Fare Thee Well, I Say; If Thou Canst, Repeat The Adieu In
A Different Tone.
LETTER XXII.
I arrived at Corsoer the night after I quitted Copenhagen, purposing
to take my passage across the Great Belt the next morning, though
the weather was rather boisterous. It is about four-and-twenty
miles but as both I and my little girl are never attacked by sea-
sickness - though who can avoid ennui? - I enter a boat with the same
indifference as I change horses; and as for danger, come when it
may, I dread it not sufficiently to have any anticipating fears.
The road from Copenhagen was very good, through an open, flat
country that had little to recommend it to notice excepting the
cultivation, which gratified my heart more than my eye.
I took a barge with a German baron who was hastening back from a
tour into Denmark, alarmed by the intelligence of the French having
passed the Rhine. His conversation beguiled the time, and gave a
sort of stimulus to my spirits, which had been growing more and more
languid ever since my return to Gothenburg; you know why. I had
often endeavoured to rouse myself to observation by reflecting that
I was passing through scenes which I should probably never see
again, and consequently ought not to omit observing. Still I fell
into reveries, thinking, by way of excuse, that enlargement of mind
and refined feelings are of little use but to barb the arrows of
sorrow which waylay us everywhere, eluding the sagacity of wisdom
and rendering principles unavailing, if considered as a breastwork
to secure our own hearts.
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