be curious to get the answers of a hundred men and a hundred women, of a hundred young people and a hundred old ones, of a hundred scholars and a hundred operatives.  My own specialty is asking questions, not answering them, and I trust I shall not receive a peck or two of letters inquiring of me how I should choose if such a question were asked me.  It may prove as fertile a source of dispute as “The Lady or the Tiger.”

It would have been a great thing to pass a single night close to the church where Shakespeare’s dust lies buried.  A single visit by daylight leaves a comparatively slight impression.  But when, after a night’s sleep, one wakes up and sees the spire and the old walls full before him, that impression is very greatly deepened, and the whole scene becomes far more a reality.  Now I was nearly a whole week at Stratford-on-Avon.  The church, its exterior, its interior, the birthplace, the river, had time to make themselves permanent images in my mind.  To effect this requires a certain amount of exposure, as much as in the case of a photographic negative.

* * * * *

And so we bade good-by to Stratford-on-Avon and its hospitalities, with grateful remembrances of our kind entertainers and all they did for our comfort and enjoyment.

Where should we go next?  Our travelling host proposed Great Malvern, a famous watering-place, where we should find peace, rest, and good accommodations.  So there we went, and soon found ourselves installed at the “Foley Arms” hotel.  The room I was shown to looked out upon an apothecary’s shop, and from the window of that shop stared out upon me a plaster bust which I recognized as that of Samuel Hahnemann.  I was glad to change to another apartment, but it may be a comfort to some of his American followers to know that traces of homoeopathy,—­or what still continues to call itself so,—­survive in the Old World, which we have understood was pretty well tired of it.

We spent several days very pleasantly at Great Malvern.  It lies at the foot of a range of hills, the loftiest of which is over a thousand feet in height.  A——­ and I thought we would go to the top of one of these, known as the Beacon.  We hired a “four-wheeler,” dragged by a much-enduring horse and in charge of a civil young man.  We turned out of one of the streets not far from the hotel, and found ourselves facing an ascent which looked like what I should suppose would be a pretty steep toboggan slide.  We both drew back. "Facilis ascensus," I said to myself, "sed revocare gradum." It is easy enough to get up if you are dragged up, but how will it be to come down such a declivity?  When we reached it on our return, the semi-precipice had lost all its terrors.  We had seen and travelled over so much worse places that this little bit of slanting road seemed as nothing.  The road which wound up to the summit of the Beacon was narrow and uneven.  It ran close to the edge of the steep hillside,—­so