How merrily we lives that
travellers be!--if we had food and raiment. But in sober sadness, any
thing is better than England, and I am infinitely amused with my
pilgrimage as far as it has gone.
"To-morrow we start to ride post near 400 miles as far as Gibraltar,
where we embark for Melita and Byzantium. A letter to Malta will find
me, or to be forwarded, if I am absent. Pray embrace the Drury and
Dwyer, and all the Ephesians you encounter. I am writing with Butler's
donative pencil, which makes my bad hand worse. Excuse illegibility.
"Hodgson! send me the news, and the deaths and defeats and capital
crimes and the misfortunes of one's friends; and let us hear of
literary matters, and the controversies and the criticisms. All this
will be pleasant--'Suave mari magno,' &c. Talking of that, I have been
sea-sick, and sick of the sea.
"Adieu. Yours faithfully," &c.
LETTER 38.
TO MR. HODGSON.
"Gibraltar, August 6. 1809.
"I have just arrived at this place after a journey through Portugal,
and a part of Spain, of nearly 500 miles. We left Lisbon and travelled
on horseback[119] to Seville and Cadiz, and thence in the Hyperion
frigate to Gibraltar. The horses are excellent--we rode seventy miles
a day. Eggs and wine, and hard beds, are all the accommodation we
found, and, in such torrid weather, quite enough. My health is better
than in England.
"Seville is a fine town, and the Sierra Morena, part of which we
crossed, a very sufficient mountain; but damn description, it is
always disgusting.
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