I left Portoer, the little haven I mentioned, soon after I finished
my last letter. The sea was rough, and I perceived that our pilot
was right not to venture farther during a hazy night. We had agreed
to pay four dollars for a boat from Helgeraac. I mention the sum,
because they would demand twice as much from a stranger. I was
obliged to pay fifteen for the one I hired at Stromstad. When we
were ready to set out, our boatman offered to return a dollar and
let us go in one of the boats of the place, the pilot who lived
there being better acquainted with the coast. He only demanded a
dollar and a half, which was reasonable. I found him a civil and
rather intelligent man; he was in the American service several
years, during the Revolution.

I soon perceived that an experienced mariner was necessary to guide
us, for we were continually obliged to tack about, to avoid the
rocks, which, scarcely reaching to the surface of the water, could
only be discovered by the breaking of the waves over them.

The view of this wild coast, as we sailed along it, afforded me a
continual subject for meditation. I anticipated the future
improvement of the world, and observed how much man has still to do
to obtain of the earth all it could yield. I even carried my
speculations so far as to advance a million or two of years to the
moment when the earth would perhaps be so perfectly cultivated, and
so completely peopled, as to render it necessary to inhabit every
spot--yes, these bleak shores. Imagination went still farther, and
pictured the state of man when the earth could no longer support
him. Whither was he to flee from universal famine? Do not smile; I
really became distressed for these fellow creatures yet unborn. The
images fastened on me, and the world appeared a vast prison. I was