After this candid
confession, I hope the reader will not quarrel with me for the omission;
besides, anyone who cares for these things, and knows how evanescent
are the impressions left by word pictures on the mind, can sail the
seas and gallop round the world to see them all for himself. It is
not, however, every wanderer from England--I blush while saying it--who
can make himself familiar with the home habits, the ways of thought
and speech, of a distant people. Bid me discourse of lowly valley,
lofty height, of barren waste, shady wood, or cooling stream where I
have drunk and been refreshed; but all these places, pleasant or dreary,
must be in the kingdom called the heart.
After getting some information about the country I had to traverse
from the _pulpero_, who told me that I would probably reach the
River Yi before evening, I resumed my journey. About four o'clock in
the afternoon I came to an extensive wood of thorn-trees, of which the
_pulpero_ had spoken, and, in accordance with his instructions,
I skirted it on the eastern side. The trees were not large, but there
was an engaging wildness about this forest, full of the musical chatter
of birds, which tempted me to alight from my horse and rest for an
hour in the shade. Taking the bit from his mouth to let him feed, I
threw myself down on the dry grass under a clump of shady thorns, and
for half an hour watched the sparkling sunlight falling through the
foliage overhead, and listened to the feathered people that came about
me, loudly chirping, apparently curious to know what object had brought
me to their haunts.
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