CHAPTER I.



On the Thames, 31st May.

At length, my dearest Gedike, I find myself safely landed on the
happy shores of that country, a sight of which has, for many years,
been my most earnest wish; and whither I have so often in
imagination transported myself. A few hours ago the green hills of
England yet swam imperfectly before our eyes, scarcely perceptible
in the distant horizon: they now unfold themselves on either side,
forming as it were a double amphitheatre. The sun bursts through
the clouds, and gilds alternately the shrubs and meadows on the
distant shores, and we now espy the tops of two masts of ships just
peeping above the surface of the deep. What an awful warning to
adventurous men! We now sail close by those very sands (the
Goodwin) where so many unfortunate persons have found their graves.

The shores now regularly draw nearer to each other: the danger of
the voyage is over; and the season for enjoyment, unembittered by
cares, commences. How do we feel ourselves, we, who have long been
wandering as it were, in a boundless space, on having once more
gained prospects that are not without limits! I should imagine our
sensations as somewhat like those of the traveller who traverses the
immeasurable deserts of America, when fortunately he obtains a hut
wherein to shelter himself; in those moments he certainly enjoys
himself; nor does he then complain of its being too small. It is
indeed the lot of man to be always circumscribed to a narrow space,
even when he wanders over the most extensive regions; even when the