which of them we loved best when the visit was over. An ancestor of Mr. Sanford's was one of the non-jurors--and that night I lay in his bed. As a bed it was a good bed, but as a place for sleeping it was naught--as Touchstone would have said. As I lay awake I thought of the noble folly of the non-jurors, and of Macaulay's unsympathetic picture of them, though, curiously enough, the only time he speaks well of a bishop, so far as I remember, is when he praises the "seven bishops." How characteristic this is! They are admirable when they defy the Stuart, but contemptible when they refuse to bow the knee to his Dutch hero! These thoughts led me on to Henry Esmond--that most interesting prig--and so on, hour after hour, the mind wandered through the history of England till I longed for the scenery of the land of Nod! I would not have you think that my wakefulness was due solely to the imagination awakened by the old non-juror's bed. It was due to a more modern and more material cause, namely the strong Ceylon tea, which was so good that I had taken more than I am accustomed to. What we call "English Breakfast," the English call "China" tea, and, so far as my experience goes, is seldom served. Certainly it could not have been expected in this house, because Mr. Sanford is largely interested in the cultivation of Ceylon tea and, not unnaturally, thinks it superior to China. It is undoubtedly good, but so strong that it is apt to be followed by a sleepless night on the part of the uninitiated.