he shire of
Buckingham. I am changing my country, as you remind me: and, on my
faith, she has no place for me. But, for the sake of her, I have
explored and found the best of her--in my new country's prisons. And I
repeat, you must give me time."

"Tut, tut!" was his comment, as I searched for tinder box and sulphur
match to relight my segar. "We must get you into Parliament, Mr. Anne.
You have the gift."

As we approached Saint-Denis, the flow of his discourse sensibly
slackened: and, a little beyond, he pulled his travelling cap over his
ears, and settled down to slumber. I sat wide awake beside him. The
spring night had a touch of chill in it, and the breath of our horses,
streaming back upon the lamps of the _caleche_, kept a constant nimbus
between me and the postillions. Above it, and over the black spires of
the poplar avenues, the regiments of stars moved in parade. My gaze went
up to the ensign of their noiseless evolutions, to the pole-star, and to
Cassiopeia swinging beneath it, low in the north, over my Flora's
pillow--_my_ pole-star and journey's end.

Under this soothing reflection I composed myself to slumber; and awoke,
to my surprise and annoyance, in a miserable flutter of the nerves. And
this fretfulness increased with the hours, so that from Amiens to the
coast Mr. Romaine must have had the devil of a time with me. I bolted my
meals at the way-houses, chafing all the while at the business of the
relays. I popped up and down in the _caleche_ like a shot on a hot
shovel. I cursed our pace. I girded at the lawyer's snuff-box, and could
have called him out upon Calais sands, when we reached them, to justify
his vile methodical use of it. By good fortune we arrived to find the
packet ready with her warps, and bundled ourselves on board in a hurry.
We sought separate cabins for the night, and in mine, as in a sort of
moral bath, the drastic cross seas of the Channel cleansed me of my
irritable humour, and left me like a rag, beaten and hung on a
clothes-line to the winds of heaven.

In the grey of the morning we disembarked at Dover; and here Mr. Romaine
had prepared a surprise for me. For, as we drew to the shore, and the
throng of porters and waterside loafers, on what should my gaze alight
but the beaming countenance of Mr. Rowley! I declare it communicated a
roseate flush to the pallid cliffs of Albion. I could have fallen on his
neck. On his side the honest lad kept touching his hat and grinning i