So we do not travel like couriers but like explorers.  We do not merely consider the beginning and the end, but the space between.  The journey itself is a delight.  We do not travel sitting, dismally imprisoned, so to speak, in a tightly closed cage.  We do not travel with the ease and comfort of ladies.  We do not deprive ourselves of the fresh air, nor the sight of the things about us, nor the opportunity of examining them at our pleasure.  Emile will never enter a post-chaise, nor will he ride post unless in a great hurry.  But what cause has Emile for haste?  None but the joy of life.  Shall I add to this the desire to do good when he can?  No, for that is itself one of the joys of life.

I can only think of one way of travelling pleasanter than travelling on horseback, and that is to travel on foot.  You start at your own time, you stop when you will, you do as much or as little as you choose.  You see the country, you turn off to the right or left; you examine anything which interests you, you stop to admire every view.  Do I see a stream, I wander by its banks; a leafy wood, I seek its shade; a cave, I enter it; a quarry, I study its geology.  If I like a place, I stop there.  As soon as I am weary of it, I go on.  I am independent of horses and postillions; I need not stick to regular routes or good roads; I go anywhere where a man can go; I see all that a man can see; and as I am quite independent of everybody, I enjoy all the freedom man can enjoy.  If I am stopped by bad weather and I find myself getting bored, then I take horses.  If I am tired—­but Emile is hardly ever tired; he is strong; why should he get tired?  There is no hurry?  If he stops, why should he be bored?  He always finds some amusement.  He works at a trade; he uses his arms to rest his feet.

To travel on foot is to travel in the fashion of Thales, Plato, and Pythagoras.  I find it hard to understand how a philosopher can bring himself to travel in any other way; how he can tear himself from the study of the wealth which lies before his eyes and beneath his feet.  Is there any one with an interest in agriculture, who does not want to know the special products of the district through which he is passing, and their method of cultivation?  Is there any one with a taste for natural history, who can pass a piece of ground without examining it, a rock without breaking off a piece of it, hills without looking for plants, and stones without seeking for fossils?

Your town-bred scientists study natural history in cabinets; they have small specimens; they know their names but nothing of their nature.  Emile’s museum is richer than that of kings; it is the whole world.  Everything is in its right place; the Naturalist who is its curator has taken care to arrange it in the fairest order; Dauberton could do no better.