quite inadequate when it came to conversing with the landlady of the King’s Arms.  But the good dame’s social condition as a sea-captain’s widow led her to think she could talk French to me, and her attempts made me wonder which of us knew least of that language.  And then a most disturbing incident occurred—­we missed Robber, who must have run away at the door instead of following us into the house.  Our distress at having lost our good dog after having brought him all the way there with such difficulty occupied us exclusively during the first two hours we spent in this new home on land.  We kept constant watch at the window until, of a sudden, we joyfully recognised Robber strolling unconcernedly towards the house from a side street.  Afterwards we learned that our truant had wandered as far as Oxford Street in search of adventures, and I have always considered his amazing return to a house which he had not even entered as a strong proof of the absolute certainty of the animal’s instincts in the matter of memory.

We now had time to realise the tiresome after-effects of the voyage.  The continuous swaying of the floor and our clumsy efforts to keep from falling we found fairly entertaining; but when we came to take our well-earned rest in the huge English double bed, and found that that too rocked up and down, it became quite unbearable.  Every time we closed our eyes we sank into frightful abysses, and, springing up again, cried out for help.  It seemed as if that terrible voyage would go on to the end of our lives.  Added to this we felt miserably sick; for, after the atrocious food on board, we had been only too ready to partake, with less discretion than relish, of tastier fare.

We were so exhausted by all these trials that we forgot to consider what was, after all, the vital question—­the probable result in hard cash.  Indeed, the marvels of the great city proved so fascinating, that we started off in a cab, for all the world as if we were on a pleasure trip, to follow up a plan I had sketched on my map of London.  In our wonder and delight at what we saw, we quite forgot all we had gone through.  Costly as it proved, I considered our week’s stay justified in view of Minna’s need of rest in the first place, and secondly, the excellent opportunity it afforded me of making acquaintances in the musical world.  During my last visit to Dresden I had sent Rule Britannia, the overture composed at Konigsberg, to Sir John Smart, president of the Philharmonic Society.  It is true he had never acknowledged it, but I felt it the more incumbent on me to bring him to task about it.  I therefore spent some days trying to find out where he lived, wondering meanwhile in which language I should have to make myself understood, but as the result of my inquiries I discovered that Smart was not in London at all.  I next persuaded myself that it would be a good thing to look up Bulwer Lytton, and to come to an understanding about the operatic