reared in France, and too early thrown into the dissolute Courts of Europe, were evident at the Restoration, when Charles the Second and his friends returned to startle England with their “exceeding wildness.”  What else could be the effect of a youth spent as the Earl of Chesterfield records:[273] at thirteen years old a courtier at St Germaine:  at fourteen, rid of any governor or tutor:  at sixteen, at the academy of M. de Veau, he “chanced to have a quarrel with M. Morvay, since Captaine of the French King’s Guards, who I hurt and disarmed in a duel.”  Thereupon he left the academy and took up his abode at the Court of Turin.  It was from Italy, De Gramont said, that Chesterfield brought those elaborate manners, and that jealousy about women, for which he was so notorious among the rakes of the Restoration.[274]

Henry Peacham’s chapter “Of Travaile"[275] is for the most part built out of Dallington’s advice, but it is worthy of note that in The Compleat Gentleman, Spain is pressed upon the traveller’s attention for the first time.  This is, of course, the natural reflection of an interest in Spain due to the romantic adventures of Prince Charles and Buckingham in that country.  James Howell, who was of their train, gives even more space to it in his Instructions for Forreine Travell.  Notwithstanding, and though Spain was, after 1605, fairly safe for Englishmen, as a pleasure ground it was not popular.  It was a particularly uncomfortable and expensive country; hardly improved from the time—­(1537)—­when Clenardus, weary with traversing deserts on his way to the University of Salamanca, after a sparse meal of rabbit, sans wine, sans water, composed himself to sleep on the floor of a little hut, with nothing to pillow his head on except his three negro grooms, and exclaimed, “O misera Lusitania, beati qui non viderunt."[276] All civilization was confined to the few large cities, to reach which one was obliged to traverse tedious, hot, barren, and unprofitable wastes, in imminent danger of robbers, and in certainty of the customs officers, who taxed people for everything, even the clothes they had on.  None escaped.  Henry the Eighth’s Ambassador complained loudly and frantically of the outrage to a person in his office.[277] So did Elizabeth’s Ambassador.  But the officers said grimly “that if Christ or Sanct Fraunces came with all their flock they should not escape."[278] If the preliminary discomforts from customs-officers put travellers into an ill mood at once against Spain, the inns confirmed them in it.  “In some places there is but the cask of a House, with a little napery, but sometimes no beds at all for Passengers in the Ventas—­or Lodgings on the King’s highway, where if passengers meet, they must carry their Knapsacks well provided of what is necessary:  otherwise they may go to bed supperless."[279] The Comtesse d’Aunoy grumbles that it was impossible to warm oneself at the kitchen-fire without being choked,