caught and punished for singing a song to her sands; but of her
codfish no historian has written, though divers malicious writers
have declared them the medium upon which one of our aristocracies is
founded. But I love her none the less for this.

It was a charming evening in early June. I am not disposed to state
the year, since it is come fashionable to count only days. With my
head supported in my left hand, and my elbow resting on my knee, I
sat down upon the beach to listen to the music of the tide. Curious
thoughts crowded upon my mind, and my fancy soared away into another
world. The sea was bright, the breeze came soft and balmy over the
land, and whispered and laughed. My bosom heaved with melting
emotions; and had I been skilled in the art of love, the mood I was
in qualified me for making it. The sun in the west was sinking
slowly, the horizon was hung with a rich canopy of crimson clouds,
and misty shadows played over the broad sea-plain, to the east. Then
the arcades overhead filled with curtains of amber and gold; and the
sight moved me to meditation. My soul seemed drinking in the
beauties nature was strewing at the feet of her humblest, and,
perhaps, most unthankful creatures. Then the scene began to change;
and such was its gently-stealing pace that I became moved by
emotions my tongue had no power to describe. The more I thought the
more I wondered. And I sat wondering until Dame Night drew her dusky
curtains, and the balconies of heaven filled with fleecy clouds, and
ten thousand stars, like liquid pearls, began to pour their soft
light over the land and sea. Then the "milky way" came out, as if to
take the moon's watch, and danced along the serene sky, like a
coquette in her gayest attire.

How I longed for a blushing maiden to tune her harp, or chant her