[11] Portals of the Saloon  The Gallery looks very solitary 
            now poor Louisa is away  You cannot imagine the solemn appearance 
            of the Hall with its expiring Lamps towards midnight  I often 
            fancy myself in the Catacombs of Egypt and expect to stumble over 
            a Mummy.  What rare Mummies certain people of our acquaintance 
            would make! I long to stop their mouths with spice and swaddle them 
            up, beyond the power of doing mischief. I beg you will give my best 
            Compliments to Lord Ar: and assure him I shall ever retain the most 
            grateful sense of the kind interest he is pleased to take in me. I 
            hope we shall soon meet in town and that you will ever believe me
            sinc:y and affec:y Yrs. W. Beckford
          
            [12] Fonthill December 4th 1778
            being the full of the Moon.
            
            The Dusk approaches. I am musing on the Plain before the House which 
            my Father reared. No chearful illuminations appear in the Windows, 
            no sounds of Musick issue from the Porticos, no gay Revellers rove 
            carelessly along the Colonades; but all is dark, silent and abandoned. 
             Such circumstances sooth the present tone of my mind. Did I 
            behold a number of brilliant Equipages rattling across the Lawn, or 
            hear the confused buzz of animated Conversation; Were a peal of Laughter 
            to meet my Ears or were they assaulted by shouts of hilarity and Joy 
            should I not fly to the woods for consolation and bury myself in their 
            gloom to enjoy Solitude in security. You are the human Being to whom 
            I have discovered the strangeness of my fancies; for you can feel, 
            as well as myself, the melancholy pleasures of wandering alone in 
            the Dusk over Plains of greenswerd, bordered on one side by Hills 
            of Oaks and on the other by a broad River whose opposite Shore presents 
            distant Glens and pastures, wild Copses and Groves of pines to which 
            the Twilight gives an additional Solemnity. I surveyed my [13] native 
            prospects with fraternal affection and looked fondly on every tree 
            as if we had been born in the same hour. The Air I breathed seemed 
            nearer of Kin to me than that I had elsewhere respired in short the 
            Hills, the Woods, the Shrubs, the very Moss beneath my Feet entered 
            into this general Alliance and I fancied myself surrounded by an assembly 
            of my best Friends and nearest Relations. Of what other Company then 
            could I be ambitious? This was the spot, methought, as I looked on 
            a round of Turf peculiarly green [and so sheltered by Banks and Shrubberies 
            as to produce Violets even in this bleak Month] this was the spot 
            perhaps where my Guardian Genius first spread over my infant Years 
            the wings of protection. That round of Turf those flowers sprang from 
            the benign influence of his approach and I shall ever regard them 
            as memorials of his presence. The airy People who watch over Flowers 
            beheld him ascend and willing to commemorate the Event have sprinkled 
            the Turf he selected with the purest Dew, therefore it is green, therefore 
            perfumed with Violets. An hour glided swiftly away whilst I was lost 
            in these agreeable Dreams, the Moon began to brighten at the approach 
            of Night and the Evening Star beamed brilliantly above a lonely Chapel 
            where many repose in Death. I listened to every [14] wild Note that 
            trembled in the Winds and whilst I was leaning against an Oak, a faint 
            murmur from afar off stole upon my ear. Soon I distinguished a flight 
            of Rocks rising like Motes on the Horizon. In In an instant they spread 
            over the Sky and poising themselves above the River were joined by 
            another host shooting rapidly from the West. Now enlarging their Circles 
            and taking a bolder Sweep, the whole Heaven was in motion with innumerable 
            wings.  The rush of their flight and the continual cawing with 
            which they filled the Air interested me beyond conception. How earnestly 
            did I wish for the Talisman of Lockhart that I might address myself 
            to these winged Legions and ask them from whence they came. Over what 
            Woods have ye flown? I should say. Tell one what Scenes ye have surveyed? 
