A solitary being is by instinct a wanderer, and that I would become.  A hope of amelioration always attends on change of place, which would even lighten the burthen of my life.  I had been a fool to remain in Rome all this time:  Rome noted for Malaria, the famous caterer for death.  But it was still possible, that, could I visit the whole extent of earth, I should find in some part of the wide extent a survivor.  Methought the sea-side was the most probable retreat to be chosen by such a one.  If left alone in an inland district, still they could not continue in the spot where their last hopes had been extinguished; they would journey on, like me, in search of a partner for their solitude, till the watery barrier stopped their further progress.

To that water—­cause of my woes, perhaps now to be their cure, I would betake myself.  Farewell, Italy!—­farewell, thou ornament of the world, matchless Rome, the retreat of the solitary one during long months!—­to civilized life—­to the settled home and succession of monotonous days, farewell!  Peril will now be mine; and I hail her as a friend—­death will perpetually cross my path, and I will meet him as a benefactor; hardship, inclement weather, and dangerous tempests will be my sworn mates.  Ye spirits of storm, receive me! ye powers of destruction, open wide your arms, and clasp me for ever! if a kinder power have not decreed another end, so that after long endurance I may reap my reward, and again feel my heart beat near the heart of another like to me.

Tiber, the road which is spread by nature’s own hand, threading her continent, was at my feet, and many a boat was tethered to the banks.  I would with a few books, provisions, and my dog, embark in one of these and float down the current of the stream into the sea; and then, keeping near land, I would coast the beauteous shores and sunny promontories of the blue Mediterranean, pass Naples, along Calabria, and would dare the twin perils of Scylla and Charybdis; then, with fearless aim, (for what had I to lose?) skim ocean’s surface towards Malta and the further Cyclades.  I would avoid Constantinople, the sight of whose well-known towers and inlets belonged to another state of existence from my present one; I would coast Asia Minor, and Syria, and, passing the seven-mouthed Nile, steer northward again, till losing sight of forgotten Carthage and deserted Lybia, I should reach the pillars of Hercules.  And then—­no matter where—­the oozy caves, and soundless depths of ocean may be my dwelling, before I accomplish this long-drawn voyage, or the arrow of disease find my heart as I float singly on the weltering Mediterranean; or, in some place I touch at, I may find what I seek—­a companion; or if this may not be—­to endless time, decrepid and grey headed—­youth already in the grave with those I love—­ the lone wanderer will still unfurl his sail, and clasp the tiller—­and, still obeying the breezes of heaven, for ever round another and another promontory, anchoring in another and another bay, still ploughing seedless ocean, leaving behind the verdant land of native Europe, adown the tawny shore of Africa, having weathered the fierce seas of the Cape, I may moor my worn skiff in a creek, shaded by spicy groves of the odorous islands of the far Indian ocean.