The first was as generous and brave as any man I ever knew.
He was very passionate, too, but the whirlwind soon blew over, and
left everything quiet again. Frank Brown was slim, graceful, and
handsome. He profess'd to be fond of sentiment, and used to fall
regularly in love once a month.
The half of every Wednesday we four youths had to ourselves, and were
in the habit of taking a sail, a ride, or a walk together. One of
these afternoons, of a pleasant day in April, the sun shining, and the
air clear, I bethought myself of the widow and her beer--about which
latter article I had made inquiries, and heard it spoken of in terms
of high commendation. I mention'd the matter to Matthew and to my
fellow-students, and we agreed to fill up our holiday by a jaunt to
the ale-house. Accordingly, we set forth, and, after a fine walk,
arrived in glorious spirits at our destination.
Ah! how shall I describe the quiet beauties of the spot, with its
long, low piazza looking out upon the river, and its clean homely
tables, and the tankards of real silver in which the ale was given us,
and the flavor of that excellent liquor itself. There was the widow;
and there was a sober, stately old woman, half companion, half
servant, Margery by name; and there was (good God! my fingers quiver
yet as I write the word!) young Ninon, the daughter of the widow.
O, through the years that live no more, my memory strays back, and
that whole scene comes up before me once again-and the brightest part
of the picture is the strange ethereal beauty of that young girl!
She was apparently about the age of my brother Matthew, and the most
fascinating, artless creature I had ever beheld.
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