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Broughton? He said yes; that he had enough for me. I am then never less fought with him three times, and the last alone than when alone. time he fairly beat him, though the world did not allow it. “I'll tell you how it was,

“The fields his study, nature was his

book.” master. When the seconds lifted us up in the last round, we were so exhausted that I cannot see the wit of walking and neither of us could stand, and we fell (960 | talking at the same time. When I am upon one another, and as Master Brough- in the country I wish to vegetate like (10 ton fell uppermost the mob gave it in his

the country. I am not for criticising favor, and he was said to have won the hedgerows and black cattle. I go out of battle. But,' says he, 'the fact was, that town in order to forget the town and all as his second (John Cuthbert) lifted him that is in it. There are those who for up, he said to him, “I'll fight no more, this purpose go to watering-places, and I've had enough;" which,' says Steven- carry the metropolis with them. I like son, 'you know gave me the victory. more elbow-room and fewer encumbrances. And to prove to you that this was the I like solitude, when I give myself up to case, when John Cuthbert was on [970 it, for the sake of solitude; nor do I ask for his death-bed, and they asked him if

a friend in my retreat, (20 there was anything on his mind which he wished to confess, he answered, "Yes,

Whom I may whisper solitude is sweet." that there was one thing he wished to The soul of a journey is liberty, perfect set right, for that certainly Master Steven- liberty, to think, feel, do just as one son won that last fight with Master pleases. We go a journey chiefly to be Broughton; for he whispered him as he free of all impediments and of all inconlifted him up in the last round of all, veniences; to leave ourselves behind, much that he had had enough." This,” said more to get rid of others. It is because I the Bath gentleman,“ was a bit of hu- 1980 want a little breathing-space to muse on man nature;” and I have written this ac- indifferent matters, where Contemplation count of the fight on purpose that it might not be lost to the world. He also stated

“May plume her feathers and let grow her wings,

[30 as a proof of the candor of mind in this

That in the various bustle of resort class of men, that Stevenson acknowledged that Broughton could have beat

Were all too ruffled, and sometimes imhim in his best day; but that he (Brough

paired,” ton) was getting old in their last ren- that I absent myself from the town for a

When we stopped in Piccadilly while, without feeling at a loss the moment I wanted to ask the gentleman some (990 | I am left by myself. Instead of a friend questions about the late Mr. Windham, | in a post-chaise or in a Tilbury, to esbut had not courage. I got out, resigned change good things with, and vary the my coat and green silk handkerchief to same stale topics over again, for once Pigott (loth to part with these ornaments let me have a truce with impertinence. of life), and walked home in high spirits. Give me the clear blue sky over my (40

P.S. Toms called upon me the next day, head, and the green turf beneath my feet, to ask me if I did not think the fight was a a winding road before me, and a three complete thing. I said I thought it was. hours' march to dinner and then to I hope he will relish my account of it. thinking! It is hard if I cannot start

some game on these lone heaths. I laugh,

I run, I leap, I sing for joy. From the ON GOING A JOURNEY point of yonder rolling cloud I plunge

into my past being, and revel there, as One of the pleasantest things in the the sun-burnt Indian plunges headlong world is going a journey; but I like to go into the wave that wafts him to his (50 by myself. I can enjoy society in a native shore. Then long-forgotten things, room; but out of doors, nature is company | like “sunken wrack and sumless treasuries,” burst upon my eager sight, and I pleasure. You cannot read the book of begin to feel, think, and be myself again. nature without being perpetually put to Instead of an awkward silence, broken the trouble of translating it for the benefit by attempts at wit or dull common- of others. I am for the synthetical (110 places, mine is that undisturbed silence method on a journey in preference to of the heart which alone is perfect elo- the analytical. I am content to lay in a quence. No one likes puns, alliterations, stock of ideas then, and to examine and antitheses, argument, and analysis (60 anatomise them afterwards. I want to better than I do; but I sometimes had see my vague notions float like the down rather be without them. “Leave, oh,

