In this beautiful country
we should always either drive or walk, if we have time; the diligence is
the most amusing and sometimes the slowest method of progress. Nobody
hurries--although we carry 'the mails' and have a letter-box in the side
of the conveyance, where letters are posted as we go along, it is
scarcely like travelling--the free and easy way in which people come and
go on the journey is more like 'receiving company' than taking up
passengers. As we jog along, to the jingling of bells and the creaking
of rusty iron, the people that we overtake on the road keep accumulating
on our vehicle one by one, as we approach a town, until we become
encrusted with human things like a rock covered with limpets. There is
no shaking them off, the driver does not care, and they certainly do not
all pay. It is a pleasant family affair which we should all be sorry to
see disturbed; and the roads are so good and even, that it does not
matter much about the load. The neglect and cruelty to the horses, which
we are obliged to witness, is certainly one drawback,[57] and the dust
and crowding on market days, are not always pleasant; but we can think
of no other objections in fine weather, to this quiet method of seeing
the country.
Much has been said in favour of 'a walking tour in Normandy,' but we
venture to question its thorough enjoyment when undertaken for long
distances; and it can scarcely be called 'economical to walk,' unless
the pedestrian's time is of no value to other people.
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