            Communicate to me your joy at returning every night to those Cities 
            in the Groves formed amongst innumerable Boughs where ye employ so 
            well your ingenuity. Did I behold them with your eyes, each branch 
            would seem the Pillar of a Palace and every crooked Twig a stately 
            Ornament. Tell me if the tufts of Moss on Yonder grotesque Oak stumps 
            are not boasted of by your Nobles as hangings of goodlie Arras and 
            those hollow Cavities beneath in the Tree, are they not regarded by 
            your Poets as aweful Caverns where many adventures have happened to 
            Rooks of yore. Perhaps ye have also your superstitious Fears and [15] 
            when warmly established in your nests relate what Spectres have haunted 
            the Beechroots so far below and croak forth the prophecies your 
            ancestors heard issuing from bowers of Ivy; for are not these green 
            festoons that flourish in spite of Winter your consecrated Bowers? 
            Confess to me if strange Rites are not often performed in them which 
            heretical squirrels disturb and despise. Ah would I were acquainted 
            with that mysterious Word, by pronouncing of which ancient Brachmans 
            transported their Souls into the bodies of other Animals. Then would 
            I rise with ye into the air and share the charms and the perils of 
            your Enterprizes. Then should I experience the pleasure of floating 
            amongst Clouds and the triumph of looking down on the World beneath 
            I should glory in directing the flight of thousands, above precipices 
            and rivers, to Wilds where the ripest berries glow on the Sprays and 
            how great would be my exultations, when I found myself returning in 
            a still Evening like this with innumerable friends all chearfully 
            conversing together all smoothly waving our Wings and vying with each 
            other in the ease and rapidity of our motions. And when all my Companions 
            are sunk into repose may I be that Rook, destined to watch over the 
            general security, who sails, alone thro the skies by Moon light and 
            dares view those Owls the Sorcerers of the feathered [16] kind, whose 
            shriek is alone sufficient to scare the bravest that lift the Wing. 
            I had scarce ended my soliloquy before the sky was almost intirely 
            deserted. Here and there indeed some solitary Rooks, who for reasons 
            unknown to me had deserted the throng hastened once more with faint 
            cawings to rejoin them and before I can write this are all hushed 
            amongst the Oaks in profound tranquility. Soon after I left my tree 
            and directed my steps homewards. The Bats flit frequently before me 
            and many an Owl, according to the mythology of Birds, quitted his 
            haunt and hastened to perform incantations. 
            I then ascended the steps which lead to a vast hall paved with Marble 
            and seating myself, like the Orientals on Cushions of Brocade placed 
            by a blazing fire was served with Tea and a species of white bread 
            which has crossed the Atlantic.  Meanwhile my thoughts were 
            wandering into the interior of Africa and dwelt for hours on those 
            Countries I love. Strange tales of Mount Atlas and relations of Travellers 
            amused my fancy.  One instant I imagined myself viewing the 
            marble palaces of Ethiopean princes seated on the green woody margin 
            of Lakes, studded in sands and wildernesses, the next transported 
            me to the Rocks of Carena where Monks strove vainly to preserve Rugiero 
            from the Perils of War.  Some few minutes after I found [17] 
            myself standing before a thick wood listening to impetuous Water falls 
            and screened from the ardour of the Sun by its foliage. I was wondering 
            at the scene when a tall lonely Negro wound along the slopes of the 
            Hills and without moving his lips made me comprehend I was in Africa, 
            on the brink of the Nile beneath the Mountain of Amara. I followed 
            his steps thro an infinity of irregular Vales, all skirted with Rocks 
            and blooming with an aromatic vegetation, till we arrived at the hallowed 
            Peak and after exploring a Labyrinth of paths, which led to its summit, 
            a wide Cavern appeared before us. Here I surveyed Landscapes of the 
            most romantic Cast, tasted such Fruits and scented such perfumes as 
            ravished my senses. I was all Delight and amazement. We entered the 
            Cavern and fell prostrate before the sacred source of the Nile which 
            issues silently from a Deep Gulph in the Rock. Suddenly the spirit 
            of Father Ureta rose like a mist from the Chasm and seizing me with 
            its influence, discovered the interior of the Cave ascended thro the 
            Mountain and brought me swiftly to a Castle with many towers of grotesque 
            Architecture. There I saw huge treasures and crowds of unknown Mortals 
            walking in vaulted Halls whose stately arches impressed Veneration. 
