We hear much, and much that istrue, of the ephemeral character ofa large part of our literature; butto no branch of it are the observationsmore truly applicable, than tothe greater number of travels whichnow issue from the British press. Itmay safely be affirmed that our writersof travels, both male and female, haveof late years arrived at a pitch of weakness,trifling, and emptiness, which isunparalleled in the previous historyof literature in this or perhaps anyother country. When we see twopost octavos of travels newly done upby the binder, we are prepared for aseries of useless remarks, weak attemptsat jokes, disquisitions ondishes, complaints of inns, stale anecdotesand vain flourishes, which almostmake us blush for our country,and the cause of intelligence over theworld. The Russian Emperor, whounquestionably has the power oflicensing or prohibiting any of hissubjects to travel at his own pleasure,is said to concede the liberty only tothe men of intelligence and ability inhis dominions; the fools are all obligedto remain at home. Hence thehigh reputation which the Muscovitesenjoy abroad and the frequent disappointmentwhich is felt by travellersof other nations, when they visit theirown country. It is evident, from thecharacter of the books of travelswhich every spring issue from theLondon press, with a few honourableexceptions, that no such restrainingpower exists in the British dominions.We have no individuals or particularworks in view in these observations.We speak of things in general. If anyone doubts their truth, let him enquirehow many of the numberless travelswhich annually issue from the Britishpress are ever sought after, or heardof, five years after their publication.
What makes ordinary books oftravels so uninteresting, and, in general,so shortlived, is the want of anyidea of composition, or unity of effect,in the minds of their authors. Menand women seem to think that thereis nothing more to do to make a bookof travels, than to give a transcript oftheir journals, in which every thing isput down of whatever importance,provided only it really occurred.Scenes and adventures, broken wheelsand rugged rocks, cataracts and omelets,lakes and damp beds, thunderstormsand waiters, are huddled together,without any other thread ofconnexion than the accidental andfortuitous one of their having successivelycome under the notice of thetraveller. What should we say toany other work composed on thesame principle? What if Milton,after the speech of Satan in ParadiseLost, were to treat us to an accountof his last dinner; or Shakspeare,after the scene of the bones in Juliet,were to tell us of the damp sheets inwhich he slept last night; or Gibbon,after working up the enthusiasm ofhis readers by the account of thestorming of Constantinople by theCrusaders, was to favour us with adigression on the insolence of thepostilions in Roumelia? All theworld would see the folly of this: andyet this is precisely what is constantlydone by travellers, and toleratedby the public, because it is founded onnature. Founded on nature! Isevery thing that is actually true, orreal, fit to be recorded, or worthy ofbeing recounted? Sketches from natureare admirable things, and are the onlyfoundation for correct and lastingpictures; but no man would think ofinterposing a gallery of paintings withchalk drawings or studies of trees.Correctness, fidelity, truth, are theonly secure bases of eminence in allthe arts of imitation; but the light ofgenius, the skilful arrangement, theprinciples of composition, the selectionof topics, are as necessary in the writerof travels, as in the landscape painter,the historian, or the epic poet.
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The ship being about to proceed toByron's Bay, (the Hilo of the natives,)on the N.E. side of Owhyhee, towater, the captain arranged, that togive all opportunity to all those whowished to visit the volcano, distantfrom the anchorage forty miles, the excursionshould be made in two parties.Having anchored on Wednesday the11th of September, he and several ofthe officers left Hilo early on the 12th;they travelled on horseback, and returnedon the ensuing Monday, highlydelighted with their trip, but giving amelancholy description of the road,which they pronounced to be in someplaces impassable to people on foot.This latter intelligence was dishearteningto the second division, some ofwhom, and myself of the number, hadintended to walk. These, notwithstanding,adhered to their resolution;and the second party, consisting ofeight, left the ship at 6 a.m. on Tuesday.Some on horseback, and someon foot, we got away from the villageabout eight o'clock, attended by thirteennatives, to whose calabashes ourprog and clothing had been transferred;these calabashes answer this purposeadmirably; they are gourds ofenormous size, cut through ratherabove their largest diameter, which isfrom eighteen inches to two feet; thehalf of another gourd forms the lid,and keeps all clean and dry within;when filled, they are hung by net-workto each end of a pole thrownacross the shoulders of a native, whowill thus travel with a load of fifty orsixty pounds about three miles anhour. The day was fine and bright,and we started in high spirits, thehorsemen hardly able to conceal theirexultation in their superiority overthe walkers, whilst they cantered overthe plain from which our ascent commenced;this, 4000 feet almost gradualin forty miles, is not fatiguing;and thus, although we found the paththrough a wood about three mileslong, very deep, and the air oppressive,we all arrived together withoutdistress at the "half-way house," by1 p.m. Suppose a haystack hollowedout, and some holes cut for doorsand windows, and you have a pictureof the "half-way house," and the ordinarydwellings of the natives of theseislands; it is kept by a respectableperson, chiefly for the accommodationof travellers, and in it we foundthe comfort of a table, a piece of furnitureby these people usually consideredsuperfluous. Here we soonmade ourselves snug, commencing bythrowing ourselves on the mats, andallowing a dozen vigorous urchins to"rumi rumi" us. In this process ofshampooing, every muscle is kneadedor beaten; the refreshing luxury itaffords can only be perfectly appreciatedby those who have, like us,walked twenty miles on a bad road, ina tropical climate. Here we were tostay the night, and our first objectwas to prepare dinner and then to eatit; all seemed disposed to assist inthe last part of this operation, andwhere every one was anxious toplease, and determined to be pleased,sociability could not be absent. Afterthis we whiled away our time withbooks and conversation, till one byone dropping asleep, all became quiet,except a wretched child belonging toour hostess, who, from one corner ofthe hut, every now and then set up itsshrill pipe to disturb our slumbers.[Pg 592] 2ff7e9595c
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