with her on that occasion; and so we sailed several times across the
river and back again in the very height of enjoyment. Then suddenly
luffing up in the middle of the stream, the anchor was let go, and
the sail brailed up, in order that we might have the pleasure of
sitting still in the very midst of the waters, and rest, as it were,
in the plenitude of our satisfaction; and when the anchor dragged a
few yards over the sand before it held, and then suddenly brought up
the boat with a jerk, it seemed the climax of our pleasure. This,
the sagacious reader, in the depth of his gravity, will consider
extremely boyish. But should we not rejoice and be thankful whenever
we find among the many simple pleasures of our boyhood, a single one
which retains the power of gladdening our maturer years? Alas! one
after another they die down, and are no more to be revived. We are
apt to fancy that when the pleasures of youth have lost their
sweetness, and are no longer desired, it is an evidence of our
increasing wisdom. But it proves only that our tastes, grown more
vitiated, have taken new directions. We have only changed our
follies -- and for the worse.*


[footnote] *"'Tis sweet to think we grow more wise
When Radcliffe's page we cease to prize,
And turn to Malthus, and to Hervey,
For tombs, or cradles topsy-turvy;
'Tis sweet to flatter one's dear self,
And altered feelings vaunt, when pelf
Is passion, poetry, romance; --
And all our faith's in three per cents."
R. R. Madden