Bear-inn, Piccadilly, before Six; when we passed St. James’s church, the clock wanted seven minutes; meet turnip carts coming to market; arrive before the Duke of Queensberry’s house;--fine prospect of St. James’s park and the Surrey hills.” “You see I make observations as I go along, sir.” “Arrive at the turnpike--find it is exactly six; compare our watches with the clocks;--we have taken seven minutes from St. James’s church. N. B. A wise man rides more slowly over the stones, than on the road. Proceed on our tour--arrive at Knightsbridge; to the left, there turns off a new street, called Sloane-street, from Sir Hans Sloane.--N. B. He was a great naturalist.” “Biography, you observe, sir,” said the doctor. “Oh yes,” answered the baronet. “Another road turns off to Fulham;--Latin pun on two soldiers went to Putney: ‘Ibant tinctores animæ duo ponere juxta. Explanation: duo two, animæ soul, tinctores diers, ibant went, ponere to put, juxta nigh,’ A little farther on, is the pound,”--“Yes,” said the doctor, “curiosities.” “Beyond Knightsbridge, Hyde Park wall,--crowds of strawberry girls in the foot-path;--meet long coaches. N. B. That road a great thoroughfare;--Kensington George II. died here.” “I give my companion a sketch of his history: Holland-house not in the modern style of building;--dissertation upon architecture;--my companion observes I know every thing. Attending too earnestly to my subject, run against a carter--scoundrel hits me with his whip;--I turn about and swear at him. He comes back;--I ride on.” Dipping into another page, the Baronet found “Brentford, said to be a royal city; entrance not remarkable for royal magnificence.” “You observe,” said the Doctor, looking with arch sarcasm, “my friend advises me, as a great antiquarian, to write the history of the monarchs of Old and New Brentford. Sion-house, my remarks on the Percies, and the battle of Chevy Chase. Approach Smallberry-green; inform my companion of my extreme intimacy with Sir Joseph Banks; my comrade happens to know him a little. Observe a person before his house, whom he insists to be, I, not to be Sir Joseph;--I ride on--my companion certainly mistaken.” The Baronet, rather tiring of this, turned over a good many pages, and found “Chertsea, St. Ann’s hills, house of Charles James Fox,--Fox no orator.” “Original discovery,” said the Doctor, “hem.” “I perfectly agree with you sir, it is,” “The world is totally mistaken in him.” “Demonstrate to my companion, that I surpass Fox in every thing;--comrade hard-headed won’t be convinced,--less agreeable than I thought him.” The Baronet skipping again, dipped into “Hampton Fishery, they catch Gudgeons here; I observe they also catch Gudgeons in town. _Bon mots_ for you,--I excel in wit, as much as in philosophy.” “That I can perceive,” said the Baronet; “I see, sir, this is just such a performance, as I should have expected from Dr. Scribble.” “Since you do me the honour to entertain so very high an opinion of my