“Leave, oh, of the thistle before the breeze, and not leave me to my repose!" I have just to have them entangled in the briars and now other business in hand, which would thorns of controversy. For once, I like seem idle to you, but is with me “very to have it all my own way; and this is stuff o' the conscience.” Is not this wild impossible unless you are alone, or (120 rose sweet without a comment? Does in such company as I do not covet. I not this daisy leap to my heart, set in its have no objection to argue a point with coat of emerald? Yet if I were to explain any one for twenty miles of measured to you the circumstance that has so [70 road, but not for pleasure. If you reendeared it to me, you would only smile. mark the scent of a bean-field crossing Had I not better then keep it to myself, the road, perhaps your fellow-traveller and let it serve me to brood over, from has no smell. If you point to a distant here to yonder craggy point, and from object, perhaps he is short-sighted, and thence onward to the far-distant horizon? has to take out his glass to look at it. I should be but bad company all that There is a feeling in the air, a tone in (130 way, and therefore prefer being alone. the color of a cloud, which hits your fancy,

have heard it said that you may, when but the effect of which you are unable to the moody fit comes on, walk or ride on account for. There is then no sympathy, by yourself, and indulge your reveries. [80 but an uneasy craving after it, and a disBut this looks like a breach of man- satisfaction which pursues you on the ners, a neglect of others, and you are way, and in the end probably produces thinking all the time that you ought to ill-humor. Now I never quarrel with rejoin your party. “Out upon such half- myself, and take all my own conclusions faced fellowship,” say I. I like to be for granted till I find it necessary to deeither entirely to myself, or entirely at fend them against objections. It is (140 the disposal of others; to talk or be silent, not merely that you may not be of accord to walk or sit still, to be sociable or soli. on the objects and circumstances that tary. I was pleased with an observation present themselves before you—these may of Mr. Cobbett's, that “he thought it (90 recall a number of objects, and lead to a bad French custom to drink our wine associations too delicate and refined to with our meals, and that an Englishman be possibly communicated to others. Yet ought to do only one thing at a time.” these I love to cherish, and sometimes So I cannot talk and think, or indulge in still fondly clutch them, when I can melancholy musing and lively conversa- escape from the throng to do so. To give tion by fits and starts. “Let me have a

our feelings before com- (150 companion of my way,” says Sterne,

says Sterne, pany seems extravagance or affectation; "were it but to remark how the shadows and, on the other hand, to have to unlengthen as the sun declines.” It is beau- ravel this mystery of our being at every tifully said; but, in my opinion, this (100 turn, and to make others take an equal continual comparing of notes interferes interest in it (otherwise the end is not with the involuntary impression of things answered), is a task to which few are comupon the mind, and hurts the sentiment. petent. We must "give it an underIf you only hint what you feel in a kind standing, but no tongue.” My old friend of dumb show, it is insipid: if you have C-, however, could do both. He could to explain it, it is making a toil of a go on in the most delightful explan- (160

way to

atory way over hill and dale, a summer's door prospects: it should be reserved for day, and convert a landscape into a di- Table-talk. L- is for this reason, I dactic poem or a Pindaric ode. “He take it, the worst company in the world talked far above singing." If I could so out of doors; because he is the best clothe my ideas in sounding and flowing within. I grant there is one subject on words, I might perhaps wish to have which it is pleasant to talk on a journey, some one with me to admire the swelling and that is, what one shall have for theme; or I could be more content, were supper when we get to our inn at night. (210 it possible for me still to hear his echoing The open air improves this sort of convoice in the woods of All-Foxden. They [170 versation or friendly altercation, by sethad “that fine madness in them which ting a keener edge on appetite. Every our first poets had”; and if they could mile of the road heightens the flavor of have been caught by some rare instrument, the viands we expect at the end of it. would have breathed such strains as the How fine it is to enter some old town, following:

walled and turreted, just at approach of “Here be woods as green

nightfall, or to come to some straggling As any, air likewise as fresh and sweet village, with the lights streaming through As when smooth Zephyrus plays on the the surrounding gloom; and then, after (220 fleet

inquiring for the best entertainment that Face of the curled stream, with flow'rs as

the place affords, to "take one's ease at many

one's inn!” These eventful moments in As the young spring gives, and as choice our lives' history are too precious, too as any;

full of solid, heartfelt happiness to be Here be all new delights, cool streams and

frittered and dribbled away in imperfect wells,

(180 sympathy. I would have them all to Arbors o'ergrown with woodbines, caves myself, and drain them to the last drop: and dells;

