But Have Patience, And There Will Be Eating Enough.
Allow Me To Run Over The Acts Of A Visiting Day, Not Overlooking The
Interludes.
Prelude a luncheon - then a succession of fish, flesh, and fowl for
two hours, during which time the dessert - I was sorry for the
strawberries and cream - rests on the table to be impregnated by the
fumes of the viands.
Coffee immediately follows in the drawing-
room, but does not preclude punch, ale, tea and cakes, raw salmon,
&c. A supper brings up the rear, not forgetting the introductory
luncheon, almost equalling in removes the dinner. A day of this
kind you would imagine sufficient; but a to-morrow and a to-morrow -
A never-ending, still-beginning feast may be bearable, perhaps, when
stern winter frowns, shaking with chilling aspect his hoary locks;
but during a summer, sweet as fleeting, let me, my kind strangers,
escape sometimes into your fir groves, wander on the margin of your
beautiful lakes, or climb your rocks, to view still others in
endless perspective, which, piled by more than giant's hand, scale
the heavens to intercept its rays, or to receive the parting tinge
of lingering day - day that, scarcely softened unto twilight, allows
the freshening breeze to wake, and the moon to burst forth in all
her glory to glide with solemn elegance through the azure expanse.
The cow's bell has ceased to tinkle the herd to rest; they have all
paced across the heath. Is not this the witching time of night?
The waters murmur, and fall with more than mortal music, and spirits
of peace walk abroad to calm the agitated breast. Eternity is in
these moments. Worldly cares melt into the airy stuff that dreams
are made of, and reveries, mild and enchanting as the first hopes of
love or the recollection of lost enjoyment, carry the hapless wight
into futurity, who in bustling life has vainly strove to throw off
the grief which lies heavy at the heart. Good night! A crescent
hangs out in the vault before, which woos me to stray abroad. It is
not a silvery reflection of the sun, but glows with all its golden
splendour. Who fears the fallen dew? It only makes the mown grass
smell more fragrant. Adieu!
LETTER III.
The population of Sweden has been estimated from two millions and a
half to three millions; a small number for such an immense tract of
country, of which only so much is cultivated - and that in the
simplest manner - as is absolutely requisite to supply the
necessaries of life; and near the seashore, whence herrings are
easily procured, there scarcely appears a vestige of cultivation.
The scattered huts that stand shivering on the naked rocks, braving
the pitiless elements, are formed of logs of wood rudely hewn; and
so little pains are taken with the craggy foundation that nothing
hike a pathway points out the door.
Gathered into himself by the cold, lowering his visage to avoid the
cutting blast, is it surprising that the churlish pleasure of
drinking drams takes place of social enjoyments amongst the poor,
especially if we take into the account that they mostly live on
high-seasoned provision and rye bread?
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