near Phillips's Beach. A beautiful, warm, sunny afternoon, the very
pleasantest day, probably, that there has been in the whole course of the
year. People at work, harvesting, without their coats. Cocks, with
their squad of hens, in the grass-fields, hunting grasshoppers, chasing
them eagerly with outspread wings, appearing to take much interest in the
sport, apart from the profit. Other hens picking up the ears of Indian
corn. Grasshoppers, flies, and flying insects of all sorts are more
abundant in these warm autumnal days than I have seen them at any other
time. Yellow butterflies flutter about in the sunshine, singly, by
pairs, or more, and are wafted on the gentle gales. The crickets begin
to sing early in the afternoon, and sometimes a locust may be heard. In
some warm spots, a pleasant buzz of many insects.
Crossed the fields near Brookhouse's villa, and came upon a long beach,--
at least a mile long, I should think,--terminated by craggy rocks at
either end, and backed by a high broken bank, the grassy summit of which,
year by year, is continually breaking away, and precipitated to the
bottom. At the foot of the bank, in some parts, is a vast number of
pebbles and paving-stones, rolled up thither by the sea long ago. The
beach is of a brown sand, with hardly any pebbles intermixed upon it.
When the tide is part way down, there is a margin of several yards from
the water's edge, along the whole mile length of the beach, which
glistens like a mirror, and reflects objects, and shines bright in the
sunshine, the sand being wet to that distance from the water. Above this
margin the sand is not wet, and grows less and less damp the farther
towards the bank you keep. In some places your footstep is perfectly
implanted, showing the whole shape, and the square toe, and every nail in
the heel of your boot. Elsewhere, the impression is imperfect, and even
when you stamp, you cannot imprint the whole. As you tread, a dry spot
flashes around your step, and grows moist as you lift your foot again.
Pleasant to pass along this extensive walk, watching the surf-wave;--how
sometimes it seems to make a feint of breaking, but dies away
ineffectually, merely kissing the strand; then, after many such abortive
efforts, it gathers itself, and forms a high wall, and rolls onward,
heightening and heightening without foam at the summit of the green line,
and at last throws itself fiercely on the beach, with a loud roar, the
spray flying above. As you walk along, you are preceded by a flock of
twenty or thirty beach birds, which are seeking, I suppose, for food on
the margin of the surf, yet seem to be merely sporting, chasing the sea
as it retires, and running up before the impending wave. Sometimes they
let it bear them off their feet, and float lightly on its breaking
summit; sometimes they flutter and seem to rest on the feathery spray.
They are little birds with gray backs and snow-white breasts; their
images may be seen in the wet sand almost or quite as distinctly as the
reality. Their legs are long. As you draw near, they take a flight of a
score of yards or more, and then recommence their dalliance with the
surf-wave. You may behold their multitudinous little tracks all along
your way. Before you reach the end of the beach, you become quite
attached to these little sea-birds, and take much interest in their
occupations. After passing in one direction, it is pleasant then to
retrace your footsteps. Your tracks being all traceable, you may recall
the whole mood and occupation of your mind during your first passage.
Here you turned somewhat aside to pick up a shell that you saw nearer the
water's edge. Here you examined a long sea-weed, and trailed its length
after you for a considerable distance. Here the effect of the wide sea
struck you suddenly. Here you fronted the ocean, looking at a sail,
distant in the sunny blue. Here you looked at some plant on the bank.
Here some vagary of mind seems to have bewildered you; for your tracks go
round and round, and interchange each other without visible reason. Here
you picked up pebbles and skipped them upon the water. Here you wrote
names and drew faces with a razor sea-shell in the sand.
After leaving the beach, clambered over crags, all shattered and tossed
about everyhow; in some parts curiously worn and hollowed out, almost
into caverns. The rock, shagged with sea-weed,--in some places, a thick
carpet of sea-weed laid over the pebbles, into which your foot would
sink. Deep tanks among these rocks, which the sea replenishes at high
tide, and then leaves the bottom all covered with various sorts of
sea-plants, as if it were some sea-monster's private garden. I saw a
crab in one of them; five-fingers too. From the edge of the rocks, you
may look off into deep, deep water, even at low tide. Among the rocks, I
found a great bird, whether a wild-goose, a loon, or an albatross, I
scarcely know. It was in such a position that I almost fancied it might
be asleep, and therefore drew near softly, lest it should take flight;
but it was dead, and stirred not when I touched it. Sometimes a dead
fish was cast up. A ledge of rocks, with a beacon upon it, looking like
a monument erected to those who have perished by shipwreck. The smoked,
extempore fireplace, where a party cooked their fish. About midway on
the beach, a fresh-water brooklet flows towards the sea. Where it leaves
the land, it is quite a rippling little current; but, in flowing across
the sand, it grows shallower and more shallow, and at last is quite lost,
and dies in the effort to carry its little tribute to the main.
