"No," said I, "but it is only ten o'clock."

"Yes, but we have twenty miles to go."

"Twenty miles?"

"Certainly, the house is at St. Albans."

"It's very strange Pembroke never told me; how did you find out the
address?"

"He left it when he went away:"

"Just like an Englishman."

I took a post-chaise, and in three hours I had reached my destination.
The English roads are excellent, and the country offers a smiling
prospect on every side. The vine is lacking, for though the English soil
is fertile it will not bear grapes.

Lord Pembroke's house was not a particularly large one, but twenty
masters and their servants could easily be accommodated in it.

The lady had not yet arrived, so my lord shewed me his gardens, his
fountains, and his magnificent hot-houses; also a cock chained by the
leg, and of a truly ferocious aspect.

"What have we here, my lord?"