innuendo saucy, for it does not come home.

If I had not determined to write I should have found my confinement
here, even for three or four days, tedious. I have no books; and to
pace up and down a small room, looking at tiles overhung by rocks,
soon becomes wearisome. I cannot mount two hundred steps to walk a
hundred yards many times in the day. Besides, the rocks, retaining
the heat of the sun, are intolerably warm. I am, nevertheless, very
well; for though there is a shrewdness in the character of these
people, depraved by a sordid love of money which repels me, still
the comparisons they force me to make keep my heart calm by
exercising my understanding.

Everywhere wealth commands too much respect, but here almost
exclusively; and it is the only object pursued, not through brake
and briar, but over rocks and waves; yet of what use would riches be
to me, I have sometimes asked myself, were I confined to live in
such in a spot? I could only relieve a few distressed objects,
perhaps render them idle, and all the rest of life would be a blank.

My present journey has given fresh force to my opinion that no place
is so disagreeable and unimproving as a country town. I should like
to divide my time between the town and country; in a lone house,
with the business of farming and planting, where my mind would gain
strength by solitary musing, and in a metropolis to rub off the rust
of thought, and polish the taste which the contemplation of nature
had rendered just. Thus do we wish as we float down the stream of
life, whilst chance does more to gratify a desire of knowledge than
our best laid plans. A degree of exertion, produced by some want,
more or less painful, is probably the price we must all pay for