theless hideous inventions, and it is impossible for
lookers-on to feel for wheelmen the cordial good will given so freely to
Mr. Stevenson on his donkey, for instance. The rider on wheels is an
object that exasperates the nerves of horses, dogs, and men. Mrs.
Pennell in this little book describes a collision on the old Kent Road
with the driver of a hansom cab, who sat watching their extrication
scowling. If he had his way, he said, he would burn all _them things."_
And, little affiliation as most human beings have with cabmen, we yet
believe that he gave utterance to the sentiments of all non-wheelmen.
However, the modern world is likely to belong to bicycles and tricycles,
and this attractive brochure, signed with the names of one of our
cleverest draughtsmen and his wife, with their silhouettes on the cover,
is likely to set more wheels in motion than there were before it was
printed. The two evidently enjoyed their expedition, and the lady tells
the story easily and pleasantly; and if it is relieved by little
incident it is yet sustained by intelligent observation and
discriminating enthusiasm, while the illustrations are, like all Mr.
Pennell's work, clever in the extreme. The two left London on their
tricycle late in August, and had the finest weather in which to cross
historic Blackheath and look up the picturesque wharves in Gravesend.
Hop-pickers filled the roads and offered many a subject for the artist's
pencil. "We rode on with light hearts," recounts the fair wheelwoman.
"An eternity of wheeling through such perfect country and in such soft
sunshine would, we thought, be the true earthly paradise. We were at
peace with ourselves and with all mankind, and J---- even went so far as
to tell me I had never ridden so well," And thus on to the inn at
Sittingbourne, which has this quaint notice hung over the door:

Call frequently,
Drink moderately,
Pay honourably,
Be good company,
Part friendly,
Go home quietly.

Arrived at the close of the second day in Canterbury, the two "toke"
their inn at the sign of the "Falstaff," where hung "Honest Jack, in
buff doublet and red hose," in a wonderful piece of wrought-iron work.
Whether next day, after viewing the cathedral, the tricycles pursued
their journey, is not told. The pilgrimage ends, as it should, at the
shrine,--that is, where the shrine had been; for the verger, after
saying solemnly that they had come to the shrine of St. Thomas, solemnly
added, "'Enery