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Chapter 23 I had now the whole south of France, from the banks of the Rhone to those of the Garonne, to traverse upon my mule at my own leisureat my own leisurefor I had left Death, the Lord knowsand He onlyhow far behind meI have followed many a man thro France, quoth hebut never at this mettlesome rate.Still he followed,and still I fled himbut I fled him cheerfullystill he pursuedbut, like one who pursued his prey without hopeas he laggd, every step he lost, softened his lookswhy should I fly him at this rate? So notwithstanding all the commissary of the post-office had said, I changed the mode of my travelling once more; and, after so precipitate and rattling a course as I had run, I flattered my fancy with thinking of my mule, and that I should traverse the rich plains of Languedoc upon his back, as slowly as foot could fall. There is nothing more pleasing to a travelleror more terrible to travel- writers, than a large rich plain; especially if it is without great rivers or bridges; and presents nothing to the eye, but one unvaried picture of plenty: for after they have once told you, that tis delicious! or delightful! (as the case happens)that the soil was grateful, and that nature pours out all her abundance, &c. . .they have then a large plain upon their hands, which they know not what to do withand which is of little or no use to them but to carry them to some town; and that town, perhaps of little more, but a new place to start from to the next plain and so on. This is most terrible work; judge if I dont manage my plains better. |
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