Nothing,in fact,can equal the beauty of the northern summer's evening and night,if night it may be called that only wants the glare of day,the full light which frequently seems so impertinent,for I could write at midnight very well without a candle.Icontemplated all Nature at rest;the rocks,even grown darker in their appearance,looked as if they partook of the general repose,and reclined more heavily on their foundation."What,"I exclaimed,"is this active principle which keeps me still awake?Why fly my thoughts abroad,when everything around me appears at home?"My child was sleeping with equal calmness--innocent and sweet as the closing flowers.Some recollections,attached to the idea of home,mingled with reflections respecting the state of society I had been contemplating that evening,made a tear drop on the rosy cheek I had just kissed,and emotions that trembled on the brink of ecstasy and agony gave a poignancy to my sensations which made me feel more alive than usual.
What are these imperious sympathies?How frequently has melancholy and even misanthropy taken possession of me,when the world has disgusted me,and friends have proved unkind.I have then considered myself as a particle broken off from the grand mass of mankind;I was alone,till some involuntary sympathetic emotion,like the attraction of adhesion,made me feel that I was still a part of a mighty whole,from which I could not sever myself--not,perhaps,for the reflection has been carried very far,by snapping the thread of an existence,which loses its charms in proportion as the cruel experience of life stops or poisons the current of the heart.Futurity,what hast thou not to give to those who know that there is such a thing as happiness!I speak not of philosophical contentment,though pain has afforded them the strongest conviction of it.
After our coffee and milk--for the mistress of the house had been roused long before us by her hospitality--my baggage was taken forward in a boat by my host,because the car could not safely have been brought to the house.
The road at first was very rocky and troublesome,but our driver was careful,and the horses accustomed to the frequent and sudden acclivities and descents;so that,not apprehending any danger,Iplayed with my girl,whom I would not leave to Marguerite's care,on account of her timidity.
Stopping at a little inn to bait the horses,I saw the first countenance in Sweden that displeased me,though the man was better dressed than any one who had as yet fallen in my way.An altercation took place between him and my host,the purport of which I could not guess,excepting that I was the occasion of it,be it what it would.The sequel was his leaving the house angrily;and Iwas immediately informed that he was the custom-house officer.The professional had indeed effaced the national character,for,living as he did within these frank hospitable people,still only the exciseman appeared,the counterpart of some I had met with in England and France.I was unprovided with a passport,not having entered any great town.At Gothenburg I knew I could immediately obtain one,and only the trouble made me object to the searching my trunks.He blustered for money;but the lieutenant was determined to guard me,according to promise,from imposition.
To avoid being interrogated at the town-gate,and obliged to go in the rain to give an account of myself (merely a form)before we could get the refreshment we stood in need of,he requested us to descend--I might have said step--from our car,and walk into town.
I expected to have found a tolerable inn,but was ushered into a most comfortless one;and,because it was about five o'clock,three or four hours after their dining hour,I could not prevail on them to give me anything warm to eat.
The appearance of the accommodations obliged me to deliver one of my recommendatory letters,and the gentleman to whom it was addressed sent to look out for a lodging for me whilst I partook of his supper.As nothing passed at this supper to characterise the country,I shall here close my letter.
Yours truly.
