The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 07, No. 41, March, 1861

I was on the point of asking what she thought of Knight's Shakspeare, when the bell rang and Polly brought up Miss Russell's card.

Miss Russell was good and pretty, with a peach-bloom complexion, soft blue eyes, and curling auburn hair. Still those were articles that could not well be appraised, as I thought the first minute after we were seated in the parlor. But she had over her shoulders a cashmere scarf, which Mr. Russell had brought from India himself, which was therefore a genuine article, and which, to crown all, cost him only fifty dollars. It would readily bring thrice that sum in Boston, Miss Russell said. But such chances were always occurring. Then she described how the shawls were all thrown in a mess together in a room, and how the captains of vessels bought them at hap-hazard, without knowing anything about their value or their relative fineness, and how you could often, if you knew about the goods, get great bargains. It was a good way to send out fifty or a hundred dollars by some captain you could trust for taste, or the captain's wife. But it was generally a mere chance. Sometimes there would be bought a great old shawl that had been wound round the naked waist and shoulders of some Indian till it was all soiled and worn. That would have to be cut up into little neck-scarfs. But sometimes, too, you got them quite new. Papa knew about dry goods, luckily, and selected a nice one.

Part of this was repulsive,—but, again, part of it attractive. We don't expect to be the cheated ones ourselves.

The bell rang again, and this time Lieutenant Clarence Herbert entered on tiptoe: not of expectation particularly, but he had a way of tiptoeing which had been the fashion before he went to sea the last time, and which he resumed on his return, without noticing that in the mean time the fashion had gone by, and everybody stood straight and square on his feet. The effect, like all just-gone-by fashions, was to make him look ridiculous; and it required some self-control on our part to do him the justice of remembering that he could be quite brilliant when he pleased, was musical and sentimental. He had a good name, as I sighed in recalling.

We talked on, and on, instinctively keeping near the ground, and hopping from bough to bough of daily facts.

When they were both gone, we rejoiced, and went up-stairs again to our work and our rocking. Laura hummed,—

"'The visit paid, with ecstasy we come,
As from a seven-years' transportation, home,
And there resume the unembarrassed brow,
Recovering what we lost, we know not how,'—

"What is it?—

"'Expression,—and the privilege of thought.'"

"What an idea Louisa Russell always gives one of clothes!" said Laura. "I never remember the least thing she says. I would almost as soon have in the house one of those wire-women they keep in the shops to hang shawls on, for anything she has to say."

"I know it," I answered. "But, to tell the truth, Laura, there was something very interesting about her clothes to me to-day. That scarf! Don't you think, Laura, that an India scarf is always handsome?"

"Always handsome? What! all colors and qualities?"

"Of course not. I mean a handsome one,—like Louisa Russell's."

"Why, yes, Del. A handsome scarf is always handsome,—that is, until it is defaced or worn out. What a literal mood you are in just now!"

"Well, Laura,"—I hesitated, and then added slowly, "don't you think that an India scarf has become almost a matter of necessity? I mean, that everybody has one?"

"In Boston, you mean. I understand the New York traders say they sell ten cashmere shawls to Boston people where they do one to a New-Yorker."

"Mrs. Harris told me, Laura, that she could not do without one. She says she considers them a real necessary of life. She has lost four of those little neck-scarfs, and, she says, she just goes and buys another. Her neck is always cold just there."

"Is it, really?" said Laura, dryly. "I suppose nothing short of cashmere could possibly warm it!"

"Well, it is a pretty thing for a present, any way," said I, rather impatiently; for I had settled on a scarf as unexceptionable in most respects. There was the bargain, to begin with. Then it was always a good thing to hand down to one's heirs. The Gores had a long one that belonged to their grandmamma, and they could draw it through a gold ring. It was good to wear, and good to leave. Indicated blood, too,—and—and–In short, a great deal of nonsense was on the end of my tongue, waiting my leave to slip off, when Laura said,—

"Didn't Lieutenant Herbert say he would bring you Darley's 'Margaret'?"

"Yes,—he is to bring it to-morrow. What a pretty name Clarence Herbert is! Lieutenant Clarence Herbert,—there's a good name for you! How many pretty names there are!"

"You wouldn't be at a loss to name boys," said Laura, laughing,—"like Mr. Stickney, who named his boys One, Two, and Three. Think of going by the name of One Stickney!"

"That isn't so bad as to be named 'The Fifteenth of March.' And that was a real name, given to a girl who was born at sea—I wonder what she was called 'for short.'"

"Sweet fifteen, perhaps."