they will do to talk of or to write about Choose where thou wilt, whilst I sit by afterwards. What a delicate specula- 1230 and sing,

tion it is, after drinking whole goblets Or gather rushes to make many a ring

of teaFor thy long fingers; tell thee tales of love, “The cups that cheer, but not inebriate"How the pale Phæbe, hunting in a grove, First saw the boy Endymion, from whose and letting the fumes ascend into the

brain, to sit considering what we shall eyes She took eternal fire that never dies; have for supper-eggs and a rasher, a How she conveyed him softly in a sleep,

rabbit smothered in onions, or an excelHis temples bound with poppy, to the

lent veal cutlet! Sancho in such a situasteep

tion once fixed on cow-heel; and his choice, Head of old Latmos, where she stoops though he could not help it, is not to (240 each night,

190 be disparaged. Then, in the intervals of Gilding the mountain with her brother's pictured scenery and Shandean contemlight,

plation, to catch the preparation and the To kiss her sweetest."

stir in the kitchen. Procul, O procul

este profani! These hours are sacred to Had I words and images at command silence and to musing, to be treasured like these, I would attempt to wake the up in the memory, and to feed the source thoughts that lie slumbering on golden of smiling thoughts hereafter. I would ridges in the evening clouds: but at the not waste them in idle talk; or if I must sight of nature my fancy, poor as it is, have the integrity of fancy broken (250 droops and closes up its leaves, like in upon, I would rather it were by a flowers at sunset. I can make nothing stranger than a friend. A stranger takes out on the spot: I must have time to (200 | his hue and character from the time collect myself.

and place; he is a part of the furniture and In general, a good thing spoils out-of- costume of an inn. If he is a Quaker, or

from the West Riding of Yorkshire, so have been pictures in the room, as at (310 much the better. I do not even try to St. Neot's (I think it was,) where I first sympathise with him, and he breaks met with Gribelin's engravings of the no squares. I associate nothing with my Cartoons, into which I entered at once, travelling companion but present (260 and at a little inn on the borders of Wales, objects and passing events. In his ig- where there happened to be hanging some norance of me and my affairs, I in a man- of Westall's drawings, which I comner forget myself. But a friend reminds pared triumphantly (for a theory that I one of other things, rips up old grievances, had, not for the admired artist) with the and destroys the abstraction of the scene. figure of a girl who had ferried me over He comes in ungraciously between us the Severn, standing up in a boat be- (320 and our imaginary character. Something tween me and the twilight-at other is dropped in the course of conversation times I might mention luxuriating in that gives a hint of your profession and books, with a peculiar interest in this pursuits; or from having some one (270 way, as I remember sitting up half the with you that knows the less sublime por- | night to read Paul and Virginia, which I tions of your history, it seems that other picked up at an inn at Bridgewater, after people do. You are no longer a citizen of being drenched in the rain all day; and the world; but your “unhoused free con- at the same place I got through two dition is put into circumspection and volumes of Madame d'Arblay's Camilla. confine." The incognito of an inn is one It was on the roth of April, 1798, that (330 of its striking privileges—“lord of one's I sat down to a volume of the New Eloise, self, uncumbered with a name. Oh! it at the inn at Llangollen, over a bottle of is great to shake off the trammels of the sherry and a cold chicken. The letter world and of public opinion—to lose (280 I chose was that in which St. Preux our importunate, tormenting, everlasting describes his feelings as he first caught a personal identity in the elements of na- glimpse from the heights of the Jura of ture, and become the creature of the the Pays de Vaud, which I had brought moment, clear of all ties—to hold to the with me as a bon bouche to crown the universe only by a dish of sweetbreads, evening with. It was my birthday, and and to owe nothing but the score of the I had for the first time come from a (340 evening—and no longer seeking for ap- place in the neighborhood to visit this plause and meeting with contempt, to be delightful spot. The road to Llangollen known by no other title than the Gentle- turns off between Chirk and Wrexham; man in the parlor! One may take (290 and on passing a certain point you come one's choice of all characters in this ro- all at once upon the valley, which opens mantic state of uncertainty as to one's like an amphitheatre, broad, barren hills real pretensions, and become indefinitely rising in majestic state on either side, respectable and negatively right wor- with "green upland swells that echo to shipful. We baffle prejudice and disap- the bleat of flocks" below, and the river point conjecture; and from being so to Dee babbling over its stony bed in (350 others, begin to be objects of curiosity the midst of them. The valley at this and wonder even to ourselves. We are time" glittered green with sunny showers," no more those hackneyed common-places and a budding ash-tree dipped its tender that we appear in the world; an inn (300 branches in the chiding stream. How restores us to the level of nature, and proud, how glad I was to walk along the quits scores with society! I have certainly high road that overlooks the delicious spent some enviable hours at inns- prospect, repeating the lines which I sometimes when I have been left entirely have just quoted from Mr. Coleridge's to myself, and have tried to solve some poems! But besides the prospect which metaphysical problem, as once at Witham opened beneath my feet, another (360 Common, where I found out the proof also opened to my inward sight, a heavthat likeness is not a case of the associa- enly vision, on which were written, in tion of ideas—at other times, when there letters large as Hope could make them, these four words, LIBERTY, GENIUS, be barren, like what I see of it. In the LOVE, VIRTUE; which have since faded country we forget the town, and in town into the light of common day, or mock we despise the country. "Beyond Hyde my idle gaze.

