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its timber, floats silently down the stream, often
impeded in its course by islands and little cataracts, the
offspring, as it were, of the great one I had frequently
heard described.
I found an excellent inn at Fredericstadt, and was
gratified by the kind attention of the hostess, who,
perceiving that my clothes were wet, took great pains
to procure me, as a stranger, every comfort for the
night.
It had rained very hard, and we passed the ferry in
the dark without getting out of our carriage, which I
think wrong, as the horses are sometimes unruly.
Fatigue and melancholy, however, had made me
regardless whether I went down or across the stream,
and I did not know that I was wet before the hostess
remarked it. My imagination has never yet severed
me from my griefs, and my mind has seldom been so
free as to allow my body to be delicate.
How I am altered by disappointment! When going
to Lisbon, the elasticity of my mind was sufficient to
ward off weariness, and my imagination still could dip
her brush in the rainbow of fancy, and sketch futurity
in glowing colours. Now–but let me talk of
something else–will you go with me to the cascade?
The cross road to it was rugged and dreary; and
though a considerable extent of land was cultivated on
all sides, yet the rocks were entirely bare, which
surprised me, as they were more on a level with the
surface than any I had yet seen. On inquiry,
however, I learnt that some years since a forest had been
burnt. This appearance of desolation was beyond
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