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 leisure--at my own leisure--for I had left Death, the Lord knows--and He only--how far behind me--'I have followed many a man thro' France, quoth he--but never at this mettlesome rate.'--Still he followed,--and still I fled him--but I fled him cheerfully--still he pursued--but, like one who pursued his prey without hope--as he lagg'd, every step he lost, softened his looks--why should Ifly him at this rate?
So notwithstanding all the commissary of the post-office had said, Ichanged 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 traveller--or 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 with--and 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 don't manage my plains better.
