# Romance and Reality (Landon)/Chapter 42

CHAPTER XVIII
"I am a great friend to travelling: it enlarges the mind, suggests new ideas, removes prejudices, and sharpens the appetite." Narrative of a Journey from Hampstead to Hendon.
We travel for many acquirements—health, information, amusement, notoriety, &c. &c. The advantages of each of these acquisitions have been eloquently set forth from the days of Ulysses, who travelled to seek his native land, to those of the members of the club who travel to seek anything else. But one of its enjoyments has never received its full share of credit—albeit the staple of them all—we mean the good appetite it invariably produces. What are the periods on which the traveller dwells with the most satisfaction—the events he recalls with the most dramatic effect—the incidents which at once arrest the attention of his hearers? Why—"That delicious breakfast in the Swiss valley. We had travelled some miles before eight o'clock, ​when we stopped at one of the châlets; we had coffee of our own; the peasant girl put the whitest of cloths on a little table in the open window, from the vine of which we picked the finest bunches of grapes ever seen—the dew was yet on the fruit. They gave us some such eggs, cream like a custard, and a Neufchâtel cheese; some brown, but such sweet bread;—we never enjoyed a meal so much." Or else it is—"Do you remember that night when we stopped at the little village at the foot of the Apennines—cold, wet, hungry, and quarrelsome? In less than ten minutes our dark-eyed hostess had such a blazing wood fire on the hearth:—by the by, what a delicious odour the young green pine-branches give in burning! Half an hour saw us seated at a round table drawn close to the fire, with the very best of tempers and appetites. We had prevailed on the pretty Ninetta to forget in our favour the national predilection for oil and garlic. Our turkey was broiled, as our chestnuts were roasted, by the wood ashes; and a flask of such fine wine—the vineyard whence it came must have been summer's especial favourite."
I know a traveller who carried these pleasures of memory to the utmost. Instead of a ​journal or a diary, he kept a regular entry of the bills of fare at the different inns. Our travellers passed hastily through France, talked about Rousseau, and read Childe Harold on the banks of the Lake of Geneva. Emily was enchanted with the costume of the peasantry; and Lady Mandeville admitted it would be pretty in a fancy ball, but cautioned her against acquiring a taste for the picturesque in dress.
For the Swiss girls to produce a good effect, they must be seen at a distance. The small waist, the slender ancle, and diminutive feet, are missed sadly in the proportions, somewhat ponderous for our ideas of grace, which these mountain nymphs possess. Your pictures of costume are rather corrected than correct. People and places are usually flattered in their portraits. One great reason why we believe so devoutly in the beauty of Italy is, that we chiefly know it from plates. I remember seeing an architectural view—on one side stood a noble old house, the spire and roof of a church, a mass of fine-looking buildings, a distant view of a colonnade, and a broad open space with an equestrian statue. I did not at first believe that it could be Charing Cross whose effect was so imposing; and it was not till ​Northumberland House and St. Martin's Church were identified, that my confession was fairly extorted, of how little justice one does to the beauty of London.
The Simplon, Napoleon's magnificent monument, was next passed. They stopped at the most memorable places, and at last arrived at Rome, where a princess vacated her palace for their accommodation and so many louis-d'or a-month. Rome, once the mistress, is now the caravanseray of the world. Two Italian Counts made Emily an offer; and so would a Russian Prince, only he employed a French Marquess to translate his sentiments, who translated so well that he made them his own; a negative, therefore, served a double purpose.
Their principal visitor was a young Englishman, a cousin of Lady Mandeville's, who, having nothing else to do with his time, kindly bestowed much of it on them. With her ladyship he was not very popular when any one more interesting was by; she said he was indolent, and wanted sentiment. With Lord Mandeville he was a great favourite; and, though his lordship did not pique himself upon it, he was no bad judge of character.
Cecil Spenser had the usual qualities of most ​young men, and one or two which they have not: he had every advantage in life, except the advantage of something to want. But experience was just beginning to be useful. The small exertions into which the chances of travelling had forced him had been good, because they interrupted his habits, and shewed him that such interruptions could be pleasant. The comparison of other countries with his own startled him into reflection; and reflection to a mind like his was never yet without its results. He began, for the first time in his life, to think of a future career, and to feel how selfish and unworthy a part was that of mere indolent indulgence.
In his present frame of temper, Lord Mandeville was an invaluable friend. The younger brother of a good family, he had commenced life with a pair of colours, while his own tastes were literary and secluded. But a strong mind shapes itself to its necessity; and the young Henry had earned for himself independence and distinction, when, by a succession of deaths, he became heir to the Mandeville estates and peerage. The theories of his youth had been mellowed by observation before he had an opportunity of putting them to the test of ​experiment. He knew what action was, because he had acted himself; he had read much and seen more; and the feelings which in earlier days had warmed to enthusiasm, now become moderate and consolidated, were in subjection to the principles which stimulated by shewing the benefits of his exertions. He saw in Cecil Spenser a warm and generous temper congealed by indulgence into selfishness; and a mind of great natural powers, which had lain utterly waste, because nothing required from it a harvest. To awaken in his young countryman a desire of information, to direct his attention to many paths of honourable toil, for which his station and talents were eminently fitted, was a task whose utility was only equalled by its interest. How duly do we appreciate the merit we ourselves discover and direct!