The Argosy — page 233: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

216 Under Northern Skies. saw us off the premises, like a faithful warden true to his trust ; the groves of trees that bent to the breeze, perhaps whispered of the happy ceremony they had lately witnessed, and cast a grateful shade from the burning glare of the sun, not yet up to its meridian. We left all this behind us and continued our way. We were now making for what is supposed to be the prettiest part of the island—Dyndalen. Presently, a gentle descent towards the sea coast, amidst wooded and luxuriant slopes, and we had reached our morning’s halting-place. A goodly-sized inn, shut out from the high road, surrounded by gardens and orchards, and a wooded valley given up to everything wild and beautiful in forest life. Here we bid farewell to that solitude and repose that had distinguished our morning drive. ‘This spot was evidently the centre of attraction in the island. A long table in the dining-room—nay, in several rooms—covered with cloths that had once been white, but were now occupied with an army of flies, living and dead, testified to the number of visitors staying here or expected to arrive. From some- where or other there came a sound of ninepins—a vulgar discord that had no place in the harmony of this refined little island. Voices. raised in laughter smote the air; girls were singing ; others were playing croquet. We quickly left it all. Left the horses to their repose, Jehu to don a working blouse, and stable and groom his cattle, and take his pleasure: and went down towards the sea, through lovely, laughing slopes and wooded undulations, all gilded and glowing with sunshine, all reposing under the bluest of skies. Oh, the cherry trees that gladdened us, and tantalised us, and delayed us on our way! Such immense trees we had never seen, or such an abundance of fruit ; trees literally groaning with the weight of their delicious burdens. But nearly all the fruit was out of reach. We had to look and long. There was no ladder at hand; no monkeys to pelt us with cherries instead of cocoanuts ; no possibility of climbing. We invented all sorts of manceuvres ; lassoes that were just too short; leaps that just touched fruit-laden branches, only to spring back minus a leaf, plus a disappointment. It was nouse. We met two or three people coming up as we were going down. ‘They had conscious looks and black lips, and evidently had found out a secret way of reaching the forbidden fruit. Why not we? We passed on to the sea and another Jacob’s ladder: a rough, picturesque, beautiful descent into a small, rocky, romantic cove. We jumped from one rock to another until we reached an old man and a boat: the Old Man of the Sea, perhaps. But the tables were turned. He did not take us prisoners—we detained him; not longer than he bargained for, but longer than others bargained for, as we presently discovered. He pushed away from the rocks into the open water. Calm as it was, scarcely a ripple upon its dark blue flashing surface, yet it broke CORNICE LOOKS (C(O)