220 THE VOYAGE. ^TAT. 24. [1833. 



ing it often breaks the stillness. The consciousness that no 

 European foot had ever trod much of this ground added to 

 the delight of these rambles. How often and how vividly 

 have many of the hours spent at Barmouth come before my 

 mind ! I look back to that time with no common pleasure ; 

 at this moment I can see you seated on the hill behind the 

 inn, almost as plainly as if you were really there. It is neces- 

 sary to be separated from all which one has been accus- 

 tomed to, to know how properly to treasure up such recollec- 

 tions, and at this distance, I may add, how properly to esteem 

 such as yourself, my dear old Herbert. I wonder when I 

 shall ever see you again. I hope it may be, as you say, sur- 

 rounded with heaps of parchment ; but then there must be, 

 sooner or later, a dear little lady to take care of you and your 

 house. Such a delightful vision makes me quite envious. 

 This is a curious life for a regular shore-going person such as 

 myself ; the worst part of it is its extreme length. There is 

 certainly a great deal of high enjoyment, and on the contrary 

 a tolerable share of vexation of spirit. Everything, however, 

 shall bend to the pleasure of grubbing up old bones, and cap- 

 tivating new animals. By the way, you rank my Natural 

 History labours far too high. I am nothing more than a lions' 

 provider : I do not feel at all sure that they will not growl and 

 finally destroy me. 



It does one's heart good to hear how things are going on 

 in England. Hurrah for the honest Whigs ! I trust they will 

 soon attack that monstrous stain on our boasted liberty, Colo- 

 nial Slavery. I have seen enough of Slavery and the dis- 

 positions of the negroes, to be thoroughly disgusted with the 

 lies and nonsense one hears on the subject in England. 

 Thank God, the cold-hearted Tories, who, as J. Mackintosh 

 used to say, have no enthusiasm, except against enthusiasm, 

 have for the present run their race. I am sorry, by your let- 

 ter, to hear you have not been well, and that you partly at- 

 tribute it to want of exercise. I wish you were here amongst 

 the green plains ; we would take walks which would rival the 

 Dolgelly ones, and you should tell stories, which I would be- 



