There are delightful walks and drives in all directions of the Isle of Wight. We undertook to make excursions through the neighbouring country in a huge pleasant-tour coach named “Old Times.” This coach can hold twenty people inside and is driven by four powerful horses gaily decorated with ribbons. We began our tour by Bembridge, and scrambled into the back seat of the immense car by a ladder of ten steps. The postilion frantically blew his horn, the coachman cracked his whip over the head of his horses, and the coach rattled full speed along beautifully kept roads. The drive proved long and interesting. We made three halts without changing horses. Our fellow-passengers were not very elegant-looking. I took Sergy’s neighbour, a tall, bearded man, who was chewing a stinking cigar, for a German colonist, and he proved to be a German Royal Prince. Towards noon we drew up before the veranda of Bembridge Hotel standing on the beach, and had lunch on the spacious terrace, enjoying the sea-breeze. At the same time a pleasure-boat had brought a crowd of tourists to the hotel. We were back to Shanklin for dinner, having taken another road through the woods and corn-fields. Before us there was a lovely stretch of country with the gold of ripening grain and the scarlet glint of poppies smelling like honey; full blown blossoms of clover white and pink, scented the air. The Isle of Wight, so green and fresh, is well named “The Garden of England,” really it is quite the nicest bit of England. Trees and grass are of a wonderful vivid green peculiar to this island. The climate is so mild that figs, laurel, and myrtle trees grow in the open air. Intense heat is quite unknown here.