The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 02, No. 10, August, 1858

Оглавление

Various. The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 02, No. 10, August, 1858

DAPHNAIDES: OR THE ENGLISH LAUREL, FROM CHAUCER TO TENNYSON

THE ROMANCE OF A GLOVE

TO –

THE SINGING-BIRDS AND THEIR SONGS

OUR TALKS WITH UNCLE JOHN

TALK NUMBER ONE

TALK NUMBER TWO

TALK NUMBER THREE

AN EVENING MELODY

CHESUNCOOK

MY CHILDREN

THE KINLOCH ESTATE, AND HOW IT WAS SETTLED

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

BRINGING OUR SHEAVES WITH US

FARMING LIFE IN NEW ENGLAND

LES SALONS DE PARIS.28

THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE

THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST-TABLE

EVERY MAN HIS OWN BOSWELL

THE TRUSTEE'S LAMENT

THE POCKET-CELEBRATION OF THE FOURTH

LITERARY NOTICES

Отрывок из книги

"Halt!" cried my travelling companion. "Property overboard!"

The driver pulled up his horses; and, before I could prevent him, Westwood leaped down from the vehicle, and ran back for the article that had been dropped.

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"I did not stop to ask that question when it was most important that it should be seriously considered. I rushed into the crowd of competitors for Flora's smiles, and distanced them all. I was pleased and proud that she took no pains to conceal her preference for me. We played chess; we read poetry out of the same book; we ate at the same table; we sat and watched the sea together, for hours, in those clear, bright days; we promenaded the deck at sunset, her hand upon my arm, her lips forever turning up tenderly towards me, her eyes pouring their passion into me. Then those glorious nights, when the ocean was a vast, wild, fluctuating stream, flashing and sparkling about the ship, spanned with a quivering bridge of splendor on one side, and rolling off into awful darkness and mystery, on the other; when the moon seemed swinging among the shrouds like a ball of white fire; when the few ships went by like silent ghosts; and Flora and I, in a long trance of happiness, kept the deck, heedless of the throng of promenaders, forgetful of the past, reckless of the future, aware only of our own romance, and the richness of the present hour.

"Joseph, my travelling-companion, looked on, and wrote letters. He showed me one of these, addressed to a friend of Margaret's. In it he extolled Flora's beauty, piquancy, and supremacy; related how she made all the women jealous and all the men mad; and hinted at my triumph. I knew that that letter would meet Margaret's eyes, and was vain enough to be pleased.

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