"English tourists often come to have a look at the monuments, and then I always try to act as guide. I like to talk to them—I get so tired of living here. It is terrible!"
CHURCH AT MARTIGUES.
By Joseph Pennell.
Poor budding, ambitious youth!
The great Roman theatre stands apart from the rest of the buildings, a vast, blank surface of masonry forming the façade. Inside are the circular tiers of seats, and up these we clambered to the top, looking down into the silent stage and feeling that familiar, bootless longing of the traveller for a glimpse of the scene in the days of its glory.
The Roman arch is at the farther end of the town, standing apart in its majesty, a grand forlorn monument of that wonderful people.
It was hard sometimes to steer among so many possibilities of adventure. It behoved us to choose wisely since time and tide were hastening. But perhaps it was we, not time and tide, that were really hastening. These do not hasten; it is only their unhappy victims who are never ready for their coming. To the truly wise and understanding mind, doubtless, haste would be a thing unknown. Its possessor would be able to meditate serenely between trains at Clapham Junction.
