s with boards over their faces, as a
protection from the rays of the sun. I don't believe that is the real
reason of the thing, though my brother assures me that it is. I think,
myself, that it is intended as a keen satire upon those young ladies
who wear veils in the streets; but I never will yield my point. I
_will_ wear my veil, so long as I have a complexion worth protecting,
and so long as there are gentlemen worth cutting. The Brighton Bridge
Battery is a delightful promenade on a warm summer's day, it is _so_
shady; but it is closed, I may say, every Wednesday and Thursday, to
accommodate these detestable pets of the public. It seems, as my
brother informs me, that the drovers, from humane considerations, are
in the habit of driving their cattle over to Brighton, (when the
weather is pleasant,) and back again on the next day, in order that
their health may be improved by the sea-air which blows up Charles
River. Now I think that when the cow takes precedence of the lady, and
usurps, to the utter exclusion of the latter, the most delightful
promenade in Cambridge, it is time the city authorities should look to
it; and so I told my brother. He considered for a moment, and then
advised me not to bear it any longer, but to go upon Brighton Bridge,
_in spite_ of the cows, and assert my independence. I followed his
advice, as I always do, and, on one fine afternoon, took advantage of
the pleasant weather to indulge in a solitary walk in that
direction. As I was sauntering along on the wooden sidewalk, gazing at
the noble ships which lay moored by their gaff-topsails to the
abutments of the bridge, and viewing the honest sailors as they
promenaded up and down the string-ladders at the command of their
captains, my fears were aroused by a distant commotion. I hastily
turned and looked over the railing into the street. A whole drove of
infuriated cows, urged on by two fiendish boys and a savage dog, was
rapidly approaching me from the Cambridge side. What should I do? I
was too much fatigued to run, and I had never learned to swim. My
plans were hastily formed. Flinging my red silk visite and sky-blue
parasolette into the water, lest the gay colors should still more
enrage the wild animals, I jumped over the outside railing towards the
river, and hung by one arm over the angry flood during a moment of
speechless agony! On they came, with lightning speed, in a whirlwind
of dust. A rapid succession of earthquakes--bellowing