One evening, while the rest of my party went to visit some
objects which I had before seen, I agreed to await their return
in this square, and sat down under a magnificent catalpa, which
threw its fragrant blossoms in all directions; the other end of
the bench was occupied by a young lady, who was employed in
watching the gambols of a little boy. There was something in her
manner of looking at me, and exchanging a smile when her young
charge performed some extraordinary feat of activity on the
grass, that persuaded me she was not an American. I do not
remember who spoke first, but we were presently in a full flow of
conversation. She spoke English with elegant correctness, but
she was a German, and with an ardour of feeling which gave her a
decidedly foreign air in Philadelphia, she talked to me of her
country, of all she had left, and of all she had found, or rather
of all she had not found, for thus ran her lament:-
"They do not love music. Oh no! and they never amuse
themselves--no; and their hearts are not warm, at least they
seem not so to strangers; and they have no ease, no forgetfulness
of business and of care--no, not for a moment. But I will not
stay long, I think, for I should not live." She told me that
she had a brother settled there as a merchant, and that she had
passed a year with him; but she was hoping soon to return to her
father land.
I never so strongly felt the truth of the remark, that expression
is the soul of beauty, as in looking at, and listening to this
young German.
Pages:
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273