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OF the next two days' sail little remains in my mind, and nothing whatever in my note-book. The river streamed on steadily through pleasant riverside landscapes. Washerwomen in blue dresses, fishers in blue blouses, diversified the green banks; and the relation of the two colours was like that of the flower and the leaf in the forget-me-not. A symphony in forget-me-not; I think Théophile Gautier might thus have characterised that two days' panorama. The sky was blue and cloudless; and the sliding surface of the river held up, in smooth places, a mirror to the heaven and the shores. The washerwomen hailed us laughingly; and the noise of trees and water made an accompaniment to our dozing thoughts, as we fleeted down the stream. The great volume, the indefatigable purpose of the river, held the mind in chain. It seemed now so sure of its end, so strong and easy in its gait, like a grown man full of determination. The surf was roaring for it on the sands of Havre. For my own part, slipping along this moving thoroughfare in my fiddle-case of a canoe, I also was beginning to grow aweary for my ocean. To the civilised man, there must come, sooner or later, a desire for civilisation. I was weary of dipping the paddle; I was weary of living on the skirts of life; I wished to be in the thick of it once more; I wished to get to work; I wished to meet people who understood my own speech, and could meet with me on equal terms, as a man, and no longer as a curiosity. And so a
letter at Pontoise
decided us, and we drew up our keels for
the last time out of that river of Oise that had faithfully piloted
them,
through rain and sunshine, for so long. For so many miles had this
fleet
and footless beast of burthen charioted our fortunes, that we turned
our
back upon it with a sense of separation. We had made a long detour out
of
the world, but now we were back in the familiar places, where life
itself
makes all the running, and we are carried to meet adventure without a
stroke
of the paddle. Now we were to return, like the voyager in the play, and
see
what rearrangements fortune had perfected the while in our
surroundings;
what surprises stood ready made for us at home; and whither and how far
the
world had voyaged in our absence. You may paddle all day long; but it
is
when you come back at nightfall, and look in at the familiar room, that
you
find Love or Death awaiting you beside the stove; and the most
beautiful
adventures are not those we go to seek. The End
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