A PEACEFUL, reclu&longs;e life, is
&longs;uited to my temper—there is &longs;omething in
the &longs;oft breath of Nature—in the delicacy of
&longs;miling meadows and cultivated fields—in
the &longs;ublimity of an aged wood—of broken

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rocks—of rivers pouring along their lucid
waves, to which the heart always gives a
ready reception—there is &longs;omething within
us congenial to the&longs;e &longs;cenes; they impre&longs;s
the mind with ideas &longs;imilar to what we feel
in beholding one whom we tenderly esteem.

I WAS making this ob&longs;ervation to Mrs.
Holmes, and &longs;he told me I was in love—
“The&longs;e are the very &longs;cenes,” &longs;aid &longs;he,
“which your beloved Myra u&longs;ed to prai&longs;e
and admire, and for which you, by a &longs;ecret
&longs;ympathy, entertain the &longs;ame predilection.
The piece of embroidery which &longs;he worked
at an early age, and which ornaments the
Temple, I have &longs;een you gaze upon &longs;everal
times—you &longs;eem to trace perfection in every

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part of it, becau&longs;e it was executed by the
hand of Myra.”

I ACKNOWLEDGE I have often gazed
upon it (as Mrs. Holmes terms it) but did
not recollect it to be a piece of your work.
I &longs;tole an opportunity to revi&longs;it it by my&longs;elf,
and I in&longs;tantly remembered it—I remembered
when you fini&longs;hed it, and all the happy,
inoffen&longs;ive &longs;cenes of our childhood, returned
fre&longs;h upon my heart.

IT is the work of Myra, &longs;aid I to my&longs;elf—
Did not her fingers trace the&longs;e beautiful,
expanding flowers?—Did not &longs;he give to
this carnation its animated glow, and to this
opening ro&longs;e its langui&longs;hing grace? Removed
as I am—continued I in a certain interiour
language that every &longs;on of nature

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possesses—Removed as I am, from the amiable
object of my tendere&longs;t affection, I have nothing
to do but to admire this offspring of industry
and art—It &longs;hall yield more fragrance
to my &longs;oul than all the boquets in the
univer&longs;e.

I DID not care to pur&longs;ue the thought—it
touched a delicate &longs;tring—at fir&longs;t, however,
I flattered my&longs;elf I &longs;hould gain &longs;ome confolation—
but I lo&longs;t in every reflection.

I CONSIDERED the work as coming from
your hand, and was delighted the more with
it. A piece of &longs;teel that has been rubbed
with a load&longs;tone, retains the power of attracting
&longs;mall bodies of iron: So the beauties
of this embroidery, &longs;pringing from your

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hands, continue to draw my attention, and
fill the mind with ideas of the arti&longs;t.

Farewel!