and as for a tour through England--England has long ceased
to be the land for adventures. Indeed, when good King Arthur reappears
to claim his crown he will find things strangely altered here; and may we
not look for his coming? for there is written upon his gravestone:--

"Hic jacet Arturus, Rex quondam Rexque futurus,"
"Here Arthur lies, who formerly
Was king--and king again to be."

Don Quixote was always of opinion that this famous king did not die, but
that he was changed into a raven by enchantment, and that the English are
momentarily expecting his return. Be this as it may, it is certain that
when he reigned here all was harmony and joy. The browsing herds passed
from vale to vale, the swains sang from the bluebell-teeming groves, and
nymphs, with eglantine and roses in their neatly-braided hair, went hand
in hand to the flowery mead to weave garlands for their lambkins. If by
chance some rude uncivil fellow dared to molest them, or attempted to
throw thorns in their path, there was sure to be a knight-errant not far
off ready to rush forward in their defence. But alas! in these
degenerate days it is not so. Should a harmless cottage-maid wander out
of the highway to pluck a primrose or two in the neighbouring field the
haughty owner sternly bids her retire; and if a pitying swain hasten to
escort her back, he is perhaps seized by the gaunt house-dog ere he reach
her.

AEneas's route on the other side of Styx could not have been much worse
than this, though by his account, when he got back to earth, it appears
that he had fallen in with "Bellua Lernae, horrendum stridens,
flammisque, armata Chimaera."

Moreover, he had a sibyl to guide his steps; and as such a conductress
nowadays could not be got for love nor money, it was judged most prudent
to refrain from sauntering through this land of freedom, and wait with
patience the return of health. At last this long-looked-for,
ever-welcome stranger came.

SECOND JOURNEY.

In the year 1816, two days before the vernal equinox, I sailed from
Liverpool for Pernambuco, in the southern hemisphere, on the coast of
Brazil. There is little at this time of the year in the European part of
the Atlantic to engage the attention of the naturalist. As you go down
the Channel you see a few divers and gannets. The middle-sized gulls,
with a black spot at the end of the wings, attend you a little way into
the Bay of Biscay. When it b