the old man 's ears are failing him ; and so is his eyesight , and perhaps his mind ; else you would not all be so shadowy , in the blaze of his Thanksgiving fire . How strangely the Past is peeping over the shoulders of the Present ! To judge by my recollections , it is but a few moments since I sat in another room ; yonder model of a vessel was not there , nor the old chest of drawers , nor Susan 's profile and mine , in that gilt frame ; nothing , in short , except this same fire , which glimmered on books , papers , and a picture , and half discovered my solitary figure in a looking-glass . But it was paler than my rugged old self , and younger , too , by almost half a century . Speak to me , Susan ; speak , my beloved ones ; for the scene is glimmering on my sight again , and as it brightens you fade away . O , I should be loath to lose my treasure of past happiness , and become once more what I was then ; a hermit in the depths of my own mind ; sometimes yawning over drowsy volumes , and anon a scribbler of wearier trash than what I read ; a man who had wandered out of the real world and got into its shadow , where his troubles , joys , and vicissitudes were of such slight stuff , that he hardly knew whether he lived , or only dreamed of living . Thank Heaven , I am an old man now , and have done with all such vanities ! Still this dimness of mine eyes ! Come nearer , Susan , and stand before the fullest blaze of the hearth . Now I behold you illuminated from head to foot , in your clean cap and decent gown , with the dear lock of gray hair across your forehead , and a quiet smile about your mouth , while the eyes alone are concealed , by the red gleam of the fire upon your spectacles . There , you made me tremble again ! When the flame quivered , my sweet Susan , you quivered with it , and grew indistinct , as if melting into the warm light , that my last glimpse of you might be as visionary as the first was , full many a year since . Do you remember it ? You stood on the little bridge , over the brook , that runs across King 's Beach into the sea . It was twilight ; the waves rolling in , the wind sweeping by , the crimson clouds fading in the west , and the silver moon brightening above the hill ; and on the bridge were you , fluttering in the breeze like a sea-bird that might skim away at your pleasure . You seemed a daughter of the viewless wind , a creature of the ocean foam and the crimson light , whose merry life was spent in dancing on the crests of the billows , that threw up their spray to support your footsteps . As I drew nearer , I fancied you akin to the race of mermaids , and thought how pleasant it would be to dwell with you among the quiet coves , in the shadow of the cliffs , and to roam along secluded beaches of the purest sand , and when our northern shores grew bleak , to haunt the islands , green and lonely , far amid summer seas . And yet it gladdened me , after all this nonsense , to find you nothing but a pretty young girl , sadly perplexed with the rude behavior of the wind about your petticoats . Thus I did with Susan as with most other things in my earlier days , dipping her image into my mind and coloring it of a thousand fantastic hues , before I could see her as she really was . Now , Susan , for a sober picture of our village !
It was a small collection of dwellings that seemed to have been cast up by the sea , XXXXX the rock-weed and marine plants that it vomits after a storm , or to have come ashore among the pipe-staves and other lumber , which had been washed from the deck of an Eastern schooner .
about above as like nearer on over than to with