a year they met on a certain plain, and occupied themselves with
recreation, in the midst of which individuals of every rank and
age would suddenly stop, make a reverence to the west, and,
setting out at full speed toward that part of the desert, be seen
no more. It is quite in this fashion that guests disappear from
Oldport when the season ends. They also are apt to go toward the
west, but by steamboat. It is pathetic, on occasion of each
annual bereavement, to observe the wonted looks and language of
despair among those who linger behind; and it needs some
fortitude to think of spending the winter near such a Wharf of
Sighs.

But we console ourselves. Each season brings its own attractions.
In summer one may relish what is new in Oldport, as the liveries,
the incomes, the manners. There is often a delicious freshness
about these exhibitions; it is a pleasure to see some opulent
citizen in his first kid gloves. His new-born splendor stands in
such brilliant relief against the confirmed respectability of
the"Old Stone Mill," the only thing on the Atlantic shore which
has had time to forget its birthday! But in winter the Old Mill
gives the tone to the society around it; we then bethink
ourselves of the crown upon our Trinity Church steeple, and
resolve that the courtesies of a bygone age shall yet linger
here. Is there any other place in America where gentlemen still
take off their hats to one another on the public promenade? The
hat is here what it still is in Southern Europe,--the lineal
successor of the sword as the mark of a gentleman. It is noticed
that, in going from Oldport to New York or Boston, one is liable
to be betrayed by an over-flourish of the hat, as is an Arkansas
man by a display of the bowie-knife.