Naturally pleased by this coincidence, you endeavour to make your eyes flash as you look across the sea (you remember to have read somewhere that PITT had "an eagle eye;" perhaps two, but only one is mentioned); try and think what PITT looked like generally, and what he did with his arms, which you finally decide to fold across your chest, though conscious that you more resemble NAPOLEON crossing the Alps than the Great Commoner sitting at his drawing-room window in Walmer Castle. Your host is pardonably proud of his Arboretum, which he has set out on the roof where, in Tudor times, the cistern flaunted the breeze. Here, bared to the winter sun, droop the long fronds of the _Fucus spungiosus nodosus_. Close by is a specimen of that rare plant the _Fucus Dealensis pedicularis rubrifolio_. Here, too, is the _Rhamnoides fructifera foliis satiris_, rarely seen so far north. Here, coyly hang the narrow leaves of the _Silene conoidea_; and here, slowly rocking in the S.S.W. wind, is the sand willow (_Salix arenaria_). You fancy that somewhere you have seen a finer _Hippophae rhamnoides_, but the _Dianthus cariophyllus_, with its pleasant smell of cloves, well deserves the look of appreciation which your host bends upon it. Here, too, are the _Geranium maritinum_, and the wallflower-scented _Hottonia palustris_ and even the humble _Brassica oleracea_. "I have gathered them all in this district myself," your host says, opening the violet velvet smoking-jacket (for which he has exchanged the warlike garb he usually wears at Walmer) and casually displaying the belt that marks his earldom. You would like to ask whether a belted Earl ever wears braces, but whilst you are thinking of how so delicate a question may be framed, GRANVILLE, GEORGE, LEVESON-GOWER, Earl GRANVILLE, Knight of the Garter and Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, relates, with that never failing flow of natural humour which so greatly endears him to Lord SALISBURY, the story of his chequered career, since he left Christchurch, Oxford, now more than half a century ago and became Attache to the Embassy at Paris. The narrative which is full of point, agreeably occupies the time up to half-past one, when the beating of a huge drum announces luncheon. You make a feint of at once leaving, and Lord GRANVILLe, with that almost excessive politeness which distinguishes him, hesitates to oppose your apparent inclination.