In an 18 White steam car--Best exit from London eastwards--General ignorance of the White steam cars--Some interested prejudice against them--An account of them--Independent testimony to them--Woodford and Chingford--Popularity of Epping Forest--Pepys on the roads--Little improvement--A haunting cyclist--Impression of the Forest--"Seeing's believing"--True woodland unkempt--Thorn trees as evidence of antiquity--Motor-cyclist's rivalry--Epping--Ongar--Chelmsford--Rich country--Colchester--The "Red Lion"--Memories of the Civil War--Deaths of Lucas and Lisle--Through Ipswich--Trimley's two churches--Felixstowe--A hotel half awake--Felix the Burgundian--Rainy morning--Glance at Felixstowe--Mr. Felix Cobbold, M.P.--His perfect home--Rock-gardens and pergolas--The walled garden--A Jersey herd--An afternoon drive--Nature's garden of Suffolk--The motorist's independence--Machine feels no pain--A circuit to Woodbridge--Wickham Market and Saxmundham--Hey for Dunwich!--Course laid over farm tracks--Desolate Dunwich--Irresistible coast erosion--Skeletons "all awash"--The lost forest--Dunwich in the past--Steady loss of land--Back to Felixstowe through byways and by road. At precisely ten minutes past three in the afternoon of the 17th of March an 18-h.p. White steam car glided out of Kingly Street, Regent Street. At ten minutes to four, without any undue haste in driving, it was out in the open country at Ponder's End, the route taken being by way of York Road (hard by King's Cross Station) and Seven Sisters Road. This route, which involves but three turns, if the right ones be chosen, is at once the quickest way out of London to the eastward; far less unpleasant to eye, nostrils, and ears than the drive through Whitechapel; far less difficult in the matter of traffic; and it has the further advantage of leading the traveller almost at once into scenes of sylvan beauty more often raved about to the sceptical than seen by the eyes of the wise. For these reasons it is given with pharmaceutical detail in the "Practical Observations." The occupants of the car were Mr. Frederick Coleman, London manager of the White Steam Car Company of the United States; Mrs. Coleman, a lady possessing the rare gift of a remarkably exact topographical memory; their child, my wife and myself, and a mechanic who sat contentedly, after the manner of his kind, at my feet. The car was fitted with cape hood for use if necessary, and, in the way of luggage, it carried two fair-sized suit-cases upon a platform astern, containing all the impedimenta which could reasonably be required by folks who intended to travel by day and to rest comfortably at hotels in the evening. It may be added that we had no absolutely fixed plan, for we meant to drift whither we pleased, allowing fancy or inclination to dictate to us the time for halting and the