The little clover-flower had raised its head. It had become human.
I here saw once more Hiram Powers' American, but not merely in marble, in living reality.
My other agreeable acquaintance on board, are a gentleman between forty and fifty, with one of those pure, handsome countenances, which one cannot do otherwise than put one's entire trust in, and which reminds me of that of our king, Gustavus Adolphus II., from its frankness and manliness, although it has less of the warlike in expression. My new friend is somewhat phlegmatic and contemplative. His conversation gives me especial pleasure. Do not be afraid if I tell you that he has lived long in the Southern States, as a planter and a slave-owner; you may see immediately by his beautiful deep blue eyes, that he was the best of masters in the world. Are you afraid that I am in love with him, and in spirit do you see me give him my hand, and settle down on a cotton plantation on the Mississippi, in the midst of negro slaves?
Yes, if I were younger, and if my life's purpose were less decided than it now is, I confess that there is here and there one of these American gentlemen, with their energy, their cordiality, and chivalric spirit, who might be dangerous to my heart. But as it now is, I receive every sentiment of cordial liking which is evinced toward me, by man or by woman, with calm gratitude, as a cream on the good food of life, as the sunbeam and the spring-breeze, which makes the day beautiful. I seek not for them, but when they come, I enjoy them as flowers given by the hand of the all-good Father.
But now as particularly regards this agreeable gentleman, he is already married, and is travelling with his family to Cuba where, on account of the health of his wife, they will spend the winter, and after that proceed to Europe. His wife is an invalid, but has the same character
