he less likely to adopt hasty and
erroneous conclusions. I believe that, notwithstanding my want of
vision, I do not fail to visit as many interesting points in the course
of my travels as the majority of my contemporaries: and by having
things described to me _on the spot_, I think it is possible for me to
form as correct a judgment as my own sight would enable me to do: and
to confirm my accuracy, I could bring many living witnesses to bear
testimony to my endless inquiries, and insatiable thirst for collecting
information. Indeed this is the secret of the delight I derive from
travelling, affording me as it does a constant source of mental
occupation, and stimulating me so powerfully to physical exertion, that
I can bear a greater degree of bodily fatigue, than any one could
suppose my frame to be capable of supporting.

I am frequently asked how I take my notes. It is simply thus: I keep a
sort of rough diary, which I fill up from time to time as opportunities
offer, but not from day to day, for I am frequently many days in
arrear, sometimes, indeed, a fortnight together: but I always vividly
remember the daily occurrences which I wish to retain, so that it is
not possible that any circumstances can escape my attention. I also
collect distinct notes on various subjects, as well as particular
descriptions of interesting objects, and when I cannot meet with a
friend to act as my amanuensis, I have still a resource in my own
writing apparatus, of which, however, I but seldom avail myself, as the
process is much more tedious to me than that of dictation. But these
are merely rough notes of the heads of subjects, which I reserve to
expatiate upon at leisure on my return to old England.

The invention of the apparatus to which I allude is invaluable to those
who are afflicted with blindness. It opens not only an agreeable source
of amusement and occupation in the hours of loneliness and retirement,
but it affords a means of communicating our secret thoughts to a
friend, without the interposition of a third party; so that the
intercourse and confidence of private correspondence, excluded by a
natural calamity, are thus preserved to us by an artificial substitute.
By the aid of this process, too, we may desire our correspondent to
reply to our inquiries in a way which would be quite unintelligible to
those to whom the perusal of the answer might be submitted. This
apparatus, which is called the "Nocto via Polygraph," by Mr