CHAPTER IX.
Windsor, 23rd June.
I have already, my dearest friend, now that I write to you from
hence, experienced so many inconveniences as a traveller on foot,
that I am at some loss to determine whether or no I shall go on with
my journey in the same manner.
A traveller on foot in this country seems to be considered as a sort
of wild man or out-of-the way being, who is stared at, pitied,
suspected, and shunned by everybody that meets him. At least this
has hitherto been my case on the road from Richmond to Windsor.
My host at Richmond, yesterday morning, could not sufficiently
express his surprise that I intended to venture to walk as far as
Oxford, and still farther. He however was so kind as to send his
son, a clever little boy, to show me the road leading to Windsor.
At first I walked along a very pleasant footway by the side of the
Thames, where close to my right lay the king's garden. On the
opposite bank of the Thames was Isleworth, a spot that seemed to be
distinguished by some elegant gentlemen's country-seats and gardens.
Here I was obliged to ferry the river in order to get into the
Oxford Road, which also leads to Windsor.
