It is a time coming soon enough, anyway; and I have endured
some two and forty years without public shame, and had a good
time as I did it. If only I could secure a violent death,
what a fine success! I wish to die in my boots; no more Land
of Counterpane for me. To be drowned, to be shot, to be
thrown from a horse - ay, to be hanged, rather than pass
again through that slow dissolution.

I fancy this gloomy ramble is caused by a twinge of age; I
put on an under-shirt yesterday (it was the only one I could
find) that barely came under my trousers; and just below it,
a fine healthy rheumatism has now settled like a fire in my
hip. From such small causes do these valuable considerations
flow!

I shall now say adieu, dear Sir, having ten rugged miles
before me and the horrors of a native feast and parliament
without an interpreter, for to-day I go alone.

Yours ever,
R. L S.



CHAPTER XIX



SUNDAY, 29TH MAY.