_A letter which was on the way between Venice and London in October, 1606, when the bearer was attacked by robbers in Lorraine, showing the tears and damp-stains it received in consequence. The letter is from Sir Henry Wotton, then ambassador in Venice; it was picked up and forwarded to Henry IV of France, who sent it on to London. It is now in the Public Records Office, No. 74 in Bundle 3 of the State Papers, Foreign (Venetian). The bearer, Rowland Woodward, was paid £60 on Feb. 2, 1608, as compensation and for doctor's expenses, but had not fully recovered from his injuries by 1625. (Cf. L. P. Smith's "Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton," i, 325-8, 365 note, and ii. 481.)_
_François de Maulde (1556-97); portrait by J. Sadeler (Bibl. Royale de Belgique). He was only about thirty when this portrait was done, but his sufferings as a traveller (see Bibliography) would alone account for his weary look. The inscription belonging to it runs_:—
"_Tristia sive secunda fluant, in utrumque parato Dulce mihi in libris vivere, dulce mori est._"
"Che Dio voglia che V. S. abbia pazienza di leggerla tutta."
But thus you see we maintain a trade, not for gold, silver, nor jewels; nor for silks; nor for spices; nor any other commodity of matter; but only for God's first creature, which was Light; to have Light (I say), of the growth of all parts of the world ... we have twelve that sail into foreign countries, ... who bring us the books, and abstracts and patterns of experiments of all other parts. These we call Merchants of Light.
First, M. de Montaigne.—When Montaigne found himself feeling old and ill, in 1580, he made up his mind to try the baths of Germany and Italy. So he set out; and returned in 1581. And sometimes the baths did him good and sometimes they made no difference; but the journeying never failed to do what the baths were meant for. He always, he says, found forgetfulness of his age and infirmities in travelling. However restless at night, he was alert in the morning, if the morning meant starting for somewhere fresh. Compared with Montaigne at home, Montaigne abroad never got tired or fretful; always in good spirits, always interested in everything, and ready for a talk with the first man he met. And when his companions suggested that they would like to get to the journey's end, and that the longest way round, which he preferred, had its disadvantages, especially when it was a bye-road leading back to the place they started from, he would say, that he never set out for anywhere particular; that he had not gone out of the way, because his way lay through unfamiliar places, and the only place he wished to avoid was where he had been before or where he had to stop. And that he felt as one who was reading some delightful tale and dreaded to come upon the last page.