Scribner's magazine . boxat home, and giving himself up to en-joyment of the keen air that tinglesthrough his veins like wine. The truthful chronicler is forced toadmit that the climate of Bar Harborhas two drawbacks — high wind andfog, one usually following the of a clear sky, without a cloud,while the sun grins away derisivelyoverhead, a southwest gale will oftenblow a whole day, filling the villagestreets with stingingdust and the whirlingdisks of vagrant hats,and making the littlefleet of catboats andlaunches in the harborduck and strain at theirmoorings; turning ven-turesome gir
Scribner's magazine . boxat home, and giving himself up to en-joyment of the keen air that tinglesthrough his veins like wine. The truthful chronicler is forced toadmit that the climate of Bar Harborhas two drawbacks — high wind andfog, one usually following the of a clear sky, without a cloud,while the sun grins away derisivelyoverhead, a southwest gale will oftenblow a whole day, filling the villagestreets with stingingdust and the whirlingdisks of vagrant hats,and making the littlefleet of catboats andlaunches in the harborduck and strain at theirmoorings; turning ven-turesome girls who tryto walk into strugglingpillars of strangelytwisted drapery, andeven in the heart of thewarm woods tearing atthe crowded trees sothat they sigh andcreak as they rub theirweary old limbs againstone another. The sec-ond day is gray andcloudy, on the third itrains, but still the windblows, a nervous windthat makes one long topick a quarrel withones best friend. Andthen the wind drops assuddenly as it rose, and. jJkl:^ A Yachtmg Party. the next day all discomfort, past and tocome, is forgotten for awhile in sheerdelight of beauty. For the air is still,and the sun shines gently on a dullgreen sea over which little shivers runnow and then, and far in the offingthere is the gray line of a it comes in with the southeastwind, stealing along the surface of thewater, now closing softly round an isl-and, then rising from it like a wreathof smoke, here piled into a fleecy mass,there turned to silver and scattered bya sunbeam, but coming on and on, andcreeping up and up, until the trees onthe Porcupines have their feet in the clouds like Wagnerian heroes ; andpresently they also are hidden, and thewhole harbor is swathed in a soft cloud,from the depths of which come nowand then the muffled, anxious whistlesof the little steamers which ply aboutthe bay—the Silver Star, from WinterHarbor ; the Cimbria, from Bangor; andlouder and deeper, the hoarse note ofthe Sappho
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookpublishernewyo, bookyear1887
