of pottery, and transport you with a wave of my pen to the Hague.

As the evening was rather warm, I immediately walked out to enjoy the
shade of the long avenue which leads to Scheveling. It was fresh and
pleasant enough, but I breathed none of those genuine woody perfumes,
which exhale from the depths of forests, and which allure my
imagination at once to the haunts of Pan and the good old Sylvanus.
However, I was far from displeased with my ramble; and, consoling
myself with the hopes of shortly reposing in the sylvan labyrinths of
Nemi, I proceeded to the village on the sea-coast, which terminates
the perspective. Almost every cottage door being open to catch the
air, I had an opportunity of looking into their neat apartments.
Tables, shelves, earthenware, all glisten with cleanliness; the
country people were drinking tea, after the fatigues of the day, and
talking over its bargains and contrivances.

I left them, to walk on the beach, and was so charmed with the vast
azure expanse of ocean, which opened suddenly upon me, that I
remained there a full half hour. More than two hundred vessels of
different sizes were in sight, the last sunbeams purpling their
sails, and casting a path of innumerable brilliants athwart the
waves. What would I not have given to follow this shining track! It
might have conducted me straight to those fortunate western climates,
those happy isles which you are so fond of painting, and I of
dreaming about. But, unluckily, this passage was the only one my
neighbours the Dutch were ignorant of. To be sure they have islands
rich in spices, and blessed with the sun's particular attention, but
which their government, I am apt to imagine, renders by no means
fortunate.