"That would do. Yes,—Herbert, Robert," said I, musingly, "and Philip, and Arthur, and Algernon, Alfred, Sidney, Howard, Rupert"–

"Oh, don't, Del! You are foolish, now."

"How, Laura?" said I, consciously.

"Why don't you say America?"

"Oh, what a fall!"

"Enough better than your fine Lieutenant, Del, with his taste, and his sentiments, and his fine bows, and 'his infinite deal of nothing.'"

I sighed and said nothing. The name-fancies had gone by in long procession. America had buried them all, and stamped sternly on their graves.

"What made you ask about Darley's 'Margaret,' Laura?"

"Oh,—only I wanted to see it."

"Don't you think," said I, suddenly reviving with a new idea, "that a portfolio of engravings is a handsome thing to have in one's parlor or library? Add to it, you know, from time to time; but begin with 'Margaret,' perhaps, and Retzsch's 'Hamlet' or 'Faust,'—or a collection of fine wood engravings, such as Mrs. Harris has,—and perhaps one of Albert Dürer's ugly things to show off with. What do you think of it, Laura?"

"Do you ever look at Mrs. Harris's nowadays, Del?"

"Why, no,—I can't say I do, now. But I have looked at them when people were there. How she would shrug and shiver when they would put their fingers on her nice engravings, and soil, or bend and break them at the corners! Somebody asked her once, all the time breaking up a fine Bridgewater Madonna she had just given forty dollars for, 'What is this engraving worth, now?' She answered, coldly,—'Five minutes ago I thought it worth forty dollars: now I would take forty cents for it.'"

"Not very polite, I should say," said Laura. "And rather cruel too, on the whole; since the offence was doubtless the result of ignorance only."

"I know. But Mrs. Harris said she was so vexed she could not restrain herself; and besides, she would infinitely prefer that he should be mortally offended, at least to the point of losing his acquaintance, to having her best pictures spoiled. She said he cost too much altogether."

"She should have the corners covered somehow. To be sure, it would be better for people to learn how to treat nice engravings,—but they won't; and every day somebody comes to see you, and talks excellent sense, all the while either rolling up your last 'Art Journal,' or breaking the face of Bryant's portrait in, or some equal mischief. I don't think engravings pay, to keep,—on the whole; do you, Del?" And Laura smiled while she rocked.

"Well, perhaps not. I am sure I shouldn't be amiable enough to have mine thumbed and ruined; and certainly, if they are only to be kept in a portfolio, it seems hardly worth while."

"So I think," said Laura.

This vexatious consideration—for so it had become—of how I should spend my aunt's money, came at length almost to outweigh the pleasure of having it to spend. It was perhaps a little annoyance, at first, but by repetition became of course great. The prick of a pin is nothing; but if it prick three weeks, sleeping and waking, "there is differences, look you!"

"What shall I do with it?" became a serious matter. Suppose I left the regions of art and beauty particularly, and came back and down to what would be suitable on the whole, and agreeable to my aunt, whose taste was evidently beyond what Albany could afford, or she would not have sent me to the Modern Athens to buy the right thing. Nothing that would break; else, Sèvres china would be nice: I might get a small plate, or a dish, for the money. Clothes wear out. Furniture,—you don't want to say, "This chair, or this bureau or looking-glass, is my Aunt Allen's gift." No, indeed! It must be something uncommon, recherché, tasteful, durable, and, if possible, something that will show well and sound well always. If it were only to spend the money, of course I could buy a carpet or fire-set with it. And off went my bewildered head again on a tour of observation.

[To be continued.]

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HARBORS OF THE GREAT LAKES

In a recent article upon "The Great Lakes,"[1 - See Atlantic Monthly for February.] we remarked, that, from the conformation of their shores, natural harbors are of rare occurrence. Consequently, for the protection and convenience of commerce, a system of artificial harbors has been adopted by the Federal Government, and appropriations have been made from time to time by Congress for this purpose; and officers of the United States Engineer Corps have been appointed to carry on the work. It is to some extent a new and peculiar kind of engineering, caused by the peculiar conditions of the case.

Most of the lake-towns are built upon rivers which empty into the lakes, and these rivers are usually obstructed at their mouths by bars of sand and clay. The formation of these bars is due to several causes. The principal one is this:—The shores of the lakes being usually composed of sand, this is carried along by the shore-currents of the lake and deposited at the river-mouths. Another cause of these obstructions may be found in the fact, that the currents of the rivers are constantly bringing down with them an amount of soil, which is deposited at the point where the current meets the still waters of the lake. A third cause, as we are told by Col. Graham, in his Report for 1855, is the following:—