Impressions of Travel 407 



take is but a cursory one barely a view of things at 

 all ; they pass their days between a lounge and a 

 siesta. 



What, I should like to know, have they found out 

 about a country, who rush across it, without giving 

 its natural features, its people, its politics, more than 

 a cold, casual stare, whose thoughts run in the line 

 of their own amusement, own comfort, own weariness, 

 own inconvenience at hotels ? 



The club trains to the Riviera carry a multitude 

 abroad in a luxurious fashion. How much do they 

 notice of the change in the lie of the land, in the type 

 of roof and window, of the demarcation between the 

 chestnut and beech zone, and the pine and larch zone ? 

 Have they any idea of the experiences to be had 

 through distance, and through difficulties surmounted ? 

 What Stevenson calls, " Nature s spiritual ditty, ' 'The 

 Invitation to the Road" an air continually sounding in 

 the ears of gypsies, and to whose inspiration our nomadic 

 fathers journeyed all their days" is to them unknown ; 

 there is, in short, something supremely selfish in their 

 mode of travelling. 



It has been well said that, " In manly hours we 

 feel duty to be our place. The soul is no traveller : 

 the wise man stays at home, or, if he travels, is at 

 home wherever he goes, and makes men feel it by 

 his face ; that he goes the missionary of wisdom and 

 virtue, and visits cities and men like a sovereign, not 

 like a valet or an interloper." 



Too often travelling is a Fool's Paradise. I am 



