At the end of the village was a shoemaker’s shop, just as at the end of Salthill there was a barber’s shop.

From hence I went to Henley, which is eleven miles from Maidenhead, and thirty-six from London.

Having walked pretty fast for six English miles together, and being now only five miles from Henley, I came to a rising ground where there just happened to be a milestone, near which I sat down, to enjoy one of the most delightful prospects, the contemplation of which I recommend to everyone who may ever happen to come to this spot.  Close before me rose a soft hill, full of green cornfields, fenced with quick-hedges, and the top of it was encircled with a wood.

At some little distance, in a large semicircle, one green hill rose after another, all around me, gently raising themselves aloft from the banks of the Thames, and on which woods, meadows, arable lands, and villages were interspersed in the greatest and most beautiful variety; whilst at their foot the Thames meandered, in most picturesque windings, among villages, gentlemen’s seats, and green vales.

The banks of the Thames are everywhere beautiful, everywhere charming; how delighted was I with the sight of it when, having lost it for a short time, I suddenly and unexpectedly saw it again with all its beautiful banks.  In the vale below, flocks were feeding; and from the hills I heard the sweet chimes of distant bells.

The circumstance that renders these English prospects so enchantingly beautiful, is a concurrence and union of the tout ensemble.  Everything coincides and conspires to render them fine, moving pictures.  It is impossible to name, or find a spot, on which the eye would not delight to dwell.  Any of the least beautiful of any of these views that I have seen in England would, anywhere in Germany, be deemed a paradise.

Reinforced, as it were, by this gratifying prospect, to support fresh fatigues, I now walked a quick pace, both up and down the hills, the five remaining miles to Henley, where I arrived about four in the afternoon.

To the left, just before I got to Henley, on this side of the Thames, I saw on a hill a fine park and a magnificent country seat, at present occupied by General Conway.

Just before my entrance into Henley, I walked a little directly on the banks of the Thames; and sat myself down in the high grass, whilst opposite to me, on the other side, lay the park on the hill.  As I was a little tired, I fell asleep, and when I awoke the last rays of the setting sun just shone upon me.

Invigorated by this sweet, though short, slumber, I walked on and entered the town.  Its appearance, however, indicated that it was too fine a place for me, and so I determined to stop at an inn on the road-side, such a one as the Vicar of Wakefield well calls, “the resort of indigence and frugality.”