Original (inglés)

LETTER I. June 19th, 1780.—Shall I tell you my dreams?—To give an account of my time is doing, I assure you, but little better.  Never did there exist a more ideal being.  A frequent mist hovers before my eyes, and, through its medium, I see objects so faint and hazy, that both their colours and forms are apt to delude me.  This is a rare confession, say the wise, for a traveller to make: pretty accounts will such a one give of outlandish countries: his correspondents must reap great be