Part 22 (2/2)

At length we got into the open air again, made our bows and departed.

The evening was become serene and pleasant, the moon beamed brilliantly on the sea; but the owls, who are never to be pleased, hooted most ruefully.

Good night: I expect to dream of _closed-up doors_,[12] and haunted pa.s.sages; rats, puppies, rac.o.o.ns, game-c.o.c.ks, rabbits, and dormice.

LETTER IV.

A bl.u.s.tering night.--Tedium of the language of the compa.s.s.--Another excursion to Trefusis.

Falmouth, March 10, 1787.

I thought last night our thin pasteboard habitation would have been blown into the sea, for never in my life did I hear such dreadful bl.u.s.terings. Perhaps the winds are celebrating the approach of the equinox, or some high festival in aeolus's calendar, with which we poor mortals are unacquainted. How tired I am of the language of the compa.s.s, of wind s.h.i.+fting to this point and veering to the other; of gales springing up, and breezes freshening; of rough seas, clear berths, s.h.i.+ps driving, and anchors lifting. Oh! that I was rooted like a tree, in some sheltered corner of an inland valley, where I might never hear more of salt.w.a.ter or sailing.

You cannot wonder at my becoming impatient, after eleven days'

captivity, nor at my wis.h.i.+ng myself anywhere but where I am: I should almost prefer a quarantine party at the new elegant Lazaretto off Ma.r.s.eilles, to this smoky residence; at least, I might there learn some curious particulars of the Levant, enjoy bright suns.h.i.+ne, and perfect myself in Arabic. But what can a being of my turn do at Falmouth? I have little taste for the explanation of fire-engines, Mr. Scott; the pursuit of hares under the auspices of young Trefusis; or the gliding of billiard-b.a.l.l.s in the society of Barbadoes Creoles and packet-boat captains. The Lord have mercy upon me! now, indeed, do I perform penance.

Our dinner yesterday went off tolerably well. We had _on_ the table a savoury pig, right worthy of Otaheite, and some of the finest poultry I ever tasted; and _round_ the table two or three brace of odd Cornish gentlefolks, not deficient in humour and originality.

About eight in the evening, six game-c.o.c.ks were ushered into the eating-room by two limber lads in scarlet jackets; and, after a flourish of crowing, the n.o.ble birds set-to with surprising keenness. Tufts of brilliant feathers soon flew about the apartment; but the carpet was not stained with the blood of the combatants: for, to do Trefusis justice, he has a generous heart, and takes no pleasure in cruelty. The c.o.c.ks were unarmed, had their spurs cut short, and may live to fight fifty such harmless battles.

LETTER V.

Regrets produced by Contrasts.

Falmouth, March 11, 1787.

What a fool was I to leave my beloved retirement at Evian! Instead of viewing innumerable transparent rills falling over the amber-coloured rocks of Melierie, I am chained down to contemplate an oozy beach, deserted by the sea, and becrawled with worms tracking their way in the slime that harbours them. Instead of the cheerful crackling of a wood-fire in the old baron's great hall, I hear the bellowing of winds in narrow chimneys. You must allow the aromatic fragrance of fir-cones, such heaps of which I used to burn in Savoy, is greatly preferable to the exhalations of Welsh coal, and that to a person wrapped up in musical devotion, high ma.s.s must be a good deal superior to the hummings and hawings of a Quaker a.s.sembly. Colett swears he had rather be boarded at the Inquisition than remain at the mercy of the confounded keeper of this hotel, the worst and the dearest in Christendom. We are all tired to death, and know not what to do with ourselves.

As I look upon ennui to be very catching, I shall break off before I give you a share of it.

LETTER VI.

Still no prospect of embarkation.--Pen-dennis Castle.--Luxuriant vegetation.--A serene day.--Antic.i.p.ations of the voyage.

Falmouth, March 13, 1787.

No prospect of launching this day upon the ocean. Every breeze is subsided, and a profound calm established. I walk up and down the path which leads to Pen-dennis Castle with folded arms, in a most listless desponding mood. Vast brakes of furze, much stouter and loftier than any with which I am acquainted, scent the air with the perfume of apricots.

Primroses, violets, and fresh herbs innumerable expand on every bank.

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