I sat musing over the strange harmony of Nature with the temperament of man, every phase of his passionate existence seeming to have its type in things inanimate, when a loud cheer from the land aroused me, and the words, “Charley! Cousin Charley!” came wafted over the water to where I lay. For some time I could but distinguish the faint outline of some figures on the shore; but as I came nearer, I recognized my fair cousin Baby, who, with a younger brother of some eight or nine years old, was taking an evening walk. “Do you know, Charley,” said she, “the boys have gone over to the castle to look for you; we want you particularly this evening.” “Indeed, Cousin Baby! Well, I fear you must make my excuses.” “Then, once for all, I will not. I know this is one of your sulky moods, and I tell you frankly I’ll not put up with them any more.” “No, no, Baby, not so; out of spirits if you will, but not out of temper.” “The distinction is much too fine for me, if there be any. But there now, do be a good fellow; come up with us--come up with me!” As she said this she placed her arm within mine. I thought, too,--perhaps it was but a thought,--she pressed me gently. I know she blushed and turned away her head to hide it. “I don’t pretend to be proof to your entreaty, Cousin Baby,” said I, with half-affected gallantry, putting her fingers to my lips. “There, how can you be so foolish; look at William yonder; I am sure he must have seen you!” But William, God bless him! was bird’s-nesting or butterfly-hunting or daisy-picking or something of that kind.