22 LIFE OF THE A UTHOR. 



was a coolness between the Watertons and a neighbouring family. 

 The head of this family saw Waterton come over a hedge down into 

 a little quarry which was on the other side. " Zounds ! Mr Water- 

 ton," shouted the Baronet, amazed, and forgetting that they were not 

 on speaking terms, " wjiat a jump !" They talked together, the feud 

 was at an end, and they rode home friends. Of the convivialities 

 which in those times did so much to mar the good effects of fox- 

 hunting, Waterton kept clear. He bore in mind the promise he had 

 made at college, and used, when the chase was over, to decline all 

 invitations, and ride straight home. Travelling, after a while took 

 the place of fox-hunting. 



" My father would every now and then say to me, with a gracious 

 though significant smile on his countenance, ' Studium quid inutile. 

 tentasV And as my mother was very anxious that I should see 

 the world, they took advantage of the short Peace of Amiens [1802], 

 and sent me to Spain. 



" Two of my maternal uncles, who had received brilliant educa- 

 tions, and were endowed with great parts, but who were not con- 

 sidered worthy to serve their country in any genteel or confidential 

 capacity, unless they would apostatize from the faith of their ances- 

 tors, had deemed it prudent to leave their native land and retire to 

 foreign climes. A Portuguese gentleman named Martinez, who in 

 his travels through England had received great hospitality from Sir 

 Henry Bedingfeld of Oxburgh, in Norfolk, invited the wanderers to 

 Malaga, where they finally settled, and became naturalized Spaniards. 



" I sailed from Hull in the month of November, with my younger 

 brother (poor fellow ! he died afterwards in Paumaron of the yellow 

 fever), in the brig Industry, bound for Cadiz. The wind becoming 

 adverse, we put into Margate Roads, and lay there for nine days. 

 A breeze having sprung up from the northward, we went to sea 

 again, in company with a Scotch brig which was going to Vigo, and 

 we were within gun-shot of each other the next morning at daybreak. 

 On the preceding night I had heard one of our own crew tell his 

 comrade, that when he was ashore at Margate, a sailor from the 

 Scotch brig had told him that their mate was in a conspiracy to 

 murder the captain, and to run away with the vessel. I questioned 



