Why, it is as clear as light, white, limpid, dawn
light; sparkles slightly and seldom; looks like pure drops of water,
sea-water, scooped up and falling down again; just a thought of its
parent beryl green hovers round the edges; and it grows more lucent and
sweet to the centre, and there you lose yourself in some dream of vast
seas, a glory of unimagined oceans; and you say that it was crystallized
to any slow flute-like tune, each speck of it floating into file with
a musical grace, and carrying its sound with it. There! it's very
fanciful, but I'm always feeling the tune in aqua-marina, and trying to
find it,--but I shouldn't know it was a tune, if I did, I suppose. How
magnificent it would be, if every atom of creation sprang up and said
its one word of abracadabra, the secret of its existence, and fell
silent again. Oh, dear! you'd die, you know; but what a pow-wow! Then,
too, in aqua-marina proper, the setting is kept out of sight, and you
have the unalloyed stone with its sea-rims and its clearness and steady
sweetness. It wasn't the stone for Louise to wear; it belongs rather
to highly-nervous, excitable persons; and Lu is as calm as I, only so
different! There is something more pure and simple about it than about
anything else; others may flash and twinkle, but this just glows with an
unvarying power, is planetary and strong.
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