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My life, as it passed thus, was indeed hateful to me, and it was

during sleep alone that I could taste joy. O blessed sleep!

Often, when most miserable, I sank to repose, and my dreams

lulled me even to rapture. The spirits that guarded me had

provided these moments, or rather hours, of happiness that I

might retain strength to fulfil my pilgrimage. Deprived of this

respite, I should have sunk under my hardships. During the day I

was sustained and inspirited by the hope of night, for in sleep I

saw my friends, my wife, and my beloved country; again I saw the

benevolent countenance of my father, heard the silver tones of my

Elizabeth's voice, and beheld Clerval enjoying health and youth.

Often, when wearied by a toilsome march, I persuaded myself that

I was dreaming until night should come and that I should then

enjoy reality in the arms of my dearest friends. What agonising

fondness did I feel for them!