time。　When　I　am　in　the　country　I　wish　to　vegetate1　like　the　country。　I　am　not　for　criticizing　hedgerows　and　black　cattle。　I　go　out　of　town　in　order　to　forget　the　town　and　all　that　is　in　it。　There　are　those　who　for　this　purpose　go　to　watering　places；　and　carry　the　metropolis　with　them。　I　like　more　elbowroom2　and　fewer　incumbrances3。　I　like　solitude；　when　I　give　myself　up　to　it；　for　the　sake　of　solitude；　nor　do　I　ask　for。

“A　friend　in　my　retreat；　whom　I　may　whisper　solitude　is　sweet。”

The　soul　of　journey　is　liberty；　perfect　liberty；　to　think；　feel；　do；　just　as　one　pleases。　We　go　a　journey　chiefly　to　be　free　of　all　impediments4　and　of　all　inconveniences；　to　leave　ourselves　behind；　much　more　to　get　rid　of　others。　It　is　because　I　want　a　little　breathing　space　to　muse　on　indifferent　matters；　where　contemplation。

“May　plume　her　feathers　and　let　grow　her　wings；　that　in　the　various　hustle　of　resort　were　all　too　ruffled；　and　sometimes　impaired。”

I　absent　myself　from　the　town　for　a　while；　without　feeling　at　a　loss　the　moment　I　am　left　by　myself。　Instead　of　a　friend　in　a　post　chaise　or　in　a　tilbury；　to　exchange　good　things　with；　and　vary　the　same　stale　topics　over　again；　for　once　let　me　have　a　truce　with　impertinence5。　Give　me　the　clear　blue　sky　over　my　head；　and　the　green　turf　beneath　my　feet；　a　winding　road　before　me；　and　the　three　hours’　march　to　dinner　—　and　then　to　thinking！　It　is　hard　if　I　cannot　start　some　game　on　these　lone　heath。　I　laugh；　I　run；　I　lea