The freed horse was not far
off, quietly cropping the grass. The man was busy at the wagon, the
boy had gather'd some dry wood, and was making a fire--and as we went
a little further we met the woman afoot. I could not see her face, in
its great sun-bonnet, but somehow her figure and gait told misery,
terror, destitution. She had the rag-bundled, half-starv'd infant
still in her arms, and in her hands held two or three baskets, which
she had evidently taken to the next house for sale. A little barefoot
five-year old girl-child, with fine eyes, trotted behind her,
clutching her gown. We stopp'd, asking about the baskets, which we
bought. As we paid the money, she kept her face hidden in the recesses
of her bonnet. Then as we started, and stopp'd again, Al., (whose
sympathies were evidently arous'd,) went back to the camping group to
get another basket. He caught a look of her face, and talk'd with her
a little. Eyes, voice and manner were those of a corpse, animated by
electricity. She was quite young--the man she was traveling with,
middle-aged. Poor woman--what story was it, out of her fortunes, to
account for that inexpressibly scared way, those glassy eyes, and that
hollow voice?
MANHATTAN FROM THE BAY
_June 25_.--Returned to New York last night. Out to-day on the waters
for a sail in the wide bay, southeast of Staten island--a rough,
tossing ride, and a free sight--the long stretch of Sandy Hook, the
highlands of Navesink, and the many vessels outward and inward bound.
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