as, at all events, the opinion of Stephen
Welland; and Stephen must have been a good judge, for he tried the
change frequently, being exceedingly fond of bicycling, and occasionally
taking what he termed long spins on that remarkable instrument.

One morning, early in the summer-time, young Welland, (he was only
eighteen), mounted his iron horse in the neighbourhood of Kensington,
and glided away at a leisurely pace through the crowded streets.
Arrived in the suburbs of London he got up steam, to use his own phrase,
and went at a rapid pace until he met a "chum," by appointment. This
chum was also mounted on a bicycle, and was none other than our friend
Samuel Twitter, Junior--known at home as Sammy, and by his companions as
Sam.

"Isn't it a glorious day, Sam?" said Welland as he rode up and sprang
off his steed.

"Magnificent!" answered his friend, also dismounting and shaking hands.
"Why, Stephen, what an enormous machine you ride!"

"Yes, it's pretty high--48 inches. My legs are long, you see. Well,
where are we to run to-day?"

"Wherever you like," said Sam, "only let it be a short run, not more
than forty miles, for I've got an appointment this afternoon with my old
dad which I can't get off."

"That'll do very well," said Welland, "so we can go round by--"

Here he described a route by country road and village, which we pretend
not to remember. It is sufficient to know that it represented the
required "short" run of forty miles--such is the estimate of distance by
the youth of the present day!

"Now then, off we go," said Welland, giving his wheel--he quite ignored
the existence of the little thing at the back--a shove, putting his left
foot on the treadle, and flinging his right leg gracefully over.

Young Twitter followed suit, but Sammy was neither expert nor graceful.
True, he could ride easily, and travel long distances, but he could only
mount by means of the somewhat clumsy process of hopping behind for
several yards.

Once up, however, he went swiftly enough alongside his tall companion,
and the two friends thereafter kept abreast.

"Oh! isn't it a charming sensation to have the cool air fanning one's
cheeks, and feel the soft tremor of the wheel, and see the trees and
houses flow past at such a pace? It is the likest thing to flying I
ever felt," said Welland, as they descended a slight incline at,
probably, fifteen miles an hour.

"It is delightful," replied Sam, "but, I say, we bett