To feel the wind sea-scented on my cheek, To catch the sound of dusky flapping sail, And dip of oars, and voices on the gale, Afar off, calling softly, low and sweet. O Earth, thy summer-song of joy may soar Ringing to heaven in triumph! I but crave The sad, caressing murmur of the wave That breaks in tender music on the shore. TWO OR THREE TROUBLES. If there are only two or three, I am pretty sure of a sympathetic hearing. If there were two-and-twenty, I should be much more doubtful: for only last night, on being introduced to a tall lady in deep mourning, and assured that she had been "a terrible sufferer," that her life, indeed, had been "one long tragedy," I may as well confess, that, so far from being interested in this tall long tragedy, merely as such, I stepped a little aside on the instant, on some frivolous pretence, and took an early opportunity to get out of the way. Why this was I leave to persons who understand the wrong side of human nature. I am ashamed of it; but there it is,--neither worse nor better. And I can't expect others to be more compassionate than I am myself. One of my troubles grew out of a pleasure, but was not less a trouble for the time. The other was not an excrescence, but ingrained with the material: not necessarily, indeed,--far from it; but, from the nature of the case, hopelessly so. The penny-postman had brought me a letter from my Aunt Allen, from Albany. This letter contained, in three lines, a desire that her dear niece would buy something with the inclosed, and accept it as a wedding-gift, with the tenderest wishes for her life-long happiness, from the undersigned. "The inclosed" fell on the floor, and Laura picked it up. "Fifty dollars!--hum!--Metropolitan Bank." "Oh, now, that is charming! Good old soul she is!" "Yes. Very well. I'm glad she sent it in money." "So am I. 'T isn't a butter-knife, anyhow." "How do you mean?" inquired Laura. "Why, Mr. Lang was telling last night about his clerk. He said he bought a pair of butter-knives for his clerk Hillman, hearing that he was to be married, and got them marked. A good substantial present he thought it was,--cost only seven dollars for a good article, and couldn't fail to be useful to Hillman. He took them himself, so as to be doubly gracious, and met his clerk at the store-door. "'Good morning!--good morning! Wish you joy, Hillman! I've got a pair of butter-knives for your wife.--Hey? got any?' "'Eleven, Sir.' "Eleven butter-knives! and all marked _Marcia Ann Hillman, from A.B., from C.D._, and so on!" Laura laughed, and said she hoped my friends would all be as considerate as Aunt Allen, or else consult her. Suppose eleven tea-pots, for instance, or eleven silver salvers, all in a row! Ridiculous! "Now, Del, I will tell you what it is," said Laura, gravely.