I had now the whole south of France , from the banks of the Rhône 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, soften’d his looks⸺why 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 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, etc … 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.