A Drive Through England Or a Thousand Miles of Road Travel

was all the most fastidious sketcher could desire, but somehow the place, the time, the hour, and the absolute peace around were not conducive to work. Watching the slowly gliding river had a slumberous influence over us ; and, by the way, it is only such quiet gliding waters you can watch without becoming restless. We simply felt inclined to do nothing, and we did it; the very fact of existing on such a day was happiness supreme. It is not always or everywhere an active mind can find doing nothing a delightful occupation. Such rest for the brain in these days of hurry and bustle is an invaluable tonic, and should always be indulged in when possible. But time was going by, and we felt we must presently return to our hotel, but we were in no hurry to do so. Why should we hurry ? Time was all our own. Ah! that is one of not the least of the pleasures of our mode of travel, the not being obliged to hasten away from any spot against our inclination. What though the shadows were just beginning to lengthen ! It mattered not to us ; we were not accountable to any one for our movements or our time. Starting so late, we should have to make an evening drive of it on to Oxford, where we might or might not arrive before midnight, but we rather rejoiced than otherwise that this was so.However, all things, good as well as bad, come to an end in this world, and so at last the time came for us to weigh our anchor, or rather the iron grapnel that did duty for the same, and come as...