free and unmolested, as if I had been skimming along over the downs
of Wiltshire. My servants conversing before the hotel were the only
sounds which the great "Place de Mer" echoed.

This universal stillness was the more pleasing, when I looked back
upon those scenes of horror and outcry which filled London but a week
or two ago, when danger was not confined to night only, and the
environs of the capital, but haunted our streets at midday. Here, I
could wander over an entire city; stray by the port, and venture
through the most obscure alleys, without a single apprehension;
without beholding a sky red and portentous with the light of fires,
or hearing the confused and terrifying murmurs of shouts and groans,
mingled with the reports of artillery. I can assure you, I think
myself very fortunate to have escaped the possibility of another such
week of desolation, and to be peaceably roosted at Antwerp. Were I
not still fatigued with my heavy progress through sands and
quagmires, I should descant a little longer upon the blessings of so
quiet a metropolis, but it is growing late, and I must retire to
enjoy it.



LETTER III



ANTWERP, June 23rd.

My windows look full upon the Place de Mer, and the sun, beaming
through their white curtains, awoke me from a dream of Arabian