Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. XXVII, No. 1 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

travelling-suit, with a black felt hat drawn low over the brows; and one finical in such matters would be pleased to observe that he has a neat foot well-booted, and that these boots rest on the deck and not in mid air. Indeed, Mr. George Francis Burkmar, as his bazgage is marked, is as notable for an air of quiet good-breeding, as for good looks. He sat jeaning back in his chair, his eyes wearing that curious veiled look which some persons can assume at will, when, without appearing to notice, they are really watchful of everything that goes on about them. He did not stir, though ladies practised all their viles to induce him to turn his head, but suffered the promenaders to move about him as the waters part and wash around a ledge. He appeared to think nothing worth a glance unless it was some far-off craft, or the glitter- ing froth churned up by the steamer wheels, or the gay little frigate that danced past them and away southward, near enough for them to see the waving of handkerchiefs and hear a faint cheer across the glorified water. If his eyes dwelt for a moment on persons at the extremity of the saloon, he lost interest in them as they approached. There was one exception, however, to his general disregard of his fellow-passengers, when two, who had been invisible since their departure from New Orleans, appeared in the door of the saloon and looked about for seats. One of these was a magnificent colored woman, a dusky Juno who towered above most of the men present, and leaning on her arm and shoulder was a lady who might in any other companionship have shown stately in height and build, but who looked delicate beside her slave. Will the reader be so good as to remember what was said about sea-sickness at the be- ginning of this chapter? Miss Cora Ware has been suffering from it during the whole voyage, suffering more than ever during and since the storm, and is now only half alive. She needs this excuse, for her dress and man- ner are anything but conventional. A trailing wrapper of purple cloth hangs loosely about her, the only half-drawn girdle indicating, but not defining, a superb form. There is a glimpse of a white hand and wrist almost lost in the voluminous hanging sleeve, the point of which nearly reaches the deck. A mass of dark brown hair is tucked careless- ly behind the ears, and twisted into some sort of nondescript knot at the back of the head— rich, moist hair, and triumphantly her own, OD So as by Fire. but by no means, at this time, of satin smoothness. These particulars of toilet, with that air of mingled languor and reckless- ness peculiar to those in whom physical suffering has for the time deadened the fear of the terrible “ on dit,” the gentleman whom we have been observing took in at a glance: but the face demanded more than a glance. It was, of course, pale and weary; but through all its palkor and weariness shone a protesting fire and strength. Her manner showed the enforced submission of one unaccustomed to submit, and hating the restraint which she is unable to throw off. This lady stepned haughtily, though unable to stand alone, and staggering a little occa- sionally, and looking for a seat, glanced about with a pair of eyes that were gray, bright and angry as an eagle’s. Nearly all the seats were occupied by ladies, but they did not find the air ef this new- comer conciliating, so remained sitting. There was one vacant seat in the corner of the bench that followed the deck-railing, and to- ward that the lady directed her steps, sinking heavily into it when reached. The slave stood beside her mistress, forming a dusky bulwark betweeiz her and the other passen- gers, and tenderly supporting her with a strong arm. “T shall tire you, Juno,” said the lady, almost fretfully, yet in a voice of silvery music. “No, honey! You jist lay still,’ was the reply. “I’se a gwine to stan’ right here ’n hold your head. Lor, I aint no more tired now than that ‘are post. This is restin’, this is.” The lady sighed faintly, and resigned her- self to be taken care of, leaning more upon her attendant, and looking off over the water with heavy, homesick eyes. Her complexion was a pale olive, and as she sat slightly in the shadow, her profile against the glowing sky looked like some fine bronze. The line of the profile was straight, with forehead and chin rather full, the upper lip short and curled back, and the nose straight and weli-propcoi- tioned. Mr. Burkmar, sitting motionless in his arm- chair, never took his eyes from (lis lady, watching her, it seemed, with a more critical than admiring gaze. He marked that her attitude was graceful in spite of its air of ex- haustion, that her wrapper fell about her as though an artist had arranged its folds, and that the eyes were heavlern tare [Byer eae o i