            Here were deposited ancient records and [18] and Histories of which 
            the rest of Men are ignorant, poems sung by the Choirs of Paradise 
            and Volumes which contain the sage Councils of Abraham delivered by 
            that Patriarch in the plains of Mamre. Busy multitudes are continually 
            shifting from Place to Place; but before I could notice their Occupations, 
            the spirit snatched me away with such inconceivable rapidity that 
            I knew not how I was conveyed to a smooth Lawn circled by Rocks and 
            falling streams mingled with Woods and hanging Meadows where Leopards 
            and Antelopes browzed fearless together and Birds justly denominated 
            of Paradise fluttered round the flowers, whilst the Phnix such 
            as Poets describe soared into the blue Ether and glistened in every 
            beam. A bright Sun shining full on the glowing Colours of the Scene 
            oerpowerd my sight and obliged me to seek the Woods whose shade 
            and Fragrance delighted me beyond conception; but I was not long suffered 
            to enjoy them. Some irresistable Impulse drove me to the extremity 
            of the Lawn, where I recoiled with Horror and Amazement at the sight 
            of a precipice whose Basis seemed to rest on the surface of our Globe. 
            A faint blueish Mist veiled the Seas and Continents and it was in 
            vain that I strove to distinguish the Mountains from the plains or 
            the Lakes from the Valleys. The Spirit skimmed by me once more like 
            a transitory [19] breeze and after hovering for some moments round 
            the nearest pinnacle of Rocks stood calmly at my side. Thou art gazing, 
            whispered this airy voice, at the fortunate Mountains of Paradise. 
            Those Groves, those woody Vales afforded a retreat to the first of 
            Men.  That very herbage was the bed on which he reposed. The 
            stately birds that move around us once held familiar converse with 
            him and still mourn the moment when fiery Seraphims drove him trembling 
            down yonder declivities no more to taste these clear fountains or 
            sleep in his native Bowers, the Regions of perpetual spring where 
            all the dreams of inspired Bards are realized. I would tell thee more, 
            but mark how the World below fades gradually on the sight, the Seas 
            and Rivers begin to glimmer thro the Dusk and catch a faint beam of 
            the rising Moon. The moment is drawing near when thy stay is unlawful 
            and prophane. This bright light will soon yield to a silver Dawn and 
            during these consecrated hours the spirits of holy prophets descend 
            and converse of Men.  I was once a Mortal: my affections still 
            hover round the Globe and it is with impatience I wait the period 
            when we are permitted to discourse on earthly subjects. That period 
            will soon arrive; for hark the Angels who direct our planet are beginning 
            their nightly hymn.  Behold how the [20] 
            Clouds 
            fleet that waft them above the Poles. Listen! their Carol is echoed 
            by the Mountains, it sounds amongst the spheres.  Hark it is 
            answered by the Guardians of the Moon, faint very faint is their melody. 
             how it dies away amongst distant Worlds!  The Spirit 
            ceased.  My soul was thrilled with the cælestial Choirs. 
            A fresh wind waved all the Trees and riffled the Herbage and in an 
            instant Myriads of lovely forms glanced amongst the woods. Methought 
            I heard the Voices of departed Friends and tried to spring towards 
            the Meads whence the sounds proceeded; but the Breezes that swept 
            along the Lawn were far too pure for my mortal frame. I trembled, 
            my heart beat, my Arteries throbbed, in vain I attempted to join the 
            beckoning shades, some dreadful pressure chained me to the ground, 
            in vain I called to those I loved, my lamentations and loud Cries 
            were lost in the gales. How many times did I stretch forth my Arms 
            and attempt advancing  all my endeavours were fruitless and 
            unable to struggle more I sunk beneath my sorrow and beating my breast 
            exclaimed  Ah would that I might die!  At length I found 
            myself released and with a violent effort ran or rather flew upon 
            the Lawn; but as I advanced the Forms retreated a confused murmur 
            of Rills, of Voices, and of Instruments fled before me, the Rocks, 
            the Woods,
            
            
            [CONTINUED]