I think, if ever I am called to give a toast, it shall be "Sail-ships;
may their shadows never be less!" They are, indeed, a part of the
romance of ocean.
The moon was full, in the balmy summer night that succeeded the tempest,
and the ship's quarter-deck was crowded with the passengers of the
Kosciusko, enjoying to the utmost, as it seemed, the delicious,
newly-washed atmosphere, the moonlit heavens and sea, the
exquisitely-caressing softness of the tardily-awakened breezes that
filled the white sails of the vessel, and fluttered the silken scarf of
the maiden, with the same wooing breath of persuasive, subtle strength.
Around Miss Lamarque, the lady of whom Major Favraud had spoken so
admiringly, and to whose kindness he had committed me, a group had
gathered, chiefly of the young, not to be surpassed in any land for
manly bearing, graceful feminine beauty, gayety, wit, and refinement.
There was Helen Oscanyan, fair as a dream of Greece, in her serene,
marble perfectness of form and feature; and the lovely Mollie Cairns,
her cousin, small, dark, and sparkling--both under the care of that
stately gentleman, their uncle, Julius Severe, of Savannah; and there
were the sisters Percy, twins in age and appearance, with voices like
brook-ripples, and eyes like wood-violets, and feet of Chinese
minuteness and French perfection--the darlings and only joys of a mother
still beautiful, though sad in her widowhood, and gentle as the dove
that mourns its mate.
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