side of her whose
half gracious, half scornful, wholly indolent acceptance of his homage,
he called love, and enervated by an atmosphere he was as yet too
inexperienced to recognize as of the world, worldly, had strolled forth
to cool his fevered brow in the fresh autumn breeze that blew up from
the river. He was a gay-hearted youth in those days, heedless of
everything but the passing moment; nature meant little to him; and when
in the course of his ramble he came upon the form of a child sitting on
the edge of the river, he remembers wondering what she saw in a sweep of
empty water to interest her so deeply. Indeed he was about to inquire
when she turned and he caught a glimpse of her eyes and knew at once
without asking. Yet in those days he was anything but quick to recognize
the presence of feeling. A face was beautiful or plain to him, not
eloquent or expressive. But this child's countenance was exceptional. It
made you forget the cotton frock she wore, it made you forget yourself.
As he gazed on it, he felt the stir of something in his breast he had
never known before, and half dreaded to hear her speak lest the charm
should fail or the influence be lost. Yet how could he pass on and not
speak. Laying his hand on her head, he asked her what she was thinking
of as she sat there all alone looking off on the river; and the wee
thing drew in her breath and surveyed him with all her soul in her great
black eyes before she replied, "I do not know, I never know." Then
looking back she dreamily added, "It makes me want to go away, miles
away,"--and she held out her tiny arms towards the river with a longing
gesture; "and it makes me want to cry."

And he understood or thought he did and for the first time in his life
looked upon the river that had met his gaze from childhood, with eyes
that saw its exceeding beauty. Ah it was an exquisite scene, a rare
scene, mountain melting into mountain and meadow vanishing into meadow,
till the flow of silver waters was lost in a horizon of azure mist. No
wonder that a child without snares to set or nuts to gather, should
pause a moment to gaze upon it, as even he in the days gone by would
sometimes stop on Sabbath eves to snatch a kiss from his mother's lips.

"It is like a fairy land, is it not?" quoth the child looking up into
his face with a wistful glance. "Do you know what it is that makes me
feel so?"

He smiled and sat down by her side. Somehow he felt as if a talk with
t