An article to be made of telling the stories of the tiles of an
old-fashioned chimney-piece to a child.
A person conscious that he was soon to die, the humor in which he would
pay his last visit to familiar persons and things.
A description of the various classes of hotels and taverns, and the
prominent personages in each. There should be some story connected with
it,--as of a person commencing with boarding at a great hotel, and
gradually, as his means grew less, descending in life, till he got below
ground into a cellar.
A person to be in the possession of something as perfect as mortal man
has a right to demand; he tries to make it better, and ruins it entirely.
A person to spend all his life and splendid talents in trying to achieve
something naturally impossible,--as to make a conquest over Nature.
Meditations about the main gas-pipe of a great city,--if the supply were
to be stopped, what would happen? How many different scenes it sheds
light on? It might be made emblematical of something.
December 6th.--A fairy tale about chasing Echo to her hiding-place. Echo
is the voice of a reflection in a mirror.
A house to be built over a natural spring of inflammable gas, and to be
constantly illuminated therewith. What moral could be drawn from this?
It is carburetted hydrogen gas, and is cooled from a soft shale or slate,
which is sometimes bituminous, and contains more or less carbonate of
lime. It appears in the vicinity of Lockport and Niagara Falls, and
elsewhere in New York. I believe it indicates coal. At Fredonia, the
whole village is lighted by it. Elsewhere, a farm-house was lighted by
it, and no other fuel used in the coldest weather.
Gnomes, or other mischievous little fiends, to be represented as
burrowing in the hollow teeth of some person who has subjected himself to
their power. It should be a child's story. This should be one of many
modes of petty torment. They should be contrasted with beneficent
fairies, who minister to the pleasures of the good.
A man will undergo great toil and hardship for ends that must be many
years distant,--as wealth or fame,--but none for an end that may be close
at hand,--as the joys of heaven.
Insincerity in a man's own heart must make all his enjoyments, all that
concerns him, unreal; so that his whole life must seem like a merely
dramatic representation. And this would be the case, even though he were
surrounded by true-hearted relatives and friends.
A company of men, none of whom have anything worth hoping for on earth,
yet who do not look forward to anything beyond earth!
Sorrow to be personified, and its effect on a family represented by the
way in which the members of the family regard this dark-clad and
sad-browed inmate.
A story to show how we are all wronged and wrongers, and avenge one
another.
To personify winds of various characters.
A man living a wicked life, in one place, and simultaneously a virtuous
and religious one in another.
An ornament to be worn about the person of a lady,--as a jewelled heart.
After many years, it happens to be broken or unscrewed, and a poisonous
odor comes out.
Lieutenant F. W------ of the navy was an inveterate duellist and an
unerring shot. He had taken offence at Lieutenant F------, and
endeavored to draw him into a duel, following him to the Mediterranean
for that purpose, and harassing him intolerably. At last, both parties
being in Massachusetts, F------ determined to fight, and applied to
Lieutenant A------ to be his second. A------ examined into the merits of
the quarrel, and came to the conclusion that F------ had not given F.
W------ justifiable cause for driving him to a duel, and that he ought
not to be shot. He instructed F------ in the use of the pistol, and,
before the meeting, warned him, by all means, to get the first fire; for
that, if F. W------ fired first, he, F------, was infallibly a dead man,
as his antagonist could shoot to a hair's-breadth. The parties met; and
F------, firing immediately on the word's being given, shot F. W------
through the heart. F. W------, with a most savage expression of
countenance, fired, after the bullet had gone through his heart, and when
the blood had entirely left his face, and shot away one of F------'s
side-locks. His face probably looked as if he were already in the
infernal regions; but afterwards it assumed an angelic calmness and
repose.
A company of persons to drink a certain medicinal preparation, which
would prove a poison, or the contrary, according to their different
characters.
Many persons, without a consciousness of so doing, to contribute to some
one end; as to a beggar's feast, made up of broken victuals from many
tables; or a patch carpet, woven of shreds from innumerable garments.
Some very famous jewel or other thing, much talked of all over the world.
some person to meet with it, and get possession of it in some unexpected
manner, amid homely circumstances.
To poison a person or a party of persons with the sacramental wine.
A cloud in the shape of an old woman kneeling, with arms extended towards
the moon.
On being transported to strange scenes, we feel as if all were unreal.
This is but the perception of the true unreality of earthly things, made
evident by the want of congruity between ourselves and them. By and by
we become mutually adapted, and the perception is lost.
