The International Weekly Miscellany - Volume I, No. 2 | Page 7

river Darre, and on the other
the Xenie--gentle streams, whose waters unite their melodious rippling
to the chorus of nightingales, ever singing above their pleasant banks.
But description is tiresome, especially when one is attempting to
present something beyond his power, so I shall not fatigue you with it
any longer: besides, a worthy English curate, now my only companion
in this wretched hotel, is boring me so incessantly with conversation
that I find it difficult to collect any thoughts to put on paper. I wish he
was already in heaven, as, surely, he well deserves to be.
It was my intention to have gone from this place to Almeria on
horseback, but as R. has left for Madrid, I shall return to Malaga,
probably, in the diligence to-night. It leaves at 12 o'clock, under an
escort of six cavalry, which on this road is indispensably necessary.
From Malaga I shall take steamer for Valencia and Barcelona, and
according to my present calculations, will reach Paris about the first of
June next. F---- wants me to go to Italy--I do not know exactly what

course to take, as traveling in Italy during the summer season is not
considered healthy. I should like to remain in France a month or so, in
order to improve myself in their language: as for Spanish, I speak it
with fluency and ease already, and it is certainly one of the most
beautiful languages in the world.
Yours, JOHN E. WARREN.
* * * * *
THE SUMMER NIGHT.
We are in the midst of July--in the midst of summer--of the most genial
and pure-aired summer that we have had for years. How beautifully
RICHTER, translated by our Longfellow, of kindred genius, describes
the holy time! "The summer alone might elevate us. God what a season!
In sooth, I often know not whether to stay in the city, or go forth into
the fields, so alike is it everywhere and beautiful. If we go outside the
city gate, the very beggars gladden our hearts, for they are no longer
cold; and the post-boys who can pass the whole night on horseback,
and the shepherds asleep in the open air. We need no gloomy house.
We make a chamber out of every bush, and therefore have my good
industrious bees before us, and the most gorgeous butterflies. In the
gardens on the hills sit schoolboys, and in the open air look out words
in the dictionary. On account of the game-laws there is no shooting
now, and every thing in bush and furrow, and on green branches, can
enjoy itself right heartily and safely. In all directions come travelers
along the roads; they have their carriages for the most part thrown
back--the horses have branches stuck in their saddles, and the drivers
roses in their mouths. The shadows of the clouds go trailing along,--the
birds fly between them up and down, and journeymen mechanics
wander cheerily on with their bundles, and want no work. Even when it
rains we love to stand out of doors, and breathe in the quickening
influence, and the wet does the herdsman harm no more. And is it night,
so sit we only in a cooler shadow, from which we plainly discern the
daylight on the northern horizon and on the sweet warm stars of heaven.
Wheresoever I look, there do I find my beloved blue on the flax in
blossoms, on the corn-flowers, and the godlike endless heaven into

which I would fain spring as into a stream. And now, if we turn
homeward again, we find indeed but fresh delight. The street is a true
nursery, for in the evening after supper, the little ones, though they
have but a few clothes upon them, are again let out into the open air,
and not driven under the bed-quilt as in winter. We sup by daylight,
and hardly know where the candlesticks are. In the bed-chamber the
windows are open day and night, and likewise most of the doors,
without danger. The oldest women stand by the window without a chill,
and sew. Flowers lie about everywhere--by the ink-stand--on the
lawyer's papers--on the justice's table, and the tradesman's counter. The
children make a great noise, and one hears bowling of ninepin alleys
half the night through our walks up and down the street; and talks aloud,
and sees the stars shoot in the high heaven. The foreign musicians, who
wend their way homeward toward midnight, go fiddling along the
street to their quarters, and the whole neighborhood runs to the window.
The extra posts arrive later, and the horses neigh. One lies by the noise
in the window and droops asleep. The post-horns awake him and the
whole starry heaven hath spread itself open. O God! what a joyous life
on this