As I Traversed To And
Fro Thy Meads, Thy Little Swelling Hills And Flowery Dells, And
Above All That Queen Of All Rivers, Thy Own Majestic Thames, I
Forgot All Sublunary Cares, And Thought Only Of Heaven And Heavenly
Things.
Happy, thrice happy am I, I again and again exclaimed, that
I am no longer in yon gloomy city, but here in Elysium, in Richmond.
O ye copsy hills, ye green meadows, and ye rich streams in this
blessed country, how have ye enchanted me? Still, however, let me
recollect and resolve, as I firmly do, that even ye shall not
prevent my return to those barren and dusty lands where my, perhaps
a less indulgent, destiny has placed me, and where, in the due
discharge of all the arduous and important duties of that humble
function to which providence has called me, I must and I will
faithfully exert my best talents, and in that exertion find
pleasure, and I trust, happiness. In every future moment of my
life, however, the recollection of this scene, and the feelings it
inspired, shall cheer my labours and invigorate my efforts.
These were some of my reflections, my dearest friend, during my
solitary walk. Of the evening I passed at Richmond, I speak feebly
when I content myself with saying only, it was one of the
pleasantest I ever spent in my life.
I now resolved to go to bed early, with a firm purpose of also
rising early the next day to revisit this charming walk; for I
thought to myself, I have now seen this temple of the modern world
imperfectly; I have seen it only by moonlight. How much more
charming must it be when glistening with the morning dew! These
fond hopes, alas, were all disappointed. In all great schemes of
enjoyment, it is, I believe, no bad way always to figure to yourself
some possible evil that may arise, and to anticipate a
disappointment. If I had done so, I should not perhaps have felt
the mortification I then experienced quite so pungent. By some
means or other I stayed too long out, and so when I returned to
Richmond, I had forgot the name and the sign of the inn where I had
before stopped; it cost me no little trouble to find it again.
When at last I got back, I told the people what a sweet walk I had
had, and they then spoke much of a prospect from a neighbouring
hill, known by the name of Richmond Hill, which was the very same
hill from the top of which I had just been gazing at the houses in
the vale, the preceding evening. From this same kill, therefore, I
resolved the next morning to see the sun rise.
The landlady of this house was a notable one, and talked so much and
so loud to her servants, that I could not get to sleep till it was
pretty late. However, I was up next morning at three o'clock, and
was now particularly sensible of the great inconveniences they
sustain in England by their bad custom of rising so late, for as I
was the only one in this family who was up, I could not get out of
the house. This obliged me to spend three most irksome and heavy
hours till six o'clock; however, a servant at length opened the
door, and I rushed out to climb Richmond Hill. To my infinite
disappointment, within the space of an hour, the sky had become
overcast, and it was now so cloudy that I could not even see, nor of
course enjoy one half of the delightful prospect that lay before me.
On the top of this hill is an alley of chestnut trees, under which
here and there seats are placed. Behind the alley is a row of well-
built gentlemen's country seats. One does not wonder to see it thus
occupied; besides the pure air, the prospect exceeds everything else
of the kind in the world. I never saw a palace which, if I were the
owner of it, I would not give for any of the houses I now saw on
Richmond Terrace.
The descent of the hill to the Thames is covered with verdure, the
Thames at the foot of it forms near a semicircle, in which it seems
to embrace woody plains, with meadows and country seats in its
bosom. On one side you see the town and its magnificent bridge, and
on the other a dark wood.
At a distance you could perceive, peeping out among the meadows and
woods, sundry small villages, so that notwithstanding the dulness of
the weather, this prospect even now was one of the finest I had ever
seen. But what is the reason that yesterday evening my feelings
were far more acute and lively, the impressions made on me much
stronger, when from the vale I viewed the hill and fancied that
there was in it every thing that was delightful, than they are this
morning, when from the hill I overlooked the vale and knew pretty
exactly what it contained?
I have now finished my breakfast, and once more seize my staff, the
only companion I have, and now again set out on this romantic
journey on foot. From Windsor you shall hear more of me.
CHAPTER IX.
Windsor, 23rd June.
I have already, my dearest friend, now that I write to you from
hence, experienced so many inconveniences as a traveller on foot,
that I am at some loss to determine whether or no I shall go on with
my journey in the same manner.
A traveller on foot in this country seems to be considered as a sort
of wild man or out-of-the way being, who is stared at, pitied,
suspected, and shunned by everybody that meets him. At least this
has hitherto been my case on the road from Richmond to Windsor.
My host at Richmond, yesterday morning, could not sufficiently
express his surprise that I intended to venture to walk as far as
Oxford, and still farther.
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