An old looking-glass. Somebody finds out the secret of making all the
images that have been reflected in it pass back again across its surface.
Our Indian races having reared no monuments, like the Greeks, Romans, and
Egyptians, when they have disappeared from the earth their history will
appear a fable, and they misty phantoms.
A woman to sympathize with all emotions, but to have none of her own.
A portrait of a person in New England to be recognized as of the same
person represented by a portrait in Old England. Having distinguished
himself there, he had suddenly vanished, and had never been heard of till
he was thus discovered to be identical with a distinguished man in New
England.
Men of cold passions have quick eyes.
A virtuous but giddy girl to attempt to play a trick on a man. He sees
what she is about, and contrives matters so that she throws herself
completely into his power, and is ruined,--all in jest.
A letter, written a century or more ago, but which has never yet been
unsealed.
A partially insane man to believe himself the Provincial Governor or
other great official of Massachusetts. The scene might be the Province
House.
A dreadful secret to be communicated to several people of various
characters,--grave or gay,--and they all to become insane, according to
their characters, by the influence of the secret.
Stories to be told of a certain person's appearance in public, of his
having been seen in various situations, and of his making visits in
private circles; but finally, on looking for this person, to come upon
his old grave and mossy tombstone.
The influence of a peculiar mind, in close communion with another, to
drive the latter to insanity.
To look at a beautiful girl, and picture all the lovers, in different
situations, whose hearts are centred upon her.
May 11th, 1838.--At Boston last week. Items:--A young man, with a small
mustache, dyed brown, reddish from its original light color. He walks
with an affected gait, his arms crooked outwards, treading much on his
toes. His conversation is about the theatre, where he has a season
ticket,--about an amateur who lately appeared there, and about actresses,
with other theatrical scandal.--In the smoking-room, two checker and
backgammon boards; the landlord a great player, seemingly a stupid man,
but with considerable shrewdness and knowledge of the world.--F------,
the comedian, a stout, heavy-looking Englishman, of grave deportment,
with no signs of wit or humor, yet aiming at both in conversation, in
order to support his character. Very steady and regular in his life, and
parsimonious in his disposition,--worth $ 50,000, made by his
profession.--A clergyman, elderly, with a white neckcloth, very
unbecoming, an unworldly manner, unacquaintance with the customs of the
house, and learning them in a childlike way. A ruffle to his shirt,
crimped.--A gentleman, young, handsome, and sea-flushed, belonging to
Oswego, New York, but just arrived in port from the Mediterranean: he
inquires of me about the troubles in Canada, which were first beginning
to make a noise when he left the country,--whether they are all over. I
tell him all is finished, except the hanging of the prisoners. Then we
talk over the matter, and I tell him the fates of the principal men,--
some banished to New South Wales, one hanged, others in prison, others,
conspicuous at first, now almost forgotten.--Apartments of private
families in the hotel,--what sort of domesticity there may be in them;
eating in public, with no board of their own. The gas that lights the
rest of the house lights them also, in the chandelier from the ceiling.--
A shabby-looking man, quiet, with spectacles, at first wearing an old,
coarse brown frock, then appearing in a suit of elderly black, saying
nothing unless spoken to, but talking intelligently when addressed. He
is an editor, and I suppose printer, of a country paper. Among the
guests, he holds intercourse with gentlemen of much more respectable
appearance than himself, from the same part of the country.--Bill of
fare; wines printed on the back, but nobody calls for a bottle. Chairs
turned down for expected guests. Three-pronged steel forks. Cold
supper from nine to eleven P. M. Great, round, mahogany table, in the
sitting-room, covered with papers. In the morning, before and soon after
breakfast, gentlemen reading the morning papers, while others wait for
their chance, or try to pick out something from the papers of yesterday
or longer ago. In the forenoon, the Southern papers are brought in, and
thrown damp and folded on the table. The eagerness with which those who
happen to be in the room start up and make prize of them. Play-bills,
printed on yellow paper, laid upon the table. Towards evening comes the
Transcript.
June 15th.--The red light which the sunset at this season diffuse; there
being showery afternoons, but the sun setting bright amid clouds, and
diffusing its radiance over those that are scattered in masses all over
the sky. It gives a rich tinge to all objects, even to those of sombre
lines, yet without changing the lines. The complexions of people are
exceedingly enriched by it; they look warm, and kindled with a mild fire.
The whole scenery and personages acquire, methinks, a passionate
character. A love-scene should be laid on such an evening. The trees
and the grass have now the brightest possible green, there having been so
many showers alternating with such powerful sunshine. There are roses
and tulips and honeysuckles, with their sweet perfume; in short, the
splendor of a more gorgeous climate than ours might be brought into the
picture.
