of a casual rencontre. One could not even give or receive
the exciting "is it not charming," which Rousseau talks of,
for if it were uttered, it could not be heard, or, if heard,
would fall most earthly dull on the spirit, when rapt by the
magic of such a scene. A look, or the silent pressure of the
arm, is all the interchange of feeling that such a scene al-
lows, and in the midst of my terror and my pleasure, I
wished for the arm and the eye of some few from the other
side of the Atlantic.

The return from such a scene is more soberly silent than
the approach to it; but the cool and quiet hour, the mellowed
tints of some gay blossoms, and the closed bells of others,
the drowsy hum of the insects that survive the day, and the
moist freshness that forbids the foot to weary in its home-
ward path, have all enjoyment in them, and seem to har-
monize with the half-wearied, half-excited state of spirits,
that such an excursion is sure to produce: and then the en-
tering the cool and moonlit portico, the well-iced sangaree,
or still more refreshing coffee, that awaits you, is all de-
lightful; and if to this be added the happiness of an easy
sofa, and a friend like my charming Mrs. S-----, to
soothe you with an hour of Mozart, the most fastidious
European might allow that such a day was worth waking
for.

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