A sail which I have had to-day in a pleasure-yacht, belonging to an agreeable young man, a Mr. B., who invited me and some other of the company on board his vessel, has given me the greatest desire to return home in a sailing vessel, if I could only spare the time for it. Sailing vessels are so infinitely more beautiful and more poetical than steam vessels. On board the latter one never hears the song of the wind or the billows, because of the noise caused by the machinery, and one can enjoy no sea-air which is free from the fumes of the chimney or the kitchen. Steam-boats are excellent in the rivers, but on the sea—the sailing-ship for ever!
I have lately had a visit from some most charming young Quakeresses. No one can imagine anything more lovely than these young girls in their light, delicate, modest attire.
I must introduce to you a contrast to these. I was sitting one morning beneath my leafy alcove, on the sea-shore, with my book in my hand, but my eyes on the sea and the porpoises, when a fat lady, with a countenance like one of our jolliest Stockholm huckster-women, came and seated herself on the same bench at a little distance from me. I had a presentiment of evil, and I fixed my eyes on Wordsworth's Excursion. My neighbour crept towards me, and at length she said,—
“Do you know where Miss Bremer lives?”
“I believe,” said I, “that she lives in Columbia House!”
“Hum!—should be glad to see her!”
A silence. I am silent and look in my book. My neighbour begins again.
“I sent her the other day a packet,—some verses, with the signature, ‘The American Harp,’ and a volume,—and I have not heard a word from her.”
“Ah,” said I, now pushed very closely, “you are
