“There is a large fireplace in our bed-chamber, Flora,” said Lyndsay, unwilling to beat a retreat.
“True,” replied Flora, musingly; “I did not think of that. It would do that damp, cold room good to get a fire lighted in it.”
Seeing her husband determined upon the dinner, she began to question him as to the items of the entertainment.
“Oh, nothing particular, dear. M—— knows that we are in lodgings, and can’t manage as well as if we were in a house of our own. A nice cut of fresh salmon, which is always to be had in the fish-market, a small roast of beef, or leg of mutton, with vegetables and a pudding, will do; and, above all things, Flora, don’t look annoyed, if every thing does not exactly please you, or it will only make matters worse. I am going to call upon M—— this morning, and I will ask him and his friend P——to step over and dine with us at six o’clock.”
“What shall we do for wine and spirits?”
“I will order these as I go along. So mind, dear, and have everything as snug and comfortable as you can.”
In spite of the anxiety she felt as to the success of the dinner, Flora could not help pausing to admire the spacious fish-market, with its cool stone pavement and slabs of white marble, on which lay piled in magnificent profusion, the most beautiful specimens of the finny rangers of the deep. Filled with marine curiosities, she could have spent hours in contemplating the picturesque groups it presented. There lay the salmon in its delicate coat of blue and silver; the mullet, in pink and gold; the mackerel, with its blending of all hues,—gorgeous as the tail of the peacock, and defying the art of the painter to transfer them to his canvas; the plaice, with its olive green coat, spotted with vivid orange, which must flash like sparks of flame glittering in the depths of the dark waters; the cod, and the siller haddies, all freckled with brown, and silver, and gold; the snake-like eel, stretching its slimy length along the cool stone pavement, among moving heaps of tawny crabs—those spiders of the deep—which seemed to emulate the scorpion-like lobsters near them in repulsive ugliness.
But what most enchanted Flora, was the antique costume of the Newhaven fish-women, as, seated upon their upturned baskets, they called the attention of the visitor to their various stores of fish.
Flora was never tired of looking at these sea-maids and matrons. Their primitive appearance, and quaint, old-fashioned dress, took her fancy greatly—with their short petticoats, their blue stockings and buckled shoes, their neat, striped linen-jackets, and queer little caps, just covering the top of their head, and coming down in long, straight mobs, over their ears; their honest, broad features, and pleasant faces, which had been fair before the sun and the sea air tanned them to that warm, deep brown; their round, red arms, and handsome feet and legs, displayed with a freedom and ease which custom had robbed of all indecorum, and rendered natural and proper.
Flora wished that she had been an artist, to copy some of the fine forms she saw among these fish-girls—forms which had been left as the great God of nature made them, uncrippled by torturing stays and tight vestments. How easy their carriage! with what rude grace they poised upon their heads their ponderous baskets, and walked erect and firm, filling the air with their mournfully-musical cry! The great resemblance between these people and the Bavarian broom-girls, both in features and costume, impressed her with the idea, that they had originally belonged to the same race. The Newhaven sea-nymph, however, is taller, and has a more imposing presence, than the short, snub-nosed Bavarian.