Harry was much pleased with the New England people—there seemed some peculiar traits 아달주소
about them, some habits of thought, which denoted the source from which they sprung, and which told of the pilgrim band who sought here refuge from oppression. Though their step and songs of praise were heard no more in the land, and the neat villages, with their pretty churches, spoke of the refinement of taste, still there appeared a vestige of the pilgrims’ spirit, and the pilgrims’ feelings broadly marked on her sons and daughters. In Boston Harry met an old acquaintance, Mr. Pluribusi, who was very attentive to him, kindly showing him all the lions in the city and around the neighborhood. One afternoon Mr. Pluribusi and he were taking their customary drive, when they found themselves upon one of those gentle elevations from which a fine view of the surrounding scenery may be obtained. The landscape was beautiful beyond description. In the distance lay the city of Boston, clothed by the bright rays of Phœbus in a glorious robe of golden light. The clear waters of its noble bay rolled on in silent grandeur, whilst gallant vessels, with every sail set, went careering, all life and bravery, before the wind, and tiny barks were glittering upon its polished surface; some drawing nearer, others lost in the distant expanse of ocean; opposed to this, neat and beautiful villages, with their modest church steeples, diversified with such signs of life as in a rural prospect the eye delights to meet; cattle grazing in the meadows, or wending homeward, children playing before the cottage-doors, laborers at work in the field, or with hearty steps and cheerful faces advancing to the reward of their day’s toil.
The New England landscape has invariably been admired and praised by travelers, but its sentiment is very often overlooked. Its chief charm exists in its calm tranquillity—in the air of repose, happiness and assured security it breathes. All is perfect serenity, and the gazer feels that he is in the land of freedom and plenty; even the busy bee, as heavily laden he journeys homeward, lights on the flowers in seeming sport, as if he knew there was no danger of disturbance. The height on which Harry and his friend had stopped, was clothed with summer verdure, and adorned with rows of handsome houses, each having a beautiful garden attached to it, where countless flowers of various dyes peeped forth, amid innumerable shrubs and creeping, clinging ivy, or were so shaded by the bending willow and graceful hazel, that the summer sun in its mid-day glory could only enter here and there in a few broken coquetish beams. Struck with the extreme beauty of one of those gardens, Harry gazed wistfully into the cultivated enclosure.
“What a beautiful garden,” exclaimed he, in undisguised admiration. “And look! oh look, Mr. Pluribusi, what a sweet, pretty girl there is in it, too!”
Mr. Pluribusi seemed amused, for he laughed as Harry continued to give utterance to his admiration.
“Why she is a perfect beauty—how like a fairy-shape she flits among the roses—can any thing so glorious be earthly? Oh! how I wish I knew her.”
Never, indeed, was there a more beautiful picture than that young girl as she glided about, with the mellow sunlight falling around her sylph-like form. Her hair, which was a rich and shining black, was gathered into a knot behind, and laid in soft bands over her pure and polished brow. Her eyes were of that deep, full blue which is so rare, large and bright, and full of fire and spirit. The star of intellectuality beamed from her animated countenance, and spoke of a soul within that admitted of no influence to thwart its loftiness of purpose, or sully its innocence and purity. She was twining a garland of rose-buds, heliotrope and mignonette, and more than once was she seen to press the flowers to her ruby lips, while a peculiar witchery played over her features.
“Would that I knew her,” repeated Harry.
“Well, I will introduce you, for, to tell you the truth, I came here for that very purpose,” replied his companion; “but beware!” he added, shaking his finger, “for I begin to suspect that wicked urchin, Cupid, intends playing some of his mischievous pranks here.”
“Indeed, the place seems a fitting one for his votaries,” returned Harry, earnestly, as they entered the gateway.
Miss Bryarly, who was introduced to our hero as the niece of Mr. Pluribusi, received him with a soft, enchanting grace, which completed his fascination. This passage of Moore came into his mind, for he felt —
As if his soul that moment caught,
An image it through life had sought;
As if the very lips and eyes,
Predestined to have all his sighs,
And never to forget again,
Sparkled and smiled before him then.