At a certain window near the centre of the villageappeared a pretty display of gingerbread men and horses，picture-books and ballads， small fish-hooks， pins， needles，sugarplums and brass thimbles—articles on which theyoung fishermen used to expend their money from puregallantry. What a picture was Susan behind the counter！
A slender maiden， though the child of rugged parents，she had the slimmest of all waists， brown hair curling onher neck， and a complexion rather pale except when thesea-breeze flushed it. A few freckles became beauty-spotsbeneath her eyelids. How was it， Susan， that you talkedand acted so carelessly， yet always for the best， doingwhatever was right in your own eyes， and never once doingwrong in mine， nor shocked a taste that had been morbidlysensitive till now？ And whence had you that happiestgift of brightening every topic with an unsought gayety，quiet but irresistible， so that even gloomy spirits felt yoursunshine and did not shrink from it？ Nature wroughtthe charm. She made you a frank， simple， kind-hearted，sensible and mirthful girl. Obeying Nature， you did freethings without indelicacy， displayed a maiden’s thoughts toevery eye， and proved yourself as innocent as naked Eve. Itwas beautiful to observe how her simple and happy naturemingled itself with mine. She kindled a domestic firewithin my heart and took up her dwelling there， even inthat chill and lonesome cavern hung round with glitteringicicles of fancy. She gave me warmth of feeling， while theinfluence of my mind made her contemplative. I taughther to love the moonlight hour， when the expanse of theencircled bay was smooth as a great mirror and slept ina transparent shadow， while beyond Nahant the windrippled the dim ocean into a dreamy brightness whichgrew faint afar off without becoming gloomier. I held herhand and pointed to the long surf-wave as it rolled calmlyon the beach in an unbroken line of silver； we were silenttogether till its deep and peaceful murmur had swept byus. When the Sabbath sun shone down into the recessesof the cliffs， I led the mermaid thither and told her thatthose huge gray， shattered rocks， and her native sea thatraged for ever like a storm against them， and her ownslender beauty in so stern a scene， were all combined into astrain of poetry. But on the Sabbath-eve， when her motherhad gone early to bed and her gentle sister had smiled andleft us， as we sat alone by the quiet hearth with householdthings around， it was her turn to make me feel that herewas a deeper poetry， and that this was the dearest hourof all. Thus went on our wooing， till I had shot wild-fowlenough to feather our bridal-bed， and the daughter of thesea was mine.
I built a cottage for Susan and myself， and made agateway in the form of a Gothic arch by setting up awhale’s jaw-bones. We bought a heifer with her firstcalf， and had a little garden on the hillside to supply uswith potatoes and green sauce for our fish. Our parlor，small and neat， was ornamented with our two profilesin one gilt frame， and with shells and pretty pebbleson the mantelpiece， selected from the sea’s treasury ofsuch things on Nahant Beach. On the desk， beneath thelooking-glass， lay the Bible， which I had begun to readaloud at the book of Genesis， and the singing-book thatSusan used for her evening psalm. Except the almanac，we had no other literature. All that I heard of books waswhen an Indian history or tale of shipwreck was sold by apedler or wandering subscription-man to some one in thevillage， and read through its ownet’s nose to a slumbrousauditory.
Like my brother-fishermen， I grew into the belief thatall human erudition was collected in our pedagogue， whosegreen spectacles and solemn phiz as he passed to his littleschoolhouse amid a waste of sand might have gained hima diploma from any college in New England. In truth， Idreaded him. When our children were old enough to claimhis care， you remember， Susan， how I frowned， though youwere pleased at this learned man’s encomiums on theirproficiency. I feared to trust them even with the alphabet：
it was the key to a fatal treasure. But I loved to lead themby their little hands along the beach and point to nature inthe vast and the minute—the sky， the sea， the green earth，the pebbles and the shells. Then did I discourse of themighty works and coextensive goodness of the Deity withthe simple wisdom of a man whose mind had profited bylonely days upon the deep and his heart by the strong andpure affections of his evening home. Sometimes my voicelost itself in a tremulous depth， for I felt his eye upon meas I spoke. Once， while my wife and all of us were gazingat ourselves in the mirror left by the tide in a hollow ofthe sand， I pointed to the pictured heaven below and badeher observe how religion was strewn everywhere in ourpath， since even a casual pool of water recalled the idea ofthat home whither we were travelling to rest for ever withour children. Suddenly your image， Susan， and all the littlefaces made up of yours and mine， seemed to fade awayand vanish around me， leaving a pale visage like my ownof former days within the frame of a large looking-glass.
Strange illusion！
My life glided on， the past appearing to mingle with thepresent and absorb the future， till the whole lies beforeme at a glance. My manhood has long been waning witha stanch decay； my earlier contemporaries， after lives ofunbroken health， are all at rest without having known theweariness of later age； and now with a wrinkled foreheadand thin white hair as badges of my dignity I have becomethe patriarch—the uncle—of the village. I love that name：
it widens the circle of my sympathies； it joins all theyouthful to my household in the kindred of affection.
