“In every village of the Susquehannah Indians* there is a vacant dwelling, called the strangers’ house. When a traveller there arrives at one of these villages, he stops and hollas; two of the elders of the tribe immediately go out to meet him; they lead him to this house, and then go round to tell the inhabitants that a stranger is arrived fatigued and hungry.
“They do not order these things quite so well in England. We arrived at Southampton at six last evening. ‘Lodgings’ were hung out at almost every house, but some would not let less than eleven rooms, some seven, and so on, and we walked a very long and uncomfortable hour before we could buy hospitality, and that at a very dear rate. I mean to walk to-morrow through Lyndhurst and Lymington
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| Ætat. 23. | OF ROBERT SOUTHEY. | 313 |
“Edith is not well enough to walk out. I therefore have seen only enough of this place to dislike it. . . . . I want a quiet lonely place, in sight of something green. Surely in a walk of thirty miles this may be found; but if I find the whole coast infected by visitors, I will go to Bristol, where I shall have the printer on the one side, Charles Danvers on the other, Cottle in front, the woods and rocks of Avon behind, and be in the centre of all good things.
“Our journey was hot and dusty, but through a lovely
country. At one time the coach was full, and all but me asleep. Something fell
off the roof, and I had the unutterable pleasure of waking all of them by
bellowing out for the coachman to stop. . . . . Would we were settled, aye, and
for life, in some little sequestered valley! I would be content never to climb
over the hills that sheltered me, and never to hear music or taste beverage but
from the stream that ran beside my door. Let me have the sea, too, and now and
then some pieces of a wreck to supply me with firewood, and remind me of
commerce. This New Forest is very lovely; I should like to have a house in it,
and dispeople the rest, like William the
Conqueror. Of all land objects a forest is the finest. Gisborne has written a feeble poem on the subject. The
feelings that fill me when I lie under one tree and contemplate another in all
the majesty of years, are neither to be defined nor expressed, and their
inde-
| 314 | LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE | Ætat. 23. |
“And now, Grosvenor, would I wager sixpence that you are regretting my absence, because you feel inclined to come to tea with us. I could upbraid you*; but this is one of the follies of man, and I have my share of it, though, thank God, but a small share. What we can do at any time is most likely not to be done at all. We are more willing to make an effort. Is this because we feel uneasy at the prospect of labour and something to be done? and we are stimulated to industry by a love of indolence. I um a self-observer, and indeed this appears to me the secret spring,† God bless you.
