for your return journey to be made in some comfort; I would not wish my
worst enemy to go back the way he came.




On Entries


I am always planning in my mind new kinds of guide books. Or, rather,
new features in guide books.

One such new feature which I am sure would be very useful would be an
indication to the traveller of how he should approach a place.

I would first presuppose him quite free and able to come by rail or by
water or by road or on foot across the fields, and then I would describe
how the many places I have seen stand quite differently in the mind
according to the way in which one approaches them.

The value of travel, to the eye at least, lies in its presentation of
clear and permanent impressions, and these I think (though some would
quarrel with me for saying it) are usually instantaneous. It is the
first sharp vision of an unknown town, the first immediate vision of a
range of hills, that remains for ever and is fruitful of joy within the
mind, or, at least, that is one and perhaps the chief of the fruits of
travel.

I remember once, for instance, waking from a dead sleep in a train (for
I was very tired) and finding it to be evening. What woke me was the