But now! It is
really laughable to think of the appointments of the table at which
the Ambassador to Lisbon and the American Consul sat down last
Saturday, when they honored me with their presence. And we did laugh,
for it was of no consequence,--and the great bow window of our parlor
looked out upon the sea. We did not come here to see French china and
pure silver forks and spoons, but to walk on the beach, bathe in the
ocean, and drive to magnificent old castles,--and get rid of
whooping-cough. I had the enterprise to take all the children and
Mary, and come without Mr. Hawthorne; for he was in a great hurry to
get me off, fearing the good weather would not last. He followed on
Saturday with Mr. O'Sullivan, who arrived from Lisbon just an hour
before they both started for Rhyl. . . . Julian's worship of nature
and natural objects meets with satisfaction here. . . .
The following was also written from Rhyl:--
"While the carriage stopped I heard the rapturous warble of the
skylark, and finally discovered him, mounting higher still and higher,
pressing upwards, and pouring out such rich, delicious music that I
wanted to close my eyes and shut out the world, and listen to nothing
but that. Not even Shelley's or Wordsworth's words can convey an
adequate idea of this song. It seems as if its little throat were the
outlet of all the joy that had been experienced on the earth since
creation; and that with all its power it were besieging heaven with
gratitude and love for the infinite bliss of life.
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