Straying further, my eye was attracted by the sight of some
heartsease that peeped through the rocks. I caught at it as a good
omen, and going to preserve it in a letter that had not conveyed
balm to my heart, a cruel remembrance suffused my eyes; but it
passed away like an April shower. If you are deep read in
Shakespeare, you will recollect that this was the little western
flower tinged by love's dart, which "maidens call love in idleness."
The gaiety of my babe was unmixed; regardless of omens or
sentiments, she found a few wild strawberries more grateful than
flowers or fancies.

The lieutenant informed me that this was a commodious bay. Of that
I could not judge, though I felt its picturesque beauty. Rocks were
piled on rocks, forming a suitable bulwark to the ocean. "Come no
further," they emphatically said, turning their dark sides to the
waves to augment the idle roar. The view was sterile; still little
patches of earth of the most exquisite verdure, enamelled with the
sweetest wild flowers, seemed to promise the goats and a few
straggling cows luxurious herbage. How silent and peaceful was the
scene! I gazed around with rapture, and felt more of that
spontaneous pleasure which gives credibility to our expectation of
happiness than I had for a long, long time before. I forgot the
horrors I had witnessed in France, which had cast a gloom over all
nature, and suffering the enthusiasm of my character--too often,
gracious God! damped by the tears of disappointed affection--to be
lighted up afresh, care took wing while simple fellow-feeling
expanded my heart.

To prolong this enjoyment, I readily assented to the proposal of our