The young man on my left is recognized at once, for there is no one like him, my high-souled, gallant Richard. His eye sparkles with much of its early quick-flashing light. The shadow of the dismal Tombs no longer clouds, though it tempers, the brightness of his manhood. He knows, though the world does not, that his father fills a convict's grave, and this remembrance chastens his pride, without humiliating him with the consciousness of disgrace. He is rapidly making himself a name and fame in the high places of society. Men of talent take him by the hand and welcome him as a younger brother to their ranks, and fair and charming women smile upon and flatter him by the most winning attentions. He passes on from flower to flower, without seeking to gather one to place in his bosom, though he loves to inhale their fragrance and admire their bloom.
"One of these days you will think of marrying," said a friend, while congratulating him on his brilliant prospects.
"When I can find another Gabriella," he answered.
Ah! Richard, there are thousands better and lovelier than Gabriella; and you will yet find an angel spirit in woman's form, who will reward your filial virtues, and scatter the roses of love in the green path of fame.
Do you see that graceful figure floating along on the white beach, with a motion like the flowing wave, with hair like the sunbeams, and eye as when
"The blue sky trembles on a cloud of purest white?"
and he who walks by her side, with the romantic, beaming countenance, now flashing with the enthusiasm, now shaded by the sensibility of genius? They are the fair-haired Edith, and the artist Julian. He has laid aside for awhile the pencil and the pallette, to drink in with us the invigorating breezes of ocean. Let them pass on. They are happy.
Another couple is slowly following, taller, larger, more of the "earth, earthy." Do you not recognize my quondam tutor and the once dauntless Meg? It is his midsummer vacation, and they, too, have come to breathe an atmosphere cooled by sea-born gales, and to renew the socialities of friendship amid grand and inspiring influences. They walk on thoughtfully, pensively, sometimes looking down on the smooth, continuous beach, then upward to the mellow and glowing heavens. A softening shade has womanized the bold brow of Madge, and her red lip has a more subdued tint. She, the care-defying, laughter-breathing, untamable Madge, has known not only the refining power of love, but the chastening touch of sorrow. She has given a lovely infant back to the God who gave it, and is thus linked to the world of angels. But she has treasures on earth still dearer. She leans on a strong arm and a true heart. Let them pass on. They, too, are happy.
My dear father! He is younger and handsomer than he was two years since, for happiness is a wonderful rejuvenator. His youth is renewed in ours, his Rosalie lives again in the cherub who bears her name, and in whom his eye traces the similitude of her beauty. Father! never since the hour when I first addressed thee by that holy name, have I bowed my knee in prayer without a thanksgiving to God for the priceless blessing bestowed in thee.
There is one more figure in this sea-side group, dearer, more interesting than all the rest to me. No longer the wan and languid wanderer returned from Indian shores, worn by remorse, and tortured by memory. The light, if not the glow of health, illumines his face, and a firmer, manlier tone exalts its natural delicacy of coloring.