feel considerably like deserving reasonably gentle treatment after
perseveringly pressing forward sixty miles in spite of the rain, I request
him to steer me into the Cyclists' Touring Club Hotel - an office which
he smilingly performs, and thoughtfully admonishes the proprietor to
handle me as tenderly as possible. I am piloted around to take a hurried
glance at Coventry, visiting, among other objects of interest, the Starley
Memorial. This memorial is interesting to 'cyclers from having been
erected by public subscription in recognition of the great interest Mr.
Starley took in the 'cycle industry, he having been, in fact, the father
of the interest in Coventry, and, consequently, the direct author of the
city's present prosperity. The mind of the British small boy along my
route has been taxed to its utmost to account for my white military
helmet, and various and interesting are the passing remarks heard in
consequence. The most general impression seems to be that I am direct
from the Soudan, some youthful Conservatives blandly intimating The
Starley Memorial, Coventry, that I am the advance-guard of a general
scuttle of the army out of Egypt, and that presently whole regiments of
white-helmeted wheelmen will come whirling along the roads on
nickel-plated steeds, some even going so far as to do me the honor of
calling me General Wolseley; while others - rising young Liberals,
probably - recklessly call me General Gordon, intimating by this that the
hero of Khartoum was not killed, after all, and is proving it by sweeping
through England on a bicycle, wearing a white helmet to prove his identity!

A pleasant ride along a splendid road, shaded for miles with rows of
spreading elms, brings me to the charming old village of Dunchurch, where
everything seems moss-grown and venerable with age. A squatty,
castle-like church-tower, that has stood the brunt of many
centuries, frowns down upon a cluster of picturesque, thatched
cottages of primitive architecture, and ivy-clad from top to bottom;