I was
staying in Hallowell, Maine, and could find no books that I
liked, except Hood's poems. You know how the town is built,
like a terraced garden on the river's bank; I used to go every
afternoon to the granite quarry which crowns these terraces,
and read till the sunset came casting its last glory on the
opposite bank. They were such afternoons as those in September
and October, clear, soft, and radiant. Nature held nothing
back. 'Tis many years since, and I have never again seen the
Kennebec, but remember it as a stream of noble character. It
was the first river I ever sailed up, realizing all which that
emblem discloses of life. Greater still would the charm have
been to sail downward along an unknown stream, seeking not a
home, but a ship upon the ocean.'
* * * * *
'_Newbury, Oct. 18, 1840._--It rained, and the day was pale
and sorrowful, the thick-fallen leaves even shrouded the
river. We went out in the boat, and sat under the bridge. The
pallid silence, the constant fall of the rain and leaves, were
most soothing, life had been for many weeks so crowded with
thought and feeling, pain and pleasure, rapture and care.
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