It seemed as
if our nearest neighbors lived over there across the water; we
breathed the air of foreign countries, curiously interblended
with our own.
The women of well-to-do families had Canton crape shawls and
Smyrna silks and Turk satins, for Sabbath-day wear, which
somebody had brought home for them. Mantel-pieces were adorned
with nautilus and conch-shells, and with branches and fans of
coral; and children had foreign curiosities and treasures of the
sea for playthings. There was one imported shell that we did not
value much, it was so abundant--the freckled univalve they called
a "prop." Yet it had a mysterious interest for us little ones.
We held it to our ears, and listened for the sound of the waves,
which we were told that, it still kept, and always would keep. I
remember the time when I thought that the ocean was really
imprisoned somewhere within that narrow aperture.
We were accustomed to seeing barrels full of cocoa-nuts rolled
about; and there were jars of preserved tropical fruits,
tamarinds, ginger-root, and other spicy appetizers, almost as
common as barberries and cranberries, in the cupboards of most
housekeepers.
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