The situation of a man in the midst of a crowd, yet as completely in the
power of another, life and all, as if they two were in the deepest
solitude.
Tremont, Boston, June 16th.--Tremendously hot weather to-day. Went on
board the Cyane to see Bridge, the purser. Took boat from the end of
Long Wharf; with two boatmen who had just landed a man. Row round to the
starboard side of the sloop, where we pass up the steps, and are received
by Bridge, who introduces us to one of the lieutenants,--Hazard. Sailors
and midshipmen scattered about,--the middies having a foul anchor, that
is, an anchor with a cable twisted round it, embroidered on the collars
of their jackets. The officers generally wear blue jackets with lace on
the shoulders, white pantaloons, and cloth caps. Introduced into the
cabin,--a handsome room, finished with mahogany, comprehending the width
of the vessel; a sideboard with liquors, and above it a looking-glass;
behind the cabin, an inner room, in which is seated a lady, waiting for
the captain to come on board; on each side of this inner cabin, a large
and convenient state-room with bed,--the doors opening into the cabin.
This cabin is on a level with the quarter-deck, and is covered by the
poop-deck. Going down below stairs, you come to the ward-room, a pretty
large room, round which are the state-rooms of the lieutenants, the
purser, surgeon, etc. A stationary table. The ship's main-mast comes
down through the middle of the room, and Bridge's chair, at dinner, is
planted against it. Wine and brandy produced; and Bridge calls to the
Doctor to drink with him, who answers affirmatively from his state-room,
and shortly after opens the door and makes his appearance. Other
officers emerge from the side of the vessel, or disappear into it, in the
same way. Forward of the ward-room, adjoining it, and on the same level,
is the midshipmen's room, on the larboard side of the vessel, not
partitioned off, so as to be shut up. On a shelf a few books; one
midshipman politely invites us to walk in; another sits writing. Going
farther forward, on the same level we come to the crew's department, part
of which is occupied by the cooking-establishment, where all sorts of
cooking is going on for the officers and men.
Through the whole of this space, ward-room and all, there is barely room
to stand upright, without the hat on. The rules of the quarter-deck
(which extends aft from the main-mast) are, that the midshipmen shall not
presume to walk on the starboard side of it, nor the men to come upon it
at all, unless to speak to an officer. The poop-deck is still more
sacred,--the lieutenants being confined to the larboard side, and the
captain alone having a right to the starboard. A marine was pacing the
poop-deck, being the only guard that I saw stationed in the vessel,--the
more stringent regulations being relaxed while she is preparing for sea.
While standing on the quarter-deck, a great piping at the gangway, and
the second cutter comes alongside, bringing the consul and some other
gentleman to visit the vessel. After a while, we are rowed ashore with
them, in the same boat. Its crew are new hands, and therefore require
much instruction from the cockswain. We are seated under an awning. The
guns of the Cyane are medium thirty-two pounders; some of them have
percussion locks.
At the Tremont, I had Bridge to dine with me: iced champagne, claret
in glass pitchers. Nothing very remarkable among the guests. A
wine-merchant, French apparently, though he had arrived the day before
in a bark from Copenhagen: a somewhat corpulent gentleman, without so
good manners as an American would have in the same line of life, but
good-natured, sociable, and civil, complaining of the heat. He had rings
on his fingers of great weight of metal, and one of them had a seal for
letters; brooches at the bosom, three in a row, up and down; also a gold
watch-guard, with a seal appended. Talks of the comparative price of
living, of clothes, etc., here and in Europe. Tells of the prices of
wines by the cask and pipe. Champagne, he says, is drunk of better
quality here than where it grows.--A vendor of patent medicines, Doctor
Jaques, makes acquaintance with me, and shows me his recommendatory
letters in favor of himself and drugs, signed by a long list of people.
He prefers, he says, booksellers to druggists as his agents, and inquired
of me about them in this town. He seems to be an honest man enough, with
an intelligent face, and sensible in his talk, but not a gentleman,
wearing a somewhat shabby brown coat and mixed pantaloons, being
ill-shaven, and apparently not well acquainted with the customs of a
fashionable hotel. A simplicity about him that is likable, though, I
believe, he comes from Philadelphia.--Naval officers, strolling about
town, bargaining for swords and belts, and other military articles; with
the tailor, to have naval buttons put on their shore-going coats, and for
their pantaloons, suited to the climate of the Mediterranean. It is the
almost invariable habit of officers, when going ashore or staying on
shore, to divest themselves of all military or naval insignia, and appear
as private citizens. At the Tremont, young gentlemen with long
earlocks,--straw hats, light, or dark-mixed.--The theatre being closed,
the play-bills of many nights ago are posted up against its walls.