About three years ago in Petersburg, I got acquainted with one very kind Englishman, Mr. Woodburn. He traveled across Europe in search of good paintings, statues, and other objects, to purchase, which by some accident ended up in second-hand markets or in the hands of ignoramuses, bankrupts, etc. In Germany, he found a rich harvest and picked up a few interesting pieces in our country. Woodburn had been to my house, read my English newspapers, traveled with me to Peterhoff, and, before returning home, earnestly requested me to visit him if I happened to be in England. I remembered him well, but how to find one Englishman, not very tall, among one million and six hundred thousand residents of London! Once walking to Trafalgar Square, on one street (St. Martins-Lane), I saw a sign above an art store: Woodburn Brothers! I rushed to the store and asked a clerk where I could find Mr. William Woodburn, who has been to Russia. “He is a brother and associate of the store owner,” answered the clerk: “he lives out of town in Richmond.” I immediately wrote a brief letter notifying him that I had arrived in London and lived at so-and-so address. The next day, the good Woodburn came to see me and invited me to his country house. I agreed to visit him next Sunday and promised to be ready at nine o’clock in the morning. My English friend, efficient and punctual like a clock's second hand, arrived at the appointed time, and we were preparing to leave for the steamboat. Suddenly a messenger arrived from Count Pozzo di Borgo and gave me a card. I showed it to Woodburn, and he read, “Count Pozzo di Borgo requests the honor of Mr. G.'s company at dinner on Sunday, the 4 of June at 7¼ o’clock. The favor of an answer is desired. — Ashburnham House.” — “What a pity!” cried he: “couldn't your minister invite you on another day?”