I have had a most delightful tour; and by no means the
least pleasing part of my adventures was the receiving an epistle from you this
morning at the Post Office. I am staying here some days after a long sojourn
among the Apennines, over which I have been partly drawn in a wicker basket by
oxen. I have written my tour verbatim to my wife, who will retain the letters;
and, if you will flatter me so much, after my mother has perused it, you shall
have it for a long winter evening. I am COMPEIGNE. RHEIMS. CHAMPAGNE. BURGUNDY. 115
Molliter acclivi qua viret uva jugo. |
| 116 | MEMOIR OF REV. F. HODGSON. |
A burning sirocco, which had been sweeping the sands of
Turin, confined me to my bed with languor and ennui, and
prevented my finishing my letter to you from Genoa. I wish, indeed, to say as
little now as possible, for you must peruse ‘A Tour on the Continent,’ on my
return. A few days carried me entirely through the Pays de Vaud and the
Vallais, where I coasted the Rhone, now magnificent from the melting of the
snows, nearly to its source. From the Simplon I looked down, like Hannibal, on
the plains of Italy. At Milan and Florence I have been highly entertained. I
have sailed eighty miles on the Mediterranean in a felucca, and to-morrow shall
pass Mont Cenis, in RETURN TO ENGLAND. LYONS. VIENNE. 117
But I must go and see the Superga, so adieu. I really would write the whole sheet full, but I wish you to read me fully.
The Po flows under my window, just about as broad as the Thames at Richmond: would you were at the Po with me, or I at the Thames with you!
