breeze. Here,
bared to the winter sun, droop the long fronds of the _Fucus spungiosus
nodosus_. Close by is a specimen of that rare plant the _Fucus Dealensis
pedicularis rubrifolio_. Here, too, is the _Rhamnoides fructifera foliis
satiris_, rarely seen so far north. Here, coyly hang the narrow leaves
of the _Silene conoidea_; and here, slowly rocking in the S.S.W. wind,
is the sand willow (_Salix arenaria_). You fancy that somewhere you have
seen a finer _Hippophae rhamnoides_, but the _Dianthus cariophyllus_,
with its pleasant smell of cloves, well deserves the look of
appreciation which your host bends upon it. Here, too, are the _Geranium
maritinum_, and the wallflower-scented _Hottonia palustris_ and even the
humble _Brassica oleracea_.

"I have gathered them all in this district myself," your host says,
opening the violet velvet smoking-jacket (for which he has exchanged the
warlike garb he usually wears at Walmer) and casually displaying the
belt that marks his earldom.

You would like to ask whether a belted Earl ever wears braces, but
whilst you are thinking of how so delicate a question may be framed,
GRANVILLE, GEORGE, LEVESON-GOWER, Earl GRANVILLE, Knight of the Garter
and Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, relates, with that never failing
flow of natural humour which so greatly endears him to Lord SALISBURY,
the story of his chequered career, since he left Christchurch, Oxford,
now more than half a century ago and became Attache to the Embassy at
Paris. The narrative which is full of point, agreeably occupies the time
up to half-past one, when the beating of a huge drum announces luncheon.
You make a feint of at once leaving, and Lord GRANVILLe, with that
almost excessive politeness which distinguishes him, hesitates to oppose
your apparent inclination.

As you pass out, skirting the piece of old ordnance dragged from the sea
in 1775, near the Goodwin Sands, by some fishermen who were sweeping for
anchors in the Gull-stream, you reach the conclusion, that politeness
may sometimes be carried too far. "Deale," notes LELAND, in his
interesting _Itinerary_, "is half a myle fro the shore of the sea, a
Finssheher village iii myles or more above Sandwich." That is all very
well for Deal; but a gentleman of healthy habits, who left London at ten
o'clock this morning would, as the afternoon advances, certainly not be
so much as three miles above a sandwich if it were offered.

Pleased with this quaint conceit, in