dormer windows peeping up here and there, and every one of them in
summer had an ornamental frame clinging around it, of scarlet-runners
or some other beautiful vine. One night, one of Peter's sisters chanced
to look through one of these windows as an artist was passing, and he
declared that the maiden with her fair hair, and the blended roses of
her cheek, in the frame of delicate leaves and flowers, so graceful and
appropriate, were far more lovely and picturesque than any gold-bedecked
portrait he had seen in the Academy of Design.

All the rooms in this delightful cottage were exactly the right size,
for you could have as many people in them at once as was just agreeable.
Every room was filled with handsome, comfortable furniture, and the most
beautiful things imaginable, besides; not such fine things as Mr.
Marcotte, the French cabinet-maker, invents. Oh, no! they were far more
wonderful and admirable; for there, in one corner, you would come upon a
tiny bird's nest, the marvellous construction of which would fill you
with admiration for the cunning little architect. Even Mr. Renwick, who
built Grace Church and the Smithsonian Institute, could never make one
like it if he tried all his life.

In another corner would be a few cotton bolls of sea-island cotton, the
soft, snowy mass bursting from within, a perfect marvel to behold. Then
Peter's father and sister would take long walks in the woods, and bring
from thence great bunches of strange and splendid ferns, and wild
flowers, growing unseen and unregarded, save by such refined and ardent
admirers of Nature.

His elder sister sketched beautifully, and painted in water colors, and
the walls were adorned with lovely little "bits" of landscape, so
correctly drawn and softly tinted, that the eye delighted to rest upon
them, and, altogether, "Clear Comfort" was just such a house as
Washington Irving, N. P. Willis, Curtis, or any person of great taste
and refinement would be enchanted to live in.

The waters of the Narrows streamed past the windows; opposite, were the
lovely shores of Long Island, and beyond, the wide Atlantic Ocean. Every
steamship and other vessel passed by so close, that if you waved your
handkerchief, passengers were sure to return the politeness. Peter once
waved a large cat at the Persia, as she went by in her stately
grandeur, with flags flying in the sweet summer wind, and some one on
board, seeing and enjoying the joke, held up a pig by the