After all, employment, next to a clear conscience, is the best antidote to a brown-study. Hildebrand, it is true, did not possess the one, but he was soon to forget his uneasiness in the bustle of the other. On his arrival in London, he proceeded straight to the residence of Sir Walter Raleigh, in the Strand; and there, to his great contentment, found a sphere opened to him, which promised to leave him little opportunity for melancholy. Sir Walter received both him and Don Rafaele with the utmost warmth and eagerness. Their greetings being despatched, he acquainted Hildebrand, in a few words, with the object and nature of the service in which he was to be employed. From what he said, Hildebrand learned that these particulars were yet secret, but that it was understood, among the few who were informed on such matters, that he would be directed to sail immediately for the coast of Spain, and collect information relative to the expected armada. He told him, further, that he would sail with the Queen’s commission, in his own ship, which had been taken up by the Government for the public service, and was now perfectly ready to put to sea. “And now that I have told thee all,” he concluded, “let us straight to horse, and ride off to Deptford, to my Lord Admiral. I know he waits us with some impatience.” “We will to him out of hand, then,” answered Hildebrand. “Don Rafaele will wait our return here.” The personage referred to, understanding what was said, at once agreed to the proposal, and the two friends thereupon prepared to set forth. Their horses were soon ready; and, taking leave of Don Rafaele, who followed them to the door, and waited to see them depart, they quickly mounted, and set forward for Deptford. Hitherto Hildebrand had seen little preparation against the formidable armada of which he had brought the first intimation to England, and which threatened not only the independence, but the religion, and even the very existence of the empire. On his way through the city, however, nothing was to be seen but martial costumes, and warlike provisions. The staid citizens, who had never known any parade but Sir Thomas Gresham’s new “Bourse,” bore themselves like soldiers, and looked fresh from the drill-ground; and even the ’prentices walked erect, and aspired to look like Cæsars. Cutlers’ marts seemed to be the popular places of resort; and the lucky shop that, among other weapons, could exhibit to public view one of the clumsy firelocks then in use, and which are to this day called after the reigning sovereign, by the name of “Brown Bess,” was more frequented than the Paris Garden. London-bridge and the Borough looked no less alive to the crisis; and beyond, in St. George’s-fields, and through the whole line of road to Deptford, were seen companies of recruits, arrayed in the most motley habits, undergoing the initiatory and vexatious process of drill.