amongst which a steeple rose picturesquely beautiful.

The churchyard is almost the only verdant spot in the place. Here,
indeed, friendship extends beyond the grave, and to grant a sod of
earth is to accord a favour. I should rather choose, did it admit
of a choice, to sleep in some of the caves of the rocks, for I am
become better reconciled to them since I climbed their craggy sides
last night, listening to the finest echoes I ever heard. We had a
French horn with us, and there was an enchanting wildness in the
dying away of the reverberation that quickly transported me to
Shakespeare's magic island. Spirits unseen seemed to walk abroad,
and flit from cliff to cliff to soothe my soul to peace.

I reluctantly returned to supper, to be shut up in a warm room, only
to view the vast shadows of the rocks extending on the slumbering
waves. I stood at the window some time before a buzz filled the
drawing-room, and now and then the dashing of a solitary oar
rendered the scene still more solemn.

Before I came here I could scarcely have imagined that a simple
object (rocks) could have admitted of so many interesting
combinations, always grand and often sublime. Good night! God
bless you!



LETTER XII.