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At half-past four, we went to dine with the ——s. Their house is very pretty and comfortable. When first we went in, we were shown into a couple of drawing-rooms, in which there were beautiful marble copies of one or two of the famous statues. One of Canova's dancing girls, the glorious Diana, a reclining figure of Cleopatra, an exquisite thing,—the crouching Venus, and the lovely antique Cupid and Psyche.
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'Tis strange that feelings should pass from our hearts and minds as clouds pass from the face of heaven, as though they had never been there;—yet not so, after all; they do not pass so tracklessly,—they do leave faint shadows behind; they leave a darker colour upon the face of all existence: sometimes they leave a sad conviction of wasted capabilities, and time, precious time, expended in vain. Yet not in vain: even though our feelings change,—pass, perhaps, to our own consciousness—cease altogether,—'tis not in vain—life is going on—experience and solemn wisdom may come with the coming time; and existence is, after all, but a series of experiments upon our spiritual nature. Our trials vary with our years; and though we deem (too often rightly) that suffering and disappointment are but barren thorns, whereon grows neither fruit nor flower, 'tis our sin that they are so, for they are designed to bear an excellent harvest. "Sweet are the uses of adversity;" so he has said who knew all things, and so indeed to the wise they are.
Tuesday, 30th.
We rode down to the "Chelsea Ferry," and crossed over the Charles river, where the shore opposite Boston bears the name of that refuge for damaged marine stores. The breath of the sea was delicious, as we crossed the water in one of the steam-boats constantly plying to and fro; and on the other side, as we rode towards the beach, it came greeting us delightfully from the wide waters. When we started from Boston, the weather was intensely hot, and the day promised to be like the day before yesterday, a small specimen of the dog-days. We had about a five miles' ride through some country that reminded me of Scotland: now and then the dreary landscape was relieved by the golden branches of a willow tree, and the delicate pale peach blossoms, and tiny white buds in the apple orchards, peeping over some stone dyke, like a glance over the wall from the merry laughing spring. So we reached Chelsea beach, a curving, flat, sandy shore, forming one side of a small bay which runs up between this land and a rocky peninsula that stretches far out into the ocean, called Nahant. At the extremity of the basin lay glimmering a while sunny town, by name Lynn;—'tis quite absurd the starts and stares which the familiar names cause one for ever to make here. This small bay is beautifully smooth and peaceful; the shore is a shelving reach of hard fine sand, nearly two miles long, and the wild waves are warded off in their violence from it by the rocky barrier of Nahant. How happy I was to see the beautiful sea once more,—to be once more galloping over the golden sands,—to be once more wondering at and worshipping the grandeur and loveliness of this greatest of God's marvellous works. How I do love the sea!—my very soul seems to gather energy, and life, and light, from its power, its vastness, its bold bright beauty, its fresh invigorating airs, its glorious, triumphant, rushing sound. The thin, thin rippling waves came like silver leaves spreading themselves over the glittering sand, with just a little, sparkling, pearly edge, like the cream of a bright glass of champagne. Close along the shore the water was of that pale transparent green colour, that blends so delicately with the horizon, sometimes at sunset; but out beyond, towards the great deep, it wore that serene and holiest blue that surrounds one in mid-ocean, when the earth is nearly as far below as the heaven seems high above us. For a short time my spirits seemed like uncaged birds; I rejoiced with all my might,—I could have shouted aloud for delight; I galloped far along the sand, as close into the water's restless edge as my horse would bear to go. But the excitement died away, and then came vividly back the time when last I stood upon the sea beach at Cramond, and lost myself in listening to that delicious sound of the chiming waters—I was many years younger then.
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