As I contemplated the mountains which lay stretched out before me, I thought how often they had been the object of my dearest desires.  Here used I to sit for hours together with my eyes bent upon them, ardently longing to wander in the shade of those woods, to lose myself in those valleys, which form so delightful an object in the distance.  With what reluctance did I leave this charming spot; when my hour of recreation was over, and my leave of absence expired!  I drew near to the village:  all the well-known old summerhouses and gardens were recognised again; I disliked the new ones, and all other alterations which had taken place.  I entered the village, and all my former feelings returned.  I cannot, my dear friend, enter into details, charming as were my sensations:  they would be dull in the narration.  I had intended to lodge in the market-place, near our old house.  As soon as I entered, I perceived that the schoolroom, where our childhood had been taught by that good old woman, was converted into a shop.  I called to mind the sorrow, the heaviness, the tears, and oppression of heart, which I experienced in that confinement.  Every step produced some particular impression.  A pilgrim in the Holy Land does not meet so many spots pregnant with tender recollections, and his soul is hardly moved with greater devotion.  One incident will serve for illustration.  I followed the course of a stream to a farm, formerly a delightful walk of mine, and paused at the spot, where, when boys, we used to amuse ourselves making ducks and drakes upon the water.  I recollected so well how I used formerly to watch the course of that same stream, following it with inquiring eagerness, forming romantic ideas of the countries it was to pass through; but my imagination was soon exhausted:  while the water continued flowing farther and farther on, till my fancy became bewildered by the contemplation of an invisible distance.  Exactly such, my dear friend, so happy and so confined, were the thoughts of our good ancestors.  Their feelings and their poetry were fresh as childhood.  And, when Ulysses talks of the immeasurable sea and boundless earth, his epithets are true, natural, deeply felt, and mysterious.  Of what importance is it that I have learned, with every schoolboy, that the world is round?  Man needs but little earth for enjoyment, and still less for his final repose.

I am at present with the prince at his hunting lodge.  He is a man with whom one can live happily.  He is honest and unaffected.  There are, however, some strange characters about him, whom I cannot at all understand.  They do not seem vicious, and yet they do not carry the appearance of thoroughly honest men.  Sometimes I am disposed to believe them honest, and yet I cannot persuade myself to confide in them.  It grieves me to hear the prince occasionally talk of things which he has only read or heard of, and always with the same view in which they have been represented by others.