Under an engraving of a
wild duck (after Bewick, I believe) were quoted W.C. Bryant's lines "To
a Water-fowl." They charmed me then and charm me now as nothing else has
quite charmed me; I become a child again as I think of them, with a
child's virgin subtlety of perception and magical susceptibility to
vague suggestions of the Infinite.
Poor little Mimsey Seraskier would listen with distended eyes and quick
comprehension. She had a strange fancy that a pair of invisible beings,
"La fee Tarapatapoum," and "Le Prince Charmant" (two favorite characters
of M. le Major's) were always in attendance upon us--upon her and
me--and were equally fond of us both; that is, "La fee Tarapatapoum" of
me, and "Le Prince Charmant" of her--and watched over us and would
protect us through life.
"O! ils sont joliment bien ensemble, tous les deux--ils sont
inseparables!" she would often exclaim, _apropos_ of these visionary
beings; and _apropos_ of the water-fowl she would say--
"Il aime beaucoup cet oiseau-la, le Prince Charmant! dis encore, quand
il vole si haut, et qu'il fait froid, et qu'il est fatigue, et que la
nuit vient, mais qu'il ne veut pas descendre!"
And I would re-spout--
_"'All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night be near!'"_
And poor, morbid, precocious, overwrought Mimsey's eyes would fill, and
she would meditatively suck her thumb and think unutterable things.
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