"Have you, indeed? Now you can write that I have bounced in. There's a nice cold chicken downstairs," etc., etc. _August 14th._--This afternoon I sent for a light wagon, and treated Miss Blunt to a drive. We went successively over the three beaches. What a time we had, coming home! I shall never forget that hard trot over Weston's Beach. The tide was very low; and we had the whole glittering, weltering strand to ourselves. There was a heavy blow yesterday, which had not yet subsided; and the waves had been lashed into a magnificent fury. Trot, trot, trot, trot, we trundled over the hard sand. The sound of the horse's hoofs rang out sharp against the monotone of the thunderous surf, as we drew nearer and nearer to the long line of the cliffs. At our left, almost from the lofty zenith of the pale evening sky to the high western horizon of the tumultuous dark-green sea, was suspended, so to speak, one of those gorgeous vertical sunsets that Turner loved so well. It was a splendid confusion of purple and green and gold,--the clouds flying and flowing in the wind like the folds of a mighty banner borne by some triumphal fleet whose prows were not visible above the long chain of mountainous waves. As we reached the point where the cliffs plunge down upon the beach, I pulled up, and we remained for some moments looking out along the low, brown, obstinate barrier at whose feet the impetuous waters were rolling themselves into powder. _August 17th._--This evening, as I lighted my bedroom candle, I saw that the Captain had something to say to me. So I waited below until the old man and his daughter had performed their usual picturesque embrace, and the latter had given me that hand-shake and that smile which I never failed to exact. "Johnson has got his discharge," said the old man, when he had heard his daughter's door close upstairs. "What do you mean?" He pointed with his thumb to the room above, where we heard, through the thin partition, the movement of Miss Blunt's light step. "You mean that he has proposed to Miss Esther?" The Captain nodded. "And has been refused?" "Flat." "Poor fellow!" said I, very honestly. "Did he tell you himself?" "Yes, with tears in his eyes. He wanted me to speak for him. I told him it was no use. Then he began to say hard things of my poor girl." "What kind of things?" "A pack of falsehoods. He says she has no heart. She has promised always to regard him as a friend: it's more than I will, hang him!" "Poor fellow!" said I; and now, as I write, I can only repeat, considering what a hope was here broken, Poor fellow! _August 23d._--I have been lounging about all day, thinking of it, dreaming of it, spooning over it, as they say. This is a decided waste of time. I think, accordingly, the best thing for me to do is, to sit down and lay the ghost by writing out my story.