"And what is the name of this beautiful stream, that flows between us, and the highlands?" asked Mrs. North.
"This river," replied Mr. North, "still retains its Indian appellation—the Saco!"
"And see," said Mrs. Lawrence, "how it winds around and about, as if reluctant to leave this broad and beautiful intervale, and striving to linger in it to the last possible moment."
"I have been told," said Mr. Lawrence, "that before some short canals were cut, to accelerate the passage of lumber down the stream, that the Saco ran upwards of thirty miles, in this place, in making the actual progress of only six towards the ocean."
"And then the beautiful, quiet village," said Mrs. Lawrence, "lying so securely amid its guardian mountains, with its long, straight street,—and its church and academy spires, pointing to heaven, speaking of spiritual and intellectual improvement. O, this scene is perfect in beauty!—and in grandeur! There the sublime and beautiful are most happily associated. The overpowering awe that steals upon one, while viewing those mighty efforts of creative power, which fills the soul with sensations altogether too big for utterance,—is modified, when the eye falls, and rests on the peaceful village, which speaks of human society, comfort and happiness. It seems as if the inhabitants, brought up with such scenes of beauty and sublimity constantly before them, must be more free from base and ignoble passions, than those who live and die amid scenery of a different character. Every spot on which the eye rests, speaks of the grandeur, the power, the benevolence—and, if I may so express myself, the taste of the Divine Architect. I can conceive of nothing more beautiful—more perfect!—and nothing can have a more elevating effect on the soul of man! I must believe, with Dr. Dwight, that 'he who does not find in the various beautiful, sublime, awful and astonishing objects, presented to us in creation, irresistible and glorious reasons for admiring, adoring, loving and praising his Creator, has no claim to evangelical piety.'"
"You are an enthusiast, Mrs. Lawrence," said Mr. North, smiling.
"Perhaps I am. But nothing, after moral grandeur, touches my heart like the beautiful face of nature. Every flower and tree, and hill and valley that meets my eye, gives me delight,—and speaks to my soul of the glorious Being that made them:—how much more such a picture as is now spread before me!—My dear husband, when our children are old enough to appreciate its beauty, they must be brought to this spot. It cannot fail of having a salutary effect, both on the heart, and mind."
Mr. Lawrence pressed his wife's arm to his side, in token of approbation. His admiration was divided between the scenery before him, and a wife,—capable of deriving such exquisite delight, from so pure a source; and the piety of whose heart, gave a religious cast to every thing around her. He admired the grand and beautiful in nature,—but he admired her moral beauty and purity far more.
Mr. North, too, highly enjoyed the natural magnificence presented to his view; but Mrs. North had felt far greater sensible delight, when, with a well-filled purse, she had visited a repository of rich and fashionable goods, or the shop of her milliner. Yet she tried to be eloquent in praise of the beauties on which they gazed; for admiration of them was certainly at that moment fashionable on the summit of the Jockey-Cap; yet there was no heart in her exclamations of delight; there was no feeling in her expressions of admiration. Her remarks repressed rather than elicited enthusiasm. They were like a body without a soul.
On the third morning after their arrival at Fryburg, Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence prepared to return to L——. The latter was much surprised when she found that Mr. and Mrs. North were not to return with them.