But I have almost forgotten that we are all this time sailing up the
rive in our whale-boat. It was a very beautiful sail, and we
repeatedly passed cheerful-looking farm-houses on either bank --
sometimes goodly mansions with park-like enclosures about them. In
the afternoon we dined upon cold wild-duck; and as each man sipped
his grog in his pannikin, we felt so exceedingly cheerful, that Simon
and Meliboeus favoured the public with "Away with melancholy!" and
divers other agreeable ditties. The wind however died away, and
evening set in as we passed Guildford. The banks of the river had
now risen into steep cliffs, which threw a deep gloom over our
course. We had furled the sails, and taken to the oars, and as we
blindly poked our way, we began to think this kind of work was not
quite so agreeable as it had at first appeared. Nothing was now to
be seen but the outlines of the steep sides of the river on which
occasional houses were visible, the light streaming through the
windows, and making us fancy how comfortable every thing must be
within, and how pleasant it would be to be sitting at supper in a
cheerful room, instead of toiling at our oars with blistered hands,
and without the prospect of a good bed at the end of the voyage.

Romance was gone; the sad reality of life remained. Still we pulled
along, steering by turns, and doubting and wondering every hundred
yards whether we had not gone past the place we sought. Sometimes we
paused on our oars to debate the question, but still we continued to
push on; till at length we found ourselves close abreast of the
wooden building we were so anxiously looking out for, and experienced
a sensation of surprise as well as of delight.

The boat was soon safely moored, and the door of the building
unlocked; and by the light of a wax taper, which we had brought on