Park,” says Sir Fopling Flutter, "all is

a desert." All that part of the map (420 “The beautiful is vanished, and returns

that we do not see before us is blank. not.”

The world in our conceit of it is not much Still I would return some time or other bigger than a nutshell. It is not one to this enchanted spot; but I would (370 prospect expanded into another, county return to it alone. What other self could joined to county, kingdom to kingdom, I find to share that influx of thoughts, land to seas, making an image volumiof regret, and delight, the fragments of nous and vast;—the mind can form no which I could hardly conjure up to my- larger idea of space than the eye can take self, so much have they been broken and in at a single glance. The rest is a name defaced. I could stand on some tall rock, written in a map, a calculation of (430 and overlook the precipice of years that arithmetic. For instance, what is the true separates me from what I then was. signification of that immense mass of was at that time going shortly to visit the territory and population known by the poet whom I have above named. (380 name of China to us? An inch of pasteWhere is he now? Not only I myself board on a wooden globe, of no more have changed; the world, which was then account than a China orange! Things new to me, has become old and incor- near us are seen of the size of life: things rigible. Yet will I turn to thee in thought, at a distance are diminished to the size O sylvan Dee, in joy, in youth and glad of the understanding. We measure the ness as thou then wert; and thou shalt universe by ourselves, and even com- (440 always be to me the river of Paradise, prehend the texture of our own being only where I will drink of the waters of life piecemeal. In this way, however, we freely!

remember an infinity of things and places. There is hardly anything that shows (390 The mind is like a mechanical instrument the shortsightedness or capriciousness that plays a great variety of tunes, but of the imagination more than travelling it must play them in succession. One idea does. With change of place we change recalls another, but it at the same time our ideas; nay, our opinions and feelings. excludes all others. In trying to renew We can by an effort indeed transport old recollections, we cannot as it were ourselves to old and long-forgotten scenes, unfold the whole web of our existence; (450 and then the picture of the mind revives we must pick out the single threads. So again; but we forget those that we have in coming to a place where we have just left. It seems that we can think but formerly lived, and with which we have of one place at a time. The canvas (400 intimate associations, every one must of the fancy is but of a certain extent, have found that the feeling grows more and if we paint one set of objects upon vivid the nearer we approach the spot, it, they immediately efface every other. from the mere anticipation of the actual We cannot enlarge our conceptions, we impression: we remember circumstances, only shift our point of view. The land- feelings, persons, faces, names that we scape bares its bosom to the enraptured had not thought of for years; but for (460 eye, we take our fill of it, and seem as the time all the rest of the world is forif we could form no other image of beauty gotten!—To return to the question I have or grandeur. We pass on, and think no quitted above: more of it: the horizon that shuts it [410 I have no objection' to go to see ruins, from our sight also blots it from our aqueducts, pictures, in company with a memory like a dream.

In travelling friend or a party, but rather the contrary, through a wild barren country I can form for the former reason reversed. They no idea of a woody and cultivated one. are intelligible matters, and will bear It appears to me that all the world must talking about. The sentiment here is

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