house; and there I am quite taken aback by finding myself in the presence of two young maidens, comely and fair to look upon.' 6 A draught of the cool beverage from the cocoanut-cup soon restored me, and rest assured I did not neglect the matron's invitation to 'take a cheer;' and a cheering sight I looked upon. One of these damsels was a mild, quiet, blue-eyed girl. I have no distinct recollection of what she was doing, for to see the other was to forget every thing else. Just imagine a creature with curls, black eyes that had a touch of roguery in them, short sleeves, and a delicious roundness of face and form; just such a rosy-cheeked beauty as farmers' boys fall in love with at first sight; and, remember, I am a farmer's boy myself. She stood by a window where the breeze came off the sea and rustled through the leaves of some kind of creeping vine, and she was starching bits of lace; doing up' muslins, I think they call the operation. Heaven forgive her, but she came very near 'doing up' me, that sleeveless young girl with the black eyes! Perhaps, reader, you have seen muslins 'done up,' and know that the articles, being dipped in the starch and squeezed out, are held up lightly by the fingers and smartly slapped between the outspread palms. And you will also know, if you are a person of any taste, that where the hands are reasonably small, with dimples across the knuckles, and the arms are round and white, and other circumstances favorable, the effect of this performance is decidedly pretty. For what is she preparing those bits of finery? Perhaps to wear next Sabbath at the village church, to aid in captivating some susceptible swain; perhaps he is already captivated, and that little lace cuff she is now manipulating with such earnestness will rest lovingly upon his stalwart arm as they go slowly home through the moonlight from some evening party; or perhaps she is getting those things ready for her own wedding; who knows? And at this suggestion I mentally ejaculated God forbid !" But what business was it of mine, I should like to know! Under pretence that it was cooler where the breeze came through the vine-leaves, which physically it was, I drew my 'cheer' up in that direction, and said to the sleeveless creature that I loved to see her doing that, for I remembered to have seen my mother doing the same thing years ago; and something about this enlisted her sympathies, and we were on the best possible terms in no time.' Dissembler that I was! as though I needed any associations to make me like to see her thus engaged; and as though my recollections of the matriarch when in this business were not any thing but pleasant; for I remember that she generally wore a knit-up brow, and the juvenile members of the household considered it unsafe to approach the presence on such occasions; and just as though I did n't have a vivid and distinct recollection that on one occasion she apparently mistook my ears for a bit of obdurate lace, and visited them in such a style as to leave therein a murmuring sound for a considerable space of time, as though my head were a big sea-shell! There was no frown on that brow when the shaken-back curls revealed it; no anger in the laughing eye; no sternness in the silvery voice, and no vengeance in the dainty little hands, which would have been white, only that the exercise started out the carnations. Looking at the action of those hands, I would gladly welcome back that murmuring sound of old days, and am almost tempted to wish that this too solid flesh would melt,' and resolve itself into-muslin ! I am a sober, plodding sort of a man, cold, reflective and philosophical; but to look on that rosy face was ecstasy!—to undertake to count the dimples across the knuckles, or let the eye revel on the pearly whiteness of the rounded arms, was delirium!-and to glance at that flexible form of rounded slenderness was frenzy and madness! I don't know how long I stayed by that window, but the muslins were all done up,' and I thought the dignified matron was looking rather uneasily over toward our side of the house; so I left, like the young man mentioned by St. Matthew, going away exceeding sorrowful,' though from quite a different reason. And I deemed this indeed a pleasant picture to hang up in the dingy office that looked out on the brick-wall. A little farther, and I reach the extreme limit of my walk. I stand upon a high bluff, and look forth over the Vineyard Sound, and see the surf tumbling in on the beach at my feet. It is a glorious sight, and well repays the long walk, if it had had no other attractions. The Sound is full of vessels, as it always is in fine weather. I see the humble fisherman, with no fore-topmast; aristocratic liners, with their taper spars; business-like lumbermen, from 'down-east,' loaded deep in the water. Larger vessels, with now and then a noble ship, are drawing off the land, steering south-east by Great Point and the island of Nantucket, and so far out to sea, on their various trackless courses. I see a solitary steam-boat in the distance, her white length relieved against the blue headlands of Martha's Vineyard. It is the Nantucket steamer Massachusetts, Captain Barker, just coming out of Holmes' Hole, on her way to New-Bedford. And now, with my quiet cigar, I lie at length under the tall pines, through which the south wind is sighing. Thick as the fragrant smoke-wreaths around me are the fast-coming fancies; as light, airy and graceful; and truth to say, as unsubstantial. I remember, when a boy, ranging the shore with my gun (for I had full share of the killing propensity inherent in all boys), and, becoming tired, I would recline under the trees, and in my boyish way long for the painter's eye and hand, to reproduce the bright scene before me, or the poet-feeling that should convey to a thousand hearts, in beautiful images, what I felt within me; all which aspirations suddenly disappeared if ever a gull came within gun-shot. The same tall trees wave over me now. I look forth on the same scene, with the same aspirations, almost as hopeless; though I would fain, with my poor prose, make a compromise between the poet and the painter-longings. There are not wanting those who say, that for one wearing perpetual mourning for past days, the writer of this contrives to extract a wonderful deal of enjoyment from the present; that for one born in a Puritan New-England village, and brought up at the feet of Gamaliel in the nurture and admonition of the LORD,' he hath an undue liking for brilliantly-lighted halls, where the blaze of beauty is yet brighter; that the touch of soft hands, the gleaming of bright eyes, have peculiar attractions for this moody man; and when there is music to be heard, the slanderers further say that he has not the power to resist, but gives himself up, heart and soul, to the delicious melody leaping gaily from violins, stealing out from flutes and clarionets; that he thinks he hears spirit-voices in the wild, wailing oboe, and has all sorts of feeling when he hears skilfully touched the unearthly, almost human violoncello, and is ready to fall down and worship the high art that can portray human passions by such delicious floods of harmony. It may be so; perhaps I must plead guilty to these charges; but, thank Heaven! my ear is not impaired for these old familiar sounds, musical as when I had not heard the Germania, and the opera was a thing unknown. There is a majestic movement' to that tenth wave; a glorious 'crescendo' in its gathering roar; a delightful shake' is performed when, nearly spent, it rushes far up on the beach, and some delicate fingering' in those points of foam, thrusting by the rest, curling round the pebbles, as if to find something the last wave had left; there is 'minor' sound in its deep-drawn sigh when it sweeps back, that increases to a sullen roar; the wind through the pines is a pleasing accompaniment,' and not inharmonious is the distant cawing of sombre crows and the scream of the white-winged sea-gull. There is no discord, no false note, here. Nature paints and shifts the scenes with her own hand, and there needs no prompting. When I cease to find beauty in these scenes, and to delight in these sounds; when they cease to rouse in me all my better nature, awake me to whatever is lovely and pleasant, noble and grand, beautiful and bright, then may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, and my right hand forget its cunning!' STANZAS. To me it is a quiet spot, Where, with a veilless eye, I see To me it is an angel's form, To me it is a gladsome eye, That beams with nature's soul; And waking joyous thoughts in mine, To me it is a guide to heaven, A resting place from care; And buoyant faith the while espys |