Travels in England in 1782 | Page 2

excess in opposite
extreme. The young foot traveller settles down to simple truth, retains
his faith in English character, and reports ill-usage without a word of
bitterness.
The great charm of this book is its unconscious expression of the
writer's character. His simple truthfulness presents to us of 1886 as
much of the England of 1782 as he was able to see with eyes full of
intelligence and a heart full of kindness. He heard Burke speak on the
death of his friend and patron Lord Rockingham, with sudden rebuke to
an indolent and inattentive house. He heard young Pitt, and saw how he
could fix, boy as he looked, every man's attention.
"Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us To see oursels as others see us!
It wad frae many a blunder free us, And foolish notion."
And when the power is so friendly as that of the Pastor Moritz, we may,

if wise, know ourselves better than from a thousand satires, but if
foolish we may let all run into self-praise.
H. M.

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 huge
sea envelops him all around, and wraps him close to its bosom, in the
act, as it were, of swallowing him up in a moment: still he is separated
from all the circumjacent immensity of space only by one small part, or
insignificant portion of that immensity.
That portion of this space, which I now see surrounding me, is a most

delightful selection from the whole of beautiful nature. Here is the
Thames full of large and small ships and boats, dispersed here and there,
which are either sailing on with us, or lying at anchor; and there the
hills on either side, clad with so soft and mild a green, as I have
nowhere else ever seen equalled. The charming banks of the Elbe,
which I so lately quitted, are as much surpassed by these shores as
autumn is by spring! I see everywhere nothing but fertile and cultivated
lands; and those living hedges which in England more than in any other
country, form the boundaries of the green cornfields, and give to the
whole of the distant country the appearance of a large and majestic
garden. The neat villages and small towns with sundry intermediate
country seats, suggest ideas of prosperity and opulence which is not
possible to describe.
The prospect towards Gravesend is particularly beautiful. It is a clever
little town, built on the side of a hill; about which there lie hill and dale
and meadows, and arable land, intermixed with pleasure grounds and
country seats; all diversified in the most agreeable manner. On one of
the highest of these hills near Gravesend stands a windmill, which is a
very good object, as you see it at some distance, as well as part of the
country around it, on the windings of the Thames. But as few human
pleasures are ever complete and perfect, we too, amidst the pleasing
contemplation of all these beauties, found ourselves exposed on the
quarter-deck to uncommonly cold and piercing weather. An
unintermitting violent shower of rain has driven me into the cabin,
where I am now endeavouring to divert a gloomy