Nevertheless,--as the Spaniards say--_Hay gustos que merecen palos_;[12] and many will perchance think that _mine_ is in that predicament, a settled order of things being more to their fancy:--_par exemple_, the five mile an hour clattering _en poste_ over a French _pavé_--all conversation drowned in the horrible noise made by the heavy horses' heavy tramp, or the yet more abominable clacking of their monkey jacketed driver's whips.--Then the certain comforts of a _grand Hotel meublé_!--the spacious whitewashed room, adorned with prints of Arcola, Jena, and Friedland! (which I have always thought would look much better if worked in the pattern of a carpet): the classically canopied bed!--that certainly would not be less comfortable, if a foot or two longer.--Others again may be found who would give up the charm of uncertainty, for the fixed pleasure of sitting behind the pipes and "_sacraments_" of German postboys, listening to the discordant notes of their bugles, and looking forward to the sudorific enjoyments (stoves and duvets) of the _Gasthof_, and the dyspeptic delights (grease and _sauerkraut_) of its _Speisesaal_!--Some even--but these I trust are few--may like to listen to the melodiously rounded oaths of an Italian _vetturino_, addressed to his attenuated horses in all the purity of the _Lingua Toscana_; by dint of which, and an unceasing accompaniment of merciless _sferzatone_, he provokes the wretched animals into a jog-trot, that, with _rinfresco_ and _rinforzo_, kills the whole day and them by inches, to get over a distance of forty or fifty miles.
For my own part, I freely confess, that not even our English modes of "getting over the ground" have such charms for me, as the tripping and stumbling of one's horse over a Spanish _trocha_[13]--I take no delight in being dragged through the country at the rate of a mile a minute, powdered with soot, (pardon the bull) suffocated with steam, and sickened with grease. Neither does our steady ten mile an hour stage-coach travelling find much favour in mine eyes; though I grant it is now most admirably conducted, the _comforts_ of the old "slow coaches" being so happily blended with the accelerated _speed_ called for in this progressive age, that a change of horses is effected in less than one minute, and a feed of passengers in something under ten!--But I always pity the victims of this unwholesome alliance of comfort and celerity.--Observe that fidgety old gentleman, muzzled in a red worsted _comforter_, and crowned with a Welsh wig. Having started without breakfast, or at most with but half of one, he counts impatiently the minutes and milestones that intervene between him and the dining-place; arrived there, if five minutes before the appointed time, every thing is underdone; if five minutes after, a deduction of equal amount is made in the time allowed for despatching the viands. Swallowing, therefore, in all haste the indigestible roast pork and parboiled potatoes that are placed before him, he resumes his seat in or upon the vehicle, declaring--whilst the unwholesome food sticking in his throat nearly chokes him--that he "_feels all the better_" for his _dinner!_ soon after which, with a flushed face and quickened pulse, he drops into a feverish slumber, dreaming of mad bulls and carniverous swine, sloe juice and patent brandy.