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How I envy the being who, free from the cares of the world, can elevate
his soul by holding sweet communion with nature, at spring time. Earth
has nothing so pure as the thoughts inspired by such sweet communion
with the buds, the blossoms, and the flowers of spring.
It was one of these soft, breezy mornings in early spring, I have said,
that Mattie and Tite sat together in a little clump of woods, where the
branches formed a sort of bower overhead, and overlooking the Tappan
Zee. Every few minutes Tite would get up, advance to a point commanding
a view of the river above, and gaze intently in that direction, as if
expecting some object of interest.
"She is not in sight yet, Mattie," he said, as he returned after one of
these intervals. "But she will be down to-day, I know she will, and then
we must part. Think of me when I am away, and I will think of you. Yes,
Mattie, I am only a sailor now, but I shall see the world, and that's
what I want, because it will make me something better. It will be three
years before we meet again; three long, long years.


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