postilion put him on his legs with some difficulty, for the brave man had fortified himself still more with plentiful libations at the bar of the inn. The horses were put to with the aid of the postilion, and we drove back to Shanklin at the rate of twenty miles an hour. The photographer who had taken a photograph of our group in the morning, just before we had started for our tour, was waiting on the high-road and handed to each passenger a copy of it. The next day we went to Cowes, the summer residence of Queen Victoria. We were speeding along level roads bordered by green woods—all soft grass and splendid trees—and rolled through fields golden with buttercups. The road now wound through bright green pastures where big fat cows dozed, lying in the shade of apple-trees. We passed neat little white cottages embowered in green, and a big farm-house belonging to the Prince of Wales. We drew now through an avenue sheltered by stately elm-trees and descended a steep hill leading to the river Medina, which we crossed on a ferry, and arrived at Cowes. Our coach drew up before a big hotel where we were to have dinner. The view from the terrace was one of exquisite beauty, the surroundings of Cowes being amongst the most splendid in England. We went and sat down on a bench beside the pier, waiting for the bell to call us to table-d’hôte. Two big yachts belonging to the Queen, the “Neptune” and “Man-of-War,” were moored in front of us. Side by side with us on the bench sat an old man, with a face framed in a grey fringe of beard, wearing a cotton bonnet drawn over his ears, who held a short pipe in his toothless mouth. We fell into conversation with him and were very much surprised when he told us that in all his long life he had only been once to London. Another day we went by rail to Ryde, the most frequented beach of the Isle of Wight. The esplanade with its elm-groves, different-coloured flower-beds, and well raked lawns, is magnificent. The day after we went and spent the whole afternoon in the neighbouring town of Newport, to visit the Exhibition of Agriculture. There was only one passenger in our compartment, a stiff, solemn-looking lady, who plunged her nose in her book all the way without uttering one word. On arriving at Newport our silent companion dropped on my lap a small bunch of flowers and a leaflet describing the way to get to Heaven. It flashed upon me that, perhaps, that lady was some kind of missionary who wanted to snatch me from the grip of the Evil One, and rescue my soul from destruction.