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GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. Vol. XXX. June, 1847. No. 6.
Boots; Or the Misfortunes of Peter Faber A Chapter on Eating. Part I The Loyalist’s Daughter The Strawberry-Woman The Islets of the Gulf; Or Rose Budd Spectral and Supernatural Appearances The Musician. A Tale Founded upon Fact Review of New Books
The Idiot Boy Youthful Love Sonnet from Petrarch, on the Death of Laura Morning Invitation A Prayer Lines on Visiting Broad Street Hotel The Soul’s Search To Lizzie To Ianthé Picture of Tasso Le Follet
Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook.
[Illustration: Drawn by J. Smillie from a sketch by T. Addison Richards. Engraved by Rawdon, Wright, Hatch & Smillie. FALLS OF TOCCOA. Graham’s Magazine 1844.]
[Illustration: Painted by J. W. Wright. Engraved by A. L. Dick. THE HOME BIRD.]
Vol. XXX. PHILADELPHIA, June, 1847. No. 6.
It was a lovely autumnal morning. The air was fresh, with just enough of frost about it to give ruddiness to the cheek and brilliancy to the eye. The rays of the sun streamed brightly up the street; knockers, door-plates and bell-handles, beamed with more than usual lustre; while they who had achieved their breakfasts and had no fear of duns, went, according to the bias of their musical fancy, either whistling or singing through the town, as if they had finally dissolved partnership with care, and had nothing else to do for the remainder of their natural lives but to be as merry as grigs and as frolicsome as kittens. Every one, even to the heavy-footed, displayed elasticity of step and buoyancy of motion. There were some who seemed to have a disposition to dance from place to place, and evidently found it difficult to refrain from a pirouette around the corner or a pigeon-wing across the way, in evidence of the light-heartedness that prevailed within. The atmosphere had a silent music in it, more delicious than orchestral strains, and none could resist its charm, who were not insensible in mind and body to the innocent delight which is thus afforded to the healthful spirit. There are mornings in this variable climate of ours, more exhilirating than the wines of the banquet. There are days which seem to be a fête opened to all the world. The festive hall with its blaze of chandeliers and its feverish jollity has no pleasure in its joys to equal Nature’s holyday, which demands no hollow cheek or haggard eye in recompense. Enjoyment here has no remorse.