For this Elkanah had drunk in from his earliest youth,--this he understood to its very core; but the poor secret of that other life, which is so draped about with the artistic mannerisms and fashionable Art of New York, or any other civilized life, he had never rightly appreciated.
In that sunset-hour was born a _painter_!
It chanced, that, a few months ago, I paid my accustomed summer visit to an old friend, living near Boston,--a retired merchant he calls himself. He began life as a cabin-boy,--became, in time, master of an Indiaman,--then, partner in a China house,--and after many years' residence in Canton, returned some years ago, heart and liver whole, to spend his remaining days among olden scenes. A man of truest culture, generous heart, and rarely erring taste. I never go there without finding something new and admirable.
"What am I to see, this time?" I asked, after dinner, looking about the drawing-room.
He led me up to a painting,--a sea-piece:--A schooner, riding at her anchor, at sunset, far out at sea, no land in sight, sails down, all but a little patch of storm-sail fluttering wildly in the gale, and heavily pitching in a great, grand, rolling sea; around, but not closely enveloping her, a driving fog-bank, lurid in the yellow sheen of the setting sun; above her, a few stars dimly twinkling through a clear blue sky; on the quarter-deck, men sitting, wrapped in all the paraphernalia of storm-clothing, smoking and watching the roll of the sea.
"What do you think?" asked Captain Eastwick, interrupting my rapt contemplation.
"I never in my life saw so fine a seaview. Whose can it be?"
"But he is a genius!" cried I, enthusiastically.
"A great, a splendid genius!" said my friend, quietly.
"What a magnificent career he might make! Why don't you help him? What a pity to bury such a man in fish-boots and cod-livers!"
"My dear----," said Captain Eastwick, "you are a goose. The highest genius lives above the littleness of making a career. This man needs no Academy prizes or praises. To my mind, his is the noblest, happiest life of all."
Whereupon he told me the story which I have endeavored to relate.
I would have killed you, if a breath Freighted with some insensate death, Magdalena,