Dreams, Waking Thoughts, and Incidents | Page 2

a vast expanse of sea, just visible by the gleamings of the

moon, bathed in watery clouds; a chill air ruffled the waves. I went to
shiver a few melancholy moments on the shore. How often did I try to
wish away the reality of my separation from those I love, and attempt
to persuade myself it was but a dream!
This morning I found myself more cheerfully disposed, by the queer
Dutch faces with short pipes and ginger-bread complexions that came
smirking and scraping to get us on board their respective vessels; but,
as I had a ship engaged for me before, their invitations were all in vain.
The wind blows fair; and, should it continue of the same mind a few
hours longer, we shall have no cause to complain of our passage. Adieu!
Think of me sometimes. If you write immediately, I shall receive your
letter at the Hague.
It is a bright sunny evening: the sea reflects a thousand glowing colours,
and, in a minute or two, I shall be gliding on its surface.

LETTER II

OSTEND, June 21st.
T'other minute I was in Greece, gathering the bloom of Hymettus, but
now I am landed in Flanders, smoked with tobacco, and half poisoned
with garlic. Were I to remain ten days at Ostend, I should scarcely have
one delightful vision; 'tis so unclassic a place--nothing but preposterous
Flemish roofs disgust your eyes when you cast them upwards;
swaggering Dutchmen and mongrel barbers are the principal objects
they meet with below. I should esteem myself in luck, were the
nuisances of this seaport confined only to two senses; but, alas! the
apartment above my head proves a squalling brattery, and the sounds
which proceed from it are so loud and frequent, that a person might
think himself in limbo, without any extravagance.
Am I not an object of pity, when I tell you that I was tormented
yesterday by a similar cause? But I know not how it is; your violent

complainers are the least apt to excite compassion. I believe,
notwithstanding, if another rising generation should lodge above me at
the next inn, I shall grow as scurrilous as Dr. Smollett, and be dignified
with the appellation of the Younger Smelfungus. Well, let those make
out my diploma that will, I am determined to vent my spleen, and like
Lucifer, unable to enjoy comfort myself, tease others with the details of
my vexatious. You must know, then, since I am resolved to grumble,
that, tired with my passage, I went to the Capuchin church, a large
solemn building, in search of silence and solitude; but here again was I
disappointed. Half-a-dozen squeaking fiddles fugued and flourished
away in the galleries, and as many paralytic monks gabbled before the
altars, while a whole posse of devotees, in long white hoods and
flannels, were sweltering on either side.
Such piety, in warm weather, was no very fragrant circumstance; so I
sought the open air again as fast as I was able. The serenity of the
evening, joined to the desire I had of casting another glance over the
ocean, tempted me to the ramparts. There, at least, thought I to myself,
I may range undisturbed, and talk with my old friends the breezes, and
address my discourse to the waves, and be as romantic and whimsical
as I please; but it happened that I had scarcely begun my apostrophe,
before out flaunted a whole rank of officers, with ladies and abbes and
puppy dogs, singing, and flirting, and making such a hubbub, that I had
not one peaceful moment to observe the bright tints of the western
horizon, or enjoy the series of antique ideas with which a calm sunset
never fails to inspire me.
Finding, therefore, no quiet abroad, I returned to my inn, and should
have gone immediately to bed, in hopes of relapsing into the bosom of
dreams and delusions; but the limbo I mentioned before grew so very
outrageous, that I was obliged to postpone my rest till sugar-plums and
nursery eloquence had hushed it to repose. At length peace was
restored, and about eleven o'clock I fell into a slumber, during which
the most lovely Sicilian prospects filled the eye of my fancy. I
anticipated the classic scenes of that famous island, and forgot every
sorrow in the meadows of Enna.

Next morning, awakened by the sunbeams, I arose quite refreshed by
the agreeable impressions of my dream, and filled with presages of
future happiness in the climes which had inspired them. No other idea
but such as Trinacria and Naples suggested, haunted me whilst
travelling to Ghent. I neither heard the vile Flemish dialect which was
talking around me, nor noticed formal avenues and marshy country
which we passed. When we stopped to