The morning was exceedingly lovely. It was one of that very still and
peaceful sort which made the few noises that we heard seem to be
_quiet_ noises. I know no other way of expressing this idea.
Noises which, so far from interrupting the universal tranquillity of
earth, sea, and sky, rather tended to reveal to us how quiet the world
round us really was. Such sounds as I refer to were, the peculiar
melancholy--yet, it seemed to me, cheerful--plaint of sea-birds
floating on the glassy waters or sailing in the sky, also the subdued
twittering of little birds among the bushes, the faint ripples on the
beach, and the solemn boom of the surf upon the distant coral reef. We
felt very glad in our hearts as we walked along the sands side by side.
For my part, I felt so deeply overjoyed that I was surprised at my own
sensations, and fell into a reverie upon the causes of happiness. I
came to the conclusion that a state of profound peace and repose, both
in regard to outward objects and within the soul, is the happiest
condition in which man can be placed; for although I had many a time
been most joyful and happy when engaged in bustling, energetic, active
pursuits or amusements, I never found that such joy or satisfaction was
so deep or so pleasant to reflect upon as that which I now experienced.
And I was the more confirmed in this opinion when I observed, and
indeed was told by himself, that Peterkin's happiness was also very
great; yet he did not express this by dancing as was his wont, nor did
he give so much as a single shout, but walked quietly between us with
his eye sparkling, and a joyful smile upon his countenance.
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