ter all it is wrong to rob the poor boys--is
it not, May?'--May shakes her graceful head denyingly, as if she
understood the question--'And we must go home now--must we not? But we
will come nutting again some time or other--shall we not, my May?'
THE VISIT.
October 27th.--A lovely autumnal day; the air soft, balmy, genial;
the sky of that softened and delicate blue upon which the eye loves to
rest,--the blue which gives such relief to the rich beauty of the earth,
all around glowing in the ripe and mellow tints of the most gorgeous
of the seasons. Really such an autumn may well compensate our English
climate for the fine spring of the south, that spring of which the poets
talk, but which we so seldom enjoy. Such an autumn glows upon us like
a splendid evening; it is the very sunset of the year; and I have been
tempted forth into a wider range of enjoyment than usual. This WALK (if
I may use the Irish figure of speech called a bull) will be a RIDE. A
very dear friend has beguiled me into accompanying her in her pretty
equipage to her beautiful home, four miles off; and having sent forward
in the style of a running footman the servant who had driven her, she
assumes the reins, and off we set.
My fair companion is a person whom nature and fortune would have spoiled
if they could. She is one of those striking women whom a stranger cannot
pass without turning to look again; tall and finely proportioned, with a
bold Roman contour of figure and feature, a delicate English
complexion, and an air of distinction altogether her own. Her beauty is
duchess-like. She seems born to wear feathers and diamonds, and to
form the grace and ornament of a court; and the noble frankness and
simplicity of her countenance and manner confirm the impression. Destiny
has, however, dealt more kindly by her. She is the wife of a rich
country gentleman of high descent and higher attainments, to whom she
is most devotedly attached,--the mother of a little girl as lovely
as herself, and the delight of all who have the happiness of her
acquaintance, to whom she is endeared not merely by her remarkable
sweetness of temper and kindness of heart, but by the singular
ingenuousness and openness of character which communicate an
indescribable charm to her conversation. She is as transparent as water.
You may see every colour, every shade of a mind as lofty and beautiful
as her person. Talking with her is like being in the Palace of Truth
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