agonies of grief that are unutterable, and in so
great a distraction of mind, that I thought myself even out of the
possibility of receiving comfort. The occasion was as follows: When I
was a youth in a part of the army which was then quartered at Dover, I
fell in love with an agreeable young woman, of a good family in those
parts, and had the satisfaction of seeing my addresses kindly received,
which occasioned the perplexity I am going to relate.

We were in a calm evening diverting ourselves upon the top of the cliff
with the prospect of the sea, and trifling away the time in such little
fondnesses as are most ridiculous to people in business, and most
agreeable to those in love.

In the midst of these our innocent endearments, she snatched a paper of
verses out of my hand, and ran away with them. I was following her, when
on a sudden the ground, though at a considerable distance from the verge
of the precipice, sank under her, and threw her down from so prodigious
a height upon such a range of rocks, as would have dashed her into ten
thousand pieces, had her body been made of adamant. It is much easier
for my reader to imagine my state of mind upon such an occasion, than
for me to express it. I said to myself, "It is not in the power of
heaven to relieve me!" when I awoke, equally transported and astonished,
to see myself drawn out of an affliction which the very moment before
appeared to me altogether inextricable.

The impressions of grief and horror were so lively on this occasion,
that while they lasted, they made me more miserable than I was at the
real death of this beloved person (which happened a few months after, at
a time when the match between us was concluded), inasmuch as the
imaginary death was untimely, and I myself in a sort an accessory;
whereas her real decease had at least these alleviations, of being
natural and inevitable.

The memory of the dream I have related still dwells so strongly upon me,
that I can never read the description of Dover Cliff in Shakespeare's
tragedy of "King Lear,"[11] without a fresh sense of my escape. The
prospect from that place is drawn with such proper incidents, that
whoever can read it without growing giddy, must have a good head, or a
very bad one.

"_Come on, sir, here's the place; stand still! How fearful
And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low?
The crows and choughs that wing the midway air,
Show scarce as gross as beetles. Half-way down